Silence hh 3, p.33
Silence hh-3,
p.33
“Thanks, love.” Rixon dabbed the napkin to his mouth, then cast a sly wink at Patch. His voice slipped easily into Patch’s mind. Said I wanted a girl closer to seven hundred, did I? I meant seven hundred … give or take.
Patch settled grim eyes on the blonde, wishing he could mind-trick her into obediently going back to her table, but Rixon would pick up on it and ask questions. He let out a slow breath. Twenty-four hours from now, Rixon wouldn’t remember her name. She, however, had a slightly longer attention span. A complication.
“So tell me, love,” Rixon drawled to the blonde. “Ever ridden on a Ducati Streetfighter? I’m parked out back.”
The blonde was already throwing her purse strap over her shoulder. “Does your friend have a bike too? He could take my friend, Nora.” To Patch’s surprise, she waved at him.
“Vee,” the redhead said with exasperation and warning.
The blonde didn’t bother listening. She turned to Rixon. “First things first. Someone should clean you up. I took a babysitting CPR course this summer. When it comes to nosebleeds, I’m your girl.” She grabbed Rixon by the sleeve and hauled him toward the unisex restroom.
True to form, Rixon slung an arm around her shoulder and nuzzled her cheek. “Lead the way, Nurse … Vee, was it?”
Patch found himself standing in disbelief beside the redhead. Two minutes ago he’d had things under control. He raked his hands through his hair. He might as well have plowed a Mack truck down the middle of his plan.
The redhead shifted her weight. She stole a look up at him, only to immediately swing her eyes away. She was frightened by him. He wondered if he had this effect on her naturally or if she sensed on some subconscious level what he wanted from her.
A strange war of desires battled inside him, pulling him in opposite directions. He wanted to make her uneasy. Ironically, he was also frightened of scaring her off. Now that he had her close, he wanted to keep her there.
She cleared her throat. “Think you could tell your friend to cut back on the slickness factor? If he gets any oilier, third world countries are going to start looking to him as a supplier.”
Patch smiled down at her. She was prettier up close. Cautious but expressive eyes, an aristocratic nose, a few freckles she probably hated, and that hair. Wild and rebellious. He had the urge to snap the rubber band and send her hair cascading around her shoulders. Other than his Nephilim mark on her wrist, Chauncey’s genes had done her the favor of sparing her any similarities.
“So,” he said. “You’re from around here?”
She craned her neck, searching the restaurant, clearly bent on appearing absorbed in anything but talking to him. “It would seem so. And you are …?”
“Jev.” He could tell by the slight downturn of her mouth she thought it was an odd name. Most humans did.
“And you?” she asked. “Are you from around here? I haven’t seen you before.”
“I keep a low profile.”
“Why’s that?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
She flinched. He’d meant to kill the conversation and it worked. He knew he looked like a jerk, but given what he had in store for her, he could do a lot worse. He realized he should leave it alone, but now that he had her talking, he found himself drawn to her. The banter between them felt natural. And she was responding. Scared of him, sure, but equally curious. He could see it well enough in her eyes.
With conscious effort, Patch turned his body toward her, displaying interest. He smiled politely. “I’m in town on business.”
“What kind of business?” she asked after a minute.
“Genealogy. Tracking down long-lost family members.”
“Which family are you researching?”
“Langeais.”
“I’m not aware of any Langeaises in Coldwater.”
He rubbed his thumb across his mouth to quell a smile. “Sounds like I’ve got my work cut out.”
“How long are you planning to stay in town?”
“As long as it takes.” He bent his head toward hers as though they were conspirators. “It would speed things up if I had a tour guide, someone to show me around.”
Her mouth crooked with a wry little smile, as if she knew what he was up to, but she teased him by saying, “You’re in luck. Vee is an excellent tour guide.”
He recovered his surprise quickly. “But I prefer redheaded tour guides.”
She spread her hands in regret. “Sorry. I don’t know any redheads.”
“Check the mirror this morning?”
She tapped her finger to her mouth, a playful gesture that drew his attention to her lips, prim and sensuous, which he had already had the pleasure of noticing. She was cautiously warming up to him, and Patch felt the restaurant tunnel around them, the background noises dropping away. A part of him that had been locked up for so long loosened. He felt a strange satisfaction being near her. A teasing contact that made him want more.
Not missing a beat, she said, “I did. And I recall seeing a brunette.”
He laughed, trying to figure out this game she was playing. “Might need to get your vision checked.”
“So that explains why you have three eyes, two horns, and one very yellow fang where your front teeth should be.” She cocked her head to the side, squinting at him.
He grinned. “Busted. I’m a monster. Jev is my deceptively harmless — and shockingly handsome — alter ego.”
“And I’m on top of it,” she announced with witty triumph.
“Is that a Freudian slip?”
His bluntness caught her off guard. A self-conscious blush rose in her face. She stood uncertain a moment, then gestured with impatience at the restroom. “How long does it take to clean a bloody nose?”
He laughed low. “Not sure that’s the only thing they’re doing in there.”
Her eyes widened with shock … then narrowed in scrutiny, trying her hardest to figure out if he was teasing. For once, he wasn’t. “Maybe you should go knock on the door,” she suggested at last.
The suggestion didn’t appeal to him. He wasn’t in any hurry to end things. The thought of leaving her now left him with an impatient ache. He hadn’t felt this way in a very long time. As far as he was concerned, he hadn’t felt a spark of interest in so long, it was like feeling it for the first time. “Won’t do any good. The only thing that’ll grab Rixon’s attention is the sound of his bike starting. Someone breathes on it, and he notices the condensation. You want to get him out of there, that’s your best option.”
“You’re saying I should take his bike for a ride?”
“More like be my accomplice.” He let the idea dangle.
“And you want me to go with you, why?”
So I can get you alone long enough to erase your mind. And if he was being honest, to get her alone, period. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and he enjoyed a secret pleasure of imagining kissing her. “Let me guess. You’ve never been on a Ducati Streetfighter.”
There went that chin again, angling higher. “How would you know that?”
“Ride one once, and that’s all it takes. You’re hooked.” He hitched his thumb at the exit. “Now or never.”
“I don’t run off with guys I’ve known all of three seconds.”
“And a guy you’ve known, say, twenty seconds? He stand a better chance?”
To his surprise, she laughed. He liked the sound of it, and against his own good judgment, he wanted to make her do it again.
“Actually,” she said, smiling with more ease, “that guy would drastically reduce his chances. Twenty is my unlucky number.”
“And your lucky number?”
She bit her lip, debating answering.
Over the top of her head, Patch saw Rixon emerge from the restroom pressing a folded square of toilet paper to his nose. Patch lifted his hat and scrubbed his hair in frustration. That was quick, even by Rixon’s standards.
“Is it between one and ten?” Patch asked on a stroke of inspiration.
She nodded.
“Hold the number behind your back. I’ll guess it. If I guess right, you and I go for a ride.
Doesn’t have to be tonight,” he added in response to the skepticism flooding her expression. “Next time I offer you a ride on my bike, say yes. It’s that simple.”
She held his eyes a long moment, then relented with a confi-dent shrug. “You have a one in ten chance of guessing right. I can handle those odds.”
How many fingers is she holding up? he called to Rixon’s mind.
Hearing him, Rixon looked up and his face split into a grin. I leave you alone for five minutes, and you’re already chasing skirts?
Fingers? Patch repeated.
What’s in it for me?
Next time we fight, you get to give me the bloody nose.
Get to? Rixon tipped his head back, silently laughing. I’ll happily remind you of an occasion just last week when I nearly punched out one of your teeth.
“Well?” the redhead prodded Patch. “Telepathy skills getting rusty?”
Tomorrow night you call the shots, Patch bargained.
Anything I want? Even if it includes terrorizing underage Nephilim?
Patch sighed. Anything.
All right, mate. You’re on. She’s holding up eight fingers. But keep the flirting to a minimum, will you? Seven minutes in heaven with Nurse Vee are up. I’m ready to roll.
Patch closed his eyes, tightening his face to suggest concentration. He opened one eye, staring down speculatively at the redhead. “Let’s go with … eight?” He said it with just enough uncertainty to make it believable.
The redhead’s mouth dropped. “No way.”
Patch rubbed his hands together, genuinely enjoying himself. “You know what this means. You owe me a ride, Nora.” Her name was a mistake. He’d agreed to treat her with cold-blooded detachment, limiting all references to her to the redhead. He didn’t think he was in danger of an emotional slip, but he was dealing with a beautiful girl. He’d learned his lesson once, hence the safeguard.
“You cheated,” she accused.
His smile widened. She didn’t sound that disappointed, and she knew it.
He played along, raising his shoulders, a display of innocence. “A bet’s a bet.”
“How did you do it?”
“Maybe my telepathy isn’t rusty after all.”
Rixon walked up, clapping him on the back. “Let’s hit the road, Jack.”
“Where’s Vee?” the redhead wanted to know.
On cue, the blonde emerged from the restroom, slumped against the doorjamb, pantomimed her own erratically beating heart, and mouthed ooh-la-la.
“What did you do to her?” the redhead asked Rixon.
“Put a smile on her face. There’s more where that came from,” Rixon added, and Patch shoved him toward the doors.
“Take it easy,” Patch told the redhead reluctantly, not ready to give up talking to her, but not wanting to impress any more of her on Rixon’s memory. For the time being, he wanted to keep who she really was to himself.
The redhead blinked. “So I guess I’ll see you around,” she said, wearing a what just happened here? expression. Given the circumstances, he should ask himself the same thing.
“Absolutely,” Patch answered. Sooner than she thought. Later tonight he planned on making house calls. First to the blonde, and then to the redhead.
If tonight had happened seven or eight months down the road, the timing would have been perfect. As it was, he had to erase their memories. He felt a jolt of regret at needing to wipe the redhead’s memory. He wanted her to remember tonight. He wanted her to remember him.
He imagined sacrificing her — a thought he’d turned over in his head a hundred times before — but the image stumbled. For the first time he looked beyond himself — seeing her. Not only did he plan to kill her, but he had it in his mind to betray her first. What would she think of him if she knew? It occurred to him to drag her outside now and get it over with. The image flared in his mind, impulsive and tempting, but he forced it aside. If he could do it now, he could do it tomorrow.
But his hesitation bothered him. Something told him killing her wasn’t going to be easy. He hadn’t helped his cause by flirting with her and, worse, enjoying it. More than he was ready to admit.
In an effort to refocus his thoughts, he shut his eyes briefly and pictured the end goal. Once he sacrificed her, he’d have a human body. It wasn’t complicated. Anything that stood in his way, including his own inner turmoil, was irrelevant.
Without thinking he turned, stealing a private look at her. He’d only meant to see her face one last time, but to his surprise, she was watching him, too, with a question in those exquisite gray eyes that would haunt him.
FB2 document info
Document ID: 31e0b2a1-3d1d-4429-b67d-5e6c78a0d9da
Document version: 4
Document creation date: 5.10.2011
Created using: calibre 0.8.7, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
Document authors :
жожоба
About
This file was generated by Lord KiRon's FB2EPUB converter version 1.1.5.0.
(This book might contain copyrighted material, author of the converter bears no responsibility for it's usage)
Этот файл создан при помощи конвертера FB2EPUB версии 1.1.5.0 написанного Lord KiRon.
(Эта книга может содержать материал который защищен авторским правом, автор конвертера не несет ответственности за его использование)
http://www.fb2epub.net
https://code.google.com/p/fb2epub/
Becca Fitzpatrick, Silence hh-3
