camera feeds to look for his crew. “Fuck him and get it over with.”
Because having sex with the firm-assed young man was going to somehow stop the damned red ball from appearing under his feet whenever he left it someplace other than his pocket or on the nightstand.
He took the ball out of his jacket pocket, bouncing it against the ballroom’s marble floor. It made a snick sound, then another as he tossed it against one of the silk-covered walls. It hit and neatly ricocheted off, bouncing right back into Wolf’s open hand. There was some small, niggling sense of satisfaction in seeing a mark on the silk wallpaper, but that only lasted a few moments before he got to his feet to wipe it off.
“That fucking son of a bitch.” Gidget slammed through the ballroom, stomping toward the equipment setup. Skidding to a stop, she stared at the stacked bins Wolf had dragged in. Bedraggled was the best word Wolf could use to describe his electronics technician. She was sopping wet, her once spotless sundress soaked down with a strawberry Jell-O stain from the temporary color she put in her hair. The puddles she left behind were pink-speckled, and Wolf sighed, wondering where he could find a mop in the Grange’s massive kitchen.
“What happened?” He really didn’t want to know, especially when Matt came through the open doors, hot on Gidget’s heels and, if possible, even more drenched than his girlfriend. Gidget’s face got hard when she spotted Matt, and her chest heaved as she took a long breath, obviously filling her lungs for a good scream. Wolf stepped between them, holding his hands up. “Stop. I’m only going to say this once. When the two of you hooked up, you promised that your relationship wouldn’t impact the job. So I’m going to have to ask, is that what’s going on now? Because if it is, then you both need to take a step back and deal with this because I’m not having it in front of me. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Matt murmured. Gidget said nothing but nodded, dropping her eyes to the floor, abashed.
“I don’t hear you, Gidge,” Wolf pressed.
“Yeah, boss,” she replied softly.
“Now, one of you go get a mop and clean up this floor. You tracked it in, you get rid of it.” Wolf stabbed at the table behind them. “Then dry off and get that stuff hooked up. If you’ve got time to deal with whatever you’ve got going on between you, then good. If not, then make sure it’s done by the time we sit our asses in those chairs tonight to do our jobs. Got it?”
They both nodded, eyeing one another over the ocean of pink-and-clear puddles they’d smeared over the ballroom. Matt cleared his throat. “Um, what are you going to be doing?”
“I’m going to find our host.” Wolf squeezed the red ball in his hand. “He and I have a few things we need to work out.”
T HE DARKNESS was troubling. As Tristan stared out at the garden from his apartment, he watched shadows lengthen, a sheer impossibility considering the encroaching moonless night, but there they were, moving and writhing about the paths as if alive and seeking something to feed on. So far, the house seemed quiet, untouched by the fingerlings of darkness outside, but he wondered for how long and, more importantly, how the hell was he going to stop them?
Situated behind the kitchen and running along the length of the wing, his library was a hodgepodge of books, furniture, and artifacts culled from Uncle Mortimer’s travels before he settled into Hoxne Grange. Picked out mostly from his uncle’s hoard in the attic, Tristan found a soft comfort in the ancient, worn furniture, settling into a tapestry couch someone had dragged over from England during the house’s glory days. It was a fantastical piece, long enough for him to stretch out on if he wanted, but mostly, he curled up into its corners and pulled pillows up around him, watching the world pass by him through the Grange’s broad windows.
Now he wished he could
Because having sex with the firm-assed young man was going to somehow stop the damned red ball from appearing under his feet whenever he left it someplace other than his pocket or on the nightstand.
He took the ball out of his jacket pocket, bouncing it against the ballroom’s marble floor. It made a snick sound, then another as he tossed it against one of the silk-covered walls. It hit and neatly ricocheted off, bouncing right back into Wolf’s open hand. There was some small, niggling sense of satisfaction in seeing a mark on the silk wallpaper, but that only lasted a few moments before he got to his feet to wipe it off.
“That fucking son of a bitch.” Gidget slammed through the ballroom, stomping toward the equipment setup. Skidding to a stop, she stared at the stacked bins Wolf had dragged in. Bedraggled was the best word Wolf could use to describe his electronics technician. She was sopping wet, her once spotless sundress soaked down with a strawberry Jell-O stain from the temporary color she put in her hair. The puddles she left behind were pink-speckled, and Wolf sighed, wondering where he could find a mop in the Grange’s massive kitchen.
“What happened?” He really didn’t want to know, especially when Matt came through the open doors, hot on Gidget’s heels and, if possible, even more drenched than his girlfriend. Gidget’s face got hard when she spotted Matt, and her chest heaved as she took a long breath, obviously filling her lungs for a good scream. Wolf stepped between them, holding his hands up. “Stop. I’m only going to say this once. When the two of you hooked up, you promised that your relationship wouldn’t impact the job. So I’m going to have to ask, is that what’s going on now? Because if it is, then you both need to take a step back and deal with this because I’m not having it in front of me. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Matt murmured. Gidget said nothing but nodded, dropping her eyes to the floor, abashed.
“I don’t hear you, Gidge,” Wolf pressed.
“Yeah, boss,” she replied softly.
“Now, one of you go get a mop and clean up this floor. You tracked it in, you get rid of it.” Wolf stabbed at the table behind them. “Then dry off and get that stuff hooked up. If you’ve got time to deal with whatever you’ve got going on between you, then good. If not, then make sure it’s done by the time we sit our asses in those chairs tonight to do our jobs. Got it?”
They both nodded, eyeing one another over the ocean of pink-and-clear puddles they’d smeared over the ballroom. Matt cleared his throat. “Um, what are you going to be doing?”
“I’m going to find our host.” Wolf squeezed the red ball in his hand. “He and I have a few things we need to work out.”
T HE DARKNESS was troubling. As Tristan stared out at the garden from his apartment, he watched shadows lengthen, a sheer impossibility considering the encroaching moonless night, but there they were, moving and writhing about the paths as if alive and seeking something to feed on. So far, the house seemed quiet, untouched by the fingerlings of darkness outside, but he wondered for how long and, more importantly, how the hell was he going to stop them?
Situated behind the kitchen and running along the length of the wing, his library was a hodgepodge of books, furniture, and artifacts culled from Uncle Mortimer’s travels before he settled into Hoxne Grange. Picked out mostly from his uncle’s hoard in the attic, Tristan found a soft comfort in the ancient, worn furniture, settling into a tapestry couch someone had dragged over from England during the house’s glory days. It was a fantastical piece, long enough for him to stretch out on if he wanted, but mostly, he curled up into its corners and pulled pillows up around him, watching the world pass by him through the Grange’s broad windows.
Now he wished he could
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