He seemed amused at that. "Interrogator? Yes. Investigator? No." His voice lowered a notch. "You do not handle the case. I do. You get them alone later and you question them. But for now, you don't talk."

"You're an a.s.s."

He didn't react. Stone-cold Luke this one was.

At least he knew what he was doing. According to what Finnegan had told me this afternoon, Lucien Mead was one of the Vampire Council's top guys. They brought him in to handle tough cases like this-at least ones that could result in war. I had no problem following his lead-as long as he didn't force it.

I wrangled halfway through the s.p.a.ce between the two front seats to get a better look at the doom that lay straight ahead. Oh my G.o.d, they had mint tins.

"You are here to be pretty. You are here to be vapid."

I slammed back into the seat next to him. "Oh yes. Like the time I was too busy painting my nails to wrestle down a banshee and force him to give up the rest of the murdering horde."

"Heather-" Lucien leveled an icy gaze at me.

"Lay off the tall, blond, and frigid act. I've got enough problems." I rubbed at my eyes, leaving a sparkly blue eye shadow streak on the back of my hand. Great, just great. I wiped it on the back of my dress where no one would see.

"Think before you act." He planted a hand on the seat back behind me. "You are the only one who can learn the truth and prevent this war."

Oh yeah. No pressure there.

He had this whole calm and collected investigator persona down pat. But I was an interrogator. And I was good at my job precisely because I was willing to do whatever it took.

Like pretend to sleep with a vampire.

"Drive casually," Lucien said to the driver as we drew near the crowd.

"No problem, boss." The ponytailed driver eased us between two party rental trucks.

"He's staying in the car, right?" The guy looked like he should be working as a bouncer at a nightclub instead of driving a pair of pretend socialites. He also needed a shave.

The driver c.o.c.ked his head toward me, silver rings piercing his right eyebrow and a black spike earring dangling from his left lobe. "His name is Vinny," he drawled with an unmistakable New Jersey tw.a.n.g, "and you bet your a.s.s I'm getting out."

"Vinny is my daytime eyes and ears," Lucien explained.

"Vinny would never even make it through a metal detector."

"Oh yeah? Fine." Vinny turned around and I about fell over as his hair shimmered from jet-black to white. Not only that, it shortened into a close-clipped haircut.

The scent of wood and gra.s.s filled the car. "What the-" I watched Vinny's hands on the wheel age right in front of my eyes. His black T-shirt morphed into a silver suit jacket. His scraggly near-beard faded. By the time we parked, he looked like Jeeves the butler.

"Satisfied?" Vinny asked, with the same rough Jersey accent. Hardly. "What are you?"

The old butler grinned back at me. "I'm special."

No kidding.

"Stop showing off," Lucien said, as Vinny got out of the car to come open our door.

I didn't know what to think-about Vinny or Lucien or this entire situation.

"One question," I said, as we watched Vinny circle around the front.

I knew all about my role in this-and I had the lipstick on my teeth to prove it. But I sure as h.e.l.l didn't know what Lucien the super cop was up to-or what he wanted. What did the council care if the vampires slaughtered a pack of wolves?

Lucien closed his hand over mine as Vinny made a great show of standing by the door, preparing to open it. "Why are you two doing this?"

Lucien gave me a quick squeeze. "Because you'll never set foot outside if you see the karaoke machine."

"Call the guard, the vampire made a joke."

"Heather"-he looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time-"I'm here because I want to know the truth," he said, a determined slant to his jaw, "just like you."

Vinny opened the door. Jazz piano music flooded in. From the middle of the street at ten o'clock at night. This was weirder than that coven of narcoleptic werebats we busted a while back.

Lucien stood outside the car, his hand extended to help me. His grip was firm and left no room to wrangle.

Deep breath. This was a special a.s.signment, an important one that only I could do. I didn't want to let my Alpha down.

Lucien took my hand once more, his grip cool and strong. "Relax. You'll do great."

"I know," I said. I'd never been so plucked, sprayed, and manicured in my life. I'd fit in. We'd find the Predators. We'd get to the bottom of this.

A brunette with a heart-shaped face and a sleek red sundress sauntered toward us on ice pick heels. "Mitzy, Luke!" she exclaimed. "Look everybody, the Dukes have arrived!"

I turned to him. "Luke Duke? You've got to be kidding."

He squeezed my hand. "Don't talk."

The waif-like woman stopped in front of us and smirked. "Nice earrings."

My stomach lurched. There was nothing wrong with my red hoop earrings. I'd matched them to my shoes.

"I'm Francine Sharp," she continued, as if she hadn't just insulted me, "head of the welcoming committee."

And a Predator. This was shaping up nicely.

Francine was also a werevulture from the smell of it. She fingered the gold locket at her neck, openly eyeing my fake husband.

"A pleasure," Lucien said, kissing her delicate hand.

I waited for her reaction. Was she sleeping with dear departed Sunny's husband? Or would she be open to Lucien's attentions? I couldn't wait to get her alone to ask.

Only she'd stopped eyeing him and had turned her sharp gaze on me.

A warm flush began in my stomach and heated me all the way up to my cheeks. Yes, I was being scrutinized. I'd prepared for that. But I didn't like standing here being submissive.

I wanted to jump, holler, scream. Anything.

Instead I said, "That's a pretty necklace."

"It's Bvlgari."

"What?" I asked.

She pursed her lips together. "Exactly."

I had the distinct impression I'd done something wrong, but I had no clue what. I mean, who names a necklace?

Lucien leaned close enough to whisper loving encouragement into my ear. "Keep your mouth shut."

Too late.

I fought the urge to snarl.

The werevulture tilted her head. "Where are you from?"

I tried to think of somewhere both exotic and cosmopolitan. "East of here," I said, mimicking Francine's head tilt. "Las Vegas," my mouth supplied before my brain could say what?

I wanted to wince, sink into the ground, walk away, and make these people forget they'd ever met me. The entire crowd had stopped talking. For the first time, I noticed everyone surrounding us, staring at me.

I struggled to think of something both vapid and agreeable that would satisfy these trophy wives and their husbands. "I moved to Las Vegas to better myself. You know, to meet guys."

Lucien groaned under his breath.

Oh, the poor vampire was suffering? Well, he could help me out here.

I'd been judged quite enough for one evening.

The air felt heavy as the wall of shifters closed us in. I wanted to bolt. I didn't like crowds, or attention, not to mention being hemmed in on all sides. But I stood my ground. I was a wolf on a mission, even if that meant I was alone in a crowd, teetering on shoes no woman should be forced to wear, holding a purse that could fit a gumdrop.

He'd asked for inane. What else did he expect from a werewolf who'd just had half of her eyebrows yanked out of her head?

He gripped me. Tight. "Now Mitzy, that's not exactly how we met."

"Yeah?" I asked, heart speeding up. "Why don't you tell the story?" Or why didn't he just let me out of here?

This was going bad in a hurry. Every second I spent around these people was making it worse.

It didn't even make sense to talk to the Predators tonight. I needed to question these werewives individually, not in the middle of a game of This Is Your (Undead) Life.

I was about two seconds away from telling this vulture where she could go.

Deep breaths.

She twirled her necklace on one finger, daring me.

That was it. "Why don't you take your Blvgari-"

Lucien hoisted me by one arm. "We're leaving."

"And shove it up your a.s.s." The vampire oofed as my stiletto met his knee. "And you-" I spun toward Lucien the grabby. "Do you want me to tackle you?"

Boy, he looked p.i.s.sed. "We're leaving," he hissed.

"Why? I can take her." The vulture would never screw with me again.

"Now." He grabbed me around the waist.

"Let me down, you cretin!" I seethed, as he carried me like a sack of rice away from the welcoming committee.

CHAPTER 3.

Lucien opened the four paneled door with a snarl. "After you, dear," he said, dumping me into our new home.

"Bite me, bloodsucker."

A wave of cold air slapped me upside the head. The foyer was the size of my entire apartment back home. And I could barely believe it, but there was actual furniture inside the door-a couch and a chair, a statue of a woman with half her clothes falling off, and a large potted palm.

He slammed the door behind us. "What the h.e.l.l was that?"

As if he didn't know. I scrambled to my feet. "I thought I was being vapid," I said sweetly.

"Try again."

"Pretty?"

His eyes raked over me from head to bare toes. "You are something."

"The vulture provoked me." He'd seen it.

Lucien towered over me, glowering. His dress shirt was disheveled, a vein pulsed at his neck, and a lock of blond hair had fallen straight over his left eye. "It doesn't matter. She doesn't matter. You can't let her get you riled up."

"Oh, believe me, you haven't even seen riled." I stood up to him. Eye to chest. "When I can approach her on my terms," on an even playing field, "her a.s.s is mine. I'll learn the truth." He'd seen me in an interrogation room. "Trust me."

"No."

"I don't see that you have a choice."

"Touche," he said dryly.

"Stop it. I don't speak French."