A Touch of Scarlet

Obviously not in Texas.

The cop was taking his time emerging from the depths of the silver cruiser, so Scarlet gave her lips another swipe of the Elizabeth Arden ruby-red lip gloss resting in the cup holder. After all, her lips were her greatest weapon. Overly large and plump, they had their own fan page on Facebook. She’d always thought the attention given to them a little absurd, but if she had to use them to get out of a ticket, then she would.

After all, who in his right mind would give the vampy Veronica Collins a speeding ticket? Her luxurious red locks, gleaming white teeth and kick-ass curves clad in the trademark catsuit inspired kinky fantasies for those who followed the new drama Deep Shadows, which had debuted six months ago to a rabid fan following. Currently, Scarlet was on hiatus, so she looked nothing like the naughty vampire Veronica. Just plain ol’ Scarlet Rose in faded jeans and a ponytail.

But she did have those lips.

She slumped against the leather seat and watched in her side mirror as the cruiser’s door opened and a police officer climbed out.

He was tall with a military haircut and wore mirrored sunglasses. Good body. Stiff demeanor. She had a fifty-fifty chance of getting out of this one.

Her director’s voice popped into her head.

Veronica will smile at the officer, feigning innocence. Camera One, narrow to capture the gleam in Veronica’s eyes as she knowingly plays with the unsuspecting cop.

Scarlet turned and delivered a smile. “Hello there, officer. Is there a problem?”

She pulled the end of her ponytail forward so it brushed her bared collarbone while curling her shoulders forward, smooshing her boobs so the cop had a nice vista of flesh to contemplate. She couldn’t tell if it worked or not. His gaze could have been on her girls…or on the steering wheel. Damned mirrored sunglasses.

“Yes, we have a problem,” he said, his voice nice and melodious, like an announcer on a game show. It was definitely cultured. No Podunk, Texas accent. He wasn’t from Oak Stand. “You were doing seventy-eight in a sixty-five zone, and you have a brake light out.”

She smiled again before giving him a flirtatious shrug. “Surely I wasn’t going that fast?”

His jaw tightened. It was a nice jaw. Cleanly shaven and tanned. He had a good mouth, too. Straight lips with a slightly sensuous curve to the bottom lip. It was the kind of mouth a girl wanted to nibble into a smile. Total challenge.

But he didn’t smile. “Surely you were.”

“Sorry. Look, I’m trying to get to my sister’s house before she runs off with some horrible, horrible guy. No one is answering the phone, and I’m worried, you know? I guess I should have had my mind on the road, but—”

“That doesn’t explain the brake light,” he said.

Scarlet tamped down the annoyance at being interrupted. Syrupy sweetness worked on hard-asses like this. At least it usually did. “I bought this car three weeks ago and had everything inspected. The light must have burned out without my knowledge. I’ll get it replaced tomorrow. Promise.”

He didn’t move a muscle. She could tell he stared hard at her, even though there was mirrored glass between his gaze and hers. Seconds ticked by. Had she worked it hard enough to get out of a ticket?

“Are you asking me to overlook a violation?”

Oops. Maybe not. “Of course not. No.”

“Because that’s what it sounds like.”

Scarlet tossed her flirting ploy aside and straightened. “I don’t always agree with the laws you enforce, but I would never ask you to compromise yourself.”

She gave him the schoolmarm stare she’d perfected in her off-off Broadway debut of Mrs. Tingle’s Jingles. He didn’t wiggle the way he was supposed to. He merely stood, straighter and taller.

“Just give me the ticket so I can get on with my day. I’ve got a wedding to stop.”

At this, the officer’s mouth drew into a line. No more semimocking curve. “What wedding?”

Scarlet gave him a New Yorker smile—kind of a smart-ass smirk. “Now, that, Officer—” she looked at his nameplate “—Hinton, is none of your business, is it?”

Officer Adam Hinton jabbed a finger toward the city-limit sign that sat behind her black BMW convertible. “This is my town. Everything in it is my business.”

Scarlet pulled on the viperous persona of Veronica as easily as she shrugged into a jacket. “Now, that’s where I’m thinking you’re wrong, Officer Hinton.”

Don’t make me bite you, dude.

She loved Veronica, the alter ego she sometimes donned merely because the vampire queen could control everything about her world. So what if it were pretend? Playing the dangerous, sultry vampire allowed her to feel powerful. She showed him her teeth for good measure. It was a hard smile, sans fangs, designed to put him in his place.

“Can I have your license and registration please?”

Okay. So she had no effect on him. Fine. He probably squeaked when he walked. Even his damn badge was perfectly lined up adjacent to the button on his uniform shirt. He probably flossed three times a day and took a multivitamin. Jogged the same path, ate the same foods and cut his lawn with methodical precision.

She tugged her wallet from the oversize purse, flipped it open and pulled out the license she’d obtained last month. Her very first driver’s license procured specially for the trip to Texas. As a New Yorker, she’d never learned to drive. Subways and cabs had worked fine.

She handed her license over without a smile. “Here you go.”

“Registration?” he asked, taking the hard plastic license from her hand.

She leaned over, popped open the glove box and rooted around. Stefan had said he left everything she’d need in there. A string of condoms slithered to the floorboard along with a pack of cigarettes, a package of Zingers and a small airport bottle of rum. Nice. Her roommate had a weird-ass sense of humor. Finally she located a zippered owner’s manual and found the registration inside, along with a proof of insurance. The insurance card had her name on it. Stefan must have placed it inside for her. Okay, she’d let him live.

“Here. Everything should be inside.” She jabbed the manual at the police officer. Then she dismissed him, flipping down the visor mirror and checking her bangs, for no other reason than it pleased her to shut him out.

The sun pressed on her shoulders. The end of August was hotter than hell in East Texas, but it was her first road trip so she’d kept the top down most of the way along the East Coast and hadn’t put it up on her trek across the South. She’d stopped to see an old friend in Atlanta, putting her behind schedule in getting to Oak Stand. She’d gotten even with the city-limit sign when Officer Tight Ass had pulled her over.

She was tired, too warm and not feeling friendly at all. Texas hadn’t been on her list of vacation destinations, but saving her sister, Rayne, from the ridiculous fascination she had for Brent Hamilton topped lounging on the beach in France. Well, almost topped it.

Scarlet’s bangs looked fine, so she snapped the mirror shut and tried to look bored as the lean cop scribbled stuff onto his little notepad.

“Have you been drinking this afternoon?” His voice seemed monotone. Automated.

Crap. The stupid minibottle of rum.

“Of course not.”

“Would you mind stepping from your car, ma’am?”

“Actually, I would mind. Why do you need me to get out of the car if you’re merely giving me a speeding ticket?” She studied the teal polish on her fingernails. It was very divalike behavior—something she never did. But at this point, she knew it aggravated Officer Hinton. So it felt good.

“Out of the car,” he said, swinging the door open. “Step around to the back of the vehicle, place your hands on the trunk and wait. Please.”

He’d nearly choked on the last word. She’d ticked the cop off. Might not have been the smartest move, but that was Scarlet’s modus operandi—react, then regret. A car passed by on the highway, and she caught a glimpse of a curious driver. She waved.

“What an excellent way to make an entrance,” she said, climbing from the car. She was glad she’d left her flip-flops at her friend’s house, because the mile-high wedges she wore boosted her five-foot-eight frame by four inches and made her feel more powerful. It brought her eye level with the cop, who watched as she unfurled from the car.

Her tank top had tiny jewels embedded around the low neck and hugged her torso all the way down to the tight, ripped jeans. Aside from her plump lips, her body was her trademark. Scarlet had kicking curves that looked so good in a bodysuit they’d given her the part of Veronica before she even read for it. Not really. They’d made her read to make sure she could act. But still, she felt as if she’d been born for the role of Collinstown’s audacious vampire.

Her director’s voice came back.