Page 53 of Fire Dancer

I lifted the box onto my shoulder and headed for the door, where I paused.

Little Miss Clicky paused too, waiting for me to hold the door open for her. Never mind that my hands were full and hers were not.

I balanced the box with one hand and opened the door with the other, letting Clicky march through. And, whoa. Did she bathe in Chanel No. 5? The odor was so intense, I nearly sneezed.

Pippa stuck her hands on her hips, but I didn’t have time to explain.

The driver must have hit a button, because the trunk opened. I leaned as far in as I dared, keeping my face behind the box. The musky scent of bear shifter enveloped me, along with pine cleaner, and I nearly sneezed. Bear shifter, pine cleaner, and something else…but it was hard to smell anything over the reek of Clicky’s perfume.

There was nothing else in that squeaky-clean trunk. The tires and underbody were just as spotless, but whoever had scrubbed it had missed a spot of orange dust by the rear light. Dust like the ground around Gunnery Point?

I peeked at the driver out of the corner of my eye. He was a big guy — weight-lifter big, but so were most bear shifters — with a buzz cut and a dark suit. I could feel his eyes on me via the rearview mirror.

The woman hadn’t lifted a finger the whole time, but now, she stuck a hand on the raised hatch and canted her hips to show off her curves.

Her voice was an inviting purr. “Nice of you to help, Mr.…”

“Anytime.” I forced a tight smile and opened the back door for her, keeping my back to the driver while I scanned the interior. Nothing there apart from a couple of shopping bags — the luxury kind with fancy handles and embossed print.

I held the door a little wider to prevent Miss Clicky from brushing against me on the way in. I wasn’t sure whether she was going for a cheap thrill or if she’d been trained to take away a hint of my scent, but I wasn’t keen on either.

Once seated, she opened her mouth to speak, but I slammed the door before she could and marched back into the shop.

Outside, the SUV rolled away as silently — and ominously — as it had come.

I kept my back turned for five full seconds, then went to the window to check the license plate.

Yep. Same plate, same SUV. Same driver, I would bet. So, where was Stacy?

“Did you have to be so helpful?” Pippa grumbled.

“Believe me, it was just an excuse to have a look at the car.”

“Oh,” Pippa said, deflating. “And?”

“It’s the same vehicle Stacy rode in. Same driver. Same vehicle we saw exiting La Puebla, too.”

She nodded, uneasy.

I stepped to her side, and together, we studied the invoice the woman had signed.

Pippa turned it this way and that, but the scribble might as well have been secret code.

“Deirdre somebody,” Pippa tried.

At least the rest had been preprinted on the invoice.TTC Limited.

I looked at the order section of the invoice. “Fifty vials? What kind of vials?”

Pippa rooted in a drawer and held up two small tubes. “Love vials. Couples get them to fill with…” She trailed off, going pale.

I frowned. “Filled with what?”

Her throat bobbed, and she looked in the direction the SUV had gone. “Blood.”

Every alarm in my mind began to whoop.

“Blood?”