Part 22 (1/2)

She yawned. ”I've got five candidates I spotted online. A construction worker, an extreme sports nut, owner of a local Harley dealers.h.i.+p, a fireman, and a bond enforcement agent.” Another yawn. ”Actually, the bond guy has a twin which means I might have six. Except the twin is shy and that really isn't an alpha trait.” Yawn.

”We can deal with shy.”

”Also, I've had seven phone calls from guys claiming to have met me at a Knicks game. I'm a.s.suming it was you.”

”Play along, call them back, and ask them the first screening questions.”

”What screening questions?”

”The ones I'm going to e-mail you this afternoon. It's just an interview to weed out the serial killers and make sure we don't have any closet betas in the mix.”

”Oh, I forgot. The super in my building is really bad a.s.s with a power tool. He's not much in the looks department because he had his nose broken back when he played high school football, but he's got a great physique. On top of that, he's single.”

”Does he have red hair?”

”Are you kidding? Anyway, he's in his late twenties, single, and looking strictly for a little enthusiastic female companions.h.i.+p. Or to quote him, 'A broad that really puts out.' Tell me again why we're remotely interested in players like this?”

”Because our clients want players.”

”For s.e.x.” Yaplices. Nada.”

”You're not getting any, are you?”

Not yet.

I squelched the thought. ”Go back to sleep. I'll call you later.”

”When it does happen, I want details,” she mumbled. ”Lots of details.” Click.

When.

Yeah, right.

Not my type, I reminded myself. I needed a born vampire.

Even more, I needed fifteen alpha males (in addition to the thirteen Evie had come up with), one of which had to be a redhead.

And I needed them in less than five days (it was now Sunday and the full moon rolled around on Friday). Otherwise Viola and the NUNS were going to miss their one shot to grow the species.

Which meant they would be p.i.s.sed.

Which meant they would demand their money back.

That, or my head on a stick so they could plant it right next to the controversial azalea bushes. A little birdseed in my mouth and I'd be doubling as a feeder for the rest of eternity.

The realization was enough to distract me from any l.u.s.tful thoughts I may have had when Ty arrived back at the cabin with several bags of supplies. He had everything from bottled gourmet blood to a three-pack of plain white Hanes T-s.h.i.+rts and a few pairs of blue jeans.

”Connections,” he told me when I arched an eyebrow at him.

After he put everything away, he stripped down to a pair of white BVDs, and stretched out on the full-size bed below.

All right, already. Maybe I wasn't completely distracted, but I only looked for a few heart-pounding moments before I managed to tear my gaze away.

I rolled onto my back and s.h.i.+fted my attention to the ceiling, and the real problem-a backup plan to grow my alpha list. One that didn't have me visiting every sports store in New York. Or every shooting range. Or every biker bar. I needed a plan that wouldn't require me to leave the cabin, and risk capture, and p.i.s.s off Ty.

The possibilities didn't exactly rush at me, but I wasn't going to be discouraged. I wasn't afraid of hard work. Or of getting creative and thinking outside the box.

I lived outside the friggin' box.

I could totally do this.

Chapter Twenty-four.

”I can't do this,” I told Ty.

It was Tuesday evening (yes, Tuesday) and I'd spent the past two days racking my brain for a viable method of rounding up alpha males without leaving the cabin, and I'd actually hit pay dirt.

Sort of.

I'd cruised every matchmaking site on the Internet and had come up with five more possibilities. Evie, bless her, had found an additional two, which gave us seven. Seven and thirteen made twenty. We were still eight shy, one of which had to have bright red hair.

Eight.

And the moon grew full in exactly three days.

”I mean it.” I paced toward the kitchen where Ty sat at the table, laptop in front of him. ”I'm desperate.”

His gaze stayed riveted on the screen. ”If you want out of this mess, you'll have to be patient. This sort of thing takes time.”

”I'm not talking about the murder rap.” Ty's quest for the real killer was going about as well as my search for an Alpha Doody.

Thanks to the cabin guy, we'd learned that the tip about my whereabouts had been made by an anonymous caller. What we didn't know was whether or not the caller had been Remy Tremaine.

I waved a hand between him and the computer screen and he finally glanced up. ”I'm talking about the Viola situation.”