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"I'm Richard's bodyguard. Where else would I be?"
He had a point. "Where were you the night his body was supposedly attacking this woman?"
"Her name is Betty Schaffer."
"Have you talked to her?"
His eyes widened. "She's already cried rape once on a fine, upstanding white boy. No, I haven't talked to her."
"You could try and blend in a little."
"I'm one of only two black men for about 50 miles," he said, "There's no way for me to blend in, Anita, so I don't try." There was an undercurrent of real anger there. I wondered if Jamil had been having trouble with the locals. It seemed likely. He wasn't just African American. He was tall, handsome, and athletic looking. That alone would have gotten him on the redneck hit parade. The long cornrow hair and the killer fashion sense raised the question that he might violate the last white male bastion of homophobia. I knew that Jamil liked girls, but I was almost willing to bet some of the locals hadn't believed that.
"I assume that is the other African American guy." I was careful not to point at Milo. He was watching us, face expressionless, but too intense. Muscle recognizes muscle, and he was probably wondering about Jamil just as we were wondering about him. What was professional muscle doing out here in the boonies?
Jamil nodded. "Yeah, that's the other one."
"He doesn't blend in, either," I said. "Who is he?"
"His name is Milo Hart. He works for a guy named Frank Niley who is supposed to arrive today."
"You and he sit down and have a talk?"
"No, but Ed is just full of news."
"Why does Frank Niley need a bodyguard?"
"He's rich," Jamil said as if that explained it, and maybe it did. "He's down here doing some land speculation."
"Ed the plane mechanic tell you all this?"
Jamil nodded. "He likes to talk, even to me."
"Gee, and I thought you were just another pretty face."
Jamil smiled. "I'll do my job when Richard lets me."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means if he'd let me watch over him like a good Skoll is supposed to, this rape charge would never have happened. I'd have been a witness, and it wouldn't be just her word against his."
"Maybe I should talk to Ms. Schaffer," I said.
"Babe, you just read my mind."
"You know, Jamil, you're the only person who ever calls me babe. There's a reason for that."
His smile widened. "I'll try to remember that."
"What happened to Richard, Jamil?"
"You mean did he do it?"
I shook my head. "No, I know he didn't do it."
"He did date her," Jamil said.
I looked at him. "What are you saying?"
"Richard's been trying to find a replacement for you."
"So?"
"So, he's been dating anything that moves."
"Just dating?" I asked.
Jamil swirled his jacket from his shoulder to one arm, smoothing the cloth and not looking at me.
"Answer the question, Jamil."
He looked at me, almost smiling, then sighed. "No, not just dating."
I had to ask. "He's been sleeping around?"
Jamil nodded.
I stood there, thinking about that for a second or two. Richard and I had each been celibate for years, separate decisions. I'd certainly changed my lifestyle. Did I really think he'd stay chaste when I hadn't? Was it any of my business what he did? No; no, it wasn't.
I finally shrugged. "He's not my boyfriend anymore, Jamil. And he's a big boy." I shrugged again, not really sure how I felt about Richard sleeping around. Trying very hard not to feel anything about it, because it didn't matter how I felt. Richard had his own life to live, and it didn't include me, not in that way. "I'm not here to police Richard's sex life."
Jamil nodded almost to himself. "Good. I was worried."
"What, you thought I'd throw a fit and storm off, leaving him to his just desserts?"
"Something like that," he said.
"Did he have sex with the woman who's made the accusation?"
"If you mean intercourse, no. She's human," he said. "Richard doesn't do humans. He's afraid they're too fragile."
"I thought you just said he'd been sleeping with Ms. Schaffer."
"Having sex, but not doing the dirty deed."
I wasn't a virgin. I knew there were alternatives, but ... "Why alternative methods with humans? Why not just ... do it?"
"Doing the wild thing can release our beast early. You don't want to know what happens when you're with a human who doesn't know what you are, and you shift on top of them, inside them." A shadow crossed his face, and he looked away.
"You sound like the voice of experience," I said.
He looked slowly back at me, and there was something in his face that was suddenly frightening, like looking up and realizing that the bars between you and the lion at the zoo aren't there anymore. "That is none of your business."
I nodded. "Sorry, you're right. You're absolutely right. It was too personal."
But it was interesting information. There had been a point where I'd pretty much begged Richard to stay the night. To have sex with me. He'd said no because it wouldn't be fair until I saw him change into werewolf form. I needed to be able to accept the whole package. I hadn't been able to do that once the package bled and writhed all over me. But now I wondered if part of his hesitation had been simply fear of hurting me. Maybe.
I shook my head. It didn't matter. Business. If I concentrated really hard, maybe I could stay on track. We were here to get him out of jail, not to worry about why we broke up.
"We could use a little help here with the luggage," Jason called.
He had two suitcases under each arm. Zane and Cherry were carrying one coffin. They looked like pallbearer bookends. Nathaniel was lying on his back on the other coffin. He'd taken off his shirt and unbound his hair. His hands were folded across his stomach, eyes closed. I didn't know whether he was playing dead or trying to get a tan.
"A little help here," Jason said, kicking his foot towards the rest of the luggage. Two suitcases and a huge trunk still sat unclaimed.
I walked towards them. "Jesus, only one of those suitcases is mine. Who's the clotheshorse?"
Zane and Cherry put the coffin gently on the Tarmac. "Just one suitcase is mine," Zane said.
"Three of them are mine," Cherry said. She sounded vaguely embarrassed.
"Who brought the trunk?"
"Jean-Claude sent it," Jason said. "Just in case we do meet with the local master. He wanted us to make a good show of it."
I frowned at the trunk. "Please tell me there's nothing in there that Jean-Claude plans on me wearing."
Jason grinned.
I shook my head. "I don't want to see it."
"Maybe you'll get lucky," Jason said. "Maybe they'll try to kill you instead."
I frowned at him. "You're just full of happy thoughts."
"My speciality," he said.
Nathaniel turned his head and looked at me, hands clasped across his bare stomach. "I can lift the coffin, but it's not balanced right for carrying. I need help."
"You certainly do," I said.
He blinked up at me, one hand raised to block the sun. I moved until my body blocked the sun and he could look at me without squinting. He smiled up at me.
"What's with the coffin sunbathing?" I asked.
The smile wilted around the edges, then faded completely. "It's the scene in the crypt," he said as if that explained everything. It didn't.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
He raised just his shoulders and head off the coffin like he was doing stomach crunches. His abs bunched nicely with the effort. "You really haven't watched my movies, have you?"
"Sorry," I said.
He sat up the rest of the way, smoothing his hair back with both hands in a practiced gesture. He slipped a silver clasp around the hair and flipped the tail of auburn hair behind his back.
"I thought silver jewelry burned when it touched a lycanthrope's skin," I said.
He wiggled his hair, settling the silver clasp securely against his neck. "It does," he said.
"A little pain makes the world go round, I guess."
He just stared at me with his strange eyes. He was only nineteen, but the look on his face was older, much older. There were no lines on that smooth skin, but there were shadows in those eyes that nothing would ever erase. Cosmetic surgery for the soul was what he needed. Something to take the terrible burden of knowledge that had made him what he was.
