He stepped in front of me again. And this time he put his hand on me. “So what are you looking for tonight?”
I stared hard at where he’d grasped my arm until he released it. Then I angled my gaze back up, meeting his head on. “A tall man with a big dick. Sorry.”
He responded with the requisite “Bitch!,” I yawned, but was finally allowed to move on. Thank God. Throwing him into the teeming stack of porn mags to our right would have really blown my cover.
But Joaquin was gone. I knew it before I inhaled, but tried not to let it get me down. We’d all perfected the art of masking our natural scents. It’d flare only under stress or emotion, so I either had to find him again by sight, or wait until he got excited…which, considering the things that excited Joaquin, meant it’d be too late. Circling back the way I’d come, I moved faster, head swiveling without making eye contact…and nearly ran into Ian.
“Olivia,” he said, like he hadn’t known I was there.
I raised my brows. It was impatient, and slightly rude, and so was the way I scanned the room over his shoulder. “Ian?”
His optimistic expression wobbled a little. “Uh…wanna dance?”
I thought about it. It would be a normal thing to do. Besides, I could survey the room from the dance floor, rotating him along, as Ian didn’t exactly look like the leading man type. “Sure.” I shrugged and followed him to an elevated platform centered in the room. Dozens of other couples were spazzing out to what must have been the music in their heads…because it wasn’t to the music that was blaring out of the surrounding speakers. Ian joined them immediately. Watching him made my eyes ache. Had the reputation of white computer geeks not preceded him, I would’ve called 911.
“So, how are you?” he asked, jerking his head to the right.
“Fine, Ian. Just fine.” Other than all the near-death experiences. I angled over to my right, forcing him to follow. Still no sign of Joaquin.
“Yeah, me too. Busy, of course. Lots of programs to…program.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I said, pivoting to my left.
“But busy is good, right?” He paused, waiting for my nod, before slapping his knee. “Yeah, busy is good.”
We kept at this masochist little bob and weave for a few minutes longer.
“So, I know Suzanne has mentioned me, probably talked me up quite a bit,” Ian said, huffing slightly. His breath was like warmed milk, but soured with nerves. “And of course I know all about you. Who doesn’t, right?”
He laughed self-consciously, and I angled him so he wouldn’t crash into the guy in back of him. “Your point?”
“Well, I think we have a lot in common,” he said, bumping the guy anyway. I shifted again. “And when Suzanne told me that you read the Zodiac series of comics as well…well, I knew this was going to be a great date. I subscribe.”
Uh-oh. “Do you?” I said, keeping my voice light. He nodded, banging into another dancer. She grabbed his butt in return, which sent him into a whole new set of spasms.
“Anyway, it’s the strangest thing. I saw this girl…you know, the Archer? She, uh, looks like you,” he said, even that coming out sounding like a question. “I bet that’s where you got the idea.”
“The idea?”
“You know, for your costume. You’re dressed as a superhero, right?”
A figure pulled up behind Ian, swaying slowly to the frantic beat, and I nearly froze in place. Oblivious, Ian continued dancing, inches away from Joaquin’s leering, attentive face.
“Let’s not talk about it now, okay?” I told him, backing up, hoping he’d follow my lead. He did, but so did Joaquin, eyes locked on mine like Scud missiles. Fuck.
“Okay, but I just wanted to tell you I think it’s cool. Lots of people diss comic books as being, you know…” He stuck his finger down his throat, miming being sick, always an attractive gesture, and I managed a half smile. Behind him, Joaquin mimicked the move. Homicidal smartass. “Anyway, it takes the pressure off a bit. I can just be myself, just Ian Hanson going out with Olivia Archer, on a regular ol’ date.”
I nearly deflated as a smile bloomed on Joaquin’s face. He mouthed the words Olivia Archer…then he left.
I fumbled at my bag, grasped my conduit, pushing by Ian, who started apologizing immediately, but Joaquin had disappeared. I caught a whiff of metallic rot-his excitement at learning my identity-and followed it. Ian stepped in front of me. I was getting supremely tired of men doing that. I flashed him a hard smile.
“Wait, was it something I said? Olivia, I’m sorry, it’s just-”
“It’s all right,” I said impatiently. “I’ll be right back. Just stay here.”
“But-”
“Stay,” I repeated, like I was reprimanding a bad dog, and Ian stayed.
A quick scan of the main ballroom showed me nothing I hadn’t seen before. Joaquin wouldn’t have left, not yet, not with so much destruction left to cause…or with my identity still fresh upon his lips. I swallowed hard and turned toward the common room, not even needing my sense of smell to guide me through the heavily curtained area. I heard my name called out behind me, Cher or Suzanne still sitting at the table where I’d left them, but ignored it, and pushed aside layer after layer of silver gauze and black velvet until I reached the inside.
Here the music was muted. Sensuous. The lights burned low, though still bright enough to highlight the voyeuristic activity. Large velvet-covered beanbags vied for floor space with leather beds, their centers piled with pillows, slim drink stands perched to the side of each arrangement…just in case one hand wasn’t enough. I wove through the splayed bodies without looking, without stopping, Joaquin’s scent strong in my nose. He wasn’t even trying to hide. And he knew I was coming.
I pulled out my conduit, holding it in plain sight. Even if any of these swingers were paying attention, they’d probably think I was toting a unique new sex toy rather than a weapon. I notched an arrow in it, one-handed, as I pulled back a silk curtain cornering the far end of the room off in what must have been a VIP section. I saw figures seated, limbs splayed, candlelight pulsing…and a demon’s smile as Joaquin glanced up at me.
His arms were thrown about two blondes, one on each side of him, both leaning into him and stroking the bulge in his leather pants. Disease practically oozed from their pores. He caressed the exposed neck and earlobe of one, dragging a bit on her chandelier earring-which she apparently found erotic-while fondling the right nipple of the other. Closer to me, on a velvet wedged seat, a woman looked up from between the legs of the only other male present. She rose in a sensuous shimmy, straddled him, and asked rather snottily if she could help me.
“I doubt it,” I replied, eyes never leaving Joaquin’s.
“This is a private party,” she said, emphasizing private, in case I didn’t understand nuance. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye.
“So leave.” And I really wished she would. She and the other man were disease-free. I wanted to keep it that way.
She straightened, stepping toward me like she was going to do more than that. Joaquin, voice amused, stopped her with a lazy wave. “As you were, Samantha. I invited her,” he said, nodding when Samantha turned a questioning gaze on him. “Didn’t I, Olivia?”
“Yep,” I said, propping my right elbow up high, my conduit in plain view. “You’re why I’m here.”
He laughed and kept stroking his women. “No sense of foreplay, this one. No patience or restraint. Olivia Archer likes to get right to the point,” he said, eyes moving to my conduit, then back up at me, indicating he knew it was there and had his own offense prepared.
“Olivia Archer?” the other man said, straightening from beneath Samantha to get a good look at me. “The Olivia Archer?”