Cerulean Sins - Laurell K. Hamilton [72]
Dolph came in through the dining room the same way we’d come, though he almost filled the doorway, whereas Jason and I had walked through together with plenty of room to spare. Dolph is built like a pro-wrestler, wide, and he’s six eight. I’m sort of used to him by now, but Jason did what most people do. He looked up, and up. Other than that, he behaved himself, which for Jason was a minor miracle.
“What’s he doing here?” Dolph asked.
“You said if I wasn’t well enough to drive I could bring a civvie driver. Jason’s my driver.”
He shook his head, his dark hair so freshly cut that his ears looked pale and stranded. “Don’t you have any human friends left?” he asked.
I concentrated on helping Jason into the gloves and counted to ten. “Yeah, but most of them are cops, and they don’t like playing chauffer.”
“He doesn’t need gloves, Anita, because he is not staying.”
“We had to park too far back for me to walk without someone to catch me if I needed it. I can’t send him back through that pack of reporters.”
“Yeah, you can,” Dolph said.
I finally got the last finger in place. Jason stood there flexing his hands inside the gloves. “How come it feels wet and powdery all at the same time?”
“I don’t know, but it always does,” I said.
“He is out of here, Anita, do you hear me?”
“If he sits on the front stoop, they’re going to have pictures of him. What if someone recognizes him? Do you really want the headlines to read werewolves attack suburbia?” I slipped into my own pair of gloves with practiced ease.
“Gosh,” Jason said, “that was nifty, you made that look easy.”
“Anita!” It was almost a yell.
We both looked up at Dolph. “You don’t have to shout, Dolph, I can hear you just fine.”
“Then why is he still standing here?”
“I can’t send him back to the car. He can’t sit out front. Where would you like him to be while I check out the crime scene?”
He balled his big hands into even bigger fists. “I—want-him-out-of-here.” Every word was squeezed out through gritted teeth. “I don’t care where he fucking goes.”
I ignored the anger, because it didn’t get me anywhere to pay attention to it. He was in a bad mood, it was a bad scene, and Dolph wasn’t too fond of the monsters lately.
Merlioni came into the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway between kitchen and dining room, as if he’d picked up on the tension. “What’s going on?”
Dolph pointed a finger at Jason. “He is out of here.”
Merlioni glanced at me.
“You do not fucking look at her, you look at me!” The anger was hot in his voice. He wasn’t yelling, but he didn’t really need to.
Merlioni walked around Dolph, carefully, and reached out to take Jason’s arm. I stopped him with one gloved hand on his hand.
Merlioni glanced back at Dolph, then moved a little farther down the kitchen, out of the line of fire, I think.
“Is there a backyard?” I asked.
“Why?” Dolph asked, his voice gone low and growling, not with the edge of any beast, but with anger.
“Merlioni can take him out back. He’ll be out of the house and still safe from the reporters.”
“No,” Dolph said, “he’s out of here. Gone, completely gone.”
My headache was coming back, a flutter of pain behind one eye, but it had the promise of great things to come. “Dolph, I do not feel well enough for this shit.”
“What shit?”
“Your shit with anyone not lily-human,” I said, and I sounded tired, not angry.
“Get out.”
I looked up at him. “What did you say?”
“Get out, take your pet werewolf and go home.”
“You bastard.”
He gave me that look that had been making grown policemen cringe for years. I was too tired and too disgusted with it all to flinch.
“I told you I was too sick to drive when you woke me up. You agreed I could bring a driver, even a civilian. You didn’t say he had to be human. Now after dragging my ass down here, you’re going to send me home without having seen the crime scene?”
“Yes,” Dolph said, that one word almost choking in its brevity.
“No,” I said,