I begged to differ, but I kept my mouth shut.
The effect wasn’t even spoiled when Mina tottered over the gravel. Clearly, she had more practice in work boots than heels.
“If I break an ankle in these things, I’m blaming Roux,” she grumbled.
He frowned. “How is everything always my fault?”
Bene thumped him on the back. “Because you’re in charge, champ.”
Roux ran a hand through his hair, but Delphine fixed it on her way to glueing herself to Henrik’s side. “Remember, you have to look the part. Both of you.”
That was my only consolation. I didn’t get to go into this mission as Mina’s date, but I didn’t have to wear a tux either.
Still, the flesh-toned parts of Mina’s dress made me look twice, and I didn’t relish her flashing that much skin — or pseudo-skin — to anyone, least of all a vampire.
“Dammit, this thing is giving me a wedgie,” Mina groused, plucking at the back of her dress.
Bene waggled his eyebrows. “Want me to help?”
“Not a chance, buster.”
She glanced at me next, then looked away just as quickly. Still, my groin ached.
“All right, already. Time to review and make sure everyone’s got the last details.” Roux set his hands on the paper-strewn table and began his final briefing.
It was hard to focus, but when I reminded myself Mina’s life could be on the line… Well, I was all ears.
Chapter Twenty-Two
MINA
“Not the time for second thoughts,” Henrik hissed, looming over the limo door. Beyond him, party lights sparkled and guests chatted.
I clutched my ridiculously overpriced purse, harboring not just second but third, fourth, and fifth thoughts. Not that I had much choice now.
I did my best to slide, not trip, out of the limo — one that had picked us up at a pricey hotel, not our base at thefinca, in order to better cover our trail. Henrik reached down, helping me out with his cold, clammy vampire hand.
My skin crawled, but I forced myself to wind my arm through his.
For Dad, I told myself.For art lovers everywhere.
I teetered on my heels, grimacing. Plan B — making a run for it — was definitely out.
I pasted on a smile, lifted the hem of my dress, and followed Henrik up the stairs of the imposing villa.
Prudence told me to focus on the marble stairs, becausedeath by high heelswas a distinct possibility. But the villa was practically a palace, all glass planes and sleek lines, and I couldn’t help gaping at the stunning clifftop views. The setting sun cast glittering orange and red lines over the Mediterranean.The clear, clean notes of a string quartet drifted skyward, welcoming guests to the party.
It ought to have been beautiful, but all I felt was foreboding.
Henrik mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, “Focus. It’s showtime.”
Showtimewas right, with everyone dressed like they’d come straight from the Oscars — including whoever had arrived in the helicopter standing on a pad at the far end of the property.
Dressed to kill,I reminded myself. According to Roux, the guest list included arms dealers, mafia bosses, and crooked politicians.
“Welcome, welcome,” the man at the top of the stairs greeted the couple ahead of us.
Ronald Baumann, I presumed. Roux’s photos were a little dated, but otherwise on the money.
