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"That isn't good enough," he said.
"It's the best you're going to get. You are not qualified to counsel people. It's wrong."
"Little Miss Perfect. You murder people for money. You're nothing but a damned assassin."
I took a deep breath, and let it out. I would not fight with him today. "I execute criminals with the full blessing of the law."
"Yeah, but you enjoy it. You get your jollies by pounding in the stakes. You can't go a f**king week without bathing in someone's blood."
I just stared at him. "Do you really believe that?" I asked.
He wouldn't look at me but finally said, "I don't know."
"Poor little vampires, poor misunderstood creatures. Right? The one who branded me slaughtered twenty-three people before the courts would give me the go-ahead." I yanked my shirt down to expose the collarbone scar. "This vampire had killed ten people. He specialized in little boys, said their meat was most tender. He's not dead, Jamison. He got away. But he found me last night and threatened my life."
"You don't understand them."
"No!" I shoved a finger in his chest. "You don't understand them."
He glared down at me, nostrils flaring, breath coming in warm gasps. I stepped back. I shouldn't have touched him; that was against the rules. You never touch anyone in a fight unless you want violence.
"I'm sorry, Jamison." I don't know if he understood what I was apologizing for. He didn't say anything.
As I walked past him, he asked, "What are the files for?"
I hesitated, but he knew the files as well as I did. He'd know what was missing. "The vampire murders."
We turned towards each other at the same moment. Staring. "You took the money?" he asked.
That stopped me. "You knew about it?"
He nodded. "Bert tried to get them to hire me in your place. They wouldn't go for it."
"And after all the good PR you've given them."
"I told Bert you wouldn't do it. That you wouldn't work for vampires."
His slightly up-tilted eyes were studying my face, searching, trying to squeeze some truth out. I ignored him, my face a pleasant blankness. "Money talks, Jamison, even to me."
"You don't give a damn about money."
"Awful shortsighted of me, isn't it?" I said.
"I always thought so. You didn't do it for money." A statement. "What was it?"
I didn't want Jamison in on this. He thought vampires were fanged people. And they were very careful to keep him on the nice, clean fringes. He never got his hands dirty, so he could afford to pretend or ignore, or even lie to himself. I had gotten dirty once too often. Lying to yourself was a good way to die. "Look, Jamison, we don't agree on vampires, but anything that can kill vampires could make meat pies out of human beings. I want to catch the maniac before he, she, or it, does just that."
It wasn't a bad lie, as lies go. It was even plausible. He blinked at me. Whether he believed me or not would depend on how much he needed to believe me. How much he needed his world to stay safe and clean. He nodded, once, very slowly. "You think you can catch something the master vampires can't catch?"
"They seem to think so." I opened the door and he followed me out. Maybe he would have asked more questions, maybe not, but a voice interrupted.
"Anita, are you ready to go?"
We both turned, and I must have looked as puzzled as Jamison.
I wasn't meeting anyone.
There was a man sitting in one of the lobby chairs, half-lost in the jungle plants. I didn't recognize him at first. Thick brown hair, cut short, stretched back from a very nice face. Black sunglasses hid the eyes. He turned his head and spoiled the illusion of short hair. A thick ponytail curled over his collar. He was wearing a blue denim jacket with the collar up. A blood-red tank top set off his tan. He stood slowly, smiled, and removed his glasses.
It was Phillip of the many scars. I hadn't recognized him with his clothes on. There was a bandage on the side of his neck, mostly hidden by the jacket collar. "We need to talk," he said.
I closed my mouth and tried to look reasonably intelligent. "Phillip, I didn't expect to see you so soon."
Jamison was looking from one to the other of us. He was frowning. Suspicious. Mary was sitting, chin leaning on her hands, enjoying the show.
The silence was damn awkward. Phillip put a hand out to Jamison. I mumbled. "Jamison Clarke, this is Phillip...a friend." The moment I said it, I wanted to take it back. "Friend" is what people call their lovers. Beats the heck out of significant other.
Jamison smiled broadly. "So, you're Anita's...friend." He said the last word slowly, rolling it around on his tongue.
Mary made a hubba-hubba motion with one hand. Phillip saw it and flashed her a dazzling melt-your-libido smile. She blushed.
"Well, we have to go now. Come along, Phillip." I grabbed his arm and began pulling him towards the door.
"Nice to meet you, Phillip," Jamison said. "I'll be sure to mention you to all the rest of the guys who work here. I'm sure they'd love to meet you sometime."
Jamison was really enjoying himself. "We're very busy right now, Jamison. Maybe some other time," I said.
"Sure, sure," he said.
Jamison walked us to the door and held it for us. He grinned at us as we walked down the hallway, arm in arm. Fudge buckets. I had to let the smirking little creep think I had a lover. Good grief. And he would tell everyone. Phillip slid his arm around my waist, and I fought an urge to push him away. We were pretending, right, right. I felt him hesitate as his hand brushed the gun on my belt.
We met one of the real estate agents in the hall. She said hello to me but stared at Phillip. He smiled at her. When we passed her and were waiting for the elevator, I glanced back. Sure enough, she was watching his backside as we walked away.
I had to admit it was a nice backside. She caught me looking at her and hurriedly turned away.
"Defending my honor," Phillip asked.
I pushed away from him and punched the elevator button. "What are you doing here?"
"Jean-Claude didn't come back last night. Do you know why?"
"I didn't do away with him, if that's what you're implying."
The doors opened. Phillip leaned against them, holding them open with his body and one arm. The smile he flashed me was full of potential, a little evil, a lot of sex. Did I really want to be alone in an elevator with him? Probably not, but I was armed. He, as far as I could tell, was not.
I walked under his arm without having to duck. The doors hushed behind us. We were alone. He leaned into one comer, arms crossed over his chest, staring at me from behind black lenses.
"Do you always do that?" I asked.
A slight smile. "Do what?"
"Pose."
He stiffened just a little, then relaxed against the wall. "Natural talent."
I shook my head. "Uh-huh." I stared at the flickering floor numbers.
"Is Jean-Claude all right?"
I glanced at him and didn't know what to say. The elevator stopped. We got out. "You didn't answer me," he said softly.
I sighed. It was too long a story. "It's almost noon. I'll tell you what I can over lunch."
He grinned. "Trying to pick me up, Ms. Blake?"
I smiled before I could stop myself. "You wish."
"Maybe," he said.
"Flirtatious little thing, aren't you?"
"Most women like it."
"I would like it better if I didn't think you'd flirt with my ninety-year-old grandmother the same way you're flirting with me now."
He coughed back a laugh. "You don't have a very high opinion of me."
"I am a very judgmental person. It's one of my faults."
He laughed again, a nice sound. "Maybe I can hear about the rest of your faults after you've told me where Jean-Claude is."
"I don't think so."
"Why not?"
I stopped just in front of the glass doors that led out into the street. "Because I saw you last night. I know what you are, and I know how you get your kicks."
His hand reached out and brushed my shoulder. "I get my kicks a lot of different ways."
I frowned at his hand, and it moved away. "Save it, Phillip. I'm not buying."
"Maybe by the end of lunch you will be."
I sighed. I had met men like Phillip before, handsome men who are accustomed to women drooling over them. He wasn't trying to seduce me; he just wanted me to admit that I found him attractive. If I didn't admit it, he would keep pestering me. "I give up; you win."
