Bloodfever
Page 25

He took a business card from his wallet, a pen from his pocket, and scribbled on the back. If you should see or hear anything, youll tell me, wont you, Mac? He took my hand, turned it palm up, and dropped a kiss in it before the card. Anytime. Day or night. Anything. No matter how inconsequential you think it seems.
I nodded.
I think hes dead, Derek OBannion told me. And Im going to kill the fuck that did it.
I nodded again.
He was my brother.
I nodded a third time. My sister was murdered, I blurted.
His gaze sharpened with new interest. I was suddenly more in his eyes than another flirty, pretty girl. Then you understand vengeance, he said softly.
I understand vengeance, I agreed.
Call me anytime, Mac, he said. I think I like you.
I watched him leave in silence.
When the door closed behind him, I raced to the bathroom, locked myself in, and leaned back against the door, where I stood staring at myself in the mirror trying to reconcile dual images.
I was hunting the monster that had killed my sister.
I was the monster that had killed his brother.
When I came out of the bathroom, I glanced around, relieved to find no customers had entered the store. Id forgotten to slap one of the Back in five minutes signs that Id made up yesterday to cover my bathroom breaks on the front door.
I hurried now to turn over the sign. Once again I was closing early. Barrons was just going to have to deal with it. It wasnt much early, and it wasnt like he needed the money.
As I flipped the placard, I made the mistake of glancing out the window.
It was nearly dark, that time of day folks around these parts call gloaming, or twilight, when the day gently bruises into night.
And I was unable to decide which was worse: Inspector Jayne sitting on a bench a few doors down to the right not even pretending to be reading the newspaper he held; the black-shrouded specter standing directly across the street, watching me from beneath the ashy shadows of a dimly flickering streetlamp; or Derek OBannion exiting a shop two doors down, turning left, and heading straight into the Dark Zone.
Where the hell have you been? Barrons yanked open the cab door and pried me out with a hand around my upper arm. My feet left the ground for a moment.
Dont start with me, I growled. Shaking off his grip, I pushed past him. Inspector Jaynes cab was just pulling up behind me. I wonder if he missed his family yet. I hoped hed get tired of me soon and go home.
Im getting you a cell phone, Ms. Lane, he barked at my back. You will carry it at all times, like the spear. You will do nothing without it. Need Iremind you of all the things you wont be doing without it?
I told him where he could put my as-yet-unpurchased cell phonethe sun didnt shine there and I didnt call it by a flowers nameand stomped into the store.
He stomped in after me. Have you forgotten the dangers out there in the Dublin night, Ms. Lane? Shall we go for a little walk? Once before when hed thought I was being intractable hed threatened to drag me into the Dark Zone at night. Tonight, I was too numb to care. Dead bolts rang out like bullets against steel as he slammed them home. Have you forgotten your purpose here, Ms. Lane?
How could I? I said bitterly. Every time I try to, something worse happens.
I was halfway to the connecting doors when he caught me and spun me around. He gave me a furious once-over that seemed to get tangled up for a moment on the crystal dangling between my breasts. Or was it my breasts? And there you are, dressed like a two-bit floozy, going out for a drink. What the fuck were you thinking? Were you thinking?
Two-bit floozy? Get with the times, Barrons. I dont look like a two-bit anything. In fact, Im positively overdressed by lots of peoples standards these days, and certainly wearing more than that stupid little black dress you made me wear when we I broke off; where Id worn that skimpy halter dress was hitting too close to home right now. And for the record, I said stiffly, I did not go out for a drink.
Dont lie to me, Ms. Lane. I smell it on you. And other things. Who was the man? His dark, exotic face was cold. His nostrils flared and constricted like an animal scenting prey.
Barrons has extraordinary senses. Id not had even the tiniest sip of alcohol. I said I didnt have a drink, I repeated. Id had an awful night, one of the absolute worst of my life.
You had something. What was it? he demanded.
An alcohol-laced kiss, I said tightly. Two, to be precise. But only because I hadnt moved fast enough to avoid the second one. I turned away, hating myself, hating my choices.
His hand shot out and closed on my shoulder. He spun me back to him with such vehemence that I might have whirled in dizzying toplike circles if he hadnt caught me by the shoulders. He seemed to realize he was holding me too hard at the precise moment I was about to snap at him, and his fingers relaxed on my skin, but his body seemed to doubly absorb the tension. His gaze dropped to my necklace again, to its soft cushion between my breasts. From who?
From whom, I believe is the correct phrasing.
All right, from-the-fuck-whom, Ms. Lane?