Page 77 of Master of Lies

“Go ahead and shower first,” I told him. “Slather on that aftershave. Remember, tonight you are Jay Warren, a rich, ambitious, self-important businessman who thinks he is God’s gift, with money to burn and tax deductions to claim. Here, try these on.”

Jed took the rimless glasses I passed him, dismayed. “No way. I’ll look—”

“Different,” I supplied. “That’s the word you’re looking for. Give them a try.”

Jed perched the glasses on his nose, frowning. “I feel ridiculous.”

“Well, you look less like the hairy, threatening weirdo who scared Ramona and Dr. Clark out of their wits, am I right? That’s the important thing. Go on, shower off the hair dust. I need time to do my make-up, and yours.”

“Mine? What do you mean, mine?”

I hustled him off toward the shower, and laid out the evening gown I’d found at the mall. Shopping for tonight’s event had been a challenge. I needed something that would cover my bruises, plus my scabbed up wrists, and still look sexy and elegant. A lot to ask of a dress, but I finally found something that ticked most of the boxes.

It had been a strange and wonderful day. For the first time, we were in what could almost be called harmony. We’d huddled over the computer and hacked together for hours, inventoried our stash of tricks, and come up with a plan, such as it was.

We’d gotten breakfast, shopped for phones and clothes and make-up and shoes, grabbed lunch, rented a car. We’d bought expensive tickets to the gala tonight under Jay Warren’s name. We’d bickered and argued and analyzed and brainstormed every conceivable outcome, and I’d loved it. My brothers had always shut me out. Being on the inside was brain candy. Fizzy, stimulating fun.

So much so, in fact, that after our shopping trip at the mall, we returned to the cabin, tore off our clothes and tumbled into bed again, for another two hours. More pounding, melting bliss. I could never get enough.

Jed came out a few minutes later, and I lost a few minutes gaping at his clean-shaven, stunning nakedness. He’d be walking around with his own personal spotlight trained on him. He was going to attract way too much attention.

It made so much more sense for me to go to the gala alone. No one at the party had ever seen me, and I was a foot shorter. I would make far less of a stir. But predictably enough, he had laughed right in my face at the idea.

Jed took the tux down, tearing the plastic off the hanger, but I held up my hand.

“Don’t put the shirt on yet,” I said. “I need to cover that neck tattoo and your black eye.”

“Is that really necessary?” He sounded pained.

“Absolutely,” I said. “Grifo will be on the alert for a behemoth with a tattoo and bruises on his eye, and the haircut will only do so much. In any case, stay the hell away from Ramona and Clark. They’ll know you in a heartbeat.”

Jed sat with bad grace, flinching back a little as I got to work with my pots and powders and sponges. “Oh, stop that nonsense,” I muttered. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It tickles,” he complained. “And it smells funny.”

But he held still long enough for me to get the job done. The neck was the easiest part, since it was just one swirl that curved up onto his neck. A little careful dabbing with my orange/red corrector and then a thick layer of high quality foundation did the job. The black eye was trickier, but I finally spun him around. “Take a look.”

He frowned at himself in the mirror, leaning to study the eye, twisting to check out his neck. “Not bad,” he said grudgingly. “Almost normal. If you’re not too close. We’ll be with a fuck-ton of plastic surgeons, though. They’ll see something’s off.”

“You’re not lingering or mingling, and you won’t be hugging anyone tonight,” I told him. “Just don’t touch it. And try not to sweat.”

I spent considerable time after my shower in front of the bathroom mirror, struggling with my hair. It was a challenge to backcomb and twist and pin the chunky blonde locks into something resembling a respectable up-do. Awkward wisps kept falling down over my face, but a crap-ton of aggressive teasing, hairpins, mousse, and choking quantities of hairspray finally got the job done.

Now for the make-up. I didn’t hold back. The stress of the last few days had left their mark. I was pale, with shadows under my eyes, and that wild, manic glow, and my cheeks had a flush that made me look as if I had a fever.

My evening gown’s best attribute was that it camouflaged my various injuries. I’d settled on a clinging charcoal dress of slinky knit with a subtle, glittering thread woven into it. It had a black velvet coat with long, sheer sleeves and a frill over the wrist. It showcased lots of eye-popping cleavage, and had more flash and glamour than I would’ve liked, since we were on a covert mission. A bland, forgettable little black dress would’ve been better, but every one I’d tried showed too much bruised back, arm, shoulder, or wrist. Too much skin exposed to fix with make-up.

I was surprised to note that my usual dress size was now a little loose for me. Stress, mortal danger, and grinding emotional intensity really burned it off a girl. God knows, Jed Clearwater certainly cranked up my metabolic furnace. I felt hot all the time with him. A drop of water that hit me would sizzle and hiss and turn instantly to steam.

A final slick of red lipstick, and I draped on some costume jewelry, also acquired at the mall. Glittering drop earrings. A big, sparkly pendant nestled between my boobs. That was about the best I’d be able to do right now.

I took a moment to center myself and to try to remember where my lungs were, and how they were used, since Jed often made me forget.

Then I opened the door and stepped out, and the sight of Jed in a tux fuddled me all over again. Holy freakingcrap. Bells and whistles, dinging and whooping, alarms squealing, red alert, red alert. That man was so fine, he should come with a health warning. Everyone who laid eyes on him would remember him. Male or female.

“Looking good,” I croaked out. I gathered up my skirts and emerged from the bathroom, spinning for him. “I’m ready for the ball. All I need are my glass slippers.”

He was openmouthed. “Freya,” he said. “You look incredible.”

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