Authors: Unknown
DevilishlyHot (3 page)
Then after a few seconds, Nick recognized what he found out of place about the man. He was old.
So far Nick hadn’t seen anyone in the office who was older than their early thirties. This man was much older, stooped a little, his face weathered, his hands slightly gnarled.
Nick certainly hadn’t seen all the employees of the magazine, but he got the distinct feeling this guy was an anomaly. Finola White was a woman who venerated youth and beauty. The older man didn’t exactly fit that image, but then again he was just a lowly mailroom clerk.
The old man’s gaze met his again, just for a second, but though his eyes were hazed with old age, Nick got the feeling the old guy didn’t miss much.
The old man intrigued him, even though Nick wasn’t exactly sure why.
Nick watched him until he finished messing with his cart and disappeared through the double doors into the magazine’s main offices.
Nick rose, deciding to ask the receptionist a few questions about the old guy, when the double door opened again. A tall man dressed in an expensive black suit with a bright bluish-green shirt underneath. What was the color called? Teal maybe.
Nick supposed if he was going to describe a man as elegant, it would be this guy. As he walked toward Nick, the red recessed lighting that highlighted the walls glinted off his polished, alligator-skin oxfords.
Nick glanced down at his scuffed leather boots. Yeah, this was a different world.
The man stopped in front of him. And the first word that came to Nick’s mind was vampire. He was reminded of Dracula from the old movies—of course, this guy was an updated version, with a trendy haircut and designer clothing—but the pale skin and eerie, unreadable eyes were just the same as the classic movie monster’s.
His neck prickled, and Nick disliked the other man instantly.
But when the man offered his pale, long-fingered hand to him, Nick didn’t hesitate to accept it. His palm was cool and his grip surprisingly strong. Again the thought of vampires popped into Nick’s mind. Nick scoffed silently at himself. He never liked those silly monster movies. He saw plenty of real-life horror, inflicted by real people, so he didn’t find much appeal in imaginary monsters.
But for just a moment, a memory flashed in his mind. A snippet of memory he’d told himself couldn’t be real and one that he’d forcibly learned to repress.
Because it’s not real, Rossi. It’s just some figment of your imagination.
“My name is Tristan McIntyre,” the man said, his deep, cultured voice driving out the rest of the memory. “I’ll bring you back to speak to Ms. White.”
Nick nodded. “Nick Rossi, nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Tristan looked composedly affable, but Nick was certain neither actually meant what they said. Nick followed the man as he pushed open one of the huge doors that led into the inner sanctum of the
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offices.
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offices.
Stepping through that door was like falling down the rabbit hole, at least for a guy like Nick. The whole place was abuzz with eclectic people in equally eclectic attire. It was surreal even to someone who had seen plenty.
The red lighting and strange, oversized yet modern furniture followed from the lobby into the offices and it was actually hard to decide where to look first.
“So you are a detective?” Tristan asked over his shoulder as he led Nick down a cavernous, glowing red hallway. “What brings you here today? Nothing unpleasant, I hope.”
Nick stopped peering around him.
“Um—” he inwardly cringed at his confused reaction, but it took him a moment to rally his overwhelmed senses. “There’s no need to go into it twice. I’ll explain once we reach Ms. White.”
Tristan smiled back at Nick, revealing white, surprisingly even teeth. No fangs like Nick had suspected. “Well, how very succinct of you.”
They reached a different section of the offices. A group of rooms sectioned off by glass walls. The effect was even more disorienting than the outer offices. Nick felt as if they were now entering a carnival funhouse.
The red lighting was now gone and the whiteness of their surroundings was almost blinding. Nick followed Tristan, looking through the glass at what was obviously a boardroom with a long glass table. Past that, more offices. And farther beyond that, a huge office that seemed to glow in its whiteness.
He realized that was where they were going and as he looked more carefully, he realized he could finally see a woman who was obviously Finola White seated at a glossy white desk. Even with the glass walls, the maze design somehow kept her office private until you were very close to it, like some odd chrysalis keeping her hidden in its translucent shell.
But now that he could finally see her, she was every bit as striking as her photos in the newspapers and magazines. Her skin and hair were so pale, she almost disappeared amid all the white of her office.
They continued down another hallway, and again Nick had that funhouse feeling. He could see where he wanted to go, but couldn’t quite seem to get there.
“Ms. White is waiting to see you.”
Nick didn’t respond. After all, he could see her through the crazy glass walls.
Finally they navigated the maze, and Tristan rapped on the glass door. Finola White straightened as if she hadn’t noticed them at all.
She smiled and waved for them to enter.
Tristan held open the door for him to enter first. Nick stepped into the room and approached the desk, again struck by how fair she was, as if dressed up in a costume.
Surely she must be albino, except Nick suspected albinos had more color than this woman. Even the irises of her eyes were a pale, pale gray, just a shade or two lighter than the whites of her eyes. Only her lips held any color and they were red. Bloodred.
Yet, despite her odd coloring, she was truly beautiful, like a classical artist’s sculpture come to life.
To Nick’s astonishment, a growl came from her, low and menacing.
“Oh, you silly baby,” she then crooned and Nick realized that the rumble didn’t come from the fashion icon, but the small fuzzy dog on her lap. The small beast’s white fur blended almost completely with Finola’s white skin and suit.
“Ignore him,” she said, baring teeth as white as the rest of her. The wide smile looked far more predatory than her lapdog’s snarl. “Dippy is my delicious new pet, and he’s still getting settled in.”
She didn’t break eye contact with Nick, nor did that hungry smile slip, as she lifted the puppy up to nuzzle its fur against her cheek.
Nick found the action oddly unsettling. Even the dog looked a little uncomfortable.
But finally she lowered the animal back to her lap and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself. I’m Finola White.”
Nick stepped forward to accept her extended hand, her fingers long and delicate against his—and as icy as her coloring.
“I’m Detective Nick Rossi.”
“A detective?” She tilted her head, clearly intrigued, as her pale, pale gray eyes roamed over him. “Please have a seat and share with me why you are with us today. I’m very curious.”
Chapter Two
H
er gaze continued to move over him, intense and aware, as he took a seat in a white velvet chair. He was relieved that piece of furniture had more normal dimensions than the ones out in the lobby and his feet didn’t threaten to swing off the ground when he sat. He already felt at a disadvantage in this world without the furniture being as unusual as the people themselves.
er gaze continued to move over him, intense and aware, as he took a seat in a white velvet chair. He was relieved that piece of furniture had more normal dimensions than the ones out in the lobby and his feet didn’t threaten to swing off the ground when he sat. He already felt at a disadvantage in this world without the furniture being as unusual as the people themselves.
“So Detective, please tell me what brings you here. I cannot even begin to imagine why.” Finola smiled that predatory smile again, and before he could answer, she added, “Of course, if Tristan hadn’t told me you were a detective, I would have thought you were one of the male models here for the new Zeke Hoffstead photo layout for the May edition of
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You know his clothes, they are so rugged and masculine. Perfect for a man like you.”
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You know his clothes, they are so rugged and masculine. Perfect for a man like you.”
Nick didn’t know. He’d never heard of Zeke Hoffstead. But he did know when a woman was flirting with him. And Finola wasn’t being remotely subtle.
He glanced at her assistant editor, who stood beside her desk like some sort of sentry. While his expression was stoic, totally unreadable, Nick got the impression he didn’t quite agree with Ms. White’s opinion of him.
Nick pretended to be oblivious to her overture, and pulled out his badge. It was always best to keep things on a professional level. At least at first. He wasn’t such a prude that he wouldn’t use attraction to get the answers he needed. Especially if he knew it would help the greater good.
But for now, he kept his tone serious. “I’m here from NYPD to talk to you about several of your past employees.”
Finola’s barely glanced at the silver badge as she met his gaze, her finely arched brows drawing together. “My past employees?”
“Yes, it seems that Finola White Enterprises and specifically
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magazine has quite a track record of strange occurrences.”
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magazine has quite a track record of strange occurrences.”
Finola looked totally unsurprised by that. “Well, I’m sure that is true. Fashion is a strange industry. Why, remember just a few editions ago—” she glanced over to Tristan as if he would verify the story she was about to share—“when culottes made a resurgence. We actually did a four-page spread on them. That was a very strange occurrence, indeed. Culottes.”
She shook her head, looking truly baffled and dismayed. “So yes, I readily agree odd things do happen here. But not the type of things that would require the attention of the police—well, aside from the fashion police maybe.”
She smiled widely at her own joke.
Nick stared at her, trying to decide if her silly storytelling was genuine or an attempt to distract him. He honestly wasn’t sure.
Nick glanced at Tristan to read his reaction, but the man’s expression remained deadpan. Nick got the feeling Tristan wasn’t as indifferent as he appeared. Something about his stance, though it looked relaxed enough, hinted at the fact he wasn’t as calm as he appeared.
Nick’s neck prickled.
Nick returned his gaze to Finola.
“Well, I won’t presume to say I know anything about the fashion industry, but—”
“You are doing just fine.”
Nick frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Your understanding of fashion. You are doing fine,” Her gaze roamed over him, and there was definitely no mistaking the interest in her pale eyes now.
“Thanks,” he said, again feeling that he should keep things on a professional level. Her interest made him uncomfortable. More prickles needled his neck and this time even down between his shoulder blades. He held still, determined not to try to shake off the sensation.
Instead he refocused on the task at hand.
“So am I to believe you are not aware of the disappearances of several of your past employees? Twenty-one of them to be exact.”
Finola’s eyes widened. “Twenty-one. Really?”
Nick nodded, trying to read her reaction. Her wide-eyed expression looked sincere, but something about it seemed not quite right.
Then she glanced toward her assistant, who still remained expressionless, but Nick got the impression that something had passed between them.
“That does seem like a lot.” She returned to Nick. “What happened to them?”
“Well, that’s it. No one knows. They simply disappeared.”
Finola made a face then, one of dismay.
“Disappeared,” she whispered. “That’s awful.”
“Yes,” Nick agreed. “All of them gone with the exception of one.”
The dismay disappeared from her face as she shot a glance back to Tristan. This time an actual frown marred the polished man’s perfectly serene expression.
Interesting.
“One?”
“Yes,” Nick said, feeling as if he was getting somewhere. Both Finola and her assistant editor seemed—surprised by this news. Not the disappearances, but that one had resurfaced. These two definitely knew something.
Nick pulled a small notebook out of the pocket of his leather jacket, flipping it open to the names of all twenty-one past employees. He leaned forward to slide it across Finola’s glossy white desk. He tapped the last name on the list.
“Jessica Moran. She was discovered wandering the streets after being reported missing almost a week before.”
Finola stared at the list, but he got the feeling she wasn’t really seeing it. The white dog on her lap growled.
“Jessica Moran,” she finally repeated, her tone vague as if she was trying to recall who that might be.
“She was your personal assistant.”
Finola’s eyes widened again. “Oh, of course. Although as I recall she only worked for me very briefly.”
“It appears most of these people only worked for you very briefly. And some of them were reported missing shortly after leaving the magazine. Sometimes within a day.” Nick told her.
Finola slid the notebook back toward him. “The magazine industry can have a very high rate of turnover. It’s a stressful job. Very competitive.”
“I’m sure it is,” Nick said. “And I suppose twenty-one people quitting their jobs, or even being fired, wouldn’t be so strange in a five-year period. But twenty-one disappearances—now, that does seem strange, doesn’t it?”
Finola met his gaze, her gray eyes unflinching. “Yes, that does seem strange. But technically it would be twenty disappearances, wouldn’t it? The one was found, right?”
Nick nodded. “Yes, she was, but I’ve met with the woman and you can’t really say that she’s ‘back.’ Not truly.”
Finola frowned, just a brief creasing of her brow, over almost before it began. “What do you mean she’s not truly back?”
Nick shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with what he was about to say. After meeting Jessica Moran, he’d had prickly feelings in droves, and he hadn’t liked it one bit. But he knew there had to be a reasonable explanation for the behavior he’d witnessed in the young woman.
“She seems to be suffering from some kind of post-traumatic stress or something.”
Finola frowned again, another brief crease. Then her pale face returned to its lovely flawlessness. She waited for him to continue his explanation.
“She reacts to demands. She will do whatever you tell her, but when you look in her eyes, it’s like no one is in there. And when she isn’t following instructions, she simply sits as if she can’t think on her own. It’s ...” he hesitated to use this description, but it was the only way to really describe what he’d seen, “it’s like she’s a zombie.”
For a moment, Finola didn’t react, then she straightened in her chair, her expression incredulous. “A zombie?”
She glanced toward Tristan, whose lips twitched slightly. Of course the vampire would react to that. When Finola’s eyes returned to Nick, they twinkled with amusement.
“I’m sorry, Detective,” she said, attempting to smother back her amusement with her fingers to her lips. “I don’t mean to make light of the situation, but you have to admit this all sounds pretty far-fetched.”
Nick gritted his teeth, but nodded. A familiar feeling—one from long ago—tightened his chest. He didn’t like the description either. He knew it was far-fetched. But he also knew what he’d seen.
Just like you know what you saw all those years ago.
No. He wouldn’t go there. He had imagined what he’d seen years ago. And this time, well, there had to be a medical explanation for the young woman’s condition.
And while Jessica’s case was weird, Nick was really here to focus on the missing people. Something was going on at this magazine. And the only common denominator among all these people was
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magazine and Finola White.
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magazine and Finola White.
Finally Finola realized that Nick wasn’t sharing any of her amusement and she immediately sobered.
“Nick—it is Nick, right? I realize what you are telling me is serious. Certainly I’m sympathetic and highly concerned. My employees are like family.”
Nick remained silent. He didn’t know Finola White, but he knew enough of her reputation to know that this woman would hardly consider her employees, her underlings, family.
He glanced at the vampire. Okay, she might consider that one family. And Nick didn’t believe for a moment Finola didn’t know about these disappearances and that she wasn’t somehow involved.
“So how can we help you?” Finola asked, those pale eyes eating him up, almost as if she was reading his mind. She pushed the notebook across the desk again.
Nick pushed it back.
“Look at those names again, and tell me anything you can about them. What departments they worked in. Anything you can recall about their work, interactions with other employees. With you. Anything.” He pushed the notebook back.
Finola reached forward to take it again, her French-manicured fingertips grazing his. He felt nothing but the coolness of her skin.
He instantly thought of the woman in the elevator. How even touching her arms through layers of clothing brought his body to sudden awareness.
He was here to work, to figure out what the hell had happened to all these people. And that was the only thing he needed to be focused on.
Finola read the list again, then finally shook her head, giving him an almost woeful sigh. “Again, many of these people must not have worked here very long, because most of the names don’t even ring a bell with me.”
So much for the “family” comment.
“Do you do the hiring?” Nick asked.
“I make the final decision, but often Tristan does much of my hiring, and of course certain departments such as the art department do their own interviewing, again just running the final decisions past me.”
Nick nodded. That made sense.
Finola handed the notebook back to Nick, and again her fingers brushed his. This time, they lingered even after he accepted the book. He immediately rose and walked over to Tristan, holding the pad out to him.
Tristan raised an eyebrow, seeming reluctant to accept the notepad. Then he uncrossed his arms and took it, his eyes scanning the row of names.
“Yes, I recall several of these people,” he said, meeting Nick’s gaze, his eyes cool. “Finola was correct, many of them actually did not work here very long.”
“Many people think the fashion business is going to be all glamour and fun with fabulous perks,” Finola explained. “But running a highly successful business is hard work with long hours. Many people just don’t work out, or simply quit.”
Nick nodded, then turned back to Tristan. “I’m assuming you can give me a list of who you hired and whether they were indeed in
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’s employment on the dates they were reported missing or ...”
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’s employment on the dates they were reported missing or ...”
“Turned zombie?” Tristan suggested, another smile tugging at his lips, but he again managed to repress it.
Nick stared at the man for a moment, silently warning him that he didn’t see the humor in this at all.
“I’d also like lists of who hired these people and who they would have worked with closely.”
Finola made a small noise of displeasure. “This will be a bit time-consuming, won’t it?” She made a slight face, one that looked remarkably like annoyance, but it was quickly masked behind a sigh of sorrow. “But it must be done. We have to find out what is happening here.”
Nick nodded, wishing he believed she really felt that way.
“I appreciate that,” he finally said. “Is there any chance I could speak to other employees now?”
“Of course,” Finola said without hesitation, then she grimaced. “Actually, I forgot, today isn’t the best time. I have a large staff meeting taking place in—” she looked down at the thin silver watch on her left wrist—“my goodness, in about twenty minutes. And unfortunately this one is going to include most of the people you’d want to talk with. All the heads of the different departments.”
Nick nodded, undeterred. “That’s fine. I wouldn’t have had much time myself. But if it’s okay with you, I will be back, hopefully tomorrow.”
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