Dirty Trick Page 2

  When he’d seen her through the bay window of her little cottage that first morning, high up on a ladder hanging curtains in her raggedy cut-off shorts, his intentions were bad. Or good, depending on where you were standing. He’d taken a minute to brush his teeth, wipe the sleep from his eyes, and unwrap two pre-packaged sticky buns. He stuck them on a paper plate and grabbed a couple cans of soda. A minute later he was at her door, ready with an earnest offering of friendship and—if things were as tight upstairs as they appeared to be on his new neighbor’s bottom half— cunnilingus.

  When she’d opened the door, though, he’d found himself staring down at the sweetest face he’d ever seen in real life—or anywhere, really. Far more Maryanne than Ginger, with long, black curls exploding around a heart-shaped face that bore no trace of makeup, she was so damned pretty it made his chest hurt. Her body was compact and round in all the right places. The shy smile she’d given him had made him want to smile right back. She was a fucking bundle of surprises, and he didn’t know what to look at first.

  Then he’d seen her eyes, and he was stuck. Sooty lashes framed chocolate brown irises, so dark that her pupils almost swallowed them. What was it about them that had thoughts of naked Twister turning to thoughts of candlelit dinners? To be fair, denial had set in fast, but those visions had been instantaneous. Like part of him knew from the very start she was the one, from the second she’d opened the door and invited him in, staring longingly at his honey buns. He never believed in stuff like that, and had happily planned to spend the rest of his life as a single guy. It had taken a while before the rest of him caught up to the notion that had teased him from the start, but six months later, he’d finally gotten it. He was crazy about Gracie Love. Too bad by the time he realized it, she’d already written him off as a total man-slut.

  He tossed the empty boxes into the trashcan in the parking lot and then made for his truck. He’d just opened the door and slid into the seat when his phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, where are you?” His friend and co-worker Alec barked over the line.

  “Leaving Grace’s office and heading back to the station to change. Why?” Trick flipped on the ignition and cranked up the heat. October was kicking their asses on the east coast this year.

  “I need your opinion on a piece I’m working on. Can you stop by?” Alec asked. “We can hang here for a while before we go to the Brewhouse, and you can let me know what you think.”

  Trick had met Alec when he started on the force. Alec was in forensic facial reconstruction and moonlighted as a special effects makeup artist. Salem was rife with haunted houses and hayrides, and around Halloween, his business was booming. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked Trick to be his guinea pig.

  “Sure thing,” Trick said as he put the car into drive and pulled out of the parking lot. “I’m on the way.”

  An hour later, Trick found himself standing in front of the mirror in Alec’s studio wearing a skull cap covered by a black wig. “I look like Clark Kent. Is that the plan?”

  “Nope.”

  Alec took up the jar of adhesive and Trick groaned. “Seriously? I just showered a few hours ago and that shit is a pain in the ass to get off.”

  “I need to start re-molding tomorrow and I can’t do it until I have the sculpt fixed. Something is bothering me about this one, and I can’t put my finger on it.” Alec turned and grabbed a brush that looked like a fan. “You have a similar bone structure to my client, and it will help if I take a look on a human face.”

  He spread some of the gooey adhesive around his eyes and Trick growled. “Fine, but you’re buying tonight.”

  “Agreed. Now stop being a pussy and stand still.” He held the half-mask to Trick’s face and went to town, pressing, tugging and pulling. A few minutes later, he stood back.

  “Huh. Would you look at that? It’s not as bad as I thought.”

  Trick looked in the mirror and drew back in shock. A half-panther, half-man stared back at him, and he nodded, impressed. The silicone prosthetic was a small piece, only covering his eyes, nose, and the upper part of his cheek, but with some cat-like contact lenses and some fangs, it would be a near perfect makeup.

  “You’re way too modest, man. That is so cool.” Trick turned his head to examine it closer. “Seriously, I don’t even look like myself. That’s true talent.”

  “I appreciate it, but I’m going to tweak the forehead a little. I think that’s what was bothering me. It still looks a little heavy.” He shrugged his thick shoulders and stood back. “No problem, now that I pinpointed the issue, it won’t take too long to recast it.”

  “So, what are you going to do with this one?”

  “Trash.” Alec shrugged. “If you plan on going trick or treating tomorrow, you can keep it though.”

  “Very funny, but I’m going to the station to hand out candy to the kids.” He looked in the mirror. “Maybe I’ll keep it and have a little fun with them. Nobody is even going to recognize me.”

  Alec nodded and tugged off Trick’s wig, filling him in on the details of a new case he was working on, but Trick was only half-listening. He hadn’t wanted to go to the Halloween party tomorrow just to watch Grace and dickwad Seth hanging all over each other, but now? In spite of her refusal to let him go as her date, that didn’t mean he couldn’t go at all…

  He caught sight of his reflection again in the mirror, and the germ of an idea crystalized in his head.

  …

  “I look ridiculous,” Grace wailed, staring at herself in the three-way mirror in Serena’s closet.

  “You look smoking hot,” Serena corrected, licking her finger and pressing it to her bottom with a sizzle sound. “It’s Halloween. The one time we get to be whoever we want without any judgment or repercussions.”

  “Right. Exactly. And I wanted to be a cheerleader-ghost.”

  “Which would have been well and good, except that you looked more like a not-so-naughty school girl who fell into a barrel of flour. Salem doesn’t kid around for Halloween, doll. You’ve got to bring your A-game. That skirt was halfway to your ankles, and your knee-high socks looked like you stole them from a lumberjack. I love you too much to let you go out like that.”

  “They were wool. It’s cold out,” she said with an indignant sniff.

  “I don’t care how cold it is, woolen socks are never to touch your feet again. Promise me.”

  Grace sent her friend a death stare and turned her attention back to the mirror without answering. Oh mama, it was bad. As bad as the first time she looked. She spun around to peer at the back of her new costume—-courtesy of a bunch of crap sourced by Serena from her obscenely humongous closet—and winced. No way. There was just no way. “More of my ass is showing than covered. You can literally see my underwear.”

  Serena waved a hand. “Well, yeah, the bloomers will have to go, but the rest looks smashing.”

  “They’re not bloomers. They’re regular bikini-underwear. Normal people don’t wear thongs every day.”

  “Says you,” her friend said with a derisive snort. “Well, you can’t go like that. You can see your panty line.” She tugged at her lip and then nodded. “You’re just going to have to take them off.”

  She shook her head furiously. “No way. I’m not going commando. And, plus, like what am I even supposed to be?” she asked, still a little baffled and a lot shell-shocked. She shivered and ran her fingers through her hair. It was still wet from the shower Serena had all but tossed her into when she saw her failed ghost-cheerleader costume.

  Now her friend met her gaze in the mirror and rolled her eyes in disgust. “You’re a steampunk vampire hunter, silly.”

  “I’m pretty sure people wear pants to hunt vampires. In fact, I almost guarantee it.”

  Serena blew out a long-suffering sigh. “No pants. But if it makes you feel better, we’ll trade the hotpants for a black skirt. Your legs are so fab I figured you ought to show off as much of them as possible.” She
whirled away and riffled through the endless rows of hangers before screeching, “Eureka, bitches!” She held a black brocade miniskirt aloft in one fist. “If you look close, it even has black roses embossed into the material, and black roses are totally steampunk.”

  Grace eyed the skirt dubiously. “You’re like two sizes smaller than me. I barely squeezed into the corset and even at that, my lady parts are spilling over. And the hotpants are stretchy, so we were able to fake it, but that skirt will never fit.”

  “Watch and learn. We’re about to get Tim Gunn on this bitch and make it work.”

  The steely determination on her face sent a slither of dread down Grace’s spine. She knew that look well. Serena was on a mission, and nothing was going to stop her. She blew out a resigned sigh. “Fine. Do your worst. But you better be wearing something just as trampy.”

  “Please, girl. What I’m wearing is going to make you look like a schoolmarm. Wait until you see. Besides, you know the whole party is going to be packed with girls in their sexiest getups. If we’re mixing some recruiting in with our socializing, we want them to feel comfortable.”

  “Fine,” she said with one last tug at the spandex that seemed hell-bent on burrowing into her butt crack. “Let’s get to work on that skirt, then, because we’ve got a party to get to.”

  Four hours, a string of curse words, and several drops of blood later, they were ushered through the gates to Chaz’s mansion.

  Grace let out a low whistle. “Wow. I’ve seen it from the street driving by, but this is unreal.”

  She braked as they approached, staring in awe. The house was huge. A sprawling monstrosity in ash-colored brick, it seemed to go on forever. The manicured grounds were decked out in classic horror regalia. A single noose hung from a weeping willow tree, actual gravestones dotted the expansive lawn, and the howl of a lone wolf repeated on auto-loop. Even the toniest of Salem residents seemed to get kitschy around Halloween. It was like a rule or something.

  “Yeah, pretty schmancy,” Serena agreed. She’d spent her life in places at least that nice, so she didn’t seem nearly as impressed, but that didn’t put a damper on Grace’s enthusiasm one bit.

  They pulled up to the door where several valets stood at attention, each dressed as…well, valets. But on closer inspection, she realized that they were all decked out in flawless zombie makeup, complete with graying skin, grisly wounds, and blackened, jagged teeth.

  “Awesome,” she murmured to Serena, who grinned as they made their way up the wide staircase.

  “I told you, people go all-out here.”

  “You weren’t kidding.”

  Before they could ring the bell, the door swung open and a pretty young woman in a French maid costume with a knife protruding from her neck peered out. Grace was sensing a theme.

  “Please, come in,” the maid said with a smile. She led them through the foyer to check their coats and then into the main room that was already hopping with activity. A good hundred people were gathered, split off into groups and talking loudly over the thumping bass of dubstep music. The modern room was done up in black with autumn-colored accents that captured the whimsy of the holiday without crossing over into tacky. Waitstaff in crisp black-and-whites with penguin masks passed around hors d’oeuvres, and several makeshift bars had been set up around the perimeter of the room. The bartenders were doing brisk business, mixing drinks, clattering ice, and perching fruit garnishes on glasses. All in all, Chaz seemed to be putting up a pretty nice, low-key soiree. Stories of the previous year’s debauchery were clearly exaggerated.

  “How’s your hip?” Serena asked, a glum expression momentarily marring her doll-like features.

  “I’m fine. You’ve got to be a less aggressive with the needle and thread is all.” She gingerly tested the spot with her finger where Serena had decided to sew her into the tiny skirt and missed with one stitch. “Yup, I can hardly even feel it now. It’s good. Now come on, let’s get a drink and do some mingling.”

  Serena seemed to perk up and led the way to the nearest bar. Grace trailed behind, trying not to tug at her clothes. It was a little nerve-wracking to be so exposed, but Serena hadn’t been kidding when she’d said she would fit right in. Each costume was sexier than the last. There were sexy genies, sexy witches, sexy fairies, and even sexy nuns. Serena had really gone all-out with her own costume as well, choosing an Amazon warrior getup that was spectacular on her statuesque frame. The loin cloth barely covered her goodies, and the top was nothing more than a scrap of cloth held in place by a metal oval lodged between her breasts. With pin-straight silver hair streaming down her back, it was enough to make Grace glad Trick wasn’t here. If he saw Serena like this, no way he’d be able to resist her. Not that she would care if they hooked up, she reassured herself with a sniff. She just liked the way things were between the three of them and didn’t want it to get weird. Judging by the looks of the men milling around, Trick or no, Serena would have no shortage of admirers.

  They’d already gotten halfway through their first glass and a half of wine before they caught a glimpse of their host. He was the other side of the room in animated, angry discussion with the DJ.

  “Oh, Dracula. How original,” Serena said with a laugh, taking in Chaz’s Bela Lugosi look. “I wonder how many lines about sucking he’s going to manage to work into every conversation.”

  “Come on, he’s not that bad,” Grace protested, and downed the last half of her pinot noir. “Let’s go over there and say hello.” She threw back her shoulders and gave her corset a surreptitious tug upward.

  “Stop fidgeting. You look great. Best rack in the room.”

  “Thanks. I feel much less self-conscious now.” She gave Serena a shove, and they worked their way across the floor, exchanging greetings with acquaintances as they passed. After a recent high-profile match resulted in a wedding between a hometown football hero and one of the most lauded “witches” in Salem—who’d given her all sorts of tingles when she saw them together—their company had become much more high-profile. She and Serena were both very aware that the business was at a crucial point: it would either blow up and become superhot, or the recent buzz would die down before things had even really started.

  “Not on my watch,” she mumbled. Game on. She didn’t have to fake her smile as she walked by a small group of women clients. “Great costumes!” A young, auburn-haired woman dressed as a fifties diner waitress on roller skates grinned.

  “You, too.” She waggled her brows, and Grace chuckled and kept moving. She still wasn’t sold on the whole vampire hunter ensemble, but she’d gotten a few compliments already, so maybe her friend was on to something.

  They’d almost reached their quarry when a male voice called out to her.

  “Hey, Grace.”

  She turned, warm smile at the ready. She only hoped it didn’t falter when she recognized its owner. John Milewski. Her least favorite client. John fancied himself a real ladies’ man and had a major attitude problem. He said and did the right things most of the time, but there was always this mocking way about him, an almost misogynistic sarcasm bubbling beneath the surface, ready to come spewing out at any moment. Somehow, everything felt a little oily.

  Serena had wanted to boot him from the roster, but Grace had intervened, hitting her friend right in the business sense, reminding her that they couldn’t just dump a client because they didn’t find him personally appealing. If that was the case, they’d have a very limited pool to work from and an even more limited profit margin. But that had only been part of it. The other reason she’d wanted to keep him on was because she was convinced that his bluster was a front to hide his sadness and insecurity. That, deep down, he was probably a standup guy and they just had to dig a little. Six months later, she was seriously starting to question her decision.

  That was one of Gram’s lessons that still hadn’t sunk in yet. “Sometimes, people are just assholes, girlie.”

  “Hello, John. Glad to see you made it toni
ght.” She looked around for her friend and partner, but she’d already made her way over to Chaz. No help for her there.

  “Same to you, and trick or treat.” He let his gaze linger on her breasts for far longer than was comfortable. “Want to give me something good to eat?”

  She almost threw up in her mouth but managed a tight smile. “Remember how we talked about that kind of stuff?”

  “I know, but it was just a joke,” he protested, all hurt eyes and defensive body language. “Come on, that was funny.”

  Not even a little bit. “Most women aren’t going to agree, so unless you want to be single forever, you’ve got to tone it down.”

  He nodded, but she could tell it went in one ear, through the cobwebs, past the mental spank-bank, and right out the other. She sighed and gave him the once over.

  “Okay, I give up.” He was wearing his regular clothes, with the exception of a utility belt that held a copy of The Notebook, a Hershey bar and a box of rubber gloves. She shook her head, nonplussed. “What are you supposed to be?” She was fairly certain she didn’t want to know.

  The faux-indignation faded and he treated her to a shitty grin. “It’s a surprise. If you’re nice, I’ll tell you later.”

  She bit her lip hard until the desire to tell him to piss off had passed and nodded. “Ah, a man with secrets. All right, then. Well, hope you enjoy yourself tonight.” She turned and, in her haste to catch up with Serena, ran straight into what felt like a brick wall. “Oomph!”

  The wall had arms and used them to steady her. “Sorry to roll up behind you like that. I didn’t expect you to wheel around.”

  Maybe it was the hastily drunken glass of wine. Maybe it was the smell of the crisp aftershave he wore. Maybe it was the husky, low voice, almost a whisper. Maybe it was the relief at having escaped John before she said something she’d regret, but the sudden desire to wrap her arms around the giant man in front of her hit her like a knockout punch. Tingles started low and radiated outward, spreading through her body like sunlight.

  “N-no, I’m sorry,” she sputtered, pulling back. “I didn’t…”

  The rest of that sentence died on her lips as she looked up into the most amazing eyes she’d ever seen, with the possible exception of Trick’s. They were electric green, like a cat, and it took a second for the rest to sink in. Wait, he was a cat.

  Not really, she amended quickly. He was wearing a cat mask. Not like kitty cat. More like exotic, big jungle cat. The tawny leather jacket and tan pants he wore matched the shading and lent to the sleek, powerful look.

  Me-ow.

  Had her useful-to-everyone-but-her tingles decided tonight was the night to finally kick in? Well, Hallelujah.

  “That mask is unreal. It’s so lifelike,” she murmured, lifting her hand to touch it before stopping herself. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know you and I’m pawing your face.”

  “It’s cool,” he said. “Cats paw each other all the time.”

  She laughed, her embarrassment fading in the face of his easy charm. He had a nice smile. Firm lips and, from what she could tell in the mood lighting, straight white teeth. She was such a sucker for nice teeth. She found herself wishing she could see the rest of his face under the mask.

  “And I guess we should be scared of you, packing heat and all.”

  She managed to tear her gaze away from the handsome stranger to glance down at the gun strapped to her hip. “Nope. I only hunt vampires.”

  He grinned again. “I guess that’s good for me, then.”

  She was about to respond, but something gave her pause. She would have bet money she didn’t know him, but…“Is that your real voice? It sounds so familiar. Are you a client of Love Will Find a Way, or have we met before?”

  Chapter Three

  Shit.

  Less than five minutes in, and he had already almost blown it. He hadn’t thought out the voice thing at all and, under pressure, had somehow wound up imitating Christian Bale in Batman. Now he was going to be stuck talking like that all night. It sucked, but he guessed it was better than if he’d gone with his John Wayne impression.

  To be fair, it wasn’t his fault. He’d practically swallowed his tongue when he’d seen her. He’d gotten the backside view first and, if he wasn’t so painfully familiar with that sweet, heart-shaped ass, he wouldn’t have even recognized her. It was all so out of character. The short skirt that skimmed the middle of her thighs nipped in at the waist in a way that sent his blood rushing south. The black, nearly opaque stockings did nothing to hide the shapeliness of her legs. In fact, they only made him want to see what was underneath even more.

  And then, she’d turned to the side and he’d gotten the full, profile view. He’d had to swallow a groan. Cheerleader-ghost his ass. With a bustier of some sort wrapped around her soft parts like paper on a present he would kill to unwrap, she was hell on wheels. And the little cap perched on that grab-able mass of curls was so fucking adorable, he could hardly stand it.

  That’s what made him nuts about her. She was hot sex, warm smiles, and icy determination all in the finest package he’d ever come across. After watching his brother settle for a marriage based on common interests and compatibility, and his own years of mindless sex with women who’d expected nothing more from him that that, he was painfully aware that he was the kind of guy who wanted it all. And damn if Grace Love didn’t have it all.

  She stared at him expectantly, and he realized she was waiting for an answer. His voice. Right.

  “Nope. Not my real voice. I was going for sexy and mysterious. Is it working?”

  “Actually, it sort of is.” Her lips tilted upward in a bemused smile.

  His stomach dipped a little, and he frowned. As much as he’d hoped she wouldn’t recognize him, a small, twisted part of him was jealous that she was flirting with this stranger in a way that she never had with him. How fucked up was that?

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah. All good. I was just realizing your hands are empty. Can I get you a drink?”

  She hesitated, sending a look toward Serena, who was standing beside the DJ booth talking to Chaz, who’d clearly opted to dress up as a douchey vampire.

  She nodded. “Sure. That would be all right. I was drinking dry red, but anything is fine.”

  He led her to the bar and was about to order her preferred brand of Pinot Noir when he caught himself. “I’ll take a glass of Cabernet and whatever seasonal