Dakota Cassidy's books make me laugh and laugh. They are
such great fun that I always look forward to the next one
with gusto!
This book is about Wanda's sister Casey Schwartz. Casey has
always been mild mannered and has always done the right
thing. She has a job that keeps her on her toes taking care
of two teen-aged brat hellions who have a doting father and
way too much money at their disposal. When Casey calls
Wanda out of the blue to tell her she needs to be bailed
out of jail and she doesn't have any idea why or what she
did, Wanda is very skeptical. Still she gathers up Marty
and Nina and goes to rescue Casey. When they get back to
Casey's apartment and Casey suddenly shoots fire out of her
fingertips and sets Nina's hair on fire and then floats to
the ceiling, they know something dreadful has happened but
what?
Clayton Gunnersson is a vampire and is Nina's mate, Greg's
best friend. He is also mated to a demon. He wants to break
the bond and was given a spell to do that but it went
horribly wrong when he spilled demon blood on Casey and it
absorbed into her body. Now he doesn't have long before his
mate Hildegard comes to claim his blood so she can stay on
the earthly plane. Now he and Casey have to work together
to solve this dilemma but how they can solve is quite the
challenge.
I totally loved this book with a capital 'L' and my eyes
didn't bleed once. Dakota Cassidy needs to write much
faster or I need to read much slower. Either way, I'm
standing in line for the next book with great impatience!
The devilish new novel from the national bestselling
author of The Accidental Human
When
mild-mannered Casey Schwartz wakes up in jail, she has no
memory of how she got there. But after her sister, Wanda,
bails her out, Casey has more to deal with than a foggy
memory-like abrupt mood swings and fireballs shooting from
her fingertips. But things really head south when a vampire
shows up on her doorstep...
Vampire Clayton
Gunnersson is seriously hot. And seriously taken-by a demon.
In a ritual gone wrong, Clayton tried to get rid of his
unwanted bond, but spilled some demonic blood on Casey,
getting her possessed in the process. Now, Casey has to
share her body and manage to keep her growing attraction to
Clayton in check, because falling for her demon's boyfriend
just might get Casey killed-from the inside out.
Excerpt
"Wandaaaaa!" Casey Schwartz whispered low and harsh into the
mouthpiece of a black phone attached by-of all the
demeaning, degrading things-a rusty chain to its base. It
was debilitating. No, that wasn't the right word. It was
debasing. Debilitating meant to incapacitate.
Oh. My. She was officially so freaked she had the disease
known as contextual error.
Though, in her defense, and despite her almost sickening
anxiety, this situation could very well be debilitating, if
say Big Sue next door decided to make good on her threat to
yank her intestines out through her belly button.
"Casey?"
Her gulp was undoubtedly audible, but she refused to allow
her voice to wobble. If Wanda knew just how hysterical Casey
was, she'd only get hysterical, too. The Schwartz's
hysterical together equaled hysterical to the millionth
power. "Ye-" She cleared her throat, wiping away the squeak
and hoping to keep the tremor of her bottom lip in check.
"Yes, Wanda, it's me. Your long, lost sister who never calls
you." Well, except when she's in some deep doody. Like now.
Yes, now would be the kind of doody one might call deep.
Either way, that wasn't exactly how she'd hoped her opening
line would come out.
If she'd ever felt like complete shit for not calling Wanda
and her parents more before today, it would never compare to
the steaming pile that was her remorse right now.
"Oh, honey." Wanda's tone grew gentle and admonishing all at
once. "Don't be like that. I told you to call me whenever
you're able, didn't I? No strings attached. I know your life
is busy and getting away from that tyrant you work for is
difficult. I totally understand your not being able to even
so much as pick up a phone until maybe as far into the
future as when Mars and Venus align. Really, I do. But
believe it or not, I can't talk right now. I'm on my way for
a girls' weekend in lovely Connecticut with Marty and Nina.
We're off to a B and B for some quality girl bonding."
"Yeah." Casey heard a disgusted grunt in the background.
"Quality girl bonding, Wanda. Is that what we're calling
dragging me to stupid-assed antique store after antique
store to look at overpriced junk while in between hunting
garbage we stop at quaint little sidewalk cafés and order
prissy tea with names I can't even pronounce-or drink-then
have massages by some weird guys with weirder names like
Bjorn who really just wanna see chicks naked."
"Nina!" Casey heard yet another voice interrupt, much
sweeter in tone. "First of all, no one forced you to come,
whiner. We only invited you to scare off anyone who might
potentially want to become our friend anyway. Because
honestly, the idea of adding someone else to our friendship
mix when we have you is about as appealing as inviting the
devil himself to play Russian roulette with the gun of his
choice. Second of all, she's on the phone with her sister.
You know, the one who lives in Manhattan and doesn't visit
much. Just shut up, already!"
Casey sighed into the mouthpiece, avoiding at all costs
letting her lips so much as graze the black, marred surface.
Another pang of regret settled in her stomach knowing
Wanda's friends were apparently aware she was a total
slacker when it came to keeping in touch with her family.
She'd dwell on that if there weren't more pressing matters
at hand.
Like her life.
Or, at the very least, her wool socks-which, oddly enough,
they'd let her keep and were no doubt warm and desirable in
a place like this. But definitely not worth the threat of
sawing off your feet with a nail file for.
Nausea turned her stomach in waves. Casey pressed a hand to
her belly.
Her orange-clad belly.
A rustle of what sounded like material scraping against the
phone ensued, then Wanda growled with a snap, "Nina, Marty,
knock it off, now! You know damned well I'm not kidding with
the two of you, either."
Growled? Wanda had growled? Had the second coming of Christ
been scheduled, and she'd missed the memo? Wanda didn't
growl. She didn't swear, either. Wanda always went in
whatever direction took her as far away from growling and
swearing as she could get. Baffled at her sister's
confrontational tone, Casey cocked her head to listen more
closely.
"Casey, honey?"
"I'm still here." Still. Here.
"Did you hear me? I can't talk right now. Especially with
these two beasts in the car. If you only knew what road
trips are like with the two of them. Hell, I tell you. Utter
and complete hell. Like total submersion in the ninth level
of Purgatory. How about I call you when we get back from
Connecticut on Monday? We can set up a time that's
convenient for you. Maybe when the Big Dipper's in full view?"
Panic rose to lodge in her throat despite the fact that
Wanda was taking a potshot at her. She peered over her
shoulder at the line forming behind her. "No! No, you don't
understand, Wanda-"
"No, sweetie, I really do. I'm just teasing you about your
utter lack of communication and acknowledgment of any and
all familial ties. Honest. Now you go do all the important
things that keep you from pressing my number on speed dial
and we'll talk next week-or next year-your call."
"Wanda!"
"Casey?"
"Please just listen to me."
"Of course I'll listen, but wait. Hold on for just a second."
Hold on? Sure. She could hold on. She could hold on for as
long as she could hold off the very angry mob of people
closing in on her. A rather imposing, large woman with a
small head and square shoulders like a linebacker butted up
against her and whispered so the guard wouldn't hear, "Hey,
four eyes, hurry it the fuck up or you'll be reading
Braille." Casey self-consciously pushed at her glasses,
glasses a very nice guard had given her a Band-Aid to hold
together after they'd been viciously stomped on with a red
stiletto worn by a woman with a thigh the size of a tree
trunk. She clamped her fingers firmly above the rims in case
the hardened bully behind her decided to make good on her
threat. "Wanda?" she squeaked, fighting for composure.
"One more sec, Case. Nina!" Wanda bristled once more. "Give
Marty the frickin' map and give it to her now. You know good
and well you couldn't read a map even if your IQ suddenly
shot up fifty points. Hand it over, and hand it over this
instant. I knew we should have taken Marty's car. She has
GPS." More rustling occurred, then she heard her sister's
exasperated sigh. "Do you see why I can't talk now, baby
girl? It's just madness when the three of us try to do
anything like normal girlfriends do. An all-consuming trip
into insanity."
"Wanda!" She'd resorted to a whisper-yell to get Wanda's
attention. And really, who, in the position she was in now,
wouldn't at the very least whimper?
"I'm just not getting through to you, am I? What's this
sudden need to talk all about, Case? You almost never want
to talk. Not willingly, anyway. And to reiterate, I'm not
blaming. I'm just stating a fact. I only wish you'd chosen a
better time to call. If the timing were right, I'd yak with
you for all of the three seconds you devote to saying the
words I'm fine. But I just can't right now. We're lost
somewhere in New York City, and believe me when I tell you;
no one wants to be lost with Nina and Marty. No one. In
fact, I'd bet the man upstairs himself would rather have a
do-over of World War Two than he would be lost with Marty
and Nina."
"One minute remaining," an automated voice boomed in her ear.
"One minute remaining?" Wanda queried. "Are you calling me
from a pay phone, Casey? Do they even still have pay phones
anymore? Where's your cell, honey? I didn't even check my
caller ID to see who was calling. I-"
"Wanda! Quit talking and listen closely!" she yelped,
finally blurting out the most heinous statement she'd
probably ever make in her entire life. "Seventh Precinct,
lower east side of Manhattan. Come get me-please, please
come bail me out!" She realized her voice had risen to
stratospheric proportions, but her mounting hysteria
couldn't be contained.
"Bail you out?"
A click in her ear meant the one minute she'd had remaining
was up, but it wasn't up before she'd heard the disbelief
Wanda's voice left ringing in her ear.
Yes.
Bail her out.
Of jail.
Of the poe-poe.
From the big house.
From the hoosegow.
For assault and battery.
Of an off-duty police officer.
A half an hour later, Wanda showed up just in time for the
scheduled visitation with her two friends in tow. "Oh,
Casey!" her sister fairly shrieked, gathering Casey in her
arms and hugging her tight to her slender frame. Despite her
dire circumstances, she couldn't help but notice how pretty
and healthy Wanda looked these days. Since she'd married
Heath, her cheeks were always glowing and her eyes were
bright. More ugly guilt ate at Casey's gut. Seeing Wanda
reminded her she hadn't been able to take time off to attend
Wanda and Heath's wedding on the Island. Noooo, she'd been
too busy catering to the grown women she literally babysat.
Wanda pushed a strand of Casey's tangled chocolate brown
hair from her forehead. "Are you okay?"
"Don't ask her that, Wanda. Of course she's not okay," a
blonde with shoulder length hair, and a chic sapphire blue,
form-fitting sweater dress with a gold chain-link belt
draped casually over her hips, chastised. "She's wearing
orange-a color I assure you isn't even close to her color
wheel. It makes her look sallow and almost yellow around the
gills. And she's in-" the blonde leaned in and whispered
"-jail. Jail, Wanda. There's nothing okay about jail."
Another woman, as dark as the blonde was light, and a stark
fashion contrast to her in faded jeans and a sweatshirt that
read "Yellow Sucks," nudged the blonde hard with a flat palm
to her shoulder and an irritated look. "Shut the fuck up,
Marty. A-the color wheel bullshit is now a thing of the
past. Or did you forget Heath, the director of marketing you
hired, shot that shit all to hell and renamed it an 'Aura
Arc' or some such crap? B-stop whispering the word jail like
it's the plague or something, and quit acting like you're
all above this, Miss Hoity-toity. Jesus! Don't you think the
poor kid feels bad enough without being reminded her color
wheel's out of whack, and she's in jail? Sometimes you're so
fucking insensitive."
The blonde-Marty, from what Casey had distractedly
gathered-gasped and fiddled with the black coat she had
draped over her arm, clenching tight fingers on the collar
as though she was warring with the idea of a little physical
violence. "Excuse me, but if you remember, I voted Heath
down on the ridiculous idea a color wheel should be anything
but what it is. A color wheel. And me? Insensitive, Nina?
Um, helloooooo, Miss Potty Mouth. Who's insensitive? Wasn't
it you who just the other day-"
"Nina, Marty, knock-it-off!" Wanda intervened with a stern
look, putting a hand up between both women. "Now, my
sister's in crisis. This isn't the time to have a knock
down, drag out about arcs and wheels-especially here where I
just might allow the nice policeman in the corner over there
to haul you both off to cells. You know those dank, dark
cages where you all have to share the facilities and some
woman named Inga makes you her cellblock missus? Cut it out
and behave accordingly."
Wanda turned back to Casey, plastering a forced smile on her
lips, but it didn't hide the disgust she just knew her
sister was undoubtedly experiencing. Casey could see it in
the wrinkle of her pert nose and the pinch of her glossed
lips. "Now, back to you. Are you okay?" Casey glanced at the
other prisoners in the gray, institutionally colored
visiting area and blanched. Oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus, oh,
Jesus-she was in jail. She fought for the calm, unruffled
demeanor that was almost always her outward appearance. She
liked to call it her "work face." The face she used when
someone had to remain calm in the midst of all the chaos and
madness her employers' twentysomething daughters created.
How you did that in the visiting room of the pokey while
surrounded by criminals with something called a "grill" in
their mouths was going to be a primo effort. Casey gathered
what was left of her sane, levelheaded self and laid it
right out there for her sister to see. "I'm about as good as
can be expected in jail. Did you pay the bond? I know it was
a bundle of money. I swear I'll pay you back for all of
it-every penny. I have most of it in my savings account. The
rest I'll make payments on every month. Promise."
Wanda threw up a dismissive hand as though money was no
issue. "Don't be silly, honey. The money isn't the problem
at all. I took care of it, and I know you're good for it.
Here's the real problem-you assaulted an off-duty officer,
Casey-in a bar. What the ef, young lady? You're standing
here in front of me all stoic, like this is no big deal. I
don't even know who you are. You were always so
studious-thoughtful-quiet and I can't ever remember you
going to a bar. Don't you remember how we were always
saying, 'That Casey, always with her nose in a book. She's
so quiet.' So quiet in fact, now we hardly ever hear from
you. Since when did you go all vigilante?"
Good question. If someone had the answer, she'd be all in
for hearing the explanation. "I don't know." And she didn't.
She couldn't remember past . . . well, she couldn't
remember. Period. Fear rose again like the swell of froth on
a freshly tapped beer. "I don't even remember what happened,
Wanda," she blurted out, then silently damned herself for
not thinking before she opened her big mouth. Shit. Casey
let her head hang low, dropping it to her chest to hide her
eyes-and, okay, her shame.
But Wanda would have none of that. She tilted up her
sister's chin and forced Casey to gaze into blue eyes so
different from her own. "You can't remember? But you always
remember-everything. Details are your thing. Wait . . . were
you . . . drunk?" Wanda frowned with distaste, whispering
the word so no one would hear her-as if that was the worst
offense you could commit in a place like this. Wanda's
nostrils flared in an obvious effort to find alcohol on her
breath.
Hah. Drunk.
As if there was ever enough time to so much as breathe the
air designed especially for her when she was too busy
breathing it for the Demonic Duo, Lola and Lita, were her
boss, Calvin Castalano's, twin daughters. Spoiled,
self-centered socialites who did virtually nothing but plan
their eyelash-curling time around their next Botox
injections and drive-by implants. Though drinking wasn't a
vice she heartily pursued-if anyone could drive someone to
become a shoo-in for AA, it was Lola and Lita.
Casey focused on Wanda's face again and replied with as much
succinct calm as she could muster, "No. No, I wasn't
drinking or drugging or doing any of the things that would
make me forget how I ended up here in jail for . . .
assaulting an officer." Casey cringed, folding her fingers
together to rest at her thighs. She'd hit a police officer.
Her. Casey Louise Schwartz.
And she hadn't just hit him. According to what she'd
overheard, she'd slammed one Arvin Polanski up against the
far side of the bar's wall-with just a single, delicate hand.
Oh, and then she'd hurled herself at him, suspending him
approximately three feet above the ground, but not before
she made an extra special effort to threaten to sacrifice
the heart she'd rip from his chest in a ritualistic offering
of satanic worship. And sheep.
There was also a reference to sheep she neither understood
nor wanted clarification for.
That the two arresting officers had even been speaking with
the smallest, most remote reference about her and satanic
rituals might just mean a psych eval was in her very near
future.
She'd never raised a hand to anyone in her life, but
clearly, when she chose to throw down, she did it with a
thundering hand and wild abandon. And that could be handy
info to have on her side should she ever encounter say a
mugger.
Or a brutal serial killer.
Whichever came first.
Yet those moments she'd only heard bits and pieces of as
they were booking her remained a complete blur. The only
thing she did remember was the aftermath. The aftermath that
included hog-tying her and hurling her like a sack of
potatoes into the back of a police car while Lola and Lita
stood mortified on the outskirts of the biggest crowd she'd
seen since the last Flock Of Seagulls concert she'd gone to
as a teenager.
"Casey? Care to explain that statement?" Wanda pressed,
giving the visitors area the once-over with a scathing
glance. "Because here you are. In jail not remembering how
you got here."
"Here I am," she confirmed. In jail. To say anything else,
to defend herself without all the details, would just be
stupid. She'd clearly blacked out, but the how and why was a
big, honkin' blank.
"Did you have a drink?" Marty asked, her eyes warm and clear
with concern. "I read an article a long time ago about how
dangerous it can be to set one down in a bar. Freaks put all
sorts of things in them-like maybe psychotropic drugs or
something. You can't ever be too careful these days."
"I didn't have anything to drink," Casey said, thwarting
that idea. There was never enough time to do anything as
self-indulgent as get your own drink when you were too busy
finding the best champagne in the house for the demon twins.
Wanda's one hand went instantly to Casey's forehead, prying
one of her eyes wide open with the other to gaze into it.
"Did you hit your head? Are you having some kind of
neurological issues you haven't told me about?"
She shrugged off her sister's fingers, forcing down her
irritation. "No."
"No," Wanda repeated plainly. "That's all you have. Just no."
Yep. That about sized it up. "Yes."
Nina stuck her head between the two of them. "Am I outta
line here or would it be too much to ask you two to worry
about the explanations and memory recon missions later? You
know, after we get the fuck out of here." Wanda's friend
Nina said, saving Casey from having to offer any further
explanations. "I hate to rub salt in the wound, but we are
in the slammer. And I'm not much likin' the seedy dude over
there in the corner who, if he keeps eyeing my booty and
thinking the shit he's thinking, is gonna be pulling my fist
from his throat by way of his ass. I know I said I'd almost
rather do anything than go to that fucking spa slash B and B
with you two wing nuts, but this wasn't high on my list. So
can the interrogation, Wanda, and let's get Casey home
before I beat the fucking snot out of that freak."
Wanda gave Casey one last sympathetic glance before she
nodded her head in agreement. "For once, Nina, you have a
point. They have to out process you or something police-ish
like that, is what I'm told. Paperwork, I guess. We'll meet
you out in front of the jail," she said with intended
emphasis. "In the parking lot."
She watched her sister tuck her purse between her arm and
side, her short, quick steps brisk and efficient as she and
her friends exited the visiting area's locked doors. Just as
Nina passed the "seedy dude," she leaned in with a narrow
gaze of her black eyes, letting loose an odd, menacing sound
from her throat. A shiver ran the course of her spine.
The Nina chick was scary.
How she'd become friends with her sister, meek and about as
confrontational as Mother Theresa, escaped her.
When she broke out of the big house, Casey made a mental
note to make nice with the scary chick at all costs.
"Officer?"
"If you're here ta file a complaint, sit over there." The
police officer pointed a finger to the left without looking
up, his Brooklyn accent distinct. "If you're here ta bail
somebody out," he thumbed over his shoulder, "it's the room
on the right."
Clayton Gunnersson stuck his hand under the officer's nose,
giving him a cheerful grin. "I'm not here to file a complaint."
"Then it's the room on da right, buddy," he offered
distractedly.
"Actually, I was wondering if the Unabomber has visiting
hours. I baked a cake for him. Chocolate. It's his favorite."
The officer's head snapped upward, eyeing Clayton. "Yer a
funny guy."
"Now that I have your attention, I'm not sure exactly where
I need to be. So before I take door number one or two, I was
hoping you could help me."
"Look, pal . . ." He drifted off when Clay captured his
eyes, holding them in a stare.
Clayton leaned over the high desktop and smiled. "I only
need a moment of your time. Promise. I'm looking for someone
who was involved in an incident at Crimson Lips. I don't
have her name, but there was only one arrest, so it
shouldn't be difficult to locate her."
The policeman began to move his head in an "absolutely not"
fashion, but Clayton caught him, directing his attention
back to his eyes. "Nuh-uh-uh, now don't go all rules and
regulations with me. Be nice and help a guy out. Ready?"
Clay motioned his fingers up and down, and the officer's
head followed with obedience. "Nice. Now, where's the girl
who was arrested at Crimson Lips?"
His eyes were shiny and glazed, but his lips moved in a
sluggish response. "Posted bail-her sister, I think."
Clay smiled once more with approval. "Excellent. And what's
the young lady's name and address?"
"I can't give you that inf-"
Clayton gave him a mock pout. "Oh, Officer Kilpatrick, you
do know it's pointless to deny me, don't you?"
Kilpatrick nodded, transfixed by Clayton's stare.
"Perfect. Now do me this-look it up on your computer, and
then write it down on one of those sticky things for me. I
forget a lot lately, and this is important." Clay pointed to
the stack of sticky notes, his eyes never leaving the
officer's face. "Use a yellow one, please."
Officer Kilpatrick gave him no trouble at all, typing in a
few words then transferring the information to the sticky
note Clay requested. He took the note from him, sticking it
to the front of his jacket, and holding it out to show
Kilpatrick. "So I'll remember."
He nodded again, slow and wooden.
Clay reached over and slapped him on the shoulder. "You're a
good egg, Officer Kilpatrick."
Looking down at his shirt, he glanced at her name, saying it
with a silent movement of his lips then cringed.
He'd done a bad, bad thing.
With a grimace, he pondered this Casey Louise Schwartz.
She was in for a surprise.
Though the throwing of confetti was probably inappropriate.
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