Page 11 of Once Upon a Curse for True Love (Paranormal Romance #2)

The Early Bird Gets in Trouble

DONATELLO

That morning, forcing Andromeda Swan to cooperate on the case had seemed like a good idea. Now? Donatello wasn’t as sure. Mostly because the witch he’d shackled himself to was trouble—and smelled even better. Had he won the professional lottery or cursed himself?

A dangerous cocktail of admiration and dread churned in his gut.

She was breathtaking. But her beauty was just a distraction tactic.

The real weapon was her brain. The combo might prove lethal to his composure, his professionalism, and his career if he couldn’t get a grip on whatever this was that sparked between them.

If she didn’t hex his life to pieces, his lack of self-control would.

She’d spent less than an hour with Arcanet’s code and already understood more than his entire tech department had in the last thirty-odd hours.

“Let’s go back to our digital friend.” Andromeda rose from the desk station. She brushed past him, her scent of vanilla and lavender enveloping him as she moved toward the center of the room where Arcanet’s consciousness pulsed on the large screen. “We need to ask more targeted questions.”

Donatello followed—like a puppy, waggling his metaphorical tail. The monitor still displayed the cascading green alphanumeric characters forming Arcanet’s face—an eerie afterimage of a man whose body now lay in the morgue.

Andromeda stared at it with her hands on her hips. “You should ask about potential suspects—rivals, enemies, clients who might have been unhappy with his work.”

His eyebrows shot up. “I should?”

“Yes, you should,” she replied, gesturing toward the screen. “You’re the detective. I’m the tech consultant forced into servitude.”

Gargoyles, she was bossy. Beautiful, brilliant, and bossy. He wouldn’t make it through this investigation in one piece. She was going to hex his life sideways, fry his case, and ruin his mental health.

“Right,” Donatello drawled, crossing his arms over his chest. “And now you’re telling me how to do my job.” He stepped closer until they stood toe to toe. “Miss Swan, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I’m the lead investigator. You take orders from me, not the other way around.”

Andromeda tilted her head, her expression more amused than chastened. “You sound like the bloodhound from ‘The Aristocats.’” She deepened her voice in a poor imitation of the character. “‘I’m the leader!’”

“Are you comparing me to a cartoon dog?” Donatello asked, fighting to keep his expression stern.

“If the collar fits,” she quipped, then gestured toward the screen. “Okay, boss, ask your questions whenever you’re ready.”

The way she said “boss”—with that perfect blend of mockery and sass—was simultaneously infuriating and arousing.

The kind of trouble his body was too eager for.

He had half a mind to skip the pleasantries, handcuff her to his bed, and wipe that smirk off her face until the only thing left on her lips was his name.

The mental image blindsided him with its intensity, and Donatello took a step back, alarmed by his own thoughts.

Wildly inappropriate didn’t cover it. This woman had been a suspect last night.

Now she was under his supervision as part of her sentence.

Any move in that direction would be professional suicide, not to mention ethically questionable.

He needed to be the bigger person and let the bickering drop before it led somewhere they’d both regret.

Clearing his throat, Donatello turned toward Arcanet. “Did you have enemies, Mr. Thorn?”

The flowing characters reorganized, changing to a uniform stream of ones.

“Yes,” Donatello translated. “Not surprising for someone in his line of work.”

“Be more specific,” Andromeda needled him. “Narrow it down.”

“Rival hackers?” Donatello asked.

Ones.

“Collaborators or former partners?”

This time, the pattern shifted to zeros.

“Are you certain about that?” Donatello pressed, skeptical that a man in Arcanet’s position hadn’t made any enemies among his associates.

Ones appeared on the screen.

“Were your collaborators loyal?” Donatello continued.

More ones.

“Could it have been a former client?”

Ones again.

“A fan or a copycat trying to prove something?”

The cascade of ones persisted.

“Someone else?”

Still ones.

Donatello ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Well, that’s not very helpful. Do you have anyone particular in mind?”

Ones.

“Who?”

Zeros.

Andromeda chewed her lower lip. “He can’t answer that with a yes or no.”

“There’s got to be a better way to communicate with him,” Donatello said, pacing in front of the screen. “Why can’t he spell better responses? Or speak?”

Andromeda shook her head. “We can go letter by letter, but it’s tedious. We run through the alphabet until he says ‘yes’ to a letter, then start over for the next one.”

“Seriously? That’s the best option?”

“Unless you want me to spend a month building a code-to-speech interface,” she replied.

Donatello sighed. “Letter by letter it is, then.”

They circled through the alphabet multiple times, with Arcanet’s consciousness approving various letters until they formed H. E. X. A. C. O. R. E.

“HexaCore?” Donatello asked for confirmation.

Ones flowed down the screen, faster than before, as if the code was eager to be understood.

“HexaCore,” Andromeda repeated, her expression darkening. “That’s one of the biggest magi-tech companies in the country.”

“I’m familiar with them.” Donatello mentally cataloged what he knew. “Multi-billion-dollar corporation. They specialize in security software for magical institutions—banks, hospitals, and government agencies. High-profile.”

“They’re also notorious for their aggressive corporate tactics,” Andromeda added. “They’ve been known to either buy out or crush smaller competitors.”

“Were you working for them?” Donatello asked the screen.

Zeros.

“Against them?”

Ones.

“Interesting.” Donatello turned to Andromeda. “We need to pay HexaCore a visit.”

“Their headquarters are in Boston,” she said. “About half an hour away.”

“Good,” Donatello nodded. “I hope you’re a morning person, Miss Swan.”

“Why?”

A grin spread across his face. “Because we’re driving to HexaCore headquarters first thing tomorrow. The early bird catches the killer.”

“Define early.” Her eyes narrowed. “Because my early starts at ten.”

“Great.” Donatello’s grin widened. “I’ll pick you up at seven. Leave the attitude at home.”

He expected a sharp retort—another quip about cartoon bloodhounds or his authority complex. Instead, she surprised him by smiling sweetly, her head tilting to one side demurely.

“I will,” she said, her voice honey-smooth, “if you do too, detective.”

The sugar in her tone set off alarm bells in Donatello’s head.

In the short time he’d known Andromeda Swan, he’d learned that she was many things—brilliant, beautiful, sarcastic, defiant—but “sweet” and “compliant” weren’t on the list. This sudden change in demeanor was more suspicious than reassuring.

She was planning something. He could feel it in the prickle at the back of his neck, in the too-innocent curve of her smile. Whatever game she was playing, he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out the rules.