Transitional weather for Erika was rain before it turned to snow.
Apparently here in this store, however, it meant something altogether different—and further, all of the “transitional” clothes had to be color-coordinated to her “palette.” Which was not what you tasted dinner with. Oh, and she was a winter? What the hell did that mean?
She was a cold fish?
Ha! Balthazar had proven that one wrong. And then some.
Feeling like an idiot for trying anything on, she dumped her jacket, stripped off her pants and her fleece and shirt, and then shivered as she took the red dress off its hanger. It took a little more effort than she’d thought to square it on her shoulders and her waist, but then the thing was on her right. At least, she thought it was on right. Bending over to give the skirt another pull, she—
“What the hell?”
With a frown, she put her right foot up on the little chair in the corner of the changing room. On the inside of her ankle, there was a dark bruise that ran up to the base of her calf. Lifting the skirt higher, she found another on her knee.
Well, if that was the price she had to pay for the best sex she’d ever had? She’d wear the contusions with pride, damn it.
And hey… check her out. For once, she wasn’t running to Dr. Google to find out what dreaded disease she had. Ordinarily, she’d be convinced it was a sign she was—
She thought of the way that man had looked at her outside on the sidewalk. As a shiver of unease returned to her, she tried to push all the hypochondria away.
“What do we think?” Kelley asked on the other side of the privacy curtain.
Dropping her foot as well as the bottom of the dress, Erika smoothed things and refocused on her reflection. Of course this was going to be a no. Why would she think otherwise?
“It’s really low-cut.” She ran her fingers over her scars. They might as well have been a set of pearls she was trying to show off. “I don’t think it’s for me.”
“May I see?”
“Ah…”
After a moment, Erika pulled the curtain back mostly because the girl had been cheerfully pushy and she had a feeling that if she didn’t show the problem, there was going to be a lot of long, hypothetical discussions involving necklines.
Kelley smiled. “Oh, it’s—”
And then it happened, as of course, it always did. The drop of the eyes. The frozen expression. After which would come the symphony of sympathy that grated in the ears.
She should never have come here—
“The size is perfect for you,” Kelley said. “The waist is amazing and I wish I had your legs. Would it be okay to suggest something?”
If it’s plastic surgery, Erika thought dryly, I had them looked at a long time ago and the surgeon said there wasn’t much he could do about it all.
“I’ll be right back,” Kelley declared. “I hope you stay in the dress.”
The curtain was pulled into place, and oddly, that was the moment Erika realized that she hadn’t really noticed the woman. Not what hair color she had, what she was wearing, her height or weight. Erika was so incredibly out of her element that her mind was a sieve. All she could remember was the name.
Two minutes later, Kelley pulled the curtain back again—oh, interesting. The woman was in her early twenties and a redhead. Who knew.
“I think this will be perfect.”
When she held something out, Erika wasn’t sure what the object was: Shiny. Gold. A drape of… links.
“That’s a necklace,” she said stupidly.
“Yes.”
For some reason, Erika reached out and took it from the woman. As her hands were shaking, and Kelley stepped in behind her and helped her put it on.
And then Erika looked at herself in the mirror.
The dress was the same. The necklace made everything different: The links formed a loose pattern all the way down the V of the bodice.
If you knew there were scars, you could kind of see them. If you didn’t? You wouldn’t really notice them. All you’d see was a woman in a really kick-ass red dress.
Erika touched the links. Tilted her head at her reflection.
Then she turned around.
And hugged a stranger.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Down in Erika’s cellar, Balz was pacing back and forth in front of the washer-dryer units. With his cell phone up to his ear, he was ready for an argument, and on so many levels, he hated being at the mercy of another person.
But something hadn’t been right as Lassiter had left, and the angel was not answering texts or calls. So he was back at square one, with his instincts telling him that he needed to go back to basics. Devina wasn’t in him, but if he wanted to find out where she was… he felt like he probably could use the—