“And let me guess? Ski masks?”
Nina’s hand went to her silky dark hair and stroked a lock. “No. That would mess up my hair. Anyway, I, obviously, am already dressed.” Nina twirled in her black velour Juicy Couture sweat suit, the word Juicy bedazzled in rhinestones across her butt.
“The Juicy is a nice touch.”
Nina wiggled her butt at me and grinned. “I got to dress down because I was helping Dixon redecorate his office. We had to move some furniture.” Nina waggled her eyebrows.
“I’ll bet.”
“Yeah,” Nina said, her eyes trailing over me. “The only problem is that I don’t have a whole lot of black in my wardrobe.”
I gaped and Nina crossed her arms, one hip jutting out indignantly. “I hate it how you all think that just because I’m a vampire that I have an entire wardrobe of black leather dusters and Elvira dresses.”
“I don’t think that. I’ve seen your closet.”
She rolled her eyes. “Black is so stereotypical. I don’t like it. It’s for amateurs. And besides”—she tossed her hair over her shoulders—“it washes me out.”
I raised one eyebrow, focusing hard on Nina’s back to lily-white, bloodless complexion. “You’re right. It’s definitely the black clothing that makes you look so deathly pale.”
Nina rolled her eyes and handed me a heap of black fabric from her desktop. “Just put this on.”
I shimmied out of my dress and stood there in my slip. “You’re kidding me,” I said, when I shook out the dress.
She shrugged. “I told you, it was all I had. And we’re running out of time. It’s either that, your slip, or lurk in the shadows in your Jackson Pollack-on-speed sheath dress.”
I eyed my multicolored sheath and then slipped into Nina’s black dress. “Oh yeah,” I said, ekeing the sequined fabric over my hips, “this is definitely made for B and E.”
The dress was a one-shoulder, bugle-beaded Romona Keveza cocktail gown with a blush-worthy side slit and a foot of fabric that trailed on the ground behind me.
“Wow,” Nina said, examining me, “that dress really is amazing. With the right shoes ...”
“No. An evening gown for breaking and entering is as far as I go. I am not wearing heels, too.”
“Suit yourself.” Nina shrugged. “It would really extend the line though.”
I blew out a sigh and yanked the extra fabric up, tossing it over my shoulder. Then I hiked the skin-tight skirt to mid-thigh. “I said bring a flashlight, too.”
Nina rummaged through her bag again and produced two mini Maglites. “Done.”
“And latex gloves?”
Nina bit her lip.
“You forgot the gloves? Well, that’s okay. We’ll just have to be very careful. If Lucas Szabo reports a breakin, I don’t want anyone to find our prints.”
“Your prints.” Nina waggled her fingers. “I don’t have any. And I said I couldn’t find latex gloves. Besides, they would do nothing for that dress. But I do have gloves. Voila!”
Nina produced two pairs of elbow-length cashmere gloves. She handed me the black pair that had rhinestone-studded ruching up the sides. “Aren’t those to die for?” she asked. “I want them back.” She slid her own delicate hands into a charcoal-grey pair with a tuft of faux fur around the tops, then stretched her arms elegantly. “Lohman’s. After-Christmas sale. Seventy percent off.”
“What every good criminal is after,” I muttered as I gathered my purse. “A sale. Well, are you ready?”
Nina smiled and nodded, then followed me out the office door.
“You know, a French twist would really offset the one-shoulder neckline of that dress... .”
“Nina!” I moaned.
“Sorry!”
She shut the door with a click behind her.
We crossed the bridge in near silence, but once our tires hit the Marin side, I was fairly sure the thunderous beat of my heart was filling the car.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Nina said, not taking her eyes off the road. “Everything is going to be fine.”
“Thanks,” I said, grateful, but unconvinced. “If I had known he lived just a few miles away ...”
“You don’t know how long he’s lived here. He could have just moved into the area.”
“Or he could have been here all along.”
“Then he’s a huge deadbeat bastard. It’s not nice, but it’s not rare.”
I blew out a sigh, stroked the smooth fabric of my rhinestone-studded breaking-and-entering gloves. “Turn here,” I said.
Nina glided her car down a tree-lined street. The moonless darkness was punctuated by the occasional weak streetlight. We rolled slowly down the street until we found number seventy-one, a well kept but otherwise nondescript house set way off from the street at the arc of a cul-de-sac.
“Here it is.” Nina said.
“Yeah, here it is.”