Chapter 1

1

Nogales, Arizona

Halloween night

Renfro Coulter struggled not to teeter on the four-inch heels of the thigh-high, shiny black boots he wore. He settled the purple velvet cape evenly across his shoulders and tugged at the hampering folds of the unfamiliar ankle-length skirt. Damned thing seemed to cling to his legs despite the high slits in its flaring panels. I’d better be careful or I’ll fall on my ass.

He took a final look in the mirror. The flowing waist-length locks of his wig tickled where straying strands touched his skin, while the fluid waves softened the angles of his narrow face.Damn, I actually make a good-looking woman.He shook his head, making the dark auburn tresses slither against the purple velvet. Sparkling with fiery highlights when the bank of lights reflected off the silken cascade, each hair seemed to be alive and aflame.

I prob’ly should have been born female. Even though this get-up feels clumsy right now, I could get to like dressing up this way.He grinned. Beats being the weird skinny, short kid everyone picked on, anyway.Especially once they learned mom was Wiccan and started calling me “That son of the witch.” Not that anyone would dare pick on him anymore. As an agent of the increasingly notorious Paranormal Operations Unit of the Border Patrol or POU, he’d been well trained in martial arts and encouraged to hone the unusual skills he’d been born with—in the male gender, wrong body or not.

The son of an avowed witch and a mysterious father, allegedly a druid, who Renfro could only recall in a scatter of vague vignettes from childhood, he’d grown up in an environment where magic was considered normal. Despite that, his mother had insisted he refrain from casting spells or using any unusual powers for defense while he went to school and grew to adulthood. Maybe fighting with normal skills had made him tough, but it certainly hadn’t been fun. He had the scars to prove it, too. As an adult, not quite either mage or druid, he had his own peculiar powers and ways of working magic. Those skills had led him to the notice of Clayton Chiles, head of the POU. He’d been a full-fledged member of that elite cadre of guardians for several months now.

With a flourish of the cape, he turned toward the door. It was time to put his disguise to test. Playboy and reputed drug lord Enrique Mendoza was said to have an eye for striking women and perhaps gorgeous drag queens, too. Either way, Ren should catch his notice. Although not an invited guest for this particular one of Mendoza’s infamous parties, Ren did not expect to have any trouble crashing the night’s festivities. If it came to that, he’d just make himself invisible long enough to get past security.

Outside the hotel where he’d registered as Rena Murphy, he caught a cab across town to Mendoza’s hilltop estate. The Latino cabby shot him one slantwise look, but did not comment and gave a small nod when Ren told him the destination.

“Ah so,” the man murmured. Though unspoken, I might have guessed, hung in the air.

Ren gave the driver a generous tip when he got out at the portico of the rambling house. A bored-looking man in an operetta-grand uniform guarding the door hardly gave him a glance. Seemed Mendoza felt he had nothing to fear. No doubt he’d have security in the mansion. Still, it seemed bold to the point of foolishness to be so lax.

Easier for me, though.Ren gave a tight smile. I can save my spell energy for later.He walked through the double doors and paused in the foyer.

After taking a moment to get his bearings, he stepped down the three steps into the first room, which seemed to hold the overflow from the party. The center of the festivities appeared to be though an arched opening beyond the first room if the noise was a clue. A rock band, a country western group, and a mariachi ensemble vied for dominance. Although they might be playing in different areas of the huge house, the sounds alternately melded and clashed.

Before he’d crossed the first room, he’d been ogled by many and propositioned by several, but he put them off. “I’m meeting someone,” he said, “and he tends to be possessive.” He’d perfected that low, genderless purr of a voice, as ambiguous as his persona—but sexy, very sexy

From all he’d heard of Mendoza, that was completely true. If the don took a shine to Ren, nobody else better make any moves on him. The trick was to get close enough, just not too close. He’d have to play coy and hard to get, while still interested and flirtatious. Ren had once considered a career in the theater. However, this would be the most challenging role he’d attempted.