Page 3 of The Huntress

“You smell good. Your cologne suits you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see scotch in my future.”

Spinning on her bare toes, she made a beeline for her pumps she’d left in the back corner of the balcony. If only she’d thought to leave her purse there. What the hell had she been thinking? Climbing the side of a building while clutching her purse—idiotic. Not to mention, she couldn’t bring herself to leave her gun unattended. Well, it sure lay unattended now, wherever it had landed. Hopefully, it hadn’t hit someone on the head when it fell.

She sensed his gaze caressing her as she slipped on each shoe. At least he missed her wince as she squished her toes into unnatural shapes. Nerves had her fluffing her hair and sliding her damp palms down her velvet-covered thighs before entering the crowded, unbearably hot hall, vowing never to do something so stupid again. She hadn’t gotten much for her crazy death-defying balancing trick.

There was a drop-off tomorrow? Hell, there was always a drop-off. What she needed was a location. Inner City was huge, so she’d appreciate any clue. This wasn’t the movies. This was real life where information didn’t magically fall into her eager hands—she had to fight for every morsel, every titillating secret.

Her targets had taken their champagne glasses to the balcony’s seductive privacy. She’d raced here in the hopes of hiding behind a potted plant or in the shadows. There’d been neither with the balcony illuminated by Chinese lanterns. No one would speak of sensitive matters with her leaning against the railing admiring the cityscape. Now, while she hesitated at the door, a few men assessed her. None were panty-dropping gorgeous enough to match the first suckblood’s voice.

Not that she could sweet-talkhiminto revealing the drop-off’s location. If she guessed his current position, he was amid a group of desperate women, their body language blatant with intention. Lust’s stench emanated from that side of the hall—oily, wicked…tempting.

Callie spun on her steel-tipped heels to weave through the dancing couples to the bar. She claimed a barstool with a deep groan, relief instant with her weight off her toes. Her killer heels were doing just that, killing her. Smothering a borderline hysterical giggle, she flicked her hair off her face, hating the frustration that pounded at her patience. Disappointment ate at her, at the disastrous outcome of a promising evening.

“Scotch, neat,” she said to the bartender, not bothering to meet his gaze.

A tumbler of the burnished liquid glided across the glass counter and into her line of vision. She scooped it up and threw back the finest malt she’d tasted in a while. Peppery, smoky, and smooth, it flowed down her throat, bursting her innards into flames of false courage. She should’ve started the evening with this.

“Are you acquainted with Leonardo?” a gentleman asked. “You seemed cozy.”

She stiffened, assessing the man…Devlin Carter. Needing the time to compose her thoughts and a poker face, she took a careful sip from her refilled glass.

He was tall, cresting six feet, and filled out a tux like no forty-year-old should be able to. Gray streaked his temples, adding to his distinguished appearance and his sensual appeal. Not that he tempted her—his nefarious deeds were well documented. Okay, only by her, and she never made it official. The very-much-human senator had a thick case file of his own. She’d been investigating him for years.

“Leonardo, Senator?” She opted for ignorance, arching a brow in query.

“That answers my question.” He grinned.

His cold blue gaze traveled her bared leg and settled on her adorned foot. Oh, yes, the foot fetish. She fought the urge to twitch her toes under his unashamed depravity.

“You don’t strike me as his type.”

“Their type is human.” She twirled the amber liquid in her glass before raising it to her lips again.

“Touché. Does he know you’re in law enforcement?”

Knowing who she was, or at least, what she did, didn’t bode well. Her instincts skittered along her nerves, worse than when she’d stepped onto the ledge. Something about Carter had her skin crawling. That something was slimy and dangerous.

“He didn’t ask. I didn’t offer.” Her reply was sharp.

She sighed. Her miserable mood called forth her worst manners. Not to mention, he had her at a disadvantage. Somehow he had known she was police. She must have given herself away. Maybe her shifty gaze, distrusting everyone, her stiff shoulders and over-vigilant stance screaming she didn’t belong here. She’d ruined the evening with her subconscious behavior.

She tried not to grimace at his delighted smile. He was enjoying their conversation, very much aware of how he put her on the defensive.

“So why crash James’s party?” Carter gestured to the bartender, who served him a tall blonde beer with a thick head.

Beer? An interesting choice at a ball.

“I felt like dressing up.” She tapped her unpolished fingernails on the glass countertop. “Listen, Senator, you’re not one to waste time, nor to beat around the bush. Mind telling me the purpose of this conversation?”

Her bluntness made him chuckle. Thankfully she hadn’t pissed him off. If that happened and her captain found out, she would be issuing parking tickets for a year.

“He’s enamored with you,” Carter said, not answering her question.

She shook her head. “Ah, so if we were on a first-name basis, I could spy for you?”

“Spy is such a nasty word, and I didn’t ask you to,” he said, licking the beer foam off his lips.

“My apologies, Senator.” She flicked her hair back in an exaggerated manner and giggled, batting her eyelashes hard enough to hurt. “What I meant to say was that we could discuss over coffee the merits of suckblood-feeder relationships and the impact of this on the psyche.”

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