Murder. The job that paid enough to buy a semi-professional soccer team.

The only job that paid better? Kidnapping.

While I had zero experience in the latter, I had plenty in the former. 

Handing my coat to the coat check attendant, I adjusted my werewolf’s headgear. Tonight should go like clockwork—once I got used to this costume. I pocketed the coat check tag and moseyed into the atrium, where a waiter offered me a champagne.

A few minutes after entering the ballroom, I spotted my target. He flaunted his sleaziness like a ’57 Chevrolet on a Sunday cruise. Even dressed as a colonial soldier, he was channeling Nixon. To judge from his shady record, it was a miracle no one had offed him before this. Taking bribes from opposing parties and then pitting them against each other when they questioned him was a pretty jackass move. Politicians thought they were untouchable. His bulbous nose and beady eyes reminded me of a proboscis monkey I’d seen on the nature channel. Pushing the comparison further would insult the monkey.

Sipping my drink, I moved in for the kill. My costume smothered me in fake fur and Lycra lining from head to waist. At least it was a frigid February in Philadelphia, and the headpiece left the face exposed. I’d grown out my beard a little and painted on heavy brows and a black nose, adding a couple of fangs to make me less recognizable.

I sauntered over, inserting myself into a small circle of ass-kissers and a lull in conversation. I thrust out a hand. “Congressman Hendricks? It’s an honor, sir. Jack Donaldson.”

I drew him into discussion about construction of the new sports complex, posing as one of the investors and praising the location he’d lobbied for. This naturally brought our talk around to his main political rival. Hendricks was clearly jonesing for a read on how much the financial community supported his opponent.

I edged closer to him, lowering my voice. “Before my team found out about that mistake he made ten years ago, we might’ve endorsed him. Now no one can stand him.”

His bushy brows lifted a notch. “Mistake?”

I could smell his hunger.

I darted a nervous glance around the company present. “It’s not general knowledge. I wouldn’t want to broadcast anything here.”

His eyes drilled into me before he bobbed his round chin towards a hallway. “Shall we go somewhere more private?”

I cocked my head, lifting an eyebrow. “As long as you’re not wired.”

He cracked a wry smile, leading us through the corridor to a door far down on the right. He’d obviously been here before. Having zillowed the hell out of this mansion, I applauded his choice of rooms. It was a cross between a library and music room, with bookshelves lining the walls and a piano in one corner. A nice quiet place for my operation.

He cricked the door closed behind us. “Now, Donaldson, do share what you know.”

My foster sister had dabbled in theater in high school and taught me a few things about the stage. Now I decided to upstage Hendricks. Waltzing towards one of the floor-to-ceiling windows along the opposite wall, I garbled some nonsense with my back to him.

“What was that?” I caught his reflection in the dark windowpane as he closed the distance between us in a few strides, craning his neck to hear what I’d said.

Drawing an arm around his shoulder, I pulled him in as if to confide in him. Instead, I covered his mouth in a chloroform-soaked cloth. While waiting for him to lose consciousness, I gripped him tightly, murmuring a few parting messages to him from my client. After several minutes of weakening struggle, he crumpled to the floor. I was already wearing gloves for my costume. I tore off his shoe and sock, pulled out my hypodermic, and injected it between his big and second toes. Then I replaced his footwear, patting him on the cheek.

“Sweet dreams.”

Whoever found him would think it was a heart attack.

Pocketing my equipment, I retrieved my glass of champagne and turned to leave. The perfect murder.

Only one problem.

In the doorway, wide-eyed and pale, stood a young 1920s flapper.

* * * *

Danya

I froze like a rabbit before a snake. Deep down I may have hoped that by not moving I wouldn’t attract the man’s notice.

Did I just see what I think I saw?

The man sprawling on the carpet looked pretty dead. 

My throat worked on a swallow, and I twisted the skirt of my dress in both hands.

All I’d wanted was a moment’s peace in the library. For hours now Dad had continually lured Luis away and shoved rich, eligible bachelors in my direction. Since my shoes were pinching my feet after so much dancing, I thought I’d take them off for a few minutes, sink into a couch, and breathe a little.

But the sight in front of me punched all the breath from my lungs.

Then, as adrenaline pumped through my veins, I began to hyperventilate.

I whirled about, intending to flee. But a pair of strong furry arms banded me from behind, whisking me back into the room. My captor toed the door shut, clapping a large hand over my mouth. I wasn’t all that small, but this man’s powerful hold reduced me to a gift shop figurine. 

A ridiculous notion entered my mind as he effortlessly carried me to the other end of the room—he smelled incredible. Anise, wine-stained wood, and musky masculine sweat invaded my nostrils.