Micah - Laurell K. Hamilton [12]
“No,” he said, “I don’t. Fox is the most by-the-book agent I’ve ever worked with, and he’s letting you cart around a civilian. That’s not like him.”
“I know the civilian,” Fox said. “That makes a difference.”
“He was a victim of a violent crime. So what? You knew him how long ago?”
“Nine years,” Fox said in a soft voice, his dark eyes on the traffic, hands careful on the wheel.
“You don’t know what kind of person he is now. Nine years is a long time. He must have been a teenager then.”
“He was eighteen,” Fox’s careful voice said.
“You don’t know him now. He could be a bad guy for all you know.”
Fox glanced in the rearview mirror. “You a bad guy, Micah?”
“No, sir,” Micah said.
“That’s it?” Franklin said, and he looked like he was going to work himself into hysterics or a stroke. “You ask if he’s a bad guy, and he says no, and that’s good enough?”
“I saw what he survived; you didn’t. He answered my questions when his voice was only a hoarse rasp because the killer had clawed out his throat. I worked for Investigative Support for five years and what was done to him is still one of the worst things I’ve ever seen.” He had to slam on the brakes to keep from hitting the sudden line of traffic in front of us. We all got very well acquainted with our seat belts, and then he continued. “He doesn’t have to prove anything to you, Franklin, and he’s already proven anything he ever needed to prove to me. You are going to lay off him and Marshal Blake.”
“But don’t you even want to know why he’s here? What she brought him for? It’s an ongoing case. He could be a reporter for all you know.”
Fox let out a long, loud breath. “I’ll let them answer this question once, just once, and then you let it go, Franklin. Let it go before I start having more sympathy with why Bradford had you reassigned.”
That stopped Franklin for a second or two. The traffic started creeping forward. We seemed to be caught in rush-hour traffic. I thought at first that the threat would make him give it up but Franklin was made of sterner stuff than that.
“If he’s not an animator or a vampire executioner, then what does he assist you with, Marshal Blake?” He almost managed to keep the sarcasm out of the “Marshal Blake.”
I was tired of Franklin, and I’m not that good at lying. I’d had less than two hours of sleep and had to fly on a plane. So I told the truth, the absolute truth.
“When you need to have sex three, four times a day, it’s just more convenient to bring your lover with you, don’t you think, Agent Franklin?” I gave him wide, innocent eyes.
He gave me a sour look. Fox laughed.
“Very funny,” Franklin said, but he settled back in his seat and he left us alone. The truth may not set you free, but used carefully, it can confuse the hell out of your enemies.
CHAPTER
5
The hotel was nice. Very nice. Too nice. There were people in uniforms all over the place. Not police—hotel employees. They sprang forward to get doors. To try to help with luggage. Micah actually let a bellman take our bags. I protested that we could carry them. He’d smiled and said to just enjoy it. I hadn’t enjoyed it. I had leaned against the mirrored wall of the elevator and tried not to get angry.
Why was I angry? The hotel had surprised me, badly. I’d come expecting a clean-but-nothing-special room. Now we were going up in a glass and gilt elevator with a guy in white gloves pressing the buttons, explaining how the security on our little key cards worked.
My stomach was a tight knot. I had crossed my arms under my breasts, and even to me, I looked angry in the shiny mirrors.
Micah leaned beside me but didn’t try to touch me. “What’s wrong?” he asked, voice mild.
“I didn’t expect this kind of . . . place.”
“You’re mad because I booked us into a nice hotel with a nice room?”
Put that way, it sounded stupid. “No, I mean . . .” I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the glass. “Yes,” I finally said, voice soft.
“Why?