Playing Against Type: Soulgirls, Book 4 (3 page)

“Why can’t I just return here each day? I can sleep in my cell—”

“Because he is human and operates more during the daylight hours. We need you to be everywhere he is and for nothing to arouse his suspicions.” Sympathy appeared in Heidi’s eyes, but Peppermint knew she already made up her mind.

Swallowing back the nerves reigniting in her system, she rose and took the key. “How long do I have before the symptoms return?”

“A few days, I can’t promise more than that. I will have teas brewed and sent to your room each morning. Drink them.” Heidi took her hand and covered the key in her palm with the other. “No matter what else is happening or how they taste, drink them each morning and I will try to buy you more time.”

“Okay.” Peppermint nodded slowly. “I take it I should get started now?”

“When you’re ready.”

The sooner she started, the sooner they would return her curse—and her life—to her. “I’m ready.”

Heidi smiled. “He’s in the Palo.”

Peppermint glanced down at herself. She was underdressed for the Palo Restaurant. “Let me change, then.”

“I’ll have your things sent to your room. You’re on the twenty-eighth floor, two doors down from him.”

“Got it.” She looked down and realized the key card was already on her lap. She could do this. It would be just like playing dress up and undercover cops and robbers.

She could totally do this.

Chapter Two

Pepper’s nerves strummed like a badly tuned guitar as she strode through the resort to the elevators and rode them up to the rooftop—the Palo. The five-star restaurant was among the Arcana Royale’s best kept secrets. Few casual tourists earned the points to even book a reservation. The special treatment indicated favoritism on the part of the Overseers. She chose a copper dress and simple jewelry.

Pepper wasn’t flashy like Pandora, exotic like Roseâtre, or even dramatic like Kiki—she preferred to be understated, elegant and restrained. Her pleasure came from being with good friends, sharing a few good laughs and dancing her heart out at the back of the stage. She never desired the lead role, but standing inside the restaurant, heart in her mouth, she realized she owned center stage.

I think I may vomit.

“Good evening.” The hostess approached in a cloud of Chanel No 5. The scent irritated Pepper’s nostrils, but she did her best to ignore it.

“Hello, I’m meeting someone—Finn Mikelson?” She managed to project confidence into the words. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“He asked for a table for one.” Skepticism mingled with disdain in the hostess’s face. She could have been one of the Fae—she certainly exuded the air of arrogant superiority. Most of the Fae looked down their noses at humans, even humans working at the Arcana Royale.

A taller man with a darker, infinitely more dangerous air pushed past the hostess. “Right this way, Miss Kirk.” His dark eyes betrayed no hint of amusement. He obviously held a high place in the power structure, because the hostess deferred to him without a hint of argument.

Rumor held that the Palo was designed after an elegant ballroom of the Palace of Versailles. Golden tiles decorated the floors, gilded ivory columns stretched up to the ceiling and every square inch of the walls were decorated in murals ranging from the mythological to the modern. Even the ceiling seemed to be a nod to a twisted Michelangelo fresco. Thankfully, over thirty years on the stage worked for Pepper. She fought the urge to gape and followed the man through the restaurant like she belonged there.

She got her first glimpse of the target as they circled around one of the center columns. He sat at a two-seater table next to a large picture window overlooking the ever-evolving strip. Finn Mikelson glanced up. His attention struck her like a physical blow. The picture she’d seen didn’t do him justice. Nor did it hint at his impressive height.

Suspicion darkened his eyes as he rose and the waiter added a place setting for her. For one horrible moment, she thought he would call her out on joining him uninvited. He didn’t.
 

Sharp assessment rippled through his gaze as he looked from her to the waiter to the table and back again. Instead of challenging her, however, he merely waited. It made her nerves worse than if he’d objected. Maybe that was the point. The host held out the chair and Pepper glided forward to take a seat.

“Would you care for a glass of wine, miss?”
 

She smoothed the copper skirt and crossed one leg over the other. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

Nodding, the host excused himself. Mikelson sat back again and settled his napkin across his lap. “Good evening.”

“Hello.”
 

A waiter returned with a glass of red wine. It wasn’t her favorite…it didn’t even make the list. But she wasn’t here to have a good time. Another waiter came by to deliver a small plate of canapés. They swept in and out, not even giving them a courtesy conversation to delay the moment she’d have to explain why she’d joined him.
 

“Can I help you?” Mikelson’s bemused question only increased the nervous jangling wracking through her system.

“I hope so. My name is Pepper.” She extended her hand and they shook. His fingers were long, well-formed and very strong. The heat of his skin was an unexpected treat, but once he held her hand, he didn’t let it go.

“Pepper what?”

With a light tug, she pulled free. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. I told the head waiter I was your sister. I heard you write some terrific romance novels.” The first step to avoiding a question was to not even accept the premise of it. Plowing on, she picked up her wine glass. “You can’t imagine my delight when I heard you were coming to the conference this weekend. It’s a dream come true.”

She was uncertain of where the words came from, but she went with it. Winging it had never been her strong suit. Heidi had promised to help her—maybe this had been what she meant.

Quiet disbelief etched into the man’s face. “You think I’m a romance author?”
 

Pepper leaned forward, lowering her voice confidentially. “An
erotic
romance author. It’s okay.” She wrinkled her nose and pressed a finger to her lips. “I can keep a secret.”

Finn expected the Overseers to make a move, and seduction was certainly one of their options, but the arrival of a southern goddess during his meal caught him off guard. She thought he was a romance author? Hardly the play he would have called.

Uncertain of whether to be amused or insulted, he decided to adapt to the situation. They wanted to distract him—fine. Two could play that game. “I’m afraid you have me mistaken for someone else.” He delivered the line with a sidelong glance around. He could easily monitor the room without making a show of it, but playing it off like this allowed even the most novice of observers to notice.

“Well, I can certainly understand your reluctance and I assure you, I don’t mind at all. Please forgive my enthusiasm, but meeting Virginia DeWylde—it’s like a dream come true.” Her hazel eyes lit up. Her smile captivated him, but he shrugged off the instant attraction. She was a shill if there ever was one. “I adored
Unchained Lust
and
Hearts in Handcuffs
.”

What the hell…?
“I’m not entirely sure why you’re assuming I’m this author…” He paused as the waiter delivered the salads and swept away their appetizer plates. He would have preferred a menu, but access to the exclusive restaurant let him get eyes on the casino’s whales. He’d already spotted Jonathon Winchester and his “business” partner, Sam Lyman. Secretly photographing a half-dozen other candidates with the micro-camera in his watch, he’d run them through facial recognition when he returned to his room. Everyone had a role to play, and he planned to keep up his end of the charade—until he found out exactly what happened here. Marguerite DuBois had many enemies. Too many.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret. I’ve just never had the pleasure of meeting an author before.” She set her wine glass away from her and used her fork to spear a leaf of lettuce.

What possible purpose could mistaken identity serve? The woman insisted on this ridiculous charade. But sometimes leads came from the most unlikely of places. “I appreciate that. Though no ruse is necessary.” At least not that one.

She checked the immediate surroundings and leaned forward. “Not even with the conference?”

“By that logic, most of the people in this room could be authors.” Maybe she would see the ludicrous nature of her cover story. The smile flirting with the corners of her mouth was uncomfortably provocative.

She straightened in her seat and swung her glance around the room with hopeful speculation. “Do you know which ones?”

His resolve wavered. Leaning forward, he studied her. Her eyes were a soft shade of hazel, but flecked with gold like a quartz or agate.
Oh what the hell…
“What kind of books do you like?”

“Suspense—I like mysteries. Passionate mysteries.” Color warmed her cheeks.
Embarrassment or excitement?

“Okay.” Finn sat back, ignoring the waiter who delivered the meal. He took his time, scanning the other patrons. “Mystery writers, even romantic mystery writers are arrogant. They pay attention to everything around them, because they are looking for subtext in any interaction.” A couple four tables away caught his attention. The woman spoke animatedly, but her table partner kept watching another couple—a pair who argued throughout their meal.

“Her.” He pointed with his fork and turned his attention to the steak. Pepper twisted in the chair to study the woman.

“Why do you think it’s her?”

“Look at her watching the other couple. She’s writing dialogue in her mind. She’s dreaming up conspiracy theories.” Adding some olive oil to a small plate at his right, he tore off a chunk of bread. “The couple are arguing in a very strained whisper. You can hear the tempo of disagreement, but none of the words. They are careful to keep their attention on each other, but they are very aware of the room around them. They don’t want to be overhead. So the question the author asks herself is what do they have to hide?”

Pepper shook her head. “That’s just wild speculation.”

“Exactly, and since her friend isn’t shutting up, why is that other woman so interested? One theory is that she is contemplating how to write them into a book.” Finn shrugged. “Another is that she just plain rude and nosy.”
 

“Do another one.” Pepper accepted a new napkin from the waiter and continued to cut her steak into small sections. Not a vegetarian. He approved.

“What are you looking for now?”

“Someone who isn’t what they appear to be.” The quiet rapture in her expression captivated him.

“That would cover just about everyone here, so that is too simple a question to answer…or maybe it’s too complex.”

Her lips rubbed together, a hint of friction with each bite she took. The slip of her tongue to catch juice escaping over her bottom lip sent a rush of adrenaline through him. “That’s pretty cynical.” A frown wrinkled her delicate brow.

“Is it?” He sipped water rather than wine, preferring to keep his wits about him. “Every interaction, no matter how banal, contains subtext. The man who wants to impress his boss, the wife who wants to capture her husband’s attention, the lover seeking a like mind—the fan who wants to dine with her hero.” He fixed his gaze on her.
And what secrets are you concealing, Pepper?

She stopped chewing.

“Everyone has something to hide.” He held her attention, refusing to look away. “Reactions tell you a lot about a person. It’s a misnomer that honest people won’t look away, for example, if they’re being questioned. An honest person can tell the truth as they know it, and still seem to lie because they experience guilt, suspicion or even rage. A liar is less likely to look away, because they have a truth to protect.”

Pepper gave up the staring contest to look at her food, and swallowed hard. The corner of Finn’s mouth curved. Her valiant effort defeated by one logical suggestion.

“For example, someone glancing at our table might believe I offended you while you tried to lure my attention with simple beauty and open affection. Or perhaps that you were disappointed by my disreputable appearance and lack of forethought in shaving before sitting down in such an exclusive bistro.” Not that the steak was much of a meal, at a mere four ounces. He’d devoured it along with the few crisp vegetables, while Pepper had barely touched her food.

Instead of answering, she picked up her wine glass and drained it in two swift gulps. Her hand trembled. He wanted to take pity on her, but she invited herself to his table and tried to sell him a line of babble about being a romance author. She was out of her depth.

“Of course, you have no ulterior motive or hidden agenda,” he said, smiling. “You’re simply dining with the person you believe wrote a series of erotic romance novels. Yet, you haven’t pulled out a single book for an autograph or asked me any questions about the characters.” Picking apart her story was so easy he felt a bit like a bully.

“Maybe I should go.”

“Maybe you should.” He nodded agreeably. “But I would rather you didn’t.”

He wasn’t sure who was more surprised by his invitation. Shock widened her eyes and she chewed the inside of her cheek. A nervous tick if he ever saw one. “Why?” She abandoned artifice with a single word.