Wickedly Dangerous (Baba Yaga, #1)(16)
“Huh.” Liam looked up at the sprinklers and over toward Belinda, who was being berated by a decidedly damp Clive Matthews, his thinning hair dripping messily down over the blood vessel pulsing in his forehead. “I guess I’d better go rescue my deputy before she’s forced to shoot the president of the board in self-defense.”
“In that case, wouldn’t you be rescuing him?” Baba said with a hint of a smile. Then, more seriously, “I need to talk to you.” And not just because you look incredibly hot, standing there with your soaking-wet shirt clinging to those broad shoulders and muscular chest.
Liam’s eyes narrowed. “About who might have done this? Or about the missing children?” All his attention was suddenly focused in her direction, a constricted beam of penetrating light.
“Maybe neither. Maybe both.” Baba wiped water off her face and wrung out her mass of dark hair. “I have a possibility, but no proof.” And no idea what the hell a human sheriff could do against a supernatural-wielding opponent. But he still had the right to know. As he’d said when they met, these people were his responsibility. Besides, she’d promised Belinda that she’d help—and a Baba’s promise was both rare and unbending. Much like the Babas themselves.
“I see.” He didn’t look convinced. “Well, I have to deal with this, and we both need to change into dry clothes.” He looked admiringly at Baba’s own dripping form, trying to hide a smile. “How about you give me an hour and meet me at The Roadhouse? It’s a bar on the way out of town. You would have passed it on your way in from where the Airstream is parked.”
She nodded. “It’s a date,” she said. There was no need for her to return to the trailer for new clothes, of course; she could dry herself with a thought. But she had something else she wanted to set into motion before she and the sheriff had their little talk.
There was something going on here she didn’t understand, but she trusted her instincts after all these years, and her gut was telling her that the three missing children and Maya’s magical riot act were connected somehow . . . and that things were going to get worse before they got better.
It was time to call in some assistance—and she had just the men for the job.
FIVE
THE ALLEY WHERE Baba had left the BMW was dark and smelled like things best not looked at closely, but it was also deserted and likely to stay that way, which suited her purposes just fine. She could ignore the smell; this wouldn’t take long.
She brushed away a drop of water that rolled down her neck and tried to pull her clammy tee shirt off over her head. The damp cloth clung to her curves, thwarting her, and she finally just growled and snapped her fingers. The shirt vanished with a faint “pop,” leaving her clad in dry leather pants, a black lace bra, and three elaborate tattoos.
A white dragon with green eyes coiled around her right bicep, a red dragon with slanted golden eyes curled around her left bicep, and a black dragon with long whiskers lay across her upper back and shoulders. She stroked them like the old friends they were, and recited a summoning chant in Russian that brought back memories of the old Baba standing in front of a smoky fireplace, stirring something that smelled worse than this alley. The memory made her smile, and helped her ignore the tiny shuddering sting each tattoo let off as it shivered and squirmed, eyes glowing momentarily in the dark night.
“There,” she said to herself in a satisfied tone. “That ought to put the cat among the pigeons.”
She hummed a little as she glanced down at the black leather pants, and shook her head. With another snap, she pulled more suitable clothing out of the closet in the Airstream, using her magic to transport it through the ether. Although if there was any outfit perfect for hanging out at the local tavern and telling an attractive but clueless shaggy-haired sheriff that his town may have been infested by creatures he didn’t believe in . . . she didn’t know what it was.
*
HE’D DONE IT again, Liam realized, as his gut tightened and his pulse beat a tango against the side of his throat. He’d possibly maybe appeared to ask Barbara Yager out. How did he keep doing that? He hadn’t asked anyone out in years, either accidentally or on purpose, and never said yes to any of the women who’d asked him. He put all that energy into his job instead. And yet somehow, he’d arranged for her to meet him at a bar. She’d said, “It’s a date.” But she didn’t really think it was a date, did she?
No, of course she didn’t. She’d said she had something to tell him about the case, and he’d merely suggested a place they could meet up to have that conversation. That’s all it was. Business. Sheriff business, nothing more. The concern died down, to be replaced by a certain disappointment that he shrugged off with practiced ease. Life wasn’t a fairy tale. You did what you had to do and got on with it, that’s all. And tried not to get trampled as the people around you got on with theirs.
For tonight, that meant listening to whatever Barbara Yager thought she knew—although since she’d just arrived in town, he doubted there was anything she could tell him that would help. Unless she was going to confess, of course. Still, he desperately needed to get a lead on this case and couldn’t afford to dismiss anyone. And perversely, he enjoyed her company. Although he couldn’t figure out why, since she was odd, mysterious, and infuriating.