Deathtrap (Crossbreed #3)(6)
A blush touched Gem’s alabaster cheeks. “Moi? I’d never do anything inappropriate.”
Gem liked snooping, and I could only imagine the temptation in a mansion like Patrick’s, which we’d all admired firsthand.
Wyatt pointed at me. “So that leaves you.”
I tugged at my sleeve. “Do I need to get dressed up for this?”
Wyatt chuckled. “A private dinner is rarely black-tie. Just avoid leather.”
“What about Shepherd? He wears that leather coat everywhere we go.”
“You can bet your bottom dollar he won’t this time. Viktor will probably handpick his outfit to make sure he doesn’t look fresh out of prison. I bet Viktor’s quietly freaking out over all this. If Patrick starts asking questions about Keystone, change the subject. Guys like him love getting the inside scoop. It makes them feel all powerful and shit.”
“Well, he’s not scooping anything out of me.”
“On that note, better avoid alcohol. I know how you love your wine, but—”
“No vino, no fun-o.”
Wyatt laughed. “Be sure to take pictures.”
Chapter 3
“I must be crazy for letting Gem talk me into this.” I stared up at Claude, who hovered over me with a hungry look in his eyes.
The kind of look a hairdresser gives when they see a head of long hair walk into their salon.
He continued spraying a stream of water through my hair and massaging my scalp with his other hand. It felt so good that I’d almost forgotten about the cold sink pressing against my neck. Claude had the gaze of a savage lion, his golden eyes rimmed in black. “It’s about time you checked out my salon. Razor Sharp is where the magic happens.”
“So this is what you do all day to fight crime?”
Claude gave a tight-lipped smile and continued the sensual massage. There was no denying the man had magic fingers.
That afternoon, Gem had decided to get a touch-up on her roots. Claude could have done her hair at home, but I gathered she liked the attention he lavished on her in front of all those women, who wanted him for themselves. I also suspected that she and Claude had ulterior motives to talk me into chopping and dying my raven-black hair.
Claude had a fascinating operation. He owned the salon and mostly booked preapproved clients. He didn’t go so far as to do full background checks, but he made sure everyone was either an elite member of society or obscenely rich. At the end of the day, if he didn’t hear any juicy gossip that might link to a case, at least he received a generous tip. Most people were careless enough to speak freely in his presence, assuming he was no different from hired help who kept secrets. Especially when they would invite him to their house for a private appointment. Claude said the upper class was like that, and servants were privy to some of the greatest secrets in history.
But Claude was no servant. He stood at six and a half feet tall and looked more like a cross between a Viking and Adonis, with sexy curls of blond hair and sensual lips that were made for exploring a woman’s body. Whenever he’d lick those lips, women would fan themselves. Claude was as Chitah as they came, evident in the way he moved with feline grace and the way his eyes hooded when staring at people. Sometimes he growled and made other catlike sounds that could make a person’s hair stand on end.
I’d seen that behavior toward him in clubs. Except here in his salon, they had to abide by his rules. So they sat obediently in their chairs, black capes fastened around their necks while they watched his every move. Claude could make combing hair look sexy.
He only hired women to work in his salon, which was clever since it never took attention away from him. That allowed him to get close to almost any customer he wanted.
I peered up. “Don’t chop it all off. I know how you guys love to turn two inches into seven.”
Claude stirred with laughter. “Actually, it’s eight. But don’t tell anyone.”
He led me to my chair and lowered the headrest as I got situated. Then he excused himself to check on Gem, who was seated farther down to the left.
“Complete makeover or just a touch-up?”
I swung my gaze toward the man sitting to my right, his medium-length hair covered in foil at the ends. “Would you believe me if I said I just came in here to get my hair washed?”
Still staring ahead in the mirror, he replied, “Only if you believe I’m dying the tips of my hair pink.”
I played with a strand of wet hair. “I’m going to a dinner at some big shot’s house, so they want to polish me up.”
“They?”
“My boss.”
He closed his eyes. “You didn’t strike me as a woman who does what she’s told. Guess I was wrong.”
“Do I know you?”
He chuckled quietly. “I hope your hairdresser doesn’t cut off too much.”
I slouched in my chair, having second thoughts about all this. It was a ridiculous idea, but my black hair was part of my identity. Chopping it off or dying it would make me feel like an imposter.
“Take my advice,” he continued. “Be your own boss in life. Once you get rid of people dictating how you should live, the world is your oyster.”
Claude returned and began soaking up the ends of my hair with a towel.