Dark and Deadly: Eight Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance (58 page)

Maisie cocked her head over her shoulder. “Can you at least
try
to have fun?”

Fun was not crossing a picket line of vehement protesters for a simple girls’ night out. The rhythmic shouts—“Wake up to the truth!”—were audible this far down the pier. The protesters stayed behind the pylons, but Jordan carried their message with her nevertheless:
Danger. And, um, what the hell are you doing?

And then there was the opposing throng, who’d come down to the docks in hopes of buying a ticket secondhand for ten times its value. Holy hell, she could really use that kind of money right now and would easily give up one night of girl bonding to get it.

But this wasn’t any old GNO. First, the girlfriend was her little sis (all grown up), and second, the activity was insane, hence the protesters and their waggling signs. But Maisie-Maze had to try everything, had to leap with all her heart into every new game that came along.
Irresponsible
was what her teachers and bosses called her. But really it was more like
irrepressible
. There was no stopping her, no reasoning with enthusiasm—what could a big sis do but go with her and make sure she came home all right?

Not that Jordan had any objection to Rêve in theory. She just didn’t want either of them to be part of the practice.

A gust of bitter coastal wind whipped at Jordan’s hair and clothes, and she wrapped her mini tuxedo jacket across her waist, folding her arms over it to keep the cold air off her skin. Didn’t help much; the bluster still stole up the skirt of her little black dress as she waited with the group on the pier, everybody outfitted for a night out and buzzing with excitement. Ages ranged from Maze’s bouncy twenty-one to—Jordan glanced at a wrinkled and shrunken little woman—what had to be close to a hundred. The age spread aligned with the cross-cutting demographics that characterized the Rêve enthusiasm overtaking the world.

Just ahead, Maze accepted the hand of some guy already inside the boat to help her navigate the big, awkward step into the taxi. He reached for Jordan next, and with equal parts reluctance and gratitude, she took his hand—strong, steady—to make sure she didn’t pitch herself ass-up into the ocean. The heels had been a mistake, too.

Who needed to be dressed up only to go to sleep?

“Thanks,” she breathed to him. No going back now.

Petrol-tinged air replaced the slightly funky smell of the water, with its ocean stew of salt, fish, and subtle rot. Taking the big step, she caught a flash of the guy’s dark eyes, dark hair. Strong jaw with a two-day shadow. Once in the boat, she discovered he was tall and built, too. Damn it.

Maze’s eyes were shining with glee, as if saying,
See?

Little sis wanted to hook her up. Very sweet, but not happening. Timothy Oliphant from
Justified
was just fine for her—even if she did have to watch him through her TV screen.

But this guy?

Okay,
Jordan argued silently back at her,
but there are cute guys lotsa places.
She didn’t need to go to such lengths to get a date.

“Nothing to worry about,” he said, noting her nerves.

Of course he had a good, low voice. Didn’t mean he wasn’t crazy. Rêve attracted
all
sorts. Cults were forming around it. Biggest thing since the Internet. Global phenomenon. Major paradigm shift. And all that.

The wind gusted again and Jordan shivered violently, but she didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to ask questions. She had about a thousand of them. “You’ve done this before, then?”

She’d scoured message boards online for info, but the reactions varied from ecstatic testimonials of transcendent experiences to claims of migraines, sleeplessness, fatigue, and impotence, all basically leading to an inability to return to normal life. Then there were the posts—both academic and hysterical—that warned people not to make gods of themselves.
Heh. Too late.

The bottom line? Studies demonstrated conclusively that Rêve itself was safe; whatever side effects did manifest reflected an individual’s psychology. Basically, if a person had issues, maybe they should pass.

At the moment, she had a lot of issues.

“I’ve done it a few times.” The guy glanced between her and her little sister. “Better than drugs. Not as good as sex.”

Hmm. “Anyone ever get hurt?”

“Not that I know of.” Damn if he didn’t seem to settle his interest on her baby sister, his gaze lingering, little wheels of thought turning in his eyes.

Umm…no. He was too…rough for Maze, so he’d just better step back.

Jordan poked his shoulder. Hard. “Did you have side effects?”

He shot her a quick, weird look to the effect of,
Would I be back if I did?

“Right.” Jordan ducked her chin out of the wind and headed for Maze, who’d seated herself on the long bench on the far side of the boat. Maze had ironed her hair into a glossy straight sheet that looked like stretched fuchsia taffy. She was a junior at the U, but dressed like a cartoon character from when they’d been kids. She attracted friendly attention everywhere. Here, too.

Jordan joined her on the bench and cut a look back at the man. “Stay away from that one.”

Maze lit up and sang under her breath, “Ooooh?”

No. Jordan wasn’t interested in him, but she couldn’t bring herself to argue with Maze while the swaying of the boat was making her sick. She did manage to reiterate, “If I end up naked in public, I swear I’ll kill you.”

Maze took her hand. “You need this. You need this so bad.”

Her sister referred to the life Jordan spent in the office; what Maze didn’t seem to understand was that her big sis
liked
her job. Shocking, yes, but true. So this wasn’t about her. It was all Maisie, major still undeclared.

“People have gotten along just fine without Rêve thus far,” Jordan said. “All the way back to the dawn of man.”

Maze’s baby blues opened wide. “Beg to differ, Jor. Theories abound that it is not unique to our time.”

God, baby sis had been drinking the Rêve punch.

“Theories, not facts.” While Jordan had volunteered to go along for the ride, she wasn’t going to get conned into the hype. One of them had to stay grounded.

Her sister smiled and repeated by rote, as she had a thousand times today, “It’s safe. It’s legal.”

Jordan gave a derisive laugh. “Then why are we about to taxi twelve nautical miles into international waters to get on a Finnish ship in order to try it?”

***

Once aboard the
Envoi
, Rook kept his head low among the group of people following their guide, some chick in a Euro-spacey short skirt, down one of the ship’s corridors. The ship was already full, party chatter rising from behind the double doors of the ballrooms they passed. Their taxi had to have been one of the last to arrive for the night’s entertainment. A couple of prospects had been on board, but he wanted to get a look at the rest before he chose his target.

The vibe in the air was characteristic of Rêve: anxiety mixed with a daredevil anticipation. He could pick out the ones who’d been many times before, the Revelers—they had a quiet kind of patience, a desperation in their eyes. They’d found their drug of choice and were quickly going broke looking for their next fix.

For all the so-called safety assessments, yes, Rêve was addictive. The body might not hunger for a fix, but the soul?

He could never give it up. He’d tried.

“Just this way.” Spacey Skirt Girl had stopped outside a door, an arm open to direct them all inside an already full room where, presumably, they would be oriented, something along the lines of, “Blah, blah, limitless possibilities, blah, blah, blah.”

Coll had spouted the same shit to him years ago.

Rook glanced slightly away as he passed the
Envoi
escort. If discovered, he wouldn’t be detained, not exactly, but there were other ways to fetter guests, like a falcon’s tethering jesses, to restrain a dreamer’s flight.

And the whole point tonight was to hunt for prey.

***

Okay, so maybe the ship was nice.

The
Envoi
smelled new and clean, the color palette from the taxi’s ramp up the stairs to the wide, long hallway a combination of cobalt blue carpet and pale gold accents. Staff had divested the guests of their coats and had a slender flute of champagne at the ready for each person. A loudly murmuring crowd already filled a large, beautiful room full of jewel-toned light.

Jordan set her flute on a tall, narrow table, in the center of which stood a small blown-glass light fixture, an explosion of color—reminded her of Chihuly—creating a defied-gravity upward impact. The ceiling had similar stalactites of fluid glass illuminated with blues and greens, and hot splashes of red.

It was, in a word, dreamy. Also, high-end. And the design spoke to the surreal, exclusive experience the
Envoi
offered.

For a couple thousand dollars per night, it’d better be. Her savings had taken a direct and deadly blow to the heart when Maze had told her about what she’d just splurged on. Credit cards equaled free money to sis. There was no way Maze was going alone, so before the Rêve sold out, Jordan had hopped online and brought her balance down to pathetic double digits.

Speaking of Maze…she’d been right here a minute ago. Jordan looked around, then had to smile.

Moths to a flame
. Less than twenty seconds and already Maze was chatting with a youngish guy, this one a little too buttoned up for her little sis’s pops and zaps of energy and adventure. But okay. Opposites and all that.

So much for sisterly bonding.

Jordan raised her glass and sipped. The champagne was doing nothing to settle her nerves. She wished the
Envoi
would move on to phase two already.

Movement brought Jordan’s attention to her right. A man approached—handsome, tall, sandy hair, green eyes—she recognized the face quickly enough to smile, though it took a sec to run down the contact list in her head to recall his name.

Blackman. Vince Blackman. Of the SpiderSly Company.

“It’s Jordan, right?” He held out his hand.

She shook it and went with his first name, too. “Vince. So good…and surprising to see you.”

He did not return her hand, but kept it lightly clasped between his. “I’ve been meaning to get in touch.”

A year ago her market strategy team had pitched to him, but then the project had stalled pending some foreign litigation. Maybe he was ready to reconsider her company’s services. She was so flattered that he remembered her. She hadn’t even been lead, just a helper.

Her heart rate increased. She put her shoulders back, affecting an air of confidence. Inside she was doing her happy little boogie that only Maze had ever seen. This was business. Good business. Potentially worth way more than the ticket had cost.

Playing it cool, she went with, “I’m so glad to hear it.” She’d have to prep tomorrow. Update the specs. “Is this your first Rêve?”

She sure as hell would follow up on Monday morning. Bringing her boss up to speed would feel so good. Like,
I bumped into Vince Blackman Saturday night. We were attending the same Rêve and got to talking…

Hello, promotion.

“My first, yes.” His grin crinkled the outer corners of his eyes, creating fans just deep enough to signify a certain degree of life experience. Really, he was perfect. “I’ve been curious about the whole Rêve thing, and when I received the ticket as a gift, I decided to give it a try. You?”

Of course he would get a gift worth a couple thousand dollars. Must be nice.

She winced. “I am more cautious than curious, actually.”

Vince smiled. “Oh?”

“I came with my little sister.” Jordan turned back to find Maze, who’d attracted another male admirer. “Believe it or not, it’s our girls’ night.”

Vince let go of her hand to raise his flute. “To girls, then.”

Jordan dinged her glass against his. “What about Rêve interests you?”

She wished she didn’t sound so formal. She needed to flirt a little, but it wasn’t her forte under the best of circumstances, and with the scary event fast approaching, near impossible.

He tilted his head in a small shrug and settled into an easy table lean. “I’m looking for control, though it must make me sound like a jerk. I want to make sure that I can be lucid.”

She huffed a relieved laugh. “Believe me, I get it.”
Wait.
“Not everyone can?”

“From what I’ve heard, no. Takes some people a few tries. Others never achieve mastery.”

Jordan’s enjoyment faltered, replaced with the heavy drag of lead in her belly. None of her online searches had mentioned this. The point of this adventure was to stick close to Maisie, but if neither of them were in control, they’d be separated. She’d thought the lucidity thing was a given. Why else was everyone so excited about shared dreaming if it only worked for some? Yeah, she totally understood Vince’s interest in control.

Where was Maisie? Was there a taxi back to shore?

“Hello, everybody,” an accented female voice came over a speaker. “Welcome to the
Envoi
. I’m Serena and I’ll be telling you what to expect tonight.”

Jordan, like others near her, looked around to find the speaker. A woman stood on a small dais at the end of the room. She was a petite blonde in super high heels and a bright purple gown with a subtle sheen. A champagne flute in her hand, too.

“Sleep is an alteration in your brainwaves, and Rêve is simply getting everyone on the same frequency. It’s as easy and painless as that.”

Scientist-turned-hero, Didier Lambert had discovered the principles of Rêve, the French word for
dream
, working from some institute in Paris. It was he who had published the first academic papers on the discovery, though others from around the world, notably UCLA, published shortly behind him. That had been fifteen years ago. Today it was big business.

Jordan felt Maze join her, sidling up close. Lil’ sis caught her hand and squeezed her excitement into it. She’d been wanting to try this since Rêve had become legal in the U.S. two years ago, but supply simply could not meet the clamor of demand.