Guilty Pleasures - Laurell K. Hamilton [46]
“That isn’t good enough,” he said.
“It’s the best you’re going to get. You are not qualified to counsel people. It’s wrong.”
“Little Miss Perfect. You murder people for money. You’re nothing but a damned assassin.”
I took a deep breath, and let it out. I would not fight with him today. “I execute criminals with the full blessing of the law.”
“Yeah, but you enjoy it. You get your jollies by pounding in the stakes. You can’t go a fucking week without bathing in someone’s blood.”
I just stared at him. “Do you really believe that?” I asked.
He wouldn’t look at me but finally said, “I don’t know.”
“Poor little vampires, poor misunderstood creatures. Right? The one who branded me slaughtered twenty-three people before the courts would give me the go-ahead.” I yanked my shirt down to expose the collarbone scar. “This vampire had killed ten people. He specialized in little boys, said their meat was most tender. He’s not dead, Jamison. He got away. But he found me last night and threatened my life.”
“You don’t understand them.”
“No!” I shoved a finger in his chest. “You don’t understand them.”
He glared down at me, nostrils flaring, breath coming in warm gasps. I stepped back. I shouldn’t have touched him; that was against the rules. You never touch anyone in a fight unless you want violence.
“I’m sorry, Jamison.” I don’t know if he understood what I was apologizing for. He didn’t say anything.
As I walked past him, he asked, “What are the files for?”
I hesitated, but he knew the files as well as I did. He’d know what was missing. “The vampire murders.”
We turned towards each other at the same moment. Staring. “You took the money?” he asked.
That stopped me. “You knew about it?”
He nodded. “Bert tried to get them to hire me in your place. They wouldn’t go for it.”
“And after all the good PR you’ve given them.”
“I told Bert you wouldn’t do it. That you wouldn’t work for vampires.”
His slightly up-tilted eyes were studying my face, searching, trying to squeeze some truth out. I ignored him, my face a pleasant blankness. “Money talks, Jamison, even to me.”
“You don’t give a damn about money.”
“Awful shortsighted of me, isn’t it?” I said.
“I always thought so. You didn’t do it for money.” A statement. “What was it?”
I didn’t want Jamison in on this. He thought vampires were fanged people. And they were very careful to keep him on the nice, clean fringes. He never got his hands dirty, so he could afford to pretend or ignore, or even lie to himself. I had gotten dirty once too often. Lying to yourself was a good way to die. “Look, Jamison, we don’t agree on vampires, but anything that can kill vampires could make meat pies out of human beings. I want to catch the maniac before he, she, or it, does just that.”
It wasn’t a bad lie, as lies go. It was even plausible. He blinked at me. Whether he believed me or not would depend on how much he needed to believe me. How much he needed his world to stay safe and clean. He nodded, once, very slowly. “You think you can catch something the master vampires can’t catch?”
“They seem to think so.” I opened the door and he followed me out. Maybe he would have asked more questions, maybe not, but a voice interrupted.
“Anita, are you ready to go?”
We both turned, and I must have looked as puzzled as Jamison. I wasn’t meeting anyone.
There was a man sitting in one of the lobby chairs, half-lost in the jungle plants. I didn’t recognize him at first. Thick brown hair, cut short, stretched back from a very nice face. Black sunglasses hid the eyes. He turned his head and spoiled the illusion of short hair. A thick ponytail curled over his collar. He was wearing a blue denim jacket with the collar up. A blood-red tank top set off his tan. He stood slowly, smiled, and removed his glasses.
It was Phillip of the many scars. I hadn’t recognized him with his clothes on. There was a bandage on the side of his neck, mostly hidden by the jacket collar. “We need to talk,” he said.
I closed my mouth and tried to look reasonably