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"Yet this inconstancy is such, As thou too shalt adore," he whispered against my hair.
I finished the poem with my face pressed against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart, that truly beat with my blood. "I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honor more."
"To Lucasta, on going to the Wars," Jean-Claude said. His arms were around me, holding me close.
I eased my arms around him, slowly. "Richard Lovelace," I said, "always liked his stuff in college." I kept moving my arms until they were around his waist, and we just stood there holding each other. "I don't think I would have remembered the whole poem if you hadn't helped."
"Together we are more than we are apart, Anita, that is what love is."
I held him, and the tears started down my face, hard and hot, and choking. "Not Anita."
I didn't have to see his face, to know the smile was there, I could hear in his voice, "ma petite, ma petite, ma petite."
There comes a point where you just love someone. Not because they're good, or bad, or anything really. You just love them. It doesn't mean you'll be together forever. It doesn't mean you won't hurt each other. It just means you love them. Sometimes in spite of who they are, and sometimes because of who they are. And you know that they love you, sometimes because of who you are, and sometimes in spite of it.
46
The Sapphire Club is a low, wide building and doesn't look that nice from the outside. It doesn't look that different from many of the rest of the bars and clubs in the area, so why is it a gentlemen's club and the others are just titty bars? Security, decor, and a dress code for the dancers, for starters. Tonight the VIP parking area was so full of official and semiofficial vehicles that you could barely see the front of the club through the flashing lights and milling people. There was even a big fire truck and a rescue truck alongside the regular ambulance. I had no idea why we needed the big truck, but murder scenes always attract more people than you really need, more cops, and more civvies, more everything.
There was a crowd pressed against the police tape and sawhorse barriers. Some of the women looked barely dressed for the October cold, so it had to be people from the nearby clubs. Most of the dancers arrived at work in street clothes then changed there. So at least some of the women shivering in the cold had left work elsewhere to join the gawkers.
I actually had to park in the lot of the nearest club, the Jazz Baby, live music, and live entertainment. What could be better? Sleep, maybe. It was nearly four in the morning. My shower had beaten the record for speed, but it was still quite a drive from the Riverfront. We'd managed to get blood on the front of my shirt, so I was wearing a T-shirt that Jean-Claude had found for me somewhere. It was white, so the black bra showed through, or would have if I hadn't been wearing Byron's leather jacket again. Maybe I could just keep the jacket on. No, it'd be warm inside. Oh, well. If the worst thing that happened tonight was that someone noticed I was wearing a black bra under a white shirt, we'd count ourselves lucky.
Jean-Claude had also found underwear, again it was thong, but it was actually comfortable, because it was made of soft T-shirt material, even the bit that went between your cheeks. Most of the girl thongs I'd looked at had had elastic or lace running up your ass, and that just didn't look comfy at all.
I had to flash the badge just to get through the crowd. When I got up to the line, the officer closest to me didn't really look at me. He saw a woman in boots and a short skirt and a leather jacket and said, "Club's closed for the night, you won't be working."
I shoved my badge into his face, and he had to back up to focus on it. "Actually, Officer," and I read his name tag in the bright lights, "Douglas, I think I will be working tonight."
He looked down at me, because he was taller than me. I watched his face try to wrap around the look of me and the badge in one package. He wasn't the first police officer to have a problem putting it all together, and he wouldn't be the last. I might think like a cop, but I don't really look like one. Especially not tonight.
"I'm Marshal Anita Blake, Sergeant Zerbrowski called me." Always good to remind people that I hadn't invited myself into their party. I had the authority to do it, but I tried to do as little uninvited butting in as I could. No cop, no matter what the flavor, likes someone horning in on their case. Especially not a big one.
Officer Douglas stared at my badge like he didn't believe it was real. "No one told me that the feds were coming."
"Ya know, it's four in the morning. I asked your permission to cross this line as a courtesy, but this badge is a federal badge and it gives me the right to cross this line, enter this crime scene, and do my f**king job. If you stop me, Officer Douglas, I will charge you with obstructing a federal officer in the performance of her duty."
He looked like he'd swallowed something sour, but he waved another officer over. He had him take his place at the barrier and held the tape for me. "I'll walk you through, ma'am."
I guess I couldn't blame him. I mean what if the badge wasn't real, or wasn't mine? Of course, if I'd been a big, strapping guy, he wouldn't have had a problem with it. You can always tell a new cop from a veteran. New ones still judge a lot on appearance, once you've been on the cop for a few years, you stop doing that. Because by then you've learned that what's on the outside doesn't tell you that much about what's on the inside. A cute little old lady can pull a trigger just as well as a big scary looking guy. Rookies don't know that yet. They haven't learned the lesson that you can't tell by looking.
Officer Douglas didn't shorten his stride for me, and he didn't need to. I was used to walking scenes with Dolph, who made Douglas look petite. I kept up with him even in the high-heeled boots. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't. Probably just as well.
Some of the police on this side of the river don't know me on sight. They thought what Douglas had thought, that I worked here, because they catcalled after us, "Hey, Dougie, going to get a piece. No lap dances on company time, Douglas." And worse. I ignored it all. It was four in the morning, and I hadn't been to bed yet, I didn't care. Besides, I'd learned the hard way that the more attention you pay to shit like that, the more you have to shovel. Ignore it, and it usually goes away, because it just isn't any fun if they don't get a rise out of you. Besides, they were teasing Douglas more than me. I was just the nameless girl who gave them an excuse.
He ignored it, but his face was blazing by the time we got to the main doors. He actually held the door for me, and I let him. There'd been a point in my life when I would not have let him hold the door. But with his face already burning with embarrassment, I wasn't going to arm wrestle him for the door. I might have to work with him again, so screw it, he could hold the door. Besides, if I put him on the spot about the door, it would have given his coworkers more to tease him about, and I didn't want that.
We went through the glass doors into a little entry area that reminded me of the front of a nice restaurant, complete with a little desk and a maître d'. Though that probably wasn't the tall guy's official title. But hey, he was wearing a white suit jacket with a tie, he did look like a maître d'. When I'd seen him last, he was tall and self-assured and had taken my name and Asher's and called on a phone to have a "hostess" escort us in. Now he leaned on his counter, head in his hands, looking ill.
There were bathrooms off to the left, and a short hallway that led into the club. From the door you really couldn't see into the club. It gave them a last chance to keep out the undesirables, or the underagers, before someone saw br**sts. The color scheme was muted blues and purples, and if they hadn't had silhouettes of na**d women on the walls, it would have looked like a restaurant, oh, and the poster advertising that Wednesday was amateur night.
I couldn't remember the big guy's name, just couldn't remember it. But it didn't matter, because Douglas took me past him without a word. Up the little ramp, and the club spilled out around us. There was a good solid bar area to the left that would have done any club proud, but the rest of the room was all strip club. I mean, what else do you use little round stages for? The room was mostly blues and purples, and maybe other colors. I couldn't tell for sure, because most of the big room was lit by black light, or other odd lighting, so that the room was lit, but it was still terribly dark. I'd been surprised the first time I was here, it was as if light could be dark, so that though there was no actual shadowed area, the whole room seemed like it was in a shadow.
