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He smiled, but again there was something very cool, almost inhuman, about it. Which was an odd thought given Sal and I had never been human in any common sense of the word. “Those who partake of our offerings would be less inclined to do so if they were aware of our history.”
“Nadel is one of those customers?”
“He is indeed.”
“And he’s a shifter?”
Sal raised an eyebrow. “You couldn’t tell?”
I shook my head. “His scent was a little strange—not human, but not really shifter.”
“That’s because he’s only half-shifter, and a tabby at that.” He smiled. “He has a preference for overly tall, dark-skinned women with bountiful breasts—”
“‘Bountiful breasts’?” I cut in, with a laugh.
“His words, not mine. Luckily for me, I happen to employ a telepath who fits such a description. I’ve gotten some interesting information from him over the years.”
“Anything about Winter Halo’s owner? Anything I should be worried about, that is?”
“Other than his predilection for sleeping with his staff, no.”
“Then why were you so reluctant about arranging this meeting?”
“Because I wish you in my bed, not his.” He caught my foot as it reached his thigh, shifted it to the top of his leg, and began to knead it. I sighed in pleasure, closed my eyes, and enjoyed the massage.
Our meal arrived. We ate it leisurely, talking and joking and laughing. It almost felt like old times back at the bunker. Almost.
Because there was an underlying tension that ran between the two of us. A tension that was sexual in nature, and something else. Something that was almost—but not quite—wariness. Or maybe even suspicion.
It made me wonder about that call he’d received before I’d arrived. Made me wonder about the part he might play in all this—if he did, indeed, play a part.
When our meal was cleared, the last of the wine consumed, and the bill paid, Sal said, his expression guarded, “So, would you like to come back to my place?”
I raised an eyebrow, a smile teasing my lips. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you actually want me to come back to your apartment.” I cocked my head slightly. “I have to say, you don’t exactly seem enthused by the idea.”
A grin split his lips, but it wasn’t quite as real as it should have been. “Oh, I am. I just didn’t want to get my hopes up too far.”
“Good.” I placed my napkin on the table and rose. “Shall we go, then?”
He rose and caught my hand, his fingers brushing my wrist as he led me out of the restaurant. The night was cool and bright and, overhead, a storm rumbled—a sound that seemed at odds with the almost blinding light that bathed the streets. As we walked back to First Street, he said, voice nonchalant, “What happened here?”
He raised our joined hands and pointed to the ugly scar left by the vampires. I hadn’t thought to disguise it, and that was a very stupid mistake on my part.
“Camouflage,” I replied, with an easy smile. “I thought I might be a more believable security guard if I wasn’t such a clean skin.”
“Maybe.” Though his expression gave little away, the threads of suspicion seemed stronger.
I hesitated, and then said, “You don’t think it’ll be a problem, do you?”
“That I don’t know.” He shrugged. “But if it’s only camouflage, you can get rid of it easily enough, can’t you?”
“Of course I can. It’s only real wounds that cause a problem when body shifting.” The lie slipped easily off my tongue. I frowned and squinted up at him. “But you know that.”
He waved his free hand. “The war was a long time ago, Tiger.”
