High-Heeler Wonder (Killer Style 1)

As if Sylvie would ever let that happen. Not when they were so close to bringing down the bastard who’d turned her life into a circus sideshow. When they confronted Anders, she wanted to be the bitch turning the screws.

Standing in the kitchen doorway with one hip cocked, she jangled Tony’s car keys from one outstretched finger. And cleared her throat.

Which grabbed his attention as surely as the smell of pizza after a two-day juice cleanse. He halted, his shoulders rose to ear level, and he spun around in slow motion. By the time he’d made the one-eighty, all evidence of guilt had faded into a charming grin that nearly knocked her to her knees.

Anton had warned her about boys like him. She should have listened.

He held out his calloused palm. “I have to pick something up before we can head into Harbor City.”

“Great, I’m coming with you.” She strutted into the living room, calling his bluff.

“No need, I’m just getting…toilet paper.” He cringed as soon as the words were out of his delicious, lying mouth.

“Really? That’s the best you could come up with?”

Cute as he was, he still had a thing or twelve to learn about her if he thought pulling the old I-just-need-to-run-to-the-store routine would actually work. Her trouble alert had gone to Defcon levels ten minutes ago while he’d been in deep phone conference with one of his guys. Trusting her gut, she’d snagged his keys from a bowl by the front door. Perfect timing, since he’d waited approximately fourteen-point-two seconds after Ryder’s arrival to announce the bogus emergency store run. After she’d caught him.

“There is no way in hell you’re leaving me in Waterberg with your sister while you confront Anders Bloom.” She slid an apologetic gaze to Ryder. “No offense.”

The tall brunette shrugged, a typical Falcon family reaction. “None taken.”

“You’re my client,” Tony muttered through his clenched jaw. “I can’t risk taking you along.”

“It’s Anders’s flagship store in broad daylight, not a maximum security prison in the middle of a riot.”

He crossed his arms. “No.”

“Do you know his assistant? He knows every detail of Anders’s life and is a total gossip, but he’ll only talk to people he knows. And the clerks despise Anders. They’d love to spill the beans, but only to a trusted source, and only if their evil overlord is otherwise engaged. I’ve been getting the goods from both parties for years. What would take you hours to accomplish—if they’d even speak to you—I can get done in five minutes.” Triumph poured through her veins as though she’d just kicked back three shots of Badass-R-Us vodka.

“Carlos is working on whether we can eliminate Ivy, but he needs more time. Until he’s done, she’s our number one suspect, with Anders being a close second. If he’s our guy—”

“You’ll have my back,” she interrupted impatiently. “I didn’t decide on the boyfriend cover just because you’re hot as hell. It’s the most efficient way to gather information and figure out the troll’s identity without letting him know we’re on his tail. We work well together, as a team. Just look at how well we did with Ivy at The Darling House.” She rattled the keys in his slack-jawed face. “Let’s roll, honey babe.”

“Fine,” he huffed out. “But you are not driving.”

Sylvie barely smothered her chuckle. “Whatever you say.”

Half-dressed, multihued mannequins made out in the display widows at Anders Bloom’s flagship store. Most of the mannequins held switchblade knives behind their backs or were pulling them from thousand-dollar handbags. Weaving through the early lunch crowd bustling down the sidewalk, Sylvie tugged Tony toward the magenta-frosted double doors.

“Bet the tourists from Wisconsin love the mixing of sex and violence,” Tony said, eying the display.

&n

bsp; Sylvie laughed. “Yeah, there was a bit of a dust up with an alderman when the displays were revealed. Anders had to remove the mannequins that were feeling each other up.” A bit of pink caught her eye, and she yanked Tony by the hand until their noses practically touched the glass. Only an edge of the object stuck out from the mannequin’s purse, but her gut had already announced its ruling. “That sure looks like a felt pig ear to me. Ivy didn’t have the only set.”

He stepped back, drawing her away from the window. “I know you want to believe she’s innocent but—”

“I gave up on her too easily before. I was wrong.” Guilt warmed her cheeks and jumbled her insides. “I won’t do that again.”

“Still, you can’t just discount the evidence against her. Let’s work the angle we’ve got here, and see what happens.”

An argument danced on the tip of her tongue, but a shadow in the window froze it. A sales clerk with pink hair waved at her from the other side of the window. The clerk had been a great source of gossip when she thought she was just talking to a fashionista. Would she still give up the goods now that Sylvie had been outed as the High-Heeled Wonder? Would anyone? Sylvie returned the girl’s wave, girding herself for the confrontation with Anders and the uncertainty of life ahead.

She had no idea what would happen to the High-Heeled Wonder after they found her stalker, but she loved the blog. She loved sharing the latest about designers ready to make a splash on the scene, the discussions with readers about the need for fashion to move from being aspirational to attainable, and, most of all, the sense of community the High-Heeled Wonder created. Fashion was for everyone, no matter size or price point. She wouldn’t give up on that. She hoped her readers wouldn’t either.

But if this asshole kept fucking with her site, her audience would abandon her. She couldn’t let that happen. She had to stop him, and expose him for what he was. Then surely, surely, her fans would understand she’d been set up?

She could only hope.