Pixie The Lion Tamer (Shifters, Inc.) by Georgette St. Clair Read Free Book Online Page A

forced to work this closely with him before, and obviously he was hating every second of it, which stung more than she’d expected it to. 
    What was with him squeezing her hand like that before? With him acting jealous of her when Fraser leered at her?  Why was he suddenly sending weird, mixed signals? She liked it better when he was consistently grouchy.  At least she knew what to expect.
    “I’m fine.”  He didn’t look fine, but Pixie didn’t have anyone else to call on as backup.  She’d just have to pray that he didn’t screw things up.
    Earlier, Pixie and Dominick had gone to the dry cleaners that was used by the Gilded Swan, and while Dominick distracted the owner, she’d stolen two bellhop’s uniforms.
    Then Pixie had taken out her lip piercing, scrubbed off her cat eye makeup, and slapped on a wig that they’d picked up from a wig shop, to hide her purple hair.  She now had sleek blond hair, subtle makeup in natural tones, and frosty pink lip gloss.  Her best friend in the world wouldn’t recognize her.
    The bell hop uniforms came with a hat.  Dominick had shaved his scruffy beard off and donned brown contact lenses, and Pixie had used stage makeup to darken his skin and hands.  With the hat and the uniform, Ion was unlikely to recognize him, or so she hoped.
    Fraser’s men were parked in a car across the street from the hotel, watching out in case Ion left the hotel.  Tyler had shown them the passport picture of him.
    Tucked discretely under both her and Dom inick’s uniform were smoke bombs and goggles.  If they decided that they could grab Ion and make it out of the hotel, Fraser had a car full of his thugs parked outside.  Their next move depended on how well guarded their target was.
    Now they were standing outside Ion Barbu’s room with a room service tray, with a stolen bottle of champagne on it.
    “Calm down and act normal,” she snapped. “If you go in there acting like you’re about to have a stroke, you’ll blow our cover.”
    He nodded, slowed his breathing, and forced a smile on his face. “I’m okay,” he said.
    “Bullshit,” she muttered, but they had no choice but to forge ahead.
    “Room service!” she called out cheerfully, disguising her voice and giving it a southern lilt.
    “We didn’t order any room service!”  A voice from inside snarled back.
                  “We’ve got a magnum of champagne, compliments of management.”
                  There was a pause, and Pixie saw someone looking through the peephole.   Then the door swung open, and she and Dominick wheeled the cart in.
                  The room was lavishly decorated with 18 th century gilded furniture and plush sofas and loveseats, with a floor to ceiling view of the city.   Ion Barbu sat at a table across the room, playing cards with two men in dark suits.  He was still wearing the dark glasses.  He glanced up as they walked in.  She and Pixie had their heads down as they wheeled the cart inside.
                  Pixie could hear Dominick’s harsh breathing as they walked in the room.  Keep it together, keep it together, she thought.
                  As they wheeled the cart, she casually slipped a small electronic bug under a small side table.  Nobody seemed to notice. Pixie was a master of sleight of hand.
                  Dominick caught Pixie’s eye and he gave a slight shake of his head. There were too many people in the room for them to grab Ion.  They needed to leave, and  discuss their next move.  They might have to call the cops after all;  waiting for Ion to make his next move was too risky.
                  There were a dozen men in the room.  Some of them had their jackets off, and their gun holsters were clearly visible.   There were semi-automatic weapons lying on the coffee tables, on the couches,  and on the table in front of Ion and his card playing body-guards…so a quick