Jennifer Rardin [Jaz Parks series book 2] Another One Bites The Dust

 I reached for Grief, realized I held a tray full of party food in my shooting hand, and by then it was too late. I turned to face the door as it swung open and the twit walked in.

 “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

 “We were told to bring a tray of sandwiches to this room,” I said, smiling politely as I switched it to my left hand.

 “I did not order anything,” he snapped.

 “Well, she definitely told us to bring it here.” I could see him mentally thumbing through the list of possible women to whom I could be referring. It must’ve been pretty short, because within seconds he was considering me with less irritation and more interest.

 “Pengfei must know I like chicken salad with my brunettes.”

 He moved toward me and I backed up, wishing for more room to maneuver. “Now, wait a minute,” I said, my heart beating so hard I was surprised my bra straps didn’t snap. “The caterersprovide the food. We aren’t food ourselves.” I didn’t want to smoke the creep. It would so compromise the mission, and I’d done enough of that last time around.

 I’d run out of floor space, so I stepped up onto the bed. The twit continued to stalk me, enjoying his abbreviated hunt, sure of the outcome.

 “Listen,” I said, trying not to sound desperate. He’d take it as a signal to charge. Grief weighed heavy on my shoulder as I tried to talk him out of his own demise. “Chien-Lung’s your master, right? Surely he won’t be happy knowing you’ve eaten the caterer. After all, he’s here to entertain, not mop up.”

 “Chien-Lung is no master of mine,” the twit snarled, wrinkling his lips as if he’d just bitten into something rotten.

 “Pengfei then,” I said, latching on to the name he’d dropped earlier.

 He drew himself up to his full height, threw his thin shoulders back. “Those two are barely fit to lick the soles of mysverhamin ’s boots. It is a wonder to me that Edward even bothers with them sometimes. I have never met a more unbalanced pair.”

 I did a quick expression check. Mouth shut? Eyes focused? Inner turmoil completely masked? I sure as hell hoped so, because given the circumstances, the twit could only be referring to Edward the ‘Raptor’ Samos. Samos must not have been able to attend to this affair directly, so he’d sent hisavhar to take care of it in his place. Weird to have theavhar thing in common with Mr. Thin-and-Pasty. I’d assumed it was only a human thing. Apparently vamps could form that kind of bond too.

 “If you’re planning on eating me, could you at least tell me your name?”

 He appeared to consider my request. Finally he nodded. “My name is Shunyuan Fa.” He didn’t ask for mine in return. Which brought us right back to our cat-and-mouse game. I was just moving into the acceptance phase, where Grief would come into play and this whole job might explode in my face, when Vayl blew into the room. He slammed the door hard enough to make the bed shake. Both the twit and I froze, looking at him in shock.

 “Thereyou are!” he said, waving his hands expansively, reminding me of my uncle Barney, a man who does everything on the Big and Loud. “I am so sorry”—he bowed to Shunyuan Fa—“she is always flirting with clients when she should be overseeing operations.”

 He turned to me. “There seems to have been some sort of accident with the shrimp and the punch. Miles insists he has just invented a new hors d’oeuvre, however the guests may not agree. Also the cheese puffs have exploded. And I cannot be certain, but I believe I saw Cole sneeze all over the bar glasses.”

 The twit gave a horrified little scream that nearly made me laugh out loud. However, since my knees were still shaking from my close call with mission-screwed, I managed to maintain an air of calm as Vayl took my arm and escorted me out the door. I purposely turned the wrong way, managed to plant two cameras on two separate doorframes before Shunyuan Fa joined us in the hallway and set us on the correct path. We parted ways at the deck.

 Vayl and I found the rest of our team in the galley. After some hurried conferring during which we all agreed our cameras had been planted, the buffet set up, and the empty coolers packed back on the boat, we decided to blow on outta that joint before our luck completely deserted us.

 CHAPTERELEVEN

 We made it back to shore without sinking, which, I decided, was the second-best thing that had happened to me that night. We lingered just long enough to tie the boat to the dock, although it might have been kinder to let it drift. Then the kids moved the party to the RV while the grown-ups stood side by side, surrounded by sailboats and speedboats and fishing boats. The moonlight reflected off the soft waves of the bay, combining with the gentle breeze to create an ideal atmosphere for conversation.

 “Close call,” I said.

 “Yes.”

 “Sounds like Shunyuan Fa is linked to the Raptor.”

 “I agree.”

 “I wish you’d stop to take a breath once in a while. I can hardly get a word in edgewise.”

 Tightening of the lips. Corner-of-the-eye look. At last he spoke. “You would tell me if I had offended you in some way, yes?”

 “Of course.”

 “You know I did not think you needed to be rescued just now. I just supposed it would be nice to leave Shunyuan Fa alive so that, perhaps, we could trace him back to Samos.”

 “Yeah.”

 “And, before”—he let out a huge breath—“when our lips touched—”

 “I know you were just trying to teach me a lesson,” I rushed in, glad of the night so he couldn’t see me blush. It had been a very pleasurable lesson.