When a Lioness Hunts (A Lion's Pride Book 8) Read online

  “I’d rather discuss you. Why the Internal Revenue Service? Do you like being hated? Is it a fetish for you?”

  A tic along his jaw brought a smile to her lips.

  “I’m good with numbers.”

  “I’ll bet that’s not all you’re good at,” she purred.

  Still watching him, she didn’t miss the subtle shifting of his body. Theodore might be saying no, but the man proved very much aware.

  “Let’s start with the basics. Name and date of birth.”

  “Aren’t they on the paper in front of you?” She leaned over the table and pointed.

  “It was for confirmation.”

  “You’re in my apartment. How much more confirmation do you need?”

  “Are you Melly Goldeneyes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Short for anything?”

  “Just Melly. My mother doesn’t believe in middle names or fancy ones.”

  “Date of birth.”

  “A lady never tells.” She snickered. “But we both know I’m not a lady. I’m July thirty-first, nineteen ninety something.”

  He looked at her.

  She shrugged. “Mama isn’t too sure what year I was born. She had me in the woods and lost track of time.”

  “It says ninety-five.” He jabbed with his pen.

  “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

  He sighed, and she counted it as a small victory. “Marital status?”

  “Single but seeking. Not having much luck though. I tried that app where you swipe left or right depending on if you’re interested. But most of those guys are looking for one-night stands, and I’m not into that. I think sex should have meaning.”

  He snorted. “Ironic you should say that given you offered it to me not ten minutes ago.”

  “Sex to clear my good tax name would have had meaning, not to mention I probably would have found god or some other deity when you were inside me.”

  He definitely trembled.

  She smirked. “But you said no.” Perkily spoken. “Why did you say no? Should I call in my cousin Bertrand to handle you? He’s about my age and packs about nine inches—”

  He cut her off. “For the last time, I am not interested in sex with you or anyone.”

  “Well, you don’t have to be rude about it.” She might have been a bit sassy in her reply, mostly because he could deny all he wanted. She knew he lied.

  “Can we get back to your return?”

  “If we must.” She leaned back in her chair and balanced it on two legs.

  “You claimed an income of eighty-three thousand last year.”

  “I did.”

  “With expenses of seventy-four.”

  “And?”

  “That’s almost your entire income.”

  “Again, and?”

  “It’s impossible. Your condo mortgage and fees alone would be at least a third.”

  “I have no mortgage.”

  He glanced at her. “You own this apartment?”

  “Not exactly. The family loans it to me. Free of charge.”

  “Even if it’s paid for, there are other expenses. Phone, food, insurance.”

  “All covered for me by the company.”

  “The Pride Group pays for those things?” He sounded surprised.

  “Everyone who lives in the condo gets it all-inclusive. We’re pretty lucky here. Arik’s been amazing.” She was babbling, and he took notes.

  “That seems rather generous.”

  “What can I say? Arik is considered a king amongst his family.” In more ways than one.

  “What exactly is your job within the company?”

  She straightened in her seat. “Whatever he needs. When lucky, I get security detail.”

  “You?” He eyed her for longer than he had previously.

  She made sure to breathe deep and stick out her chest. “You don’t have to be big to be mighty. I’m more of an inside-job kind of person.”

  “Security from what?”

  “The rats in the business.” Mr. Hot Nerd Loomer didn’t need to know the rats were literal. But their hacking skills weren’t anywhere to being on par with hers.

  He reached for a paper near the piles he’d started and eyed it. “Can you explain what this receipt is for?”

  He, of course, pointed out the biggest one. His eyes serious behind his glasses.

  “That’s for ten thousand rounds of ammunition.” Blame his cuteness for the distraction that had her blurting the truth rather than the lie she’d been practicing.

  “Ammo.” He stared at the bill. “Ammo for what?”

  “Target practice. I’ve been improving my aim so I’m not always stuck working in the office. I get stuck with so many keyboard jobs, it’s not funny.”

  For a second his lips parted, and he murmured, “I know the feeling.”

  “Anyhow, I figure if I can shoot the eye out of a turkey running full tilt at fifty yards, I can do anything. Which is why the fee for the range is also in the pile there somewhere. I have an annual membership.” She rifled through the sheets.

  “If it’s a hobby, you can’t claim it.”

  “I never said it was a hobby.” She took the upgrade of her skills seriously. She wanted to branch out from the hacking to fieldwork.

  He snared another bill and waved it. “What about this receipt? What’s it for?”

  “Rocket launcher.”

  He paused before saying, “Why would you need a rocket launcher?”

  “Because it’s fun?”

  “Exactly what do you fire at?”

  “Mostly just targets. I’ve been practicing since you never know when I might have to shoot a helicopter out of the sky in the name of duty.”

  “That kind of thing only happens in the movies.”

  “If you say so.” No need to divulge they had an excellent scrubbing team whose only job was to keep their secrets and wipe away any crimes—or overeager protection of the pride. Not a single online trace remained about the run of the lions down Fifth Street. The magic mushrooms used in the gravy drizzled over the roast beef dinner at Thanksgiving took a few hours to wear off.

  “I do say so. And I also think you’re lying. This isn’t for ammunition and artillery.”

  “Believe me or not, I told you what it is. Up to you how you handle it.”

  “How about I reject it as being unsuitable?”

  “Ouch, that’s kind of harsh. You’ll hurt the poor things’ feelings.” She cradled the receipt for the flamethrower she’d just had to have.

  He didn’t laugh. How far was that stick up his ass?

  “Not acceptable. Not acceptable.” He began slamming receipts aside in an increasing stack.

  She took offense. “Hey, you’re rejecting everything.”

  “Because they’re all inadmissible. This is for personal care. You can’t claim it.” He waved the pink sheets for the mani/pedis she got every month.

  “I disagree. How am I supposed to do my job if my claws aren’t sharp?”

  He eyed her fingers and the coral polish on them. “I highly doubt you’re clawing people in the line of duty.”

  “I hope that wasn’t meant to be sexist.”

  He eyed her. “I’m quite certain you are perfectly capable of defending yourself.”

  “I most certainly can, although if I had a man to call my own, I’d save all the biting and scratching for him.” She winked as suggestively as she could.

  He completely ignored it. “You can’t claim your manicures.”

  “What if I argued firing that many rounds is hell on the hands?”

  He glared. He almost got kissed it was so adorable. The man was utterly fascinating.

  “I still fail to see how firing weapons ties into your employment.”

  “It’s on account I do security.”

  “No, you don’t. On here, you’re marked as restaurant hostess.” He pointed to a copy of the tax documents she’d sent in.

  “Okay, so maybe the securi
ty part isn’t full time yet.” Barely even part time, given Arik tended to give the juicy jobs to the more experienced in the pride. “A girl needs to be ready. Do you know how many movies I’ve seen where the waitress is taken out first? Screw that. I keep a semi-automatic tucked under one of the tables. Anyone tries to Die Hard my office and I am going to kablam them!”

  Rather than looked impressed, he made another note and the stack of receipts threatened to topple. “Personal care and ammo for hobbies are not allowable deductions.”

  “But they really are for work.”

  “Are you admitting you were paid for the security work but did not properly declare it?”

  “I’m not sure what I’m saying, but if you’re implying I have two jobs…” Her nose wrinkled. “Bad enough I’ve got to show up for the one. No way do I have two. Security is what I volunteer for to avoid a stint at the restaurant. I’m too pretty to be working inside.” She tossed her dark hair, the envy of her friends who were all shades of blonde. She stood out and liked it that way.

  “I know you’re lying about not getting paid extra, because how else do you afford clothes and meals?”

  “The Pride takes care of it.”

  He set his pen down to regard her seriously. “Miss Goldeneyes, if the company takes care of everything, then why give you a paycheck at all?”

  “For fun of course.” She knew her cheeks dimpled when she smiled.

  Mr. Hot Geek noticed, too, and shoved at his glasses. “Aha, but you just said shooting was for work!”

  “You caught me. So maybe the ammo isn’t quite work related yet. Not a big deal, we’ll take it off.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Sure, it is. I’m still willing to strike a deal. Three blowies, a cowgirl, and I’ll let you stick your finger up my bum.”

  “No!” More scribbled notes.

  “What if I said I’ll be wearing my latex suit with cutouts in strategic spots?” she said, ending on sultry whisper.

  “Ms. Goldeneyes, you’re going to force me to file a sexual harassment complaint.”

  “Maybe I should file one given you’re not giving me anything to work with.” Her lower lip jutted.

  “We have business to attend.”

  “What if you didn’t and it was you and me meeting for the first time?”

  “No.”

  “It’s the zombie apocalypse and we’re the only two living people.”

  “Zombies aren’t real.”

  “Don’t tell that to the Laveau chick visiting us. She won’t shut up about her great-grandma something or other who was some witch.”

  “If you’re referencing Madame Laveau, according to the stories, she was more than a voodoo queen but a necromancer of great renown. A necromancer—”

  “Raises dead people.” She rolled her eyes. “Hello. Girls play D&D games, too, you know.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Play with games or girls?” she deliberately taunted.

  “Let’s return to the ammunition. Where did you get the ammo? The receipt only gives the stock number and quantity. There is no company name or address.”

  “Because Marney doesn’t like to give receipts for goods.”

  “Who is Marney?”

  “No one.” She’d not meant to speak out loud or mention her supplier by name. Damn her tongue for getting away again. She would have to be more careful. The nerd was drawing things out of her she didn’t mean to admit.

  “No one sold you the ammunition?”

  She wagged her finger at him. “You’re tricky, Poindexter.”

  “Did you just insult me?”

  “I called you smart, so not really. Next question.”

  His expression turned even stonier. “What kind of protection does Pride Industries require that you think you need training?”

  A subtle question but she now paid attention. “You know how it is in the hair product world. Gnarly. Which is why he likes our security conditioned. Get it?”

  Judging by his face, he didn’t. “Given you’re a waitress, eighty-three thousand dollars a year seems rather excessive.”

  “Only if you work at one of those fast food places. A Lion’s Pride Steakhouse is a top-notch restaurant.”

  “It’s a steakhouse.” Her nerd almost sneered. How cute.

  “Don’t you like meat? I love meat. Chewing it. Playing with it. Hunting it down and pouncing on it.” She batted her lashes and licked her lips in an attempt to distract, but he remained untouched.

  Was she overdoing it? His human ass should have succumbed to her charm by now. Perhaps she was too far away from him. She had to get closer.

  As she was halfway across the table, he exclaimed, “What are you doing?”

  She glanced down. She might have forgotten herself for a moment there. Blame the nerd. He smelled good.

  Real good. Lick him head to toe good. Drag him around in her mouth and growl at anyone who looked in her direction good.

  “Just thought I’d get closer to help you sort through the stuff.” She slunk into the chair beside him.

  He shifted away from her.

  Ah, how cute. She made the human nervous. He just didn’t shake or stammer. Curious.

  She leaned close and—

  Achoo.

  He sneezed. Hard.

  “Do you have a cold?” she asked. Not that she cared. She had an iron constitution, but she wasn’t about to deal with the snot that came out of humans when they got one.

  “It’s my allergies. Probably the cat you mentioned.”

  “Allergic to cats. This is priceless.” she said with a snicker. “Especially given my big, hairy pussy likes to roll around and shed fur on all the furniture.”

  He looked absolutely appalled. “How can you let it do that? I don’t understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  “How can you want some smelly, hairy creature in your things? Lap. Nothing would ever be clean.”

  “Is cleanliness important to you, Theo?” she purred, leaning close.

  “Yes, as is doing my job.” He spilled out of his seat. “Given you’re not ready for me, I’m going to return at a later date.”

  “When?”

  “I have a meeting tomorrow with someone else in the building. Perhaps after?”

  “Who?” she snarled, only to quickly smile. “I mean, what are the chances more than one of us is undeserving of your attention?” Lashes batted.

  He remained immune and wearing his pants. “Have all your receipts for last year in a pile. We’ll review them tomorrow, say around three?”

  She shook her head. “That will never do. Tonight. Seven o’clock. Meet me at the steakhouse you just disparaged.”

  “A restaurant is hardly the proper place to sort these things.”

  “We’re going because I need food, you need food, and the next time you say steakhouse it should be with a happy lilt. Not to mention, you might possibly understand why I needed those brass knuckles for my job as hostess.”

  “You claimed brass knuckles?” He cast a side-eye at the pile of receipts they’d yet to look at.

  “Well, they call them that, but really, the metal is more like an alloy. I can’t pronounce some of the stuff it uses, but it’s solid. Nothing but the best for my work.”

  “You need an accountant.”

  “Funny you should say that because the one I used to have said I needed a keeper.” It might be why she had to get a new accountant. Given she hacked computers for fun, it wasn’t hard to figure out a way to have her stuff automatically sorted and filed using the fund transfers from her various accounts. But her programming let her down by not distinguishing hidden purchases from real ones. She’d had to scramble to find the actual paper for more than a few things the program claimed. In some cases, she improvised.

  Some might wonder why she didn’t hack the IRS and clear her name. She could, it wasn’t that hard, and she was pretty good at not getting caught. Most of the time. She well remembered
the punishment when Arik found out she’d been playing with the government’s airspace defense system. All she did was set off a few missiles for some real fireworks. Not a big deal. Arik laid down his paw and relegated her to latrine duty; AKA cleaning the public toilets on the condo’s ground floor. It still gave her nightmares.

  “Perhaps you should have listened to them, because you obviously don’t know how to care for yourself.” He eyed her place with clear disparagement as he stood and weaved gingerly to the door.

  The discomfort in him made her want to lick him and see what happened next. Would he scream like a baby? Run for the nearest shower and soap? Turn into a passionate beast who pinned her to the wall?

  “I can’t wait to have you discipline me over dinner,” she declared as he headed out the door.

  “Have your papers ready,” was his dry reply as he left, closing the door behind him.

  She ran for the security panel and flipped it on for a peek, pushing the button marked Hall. Without pausing that long stride, he turned down the hall for the elevator. Would he actually leave? She ran for the remotes scattered in the living room. Diving on the tablet poking out from under a cushion, she quickly loaded her menu options. The security camera footage of the lobby loaded, four in all: one by the elevator, one each by the desk and lounge, the last by the front door.

  She watched Mr. Theodore Loomer leaving, posture tall, his head never turning to look, meaning he never saw the women perched on the edges of their seats, watching him.

  Only once Melly knew he was gone did she flounce downstairs into the main lobby, receiving instant silence as she announced, “Biatches, we have a problem.”

  Chapter Three

  There was a problem. Despite his mandate to uncover financials and the threads that would lead from them, Theodore found himself outside the steakhouse at six fifty-five. A habit of his was arriving a few minutes early that he might check things out.

  A Lion’s Pride Steakhouse was a well-known eatery owned, no surprise, by the Pride Group—who also made their money in luxury hotels and hair products, of all things. Yet they seemed a little too successful. Given some of the things he’d gleaned from the files, he knew for a fact they had to be dealing in some shady stuff, too. If he could ferret out the secret, he’d be in for a promotion and a raise.