A car wasn’t just hard to track on a road; on the number 1 Trans-Canada Highway it was impossible. Why hadn’t Angie driven the whole distance? Because that would make it too easy to follow her in a car. Why couldn’t Angie be stupid? Good looks should come at a cost.
I huffed and sat down, unsure of how to proceed. The idea of becoming Highway 1’s next road kill victim was not pleasant or motivating and I still didn’t know if Angie and the Wereleopards were connected to Landen’s death or my orders, meaning I might be wasting my dwindling time and risking my life needlessly.
Wick might know if another Vampire horde stayed in town. I just had to ask him, but that meant trusting him as well. Nope. Not happening. I’d have to find out on my own.
The sun, a little passed its zenith, meant a few more hours of daylight, and one less day to figure out what The Purge was going on.
Out of sight from the norms, I changed to my falcon again and flew over the honking, bumper-to-bumper vehicles filled with cursing, road-raging drivers, before making my way back to the wolf den. Maybe I’d be lucky to make it to my room without running into Wick. I practically fled the house this morning in an attempt to avoid him.
Maybe he’d still be at work.
What did he do all day?
Careening sharply to the left, I narrowly avoided hitting a telephone pole. I couldn’t believe I didn’t know what Wick did for a living. I’d assumed he did Lucien’s bidding, but that wouldn’t pay the bills or explain why he was away during the day, every day. He had a job. He worked. And I had no idea where.
Why didn’t I realize this sooner?
In my defense, I did have other, more pressing things on my mind—like escaping Wick’s house, then surviving Lucien and now finding Landen’s real employer to escape Clint. All the escaping in my life consumed a lot of energy and apparently my attention to detail.
Approaching the house I decided asking Wick about his career path would have to wait, because I needed to avoid him at all costs. He wouldn’t approve of my plan to go information digging in a Vampire bar—if he saw me in a vamp-tramp outfit, there was no way his possessive alpha instincts would let me out of the house.
****
The image reflecting from the mirror made me smile and come to the conclusion I’d missed my true calling in life. If I could ignore my heightened sense of smell and the stench of Vampires, I could’ve been arm candy for one. The style of their ‘lady friends’ suited me. The tight leather pants, corset and knee high-boots screamed working professional, or at least skank, in the norm world, but I didn’t plan to go to a norm bar.
One of my biggest guilty pleasures was to dress up like this, and no woman could truly deny her inner vixen when she had a chance to let her out—what else explained why sweet reserved girls dressed up in slutty attires every Halloween? Any opportunity to scout a target in a Vampire bar, I’d take it. I couldn’t bring myself to wear this kind of crap on a regular basis—it screamed trying too hard. Besides, leather was difficult to get off in a rush, especially with sweat involved. And who didn’t sweat in head-to-toe leather?
Demons, my brain answered. Demons didn’t sweat.
The clothes I usually wore allowed movement and ripped easily. Not tonight. I banked on getting through the evening without the need to shift. I had to be on my best behaviour.
My muscles quivered as my stomach rolled. Best behaviour? Who did I kid? I seldom prayed to the beast Goddess, Feradea, but I took a moment to do so. I needed all the help I could get.
Opening the doorway a crack, I made sure the hallway was clear. Wick paced and mumbled in his room and I sensed no one downstairs.
This is your chance.
I slunk down the stairs and picked my purse up on the way to the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Wick’s voice boomed behind me.
I stopped in my tracks.
“Well?” he said. I imagined him crossing his arms.
Slowly turning to face him, I discovered I was right. “Last time I checked, it was no business of yours.”
His eyebrows rose as he took in my outfit. Then his muscles tensed. With flushed cheeks and twitching fists, he looked torn between being turned on and angry. I had that effect on him.
“If you start bringing customers to my house, it will be.” His mouth quirked.
“Are you implying that I look like a prostitute?”
“Are you arguing you don’t?”
Opening my purse, I dug around for the car keys as an excuse to break eye contact. “There’s a fine line between a high class escort…” I paused and dared him to suggest I could look like another kind of working class woman. “And a vamp-tramp.”