But it all sounded wonderful to my worn body and mind.

"I'm in your custody, ex-agent Montoya. P.I. Street reporting in, but I need to do some errands first."

First, we stopped by Hector's estate to check my cottage and see how Quicksilver was doing. His food bowls were empty, his water bowl was half down, and he was out on doggy business of his own. Good. He wouldn't complain about my going off with Ric. I refilled both bowls, which were the size of large casserole dishes. Stainless steel, though. I grabbed my messenger bag with the fresh reload of tampons. Really romantic and just what a P.I. who should be packing a semiautomatic and spare clips needs.

I was happy to leave Dolly parked there. I didn't feel like driving for once.

Sliding low into Ric's Corvette took a lot of pressure off my aching back and environs.

Ric started the therapy as soon as we were off the Strip and well on the way to his house. When he didn't need to shift the car, his right hand was pushing inside my clothes and caressing my skin in lazy patterns that-heavens to Betsy!-interrupted my fiendishly resistant cramp pain pathways to the brain.

My toes curled in my sandals.

"So tell me about the Karnak," he asked.

"It's kinda hard to concentrate on that right now."

He glanced over, his dark eyes even darker. "You shouldn't be out on the edge when you're feeling lousy."

"Actually, it gives me an edge. You don't want to irritate me just now."

"No irritation, just soothing."

My belly was almost numb from the hypnotic caresses. Ric brought his fingers to my mouth. "No trespassing there tonight. I'll just have to find another way in." He thumbed open my lower lip, then penetrated my mouth, his thumb pushing between my teeth and against the roof of my mouth.

The shaft of pleasure that arrowed through my belly made my feet flatten on the floorboard and my mouth turn into a suction machine, keeping his thumb captive.

He laughed at the fierce physical pull of my response. "I need to drive this baby," he said after a moment, reclaiming his thumb and the stick shift.

Whew. I contemplated the possibility that not having sex might be as exciting as having it.

The Vette turned a corner and then another, rocking me in the semi-recumbent cradle, and we were home. His home, anyway. Ric could never relax at the Enchanted Cottage as I did here, mainly because he didn't have an overzealous guard dog on duty.

He escorted me inside, arm around my waist, stopping only to pull the day's mail out of the box as we passed. The sky was darkening, long past twilight. Gravity was helping my cramps make a comeback, big time, on Broadway. Standing Room Only.

I almost welcomed having the leisure to do nothing but experience the agony, knowing what Ric would and could do to make me forget it.

Chapter Twenty-seven

The next day I woke up early at home, fully recovered, not to mention rethinking dreading my next siege of cramps if I could have them under the healing hands of Dr. Montoya.

Irma was still reduced to inarticulate purrs.

My new hot doc drove me home post-"treatment" so I could get the prescribed "bed rest" on my own turf. I awoke after a dreamless sleep sated and satisfied I'd accomplished a lot despite my crampy days.

I'd discovered Loretta's name, IDed her lover, learned why Loretta and her literal prince were offed, and unmasked the Karnak crew, which should be plenty of info for my four weird clients, Howard Hughes, Hector Nightwine, Snow and the CinSim Boys, but I'd neglected my personal quest for Lilith.

I'd need some time to report to everyone but Hector, and he could wait too. My clients didn't exactly keep regular office hours.

Now I needed to switch from mummy zombies to voluntary zombies. I was hoping the Snow groupies might provide a connection to Lilith or the groupie killer, but I also wanted to know why Snow's Brimstone Kiss was so addictive and encourage them to move on to a real life.

Kisses and kick-ass action, either martial or premarital, had not been on my personal road map until Ric happened along.

Being vampire bait from a young age and troubled by alien abduction nightmares, I'd found hovering mouths about as attractive as Great White Shark smooches. Thanks to Ric, I had glimpsed what these bedazzled rock-star groupies were feeling. I wonder if they realized they were better off not getting the Brimstone Kiss, rather than eating their hearts and psyches out for a return engagement that would never come.

Me, I'd rather be free than ecstatic. Maybe that was why I'd never been tempted to use drugs.

I readied myself for my first Snow groupie self-help meeting like a girl throwing a shower for several best friends at once. I'd never thrown a party for anyone or had anyone throw a party for me. Not even a birthday party. Especially not a birthday party.

This was going to be just girls and fun. Lucky I had the whole day to prepare, because I had to go shopping and buy paper goods and a flower arrangement. I didn't expect the kitchen witch to help me set up an event as unique as this, although I hummed "Whistle While You Work" and snacked on healthful plates of fresh veggies and cheese all afternoon. Thanks to some kind of kitchen witchery, I could never eat down to the bare china.

Rick called about ten that morning asking, "Awake yet, are we, Sleeping Beauty? Need any drive-by kisses?"

I laughed and couldn't stop, I was surrounded by bags and bags of foil-wrapped Hershey's Kisses at the moment.

"I love to make a grown woman giggle," he said. "Just checking in, babe." He was starting to call me that as a tease, now that he knew I loathed the word. From him, though, not so much. "Good news. I've finally rounded up all the Cicereau zombies and got them employment at Wayne Newton's Arabian horse ranch. They're going to learn to rope and ride and they'll have plenty of first-rate security." He chuckled at the idea of city-bred mob zombies amid the tumbling tumbleweeds. "I've been contacted for a meet with some Mexican consular folks. It's at the Luxor and I expect it to last into the afternoon."

"Don't worry. I've got some projects of my own."

"Where'll you be?"

"Just a little shopping center off Charleston. Safe as houses, like they say."

"Okay. Play mum. You know you'll tell me all about it after."

"You too."

"I'll call as soon as I'm done," he promised.

We closed on the usual murmurs, not quite mushy but darn near.

Back to the party plans. I figured a room where mostly women came to fight the Battle of the Bulge had a pretty good aura for fighting an addiction to a Kick-ass Kiss.

The place I'd rented for this evening came with a huge stainless steel coffee urn and kitchenette. I brought a gourmet blend and made a batch. A couple of trays filled with ice chips hosted soda cans and bottles of energy drink.

Some things, all the women at WTCH-TV swore during break periods, were better than sex. Certain gourmet flavors had a kick as good as, or possibly even better than, sex. I'd taken the lessons of those girly sessions at the TV station's break room to heart.

So I'd brought an array of snacks to tempt all tastes: Huge glazed doughnuts big enough to serve as a lifesaver rings. Carrot cake slathered with sweet cream cheese icing. Double-fudge German Sweet Chocolate Cake.

If music is the food of love, maybe food is the antidote to obsession.

Dolly's huge trunk toted all my supplies and I was on site and set up by 5:30 p.m.

Like any nervous hostess I was wondering if the music, Enya, was too mellow, and the coffee, Starbucks, too strong. I was particularly proud of two giant brandy snifters at each end of the serving table, both filled with Hershey's Kisses.