Bloodshot - Cherie Priest [8]
Down in the parking garage under the building I keep a blue-gray Thunderbird. It’s not the newest model, but it’s not old enough to count as a classic—and it’s got more miles on it than you’d guess. I could afford a better car, sure, but I like the way this one drives and no one ever looks at it twice. Only this time I left it in its assigned space. Traffic would be a bitch, parking would be worse, and I could make it to my destination in thirty minutes if I kept up a steady pace. It was all downhill, anyway.
I’m not a rooftop-to-rooftop kind of woman. Not unless I’m really desperate.
By ten o’clock I was standing outside Vina. I did a last-minute check of my messages, my bag, my hair, and I steeled myself. I hate meeting new people, even new clients who intend to give me money. I try to be pleasant, but I’m not very good at it. The best I can usually pull off is “professional if somewhat chilly.” It’s not ideal, no. But it beats “awkward and bitchy.”
On the phone, I hadn’t asked how I’d know Ian when I saw him, but I was willing to bet he’d be the only vampire on the premises; and if he wasn’t, then I had bigger problems than his anonymity.
But no. There he was.
I saw him through the window, and knew him even before I could hear him or smell him.
It could’ve been his exquisite sense of posture—something you don’t often see in men these days—or it could’ve been the way his long silver hair lay perfectly flat against his shoulders. His candle-white hands curled around the underside of a wineglass, holding it in the gentle way we vampires sometimes affect when we’re holding something fragile.
Sometimes we don’t know our own strength.
I let myself inside, nudging my way past a hostess and giving her a nod that told her I’d found my party. Or maybe it just told her I was a pushy, impatient cunt. Regardless, I didn’t need her help to find my table.
My business date was wearing glasses. They weren’t sunglasses, exactly, but they were tinted blue. The lenses didn’t hide his eyes or mask them, so I wondered why he bothered.
“Ms. Pendle?” He added an unnecessary question mark to the end of my name as he rose from his chair to greet me. He extended his hand, and I took it to shake it.
“Mr. Stott. Or Ian, as you prefer.”
He gestured at the seat opposite his. While I made myself comfortable, he said, “You’re right on time. It’s good of you to meet me so soon.”
“I’m always on time,” I understated. I’m usually early. “And it was good of you to stay out of my apartment.”
His eyebrows knitted softly behind the wire frames. “I beg your pardon?”
“You obviously know where I live, but you went to the trouble of being polite about it. To tell you the truth, I’m still not sure how I feel about that. People usually contact me through a third party.” I let my jacket dangle from the edge of my chair’s back, and set my bag down on the floor next to my feet.
“Ah.” He took a sip of wine, and a waitress noticed that I was drinkless.
I put in an order for something white and devoid of sparkles, and when our server had toddled off, I said, “Ah? Is that all you’ve got to say about it? If I were a different kind of woman, I might have perceived your invitation as a threat.”
“I can assure you, I meant no such thing. I only wished to snare your attention in a way you would not ignore. I understand you make a habit of avoiding …” He didn’t lower his voice, which was good. Other people’s conversations are never so interesting as when they’re whispered. “People like us.”
“That’s true,” I confirmed. “You’re my first potential client of this sort since … in a long time. But I’m not working for you yet, so I can’t really accuse you of breaking my streak.”
“I can hardly blame you for your caution. I understand that you have few family affiliations, so staying away from us is probably your wisest course. This is one reason I’ve gone to such lengths to seek you out.”
“Is it?” I asked.
“Oh yes.”
The server returned with a lovely crystal glass filled with shimmering liquid the color of quartz. We paused in our repartee