Succubus on Top (Georgina Kincaid 2)

"Maybe there are secret panels behind paintings," suggested Bastien.

"Or maybe the pool-boy thing was a fraud, Dana's honest with her business dealings, and there's really nothing else to get on her except that she's a prejudiced bitch."

He rolled his eyes. "One place left. The true sanctuary. The bedroom."

I grimaced. Going into someone's bedroom freaked me out. The ultimate violation of privacy. But Bastien charged on, still confident this wild goose chase would yield results.

Fortunately, the bedroom had the neat, sterile look of a hotel, not the warm and sensual air of one's most intimate space. It made searching easier, like I was breaking into a vacant room. We sifted through drawers and closets, again finding little to go on.

"Eek!" I suddenly cried, staring into an open drawer. Bastien flew to me.

"What? What is it?"

I held up what had to be the most wholesome pair of granny panties I'd ever seen. They were like great-granny panties. They were even white. You would have thought she could at least go out on a limb and get them in blue or green or something.

Bastien elbowed me for my overreaction. "How can you even act surprised after hearing her rants about modest clothing?"

"Modest is one thing, but Jesus...how high do these things go? Up to her neck?"

"Put them back. We've got to - "

Click. We'd both heard. I shot Bastien a panicked look and shoved the underwear back in the drawer. "I thought you said - " His tone was grim. "I know, I know." Someone had just entered the house.

CHAPTER 7

We stood rooted in the bedroom, frozen, both of us too terrified to blink. Downstairs, the door shut and footsteps could be clearly heard on the hardwood floor. A low murmur of voices drifted up, the words inaudible.

"What are we going to do?" I whispered. Invisible we might be, but I still didn't want to slink through the house with others around. It would also make leaving inconspicuously a problem.

Bastien frowned, apparently trying to discern the words below. "Those are all male voices. Not Dana. Come on."

He grabbed my arm, and we crept out into the hallway where we could hear more clearly.

"You sure they aren't coming home?" asked an anxious voice.

"Yup. They'll be out 'til, like, midnight."

"Cool."

Bastien grinned at me. "Reese," he breathed.

Reese. The son. The son who was supposed to be down the street at a friend's house. That was better than Dana, but still disconcerting. I shot Bastien a questioning look. What's he doing here? I mouthed.

Bastien shrugged by way of answer and gestured for me to follow him the rest of the way downstairs. Reese and his friend obliviously made enough noise to cover any of our movements.

I hadn't really seen Reese yet and was curious. I'd expected a clean-cut, dutiful altar-boy type, but he seemed perfectly average - in that sullen, T-shirt wearing sort of way. He had Dana's black hair and blue eyes, paired with some of Bill's unfortunate facial features. His friend had long hair and wore a beat-up army coat with jeans.

"Where should we do it?" asked the friend.

Reese glanced around. "Outside. Otherwise they'll smell it later."

"Okay. But roll it in here."

They huddled around the kitchen table. Reese produced a tin of rolling papers and a plastic Baggie with enough marijuana in it to keep a family of five stoned for a week.

The friend skillfully rolled an enormous joint, and the boys took it outside, going out the same door we'd come in. Bastien and I exchanged glances, both of us barely holding back hysterical laughter. We walked into the still-dark living room and stood at the window, watching the boys outside. They left all the outdoor lights off, not wanting to attract neighborly attention. The joint made a pinpoint of orange light in the blackness as they passed it back and forth.

"Oh my God," I gasped. "This just justified the whole break-in."

Bastien's expression was speculative. "Maybe we can use this against her."

I turned on him. "What? Come on. He's just a kid. No need to drag him down with her. Besides, if I had his parents, I'd want to be high too. "

Bastien looked momentarily uncertain, finally yielding with a small nod. "Okay. You're right. So. You want to finish the bedroom and then head out? I doubt they're going to notice much going on around them. "

We went back upstairs, still hoping for some incriminating photo or piece of paper. No such luck.

We left Reese and his friend alone, using the front door to make our getaway. Once we were safely back at Bastien's, we settled into the immaculate living room, defeated.

"Well. That was pointless," I said.

"Not entirely." Bastien reached into his pocket and tossed over Reese's plastic bag.

I caught it and straightened up in my chair. "Jesus H. Christ! You swiped that poor kid's pot?"

"He shouldn't have left it out like that."

I held it up. It was half-full. "There's a special hell for people like you."

"Yeah, I own a condo there. Besides, it's for his own good. Pot's a gateway drug, you know. "

"I can't believe this. You don't think they're going to notice this is missing?"

"Nah. By the time they come back in, they'll be so far gone they won't remember where they left it. They'll spend the next few days accusing each other of losing it."

I shook my head. "I know I've said it before, but this really is a new low. I...I'm so shocked now, I don't even know what to do."

"7 do."

An hour later, we were both on the floor, giggling endlessly, though I wasn't entirely sure what about. Bastien passed the joint to me, and I took a hit off it, sighing happily. I handed it back.

"I'm not saying Monique wasn't a bitch," he was explaining, "but you have to admit, she knew how to get things done."

I leaned against the back of the couch, letting my head roll around on the cushions. "Yeah, but...she was...you know, sloppy. Like, no creativity whatsoever. Being in the business isn't just about sex. It's about...pride...pride in your work."

He inhaled and passed the joint back. "Oh, she had pride in her work, believe me. Used to ride me like a horse." He paused a moment, then started laughing. "She totally did me proud."

I sat back up. "What, you slept with her?"

"Sure, why not?"

I poked him with my foot. "You f**king slut."

"Look who's calling the cauldron black."

"Kettle. It's a kettle. Get your metaphors right. "

"That wasn't a metaphor. It was a, you know..." He stared off into space, blinking. "One of those things that's symbolic of another thing. But isn't the same thing. Just like it."

"You mean a metaphor?"

"No! It's like a story...like...a proverb! That's it."

"I'm pretty sure that wasn't a proverb. Maybe it was an analogy. "

"I don't think so."

"Look, I know these things. I work in a - oh!"

"Oh what?"

"How am I going to get home?"

"You're leaving? Or is that an analogy?"

"I'm not leaving yet...but you drove me...you can't drive me back."

"Sure I can. I feel fine."

"You wish. I haven't smoked that much."

I rummaged through my purse, found my cell phone, and dialed the first number in it. Beside me, Bastien muttered about analogies while staring entranced at the smoke swirling off the joint.

"Hello?" answered Seth. We hadn't really spoken since our awkward morning.

"Hey, it's me."

"Hey."

"So...I, uh...need a favor."

"What is it?" When I didn't say anything right away, he asked, "You still there? You okay?"

"Yeah..." I started laughing uncontrollably. "I am 50 okay."

"Urn, all right. What do you need?"

It took me a moment to remember. "A ride."

"A ride?"

"Yeah. A ride."

Bastien made a rude gesture at the mention of "a ride," and I kicked him again. I gave the address to a clearly confused Seth and then disconnected.

"Idiot!" I yelled at Bastien, even though I thought the whole situation was hilarious, as did he. I went in for a tackle. "What were you - "

The doorbell rang. Our eyes went wide as we froze mid-grapple, panic flooding us like two kids who had just been busted hardcore.