Kissed by Ice(8)

"No worries, my dear," Drago said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "You have been incredibly helpful. We will simply have to meet up with Eddie later. Come along, sister." With a little wave at the desk clerk, he ushered me back onto the elevator.

"How exactly was she helpful?" I hissed. "And does your wife know you're a mad flirt?"

"She won't if you don't tell her," Drago said. "Besides, it was for a good cause. When the girl dialed, I saw the room number."

I grinned. "I guess you're not just a pretty face after all."

"Be careful, or my wife will kick your ass."





Chapter Three



We found Eddie's room without much problem, and Drago "convinced" the reluctant steward to let us in. Probably he could have broken down the door just as easily, but it would have left a mess. The room was empty, and there was no sign of Eddie, only a vast amount of cravats and linen shirts littering the small space.

"Looks like the place was tossed," Drago growled.

"Uh, no. This is just Eddie. He's not exactly organized."

"Huh." He prowled the small space as if looking for clues or maybe trying to pick up a scent.

I turned to the steward, who was still dithering in the doorway. He looked like he wasn't sure whether to call security or run for his life. "Do you know where Eddie is?" I asked him.

He shook his head so hard, his glasses nearly slid off his nose. "No, ma'am. I haven't seen Mr. Mulligan in the last two days."

My eyebrows went up. "And you didn't think to tell anyone?"

"Ah, no, ma'am. You see, it's not unusual for guests not to sleep in their, ah, quarters." His tone was one of imparting a delicate piece of information. It took me a moment to get it.

"You think Eddie is shacked up with some steampunk chick?" I almost laughed at the thought. And then I remembered the crowd of women around him the last time I'd been to one of his steampunk events. Like bees to honey. Maybe it wasn't so crazy. "He never said where'd he be?"

"Madam. I am not in the habit of keeping tabs on our guests." He tugged on his uniform and gave a supercilious sniff. "Except, of course, when it concerns the execution of my duties."

"Listen," I said, stepping right up into his personal space. I could smell garlic on his breath. I was half tempted to offer him a mint. "Eddie called me. He said there was a problem. Something about death."

I watched him closely, but other than paling slightly as one would expect when death is mentioned, there was no other reaction. "Madam. There have been no deaths aboard that I am aware of, and certainly Mr. Mulligan would be in no danger aboard our ship." There was a hint of pride in his voice, as if this ship were superior to all other ships in the matter of passenger safety. He looked me up and down. "I cannot imagine why Mr. Mulligan would have called you. Perhaps it was his idea of a joke."

That did it. I clenched my hands into fists and started to open my mouth, but Drago caught my arm before I could let the jackass have it. "Thank you. You've been very helpful," Drago said, interrupting my pending tirade. He handed the steward a folded bill. It looked like maybe a twenty-pound note.

"Certainly, sir." The steward snatched the note and shoved it into his jacket pocket. He gave Drago a nod, me a suspicious glare, and ushered us both from the room before locking the door.

"Are there any major events today?" Drago asked.

"Major events, sir?"

"Steampunk events. Parties and whatnot."

The steward smiled. "Why, yes, sir. There is currently a costume contest. If you would come with me, I will happily give you the location."

After getting directions from the steward, Drago and I took another silent ride on the elevator. As we stepped off the elevator car, half a dozen people dressed in various states of steampunkery crowded in after us. One man wore a top hat so tall, I wondered he could get it through the elevator doors.

"We must be close," I muttered.

Drago lifted an eye brow and kept walking.

At the door to the function room, we were stopped by an overlarge man in a cowboy outfit complete with Stetson and shit-kicker boots. Only instead of a six-shooter, he had a brass and copper ray gun.

"Sorry. You're not dressed," he said, stepping in front of us. He stared us down. Well, he stared down at me, but Drago topped him by at least four inches.

"Excuse me?" I said.

"No one gets in unless they're dressed in steampunk." He said it slowly, like he thought I might be an idiot.

"Seriously?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and gave me a stern glare. With a sigh I whipped one of my knives out of the wrist sheath and held it about two inches from his nose.