Page 27 of Wicked Ambition

Reluctantly, Ayla looked at her reflection in the mirror in front of her. Instead of the light brown she’d suggested, Oz had picked a long red wig. The ginger-copper color complemented her coloring, but it didn’t look likeher.Of course, that was the idea, but, well, red? “I need a few minutes to get used to it,” she said.

The shop’s phone rang, and the saleswoman excused herself to go answer it.

“What don’t you like about it?” Oz asked.

“It’s so long. The lady said that it’s going to tangle easily.”

“We’ll buy one of those pick combs the shop is selling, and the length helps the disguise. They’ll be looking for someone with shorter hair. You said your sister wears hers the same length as yours.”

“True.” The mention of Io made Ayla’s stomach churn harder. She’d been queasy all day. Her nervousness about her sister’s safety was doing a number on her.

“And?”

She sighed. “It’s heavy, and it’s hot even in this air-conditioned store. And it itches.”

“Any wig is going to be heavy, hot, and itchy.”

“We could dye my hair,” Ayla suggested but regretted it nearly immediately.

Oz shook his head. “Then we’d have to worry about roots showing and we’d still have to get extensions or something to change the length. We don’t want to go shorter because they’ll account for that change. Longer might take them some time to guess.”

Ayla nodded and resigned herself to wearing what felt like a helmet on her head.

The bell on the shop door indicated someone had entered, and Ayla stiffened. Oz moved, putting himself between her and the front of the store, but it only took a moment before he relaxed. It was his friend, the one who was supposed to be helping them.

Baggs came to a stop, stared at her for a moment, and then turned to Oz. “She looks too much like the Nerd with that hair. BD will kill you if she drives trouble in that direction.”

“Shit. You’re right. I was so focused on making her look different that I didn’t consider that. This limits things. No red, no blonde. We’ll have to go brunette.”

“Who’s the nerd?” Ayla asked.

“BD’s fiancée,” Baggs said.

Before Ayla could ask any more questions, the sales clerk returned. The exchange between Oz and the woman was in rapid-fire Spanish. She was able to keep up with it now, but she heard Oz ask for dark brown. That couldn’t be right. Witha polite smile, the woman helped her remove the red wig and headed off with it.

Ayla stared at her reflection some more. Her own hair was pinned under a nylon cap banded in some kind of velvety material. She felt self-conscious sitting in front of Oz looking like this, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Pru turn up anything on Fuentes?” he asked, voice soft.

She’d met Pru at dinner last night. Oz had asked him to do some computer searches for Fuentes. If the glowing review he’d given could be believed, the man was a maestro with anything digital.

Baggs shook his head. “He said to tell you that he’s good, but miracles are hard to come by. You didn’t give him much to work with.”

“Yeah.” Oz frowned. “I figured it was a long shot. If Archer didn’t turn up shit, Pru was going to hit dead-ends, too.” He stopped talking abruptly.

The saleswoman returned carrying the same wig but in brunette. A brunette that was the color of double fudge brownies. Her eyes went wide. That was too dark for her. It would completely wash her out and leave her looking like a vampire who hadn’t seen sunlight in six centuries. Ayla glanced over at Oz, certain he’d say they needed something lighter. He didn’t. In fact, the man looked pleased.

It was her turn to frown.

Picking up a brush from the faux marble counter in front of Ayla, the clerk carefully ran it through the synthetic tresses, starting at the ends. As she worked, she quizzed Oz about why Ayla needed a wig.

Ayla hid a smile. Yes, let the man explain the wig. Seeing him squirm a little would be worth it. Sure, she’d promised to listen to him, but she hadn’t expected him to disregardeverythingshe said.

Her enjoyment died a quick, horrible death. It took all of Ayla’s control to contain her shriek of outrage. Oz, that asshole, told the woman she was the mistress of a man who liked to do cosplay in the bedroom. His boss was tired of her blonde hair and wanted something drastically different from the same old mistress. Oz and Baggs were her bodyguards.

Ayla gave him her death glare, but he ignored it. His friend looked as if he was trying not to laugh, and as Oz continued embellishing the story, Baggs turned to study a wall of gray-haired wigs. His shoulders shook. At least someone was amused.

The saleswoman continued to brush the wig until Oz finally wound down. Only then did she carefully place it on Ayla’s head, making minute adjustments until she was satisfied with how it sat. She added a few strokes with the brush. “What do you think?” she asked in Spanish. The question was directed at Oz, not her.

---