Ian stiffened in realization next to me, and not in the fun way.
“You got it,” I told him. “That ain’t no woman.”
Ian’s only movement was an imperceptible upward twitch of his lip before his poker face smoothly slipped back into place. “Stare at him. When he looks at you—and he will—we’ve got him.”
“Can’t you make eye contact and get him?”
“I can’t see his true form. You can.”
Made sense.
“Think he knows who they are?” I asked.
“I think the probability is high. He . . . she came out from the back and made a beeline straight for them. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”
“Get the guys going and then change back into a leprechaun?”
Ian nodded once. “That’s what I’m thinking. He’s already humiliated five SPI agents tonight. I think he’s looking to add to his score—”
I snorted with laughter. “In more ways than one.”
Ian ignored me. “He’s also after the danger rush of turning into a leprechaun in the middle of a goblin sex club.”
“And after that?”
“He’ll run like hell, and I predict he’ll go out the way he came in.” My partner inclined his head toward the rear of the stage area.
“What are we going to do?”
Ian slowly set his drink down. “I’m going to grab and cuff the little bastard.”
“And run like hell.”
“Considering where we are, that would be the prudent course of action.”
“I’m right behind you, partner.”
I hadn’t known anything about leprechaun sexuality, and I’d already learned more than I ever wanted. Ask the average person on the street to describe a leprechaun, and you’d get the little green-coated guy on the Lucky Charms box. Come to think of it, I’d never even heard of female leprechauns; but since Finnegan here was getting married tomorrow, and leprechauns had yet to become extinct, I assumed there were at least two sexes. And from what I was watching, there might be more than that.
Though from the lascivious grin Finn was wearing—with little else—you had to wonder if leprechauns had a loose interpretation of gender, or if the future princess knew what she was getting into. Even if Mike had been a seer, the prince didn’t have to worry about being captured by his gaze. Mike’s dazed eyes hadn’t wandered north of her boobs the entire time. And at the moment, Steve’s drug-addled peepers were locked and loaded on the top of Finn’s G-string.
I had my eyes on Finnegan’s face, but it figured that the leprechaun only had eyes for Mike and Steve and their imminent humiliation.
Mild-mannered human financial advisor or lecherous leprechaun? Which one was Finnegan gonna change back into? Ian was right. If Finnegan was going for maximum fun and thrills, he’d go leprechaun.
Prince Finnegan dropped his glamour right along with his Red Hot–covered G-string, leaving the boys ogling a three-foot-tall, naked-as-the-day-he-was-born leprechaun. Quick as a drink-delivering pixie, Finn grabbed Mike by the ears and kissed him smack-dab on the lips.
Without making eye contact with any of us. Crafty little bastard.
Then all hell broke loose.
Mike was too stunned to grab him. Ian made the dive—and the catch. Finnegan caught Ian in the forehead with the heel of one tiny foot. Unfortunately, all the bouncers manning the stage area saw was Ian’s dive—and a now missing adult entertainer.
Oh crap.
Finn was unveiled and looked precisely like what he was. A leprechaun. SPI’s primary mission was to keep the presence of supernaturals a secret from the general population, including overly large and testosterone-laden bouncers charged with the safety of Bacchanalia employees, especially from grabby customers.
Ian had yanked Finn off the stage and out of sight, but when Ian hit the floor, he was on top of an overly endowed dancer wearing nothing but a vindictive smile. Two bouncers grabbed Ian. Finnegan squealed, giggled, and hightailed it toward the dressing rooms, not stumbling once in the only things she was still wearing. A pair of platform, six-inch heels.
I had a moment of open-mouthed amazement. Where the hell did a leprechaun learn to run in stripper heels?
Ian might have thought of himself as my babysitter, but dammit, the boss had told me he was my partner. Partners backed each other up.
The bouncers were easily double my weight, and while I had a Taser in my purse, I’d only have one chance to use it on one of them. The other no-necks running toward the melee weren’t going to stand by and tap their toes while it recharged.
Right now, the bouncers thought they had the troublemakers. The four shelves of desk flair back at the office told me that Ian could take care of himself, and if he needed help, Yasha and Elana were a hell of a lot more qualified to give it than I was. With a werewolf’s hearing, he was probably already in the building. That problem was taken care of. Finn had vanished behind a curtain, presumably leading to dressing rooms. Even an exhibitionist like Finn was unlikely to run outside while starkers. He’d have to slow down to grab something.
I’d have to catch Finn myself.
The bouncers, if they’d even noticed me at all, didn’t see me as any kind of a threat. And hopefully, between the liquor and the lights, any customer who saw Finnegan the naked leprechaun would talk themselves into believing they’d either had one or five drinks too many, or set up an appointment with their shrink to talk about what it meant to hallucinate a naked leprechaun in a sex club. I was sure it couldn’t have been the first time a naked man had run through Bacchanalia.
I pulled back the curtain and stopped.
Talk about a needle in a haystack.
Either the staff of Bacchanalia was seriously disorganized, or a tornado had just come through here. From what little the boys and girls out front had been wearing, you’d think there couldn’t be so many costumes strewn about.
Sparklies and spangles the likes of which I’d never seen in my life.
There wasn’t a leprechaun to be seen—though when you’re only three foot tall, hiding wouldn’t be difficult in this mess.
This was a dressing room in an exclusive sex club on a Friday night. When the fight started out front, any staff still in here must have run out the back. Considering that there might be a naked leprechaun hiding among the sequins and bugle beads, they’d made the right choice.
A naked leprechaun was many things, but scary wasn’t one of them.
But the man standing across the room from me was.
He wore a dark suit so well tailored it made Alain Moreau look like he shopped off the rack, with a long jacket that was more like a form-fitting frock coat.
He looked human.
But he wasn’t. No human male looked that perfect.
For one, a human couldn’t look that good on their best day. But mainly, it was the way he glided toward me so smoothly it was like he wasn’t using his feet that clued me in.
My seer vision showed me what he really was.
A goblin.
A goblin who dropped his glamour completely as he slowly came toward me.
In a word—wow.
Goblins were mainly nocturnal. They could be out during the day, but their dark eyes were painfully sensitive to sunlight. Goblins were tall, sleek, and sexy. Combine that with darkly seductive—and light-sensitive—eyes and you had a race that took sunglasses to the heights of high fashion. Goblins were gorgeous all by their lonesome, but they took their wardrobes and accessories just as seriously as their tangled court politics. Goblin politics was a full-contact—and often fatal—sport chock-full of seduction, deception, and betrayal.
Goblin hair was dark, often worn long, and the silkiness of it would make a Pantene shampoo model kill from jealousy. Their skin was pale gray, with a silvery sheen, their eyes dark, their ears upswept to a nibbleable point.
And they sported a pair of fangs that weren’t for decorative use only.
With supernaturals that had a tendency to prey on humans, I’d been taught how to act from a young age should I find myself in the presence of one. It all boiled down to one absolute rule—don’t act like prey. But faced with what was quite possibly the hottest creature I’d ever seen in my life, and under the influence of a drug that had essentially evaporated my inhibitions, I suddenly found that rule increasingly difficult to follow.