Burnt Offerings - Laurell K. Hamilton [79]
“Because I’m not stupid,” Dolph said.
“Sorry,” I said. “Sorry that I thought even for a second that personal feelings might interfere with your job. You’d never allow it, would you?”
He smiled. “I don’t know. You’re not in jail yet.”
“If you had proof of wrongdoing, I might be.”
“You might,” he said. The smile faded from his face. His eyes went empty, cop eyes. “What happened to your hand?”
I glanced down at the bandaged hand as if it had just appeared. “Kitchen accident,” I said.
“Kitchen accident,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Sliced my hand with a knife.”
“What were you doing?” he asked.
I never cook at home. Dolph knew that. “Slicing a bagel.” I gave empty eyes back to him. Once, not long ago, my face showed everything. Every thought plain to see, but not now. I stared at Dolph’s suspicious face and knew my face gave him nothing. Only the blankness itself was a clue that I was lying. But he knew I was lying. I wasn’t going to waste his time or mine by coming up with a really good lie. Why bother?
We stared at each other. “There’s blood on your hose, Anita. That must have been some bagel,” he said.
“It was,” I said, then couldn’t help smiling. “I would have said I was mugged, but you’d want me to fill out a report.”
He sighed. “You little shit. You’re wrapped up in something else right now. Right this minute.” His large hands balled into fists nearly the size of my face. “I’d yell at you, but it wouldn’t do any good. I’d throw you in a cell overnight.” He laughed, and it was bitter. “For what’s left of the night, but I don’t have any charges, do I?”
“I haven’t done anything, Dolph.” I raised the injured hand. “I was doing a favor for a friend, raising some dead. I got cut for more blood. That’s it.”
“The truth?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” he asked.
“Because it was a favor, no money. If Bert finds out I’m raising the dead for free, he’ll have a heart attack. He’ll believe the bagel story.”
Dolph laughed. “He won’t ask how you got hurt. He doesn’t want to know.”
I nodded. “Very true.”
“Just in case the kitchen gets any hotter, remember to call if you need help.”
“I’ll keep it in mind, Dolph.”
“You do that.” He put up his notebook. “Try not to kill anyone this month, Anita. Even in clear self-defense you pile up too many bodies, and you’re going to get locked up.”
“I haven’t killed anyone in over six weeks—hell, nearly seven. I’m cutting down.”
He shook his head. “The last two were the only two we’ve ever been able to prove, Anita. Both self-defense. One with witnesses out the ass, but we’ve never found Harold Gaynor’s body. Just his wheelchair in that cemetery. Dominga Salvador is still missing.”
I smiled at him. “People say the señora went back to South America.”
“There was blood all over that chair, Anita.”
“Was there?”
“You’re luck is going to run out, and I won’t be able to help you.”
“I didn’t ask for help,” I said. “Besides, if the new law goes through, I’ll have a federal badge.”
“Being a cop, no matter what kind, doesn’t mean you can’t be arrested.”
It was my turn to sigh. “I’m tired, and I’m going home. Good night, Dolph.”
He looked at me for another second or two, then said, “Good night, Anita.” He walked back into the interview room and left me standing in the hall.
Dolph had never been this grumpy before he found out I was dating Jean-Claude. I wasn’t sure he was aware of how much his attitude had changed towards me, but I certainly was. A little undead nookie and he didn’t trust me anymore, not completely.
It made me sad and angry. What was really hard was the fact that less than two months ago I’d have agreed with Dolph. You can’t trust anyone who sleeps with the monsters. But here I was, doing it. Me, Anita Blake, turned into coffin bait. Sad, very sad. It wasn’t any of Dolph’s business who I dated. But I couldn’t blame him for the attitude. I didn’t like it, but I couldn’t bitch about it. Okay, I could bitch, but it wasn’t fair of me to do it.
I walked out without going through the main squad room again. I wondered