Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 11-15 - Laurell K. Hamilton [342]
“Barbara, she’s not going to help us.”
She dug her hands tighter into my jacket, making fists of the cloth. It was a girl’s jacket, not a man’s, and there just wasn’t enough material to treat it that roughly. It pulled my shoulders forward and was limiting my mobility, and she’d made it impossible for me to go for my gun. I didn’t believe she was going to get so out of hand that I’d need the gun, but it was standard policy for me. No one got to compromise my gun, no one. The trouble was, I couldn’t figure a way to get free of her without hurting her physically. And I didn’t want to do that.
“Steve, show her the check.” She was so close to me, that it was strangely intimate, close enough to kiss, too close to fight.
“Show me whatever she wants me to see, Mr. Brown,” I kept my voice calm, no anger, no hint of what I was thinking, which was get her the fuck off me. I wasn’t unsympathetic, but a stranger had breached my personal space, and I never liked that.
His face was all apology as he drew something out of the inner breast pocket of his suit coat. It was one of those oversized checks, a cashier’s check. He held it up so I could see it clearly. The check was for a hundred and thirty thousand dollars, payable to cash.
“Take the check, Ms. Blake, we’ll sign it over to you, now, today. Right now.”
I shook my head and put my hands gently over hers, I was going to have to get her off me. “I can’t take your money, Mrs. Brown.” I tried to pry her hands away, but she gripped them tighter. The jacket was going to be permanently wrinkled.
“It’s our life savings, but we could refiance the house. We could get you more.” Her eyes were so bright right next to mine. Again that unnatural brightness, and I wondered if she was on something, something prescribed. If it was prescribed, then it was the wrong medication.
I couldn’t get her hands off of me without hurting her, and I still wasn’t willing to do that. I patted her hands, I’d try to be friendly. “It isn’t a matter of money, Mrs. Brown. If I could raise your son and find out who did this, I would. Honest to God, I would, but it doesn’t work like that.”
Nathaniel was at the door. He gave me a look, like is there anything I can do? I couldn’t think of anything, so I gave a small shake of my head.
Mary must have gone for Bert, because he appeared in the doorway with her behind him. “Mrs. Brown, you need to let Anita go. I told you before you had the meeting how it would go.” His voice was even, almost singsong, as if he’d done this before. He hadn’t done it much for me, but not everyone had my charm and ability to scare people. Usually, the gun made most clients nervous, but Barbara Brown didn’t give a fuck about my gun.
She glanced at Bert, but then turned immediately back to me, her hands still strangling my jacket. “You can’t say no, Ms. Blake, if you say no, then it’s over, and it can’t be over.” She began to give me a little shake with every other word. “And it,” shake, “can’t be,” shake, “over.” Shake.
Mother of God, how do I help her, and how do I get her off me without making it all worse. We had grief counselors on file, but I doubted she’d go to one. She wasn’t at that therapy-will-be-helpful stage. She was at that I’m-going-crazy stage.
I stopped trying to pry her off me, but I was tired of being shaken. I decided for truth. “A murdered zombie kills its killer.”
“I want them dead,” she almost screamed it, and tightened her grip so that she spit in my face, just a little, accidentally.
“The zombie cuts a path of destruction through everything and everyone in its way until it kills its killer. I’ve seen zombies kill innocent bystanders by accident.”
“Stevie wouldn’t do that,” she said, and her face was so close to mine I wanted to draw my face back to focus on her, but she had too much of my jacket in her hands, so