A Wolf at the Door

got done trying to recall my very rusty Shakespeare, the phone stopped ringing. A minute or so later, the message notification blinked on.

I still debated on listening to it. Ivan had been dodging me for three months. I didn’t think he was calling just to catch up. But best to rip the bandage off quickly, right?

The deep gravelly voice forced me to hold the phone away from my ear, but there was no chance of me not hearing him. “Dawson. Am I to be understanding that you are to be working in California, and have not provided this information to Grapevine? This is to being unacceptable. It endangers you, and others. It is to be fortunate that your student is to be worried for your well-being and called me. You will to be returning this message.” Click.

I decided then and there I was gonna beat the crap out of Esteban when I got home. The little twerp narced on me! I was almost thirty-three years old, dammit, I didn’t need to check in with Daddy every time I set foot outside my door. And really, Ivan of all people was gonna quibble about sharing information? Mr. Hide-the-Champion himself? I wondered if he’d understand me if I called and said “Hi, Pot, this is Kettle.” Probably not.

Feeling inordinately rebellious, I hit the DELETE button, erasing the message. He’d kept me waiting this long, I’d call him when I goddamn well felt like it.

Yeah, I’m twelve. I admit this.

Sitting there pissed off and brooding for a few hours didn’t sound like a lot of fun. I eyed the bench for a moment, then managed to fold my long legs up into a close approximation of a lotus position, just resting my hands on my knees. When in doubt, meditate. And if anyone thought it strange, seeing the scrawny blond dude meditating outside the trendy salon, no one said a thing.

They did, however, stop to take pictures. I thought at first they were just getting the salon. Maybe it was the location of a famous hairdo or something. But no, when I cracked one eye open, there were people stopped, taking my picture. “I’m not him. That guy from that show. Move along.” Visibly disappointed, they did, but that didn’t stop the next batch. After a while, I stopped protesting. It just wasn’t worth it.

Time went on, waiting for Her Highness to get her nails done or whatever, and about the time I started worrying about impending sunburn, the door opened and Tai came out, giving me a wave as he headed to get the car. “You asleep out here?”

“Not for lack of trying.” I stood up, stretching muscles that reminded me how crappy my seat had been for the past couple of hours. “We all done here?”

“Yeah, with this stage at least. Dante promised her some retail therapy, so we’re about to be relegated to pack mule duty.”

Oh, hell. Seriously? “Shopping? Are you kidding?”

He was not.

Look, I have no idea where we went, and what I know about fashion involves making sure that the shirt I’m wearing doesn’t smell bad when I put it on. But I’m pretty sure that this was the kind of store that invented the phrase “if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.”

It was also the store where the paparazzi found us again. We were standing around, watching Gretchen and Dante coo and squeal over their apparently amazing acquisitions, when Bobby gave a short jerk with his chin. “Heads up. Cameras.”

Turning, I found the windows of the entire store front plastered with cameras, their owners pressed against the glass like land-roaming lampreys. Even as I hunched in instinctive defense, five flashes went off, dazzling my vision. Behind me, Tai tsked in disapproval. “Amateurs. You can’t use a flash through the glass like that. Those shots will never come out.”

Dante snorted. “Hey, it’s their paycheck.” He selected a shining silver shirt off the rack they were currently plundering, holding it up to the windows. “What do you think?” Four or five of the paparazzi gave him a thumbs-up, a few gave him a thumbs-down, and the rest just snapped away on their cameras.

Gretchen continued her shopping without even glancing up.

“Doesn’t it bother you? Having them always there?” I finally had to ask, because even my limited run-ins with them were starting to grate on my nerves.

She shrugged absently. “Better to indulge them some when I can. Keeps them from climbing over my back fence and taking pics while I’m in the tub or something.” Without looking, she tossed something blue in my direction. I caught it without thinking. “This would look good on you.”

Upon examination, it proved to be a royal blue silk shirt, long-sleeved, button-up. Actually, it didn’t look bad, except for all the zeros at the end of the price tag. “Yeah, it’s cool I guess.”

“You guess? It goes perfectly with your eyes, did you even look?” With an exasperated roll of her eyes, she came over to hold the shirt up against my chest, turning me to face a handy mirror. Outside, the cameras went crazy. “See? Perfect.”

Okay, yeah, maybe. I guess it was a nice shirt. Did make my blue eyes stand out, sort of. “Out of my price range, thanks.” I handed it back before I accidentally damaged it or something.

Gretchen tossed it negligently into one of the piles she’d started accumulating. “Boys. Never good at shopping.”

That earned an offended “Hey!” from Dante, and she gave him a genuinely fond smile. “Except you.”

“Better.” He gave her a one-armed hug, then put the silver shirt back on the rack. “Okay, Boo, I think we’ve done our damage here. You got places to be.”

“All right, let’s go pay.” The pair of them scooped up their spoils and headed for the cash register. I didn’t pay a lot of attention until she thrust a shirt box into my arms. “Here. In case you ever find a need to be presentable.” She marched away on her stiletto heels before I could protest.

Sure enough, the blue silk shirt was in the box. Now what in the world was I supposed to do with that?

Gretchen loaded Bobby and Tai down with bags and boxes for the trip back to the car, proving Tai’s pack mule prophecy true, and I gave both of them a small frown. “How can you be bodyguards with your hands full like