Lana kept her face expressionless, but she didn’t think for one minute that the belly peepshow had been unintentional. She dealt with Latin males all the time. She knew the type. He was extraordinarily handsome and he knew it. He wanted people to think his longish hair was accidental, the result of skipping a haircut or two. But he probably spent an hour in front of the mirror getting it just right, not to mention the time he spent on the beard and mustache. He reached to open a drawer and she caught a glint of gold through the silky, black strands of his hair. He had an earring in his left ear, a simple gold ring, but thicker, like a cuff worn low.
Michael reappeared from somewhere off to the right—probably a bathroom, because he handed Vincent a wet towel. Vincent used it to clean the blood from his hands, then swiped it over his face and tossed it back. A few moments later, he yanked off his bloodied T-shirt and dumped it in the trash. Despite her best intentions, Lana’s throat went dry. His body was perfect—sculpted muscle defined broad shoulders and strong arms, his chest was deep, and his abdomen ridged above a pair of low-slung jeans. As if that wasn’t enough, an intricate tattoo covered his left bicep, something colorful and pre-Hispanic, she thought. Mayan maybe, considering his name. She couldn’t tell for sure and didn’t want to stare long enough to figure it out. A guy who looked like that didn’t need the ego boost. Thankfully, he pulled a clean shirt on over his head and tugged it down, covering himself before she did something she’d regret. Like drool.
Ugh. Had she been thinking she knew his type? She did, and she avoided them like the plague. They were far too much in love with themselves to play nicely with anyone else.
She waved a hand at his obvious dishevelment. “I can come back if—”
“No, no,” Vincent interrupted, settling back into the chair in his new, clean T-shirt. “There was a minor altercation at the club. And we heal fast.” He grinned at her, inviting her to share the joke.
She simply gazed back at him.
“Well,” he continued, sounding like he wanted to harrumph at her for ignoring his stellar humor. “How can I help you, Ms. Arnold?”
“Call me Lana,” she told him, figuring if he was to be called Vincent, then she should return the favor. “My client wants a message delivered. I was told you could possibly assist in locating the recipient of that message.”
“Who’s your client?”
She didn’t answer his question directly, only said, “As I mentioned to your receptionist when I called earlier, it was Raphael who suggested I contact you.”
“Raphael,” Vincent repeated, staring at her as though he could read the truth of her words written on the inside of her skull if he only stared hard enough.
“I have a letter for you,” she said blandly, reaching for her backpack and pulling out the leather portfolio which held her notes on the case. “Would you like to see it?”
Vincent blinked. He clearly hadn’t expected that.
“I would, thank you,” he said, holding out a hand. She noticed his knuckles were torn and still seeping blood. Obviously, the fight had been a fairly brutal one. Which probably explained the fleeing crowds and the noise she’d heard coming from inside the club when she arrived.
Vincent took the letter from her, clearly not bothered by the state of his hands. He scanned the note from Raphael with the same laser intent that he’d used to study her moments before. Then he turned it over to Michael, who’d taken up a position standing behind his left shoulder.
“Okay, so let’s say I’m inclined to do Raphael a favor,” Vincent said. “Who’s the missing person?”
“Xuan Ignacio,” she said, watching for his reaction.
He frowned. “Xuan Ignacio? He’s a folk tale. The oldest vampire in Mexico, and blah, blah, blah. I don’t think he’s even real.”
“Raphael thinks he is.”
“So Raphael’s your client?”
“Raphael knows I’m looking for Xuan Ignacio,” she hedged, still not willing to reveal any more than necessary. “And, as you see, he suggested you could help.”
Vincent obviously noticed her careful language and scowled at her. She imagined he wasn’t used to being stymied like this. She knew from her conversations with Leighton that vampire social and/or political structure was fairly rigid, with power concentrated at the top. A vampire like Vincent, who ran a city the size of Hermosillo, would have a lot of power, at least in his own domain.
“All right,” he conceded. “So where do we start looking?”
It was Lana’s turn to scowl. “I thought you’d know,” she said, biting back her impatience.
“Hey, you came to me. I don’t claim any special knowledge.”
Lana pursed her lips in disgust. This was a fool’s errand. Vincent might be the prettiest male she’d ever seen, but he clearly wasn’t the sharpest. Or maybe he just didn’t want to help her and was playing dumb, being a pain in the ass to get out of the obligation without offending Raphael. And that was a major inconvenience for her. She’d rather have no help than drag a hulking vampire around with her like a reluctant teenager, but Raphael wanted this guy on the job. Damn. She considered her options. Vincent Kuxim might be a vampire, but he was also a guy. An alpha male guy. And Lana had a lot of experience with those. Hadn’t she all but grown up in her dad’s office surrounded by bounty hunters? You didn’t get much more alpha than that. So, she knew that the best way to get their cooperation was to pretend you didn’t need it. That was the one thing their giant egos couldn’t handle.
She closed her portfolio with a snap, slipped it into her backpack, and stood. “Thank you for your time,” she said politely. “If I have any questions I think you can answer,” she said, not able to resist adding an ounce of snark, “I’ll give you call.”
She made it all the way to the closed office door before she heard Vincent’s chair slide back on the tile floor. “Wait,” he said or, rather, ordered, that one word being laced with a touch of annoyance.
Unfortunately for him, Lana didn’t take orders from anyone, except her dad on occasion, and certainly not from temperamental vampires who bloodied their knuckles fighting. She ignored him and reached for the doorknob.
“I said wait.” There was a hell of a lot more than annoyance this time. And when Lana went to twist the door handle, it wouldn’t budge.