Obsidian Butterfly - Laurell K. Hamilton [61]
I looked into that so carefully unreadable face, and nodded. “Yeah, it took me a while to realize it and longer to accept it. I’ve lost enough people in my life, Edward. I’m tired of it. The chances are very good that both the boys will outlive me.” I held up my hand before he could say it. “I know that Jean-Claude isn’t alive. Trust me. I probably know that better than you do.”
“You guys look serious. Talking about the case?” Bernardo walked into the room wearing blue jeans and nothing else. He’d tied all that hair back in a loose braid. He padded barefoot towards us, and it made my chest tight. It was one of Richard’s favorite ways to walk around the house. He only put shoes and a shirt on to go out or if company was coming over.
I watched a very handsome man walk towards me, but I wasn’t really seeing him. I was seeing Richard, missing him. I sighed and struggled to sit up straighter on the couch. Call it a hunch but I was betting that Edward didn’t have heart to heart talks with Bernardo, at least not about Donna.
Edward had also straightened. “No, we weren’t talking about the case,” he said.
Bernardo looked from one to the other of us with a smile playing on his lips. But his eyes didn’t match. He didn’t like the serious air and it not being about the case, and him not knowing what it was about. I’d have asked. Edward wouldn’t have told me, but I’d have still asked. Sometimes it was good to be a girl.
“You said you had the files on the Santa Fe cases,” I said.
Edward nodded, standing. “I’ll bring them to the dining room. Bernardo, show her the way.”
“My pleasure,” he said.
Edward said, “Treating Anita like a girl would be a mistake, Bernardo. It would piss me off to have to replace you this late in the game.” With that, Edward left through the far right door. There was a wash of night air and a buzz of insects before he closed the door behind him.
Bernardo looked at me, shaking his head. “I’ve never heard Edward talk about any woman the way he talks about you.”
I raised eyebrows at him. “Meaning?”
“Dangerous. He talks about you like you’re dangerous.” Intelligence showed in his solid brown eyes, an intelligence that had been hiding behind his good looks and charming smile. An intelligence that didn’t show when he had his monster face on. For the first time I thought that it might be a mistake to underestimate him. He was more than just a gun for hire. How much more remained to be seen.
“What, I’m supposed to say I am dangerous?”
“Are you?” he asked, still studying me with that intense expression.
I smiled at him. “Well, you get to go down the hall first.”
He tilted his head to one side. “Why don’t we go together, side by side?”
“Because the hall’s too narrow, or am I wrong?”
“You’re not wrong, but do you really think I’ll shoot you in the back?” He spread his arms wide and turned a slow circle. “Do I look armed?” He was smiling when he faced me again, charming.
I didn’t buy it. “Unless I run my hands through all that thick hair and down your pants, I don’t know you’re unarmed.”
The smile faded a touch. “Most people don’t think about the hair.” Which meant that he did have something hidden away. If he was truly unarmed, he’d have teased and offered me a chance to search.
“It’s got to be a blade. The hair isn’t thick enough to hide a gun, not even a derringer,” I said.
He reached behind his head and drew out a slender blade that he’d woven through his hair. He held it up, then flipped it hilt to blade, back and forth, dancing it through his long slender fingers.
“Isn’t it an ethnic stereotype that you’re good with a knife?” I asked.
He laughed, but not like it was funny. He bounced the blade once more in his hand, and it made me tense. I was still standing behind the couch, but knew that if he were really good, I’d never get behind cover or draw my gun in time. He was just too damn close.
“I can cut my hair and put on a suit, but I’m still going to be an Indian to most people. If you can’t change it, might as well embrace it.” He slipped the knife back into