"I didn't date the girl. I didn't even like her."
Ah. "Great, let's go."
The men walked at my back like bodyguards. Their energy swirled behind me like some kind of psychic wall. It made the skin along my back tight and itchy. I pushed through the glass doors of the diner and stood there for a moment, searching for Niley.
The diner was a 1950s throwback, long and narrow in front, with a wider area to one side that looked like a later addition. There was a long counter with little, round stools. The place was full of locals and families that matched the out-of-state license plates in the parking lot.
The waitresses wore pink uniforms and small, useless aprons. A blond waitress came up to us, smiling. "Richard, Shang-Da, haven't seen you in here all week. Knew you couldn't stay away from Albert's hash browns."
Richard flashed her that smile of his that has been known to melt women into little quivering puddles. The fact that he's unaware of the effect makes it all the more devastating.
Shang-Da nodded at her, which for him was a rousing hello.
"Hi, Aggie," Richard said. "We're meeting someone. Frank Niley."
She frowned, then nodded. "They're over there at the big table around the corner. You know the way. I'll bring water and menus in just a sec."
Richard led the way through the crowded tables. We went around the L-shape, and at the end of it, against a bank of windows that overlooked a very pretty mountain view, was our party.
The African American bodyguard, Milo, was one of three men at the table. He stood when he saw us. He was still tall, leanly muscled, with square-cut hair, handsome in a cold sort of way. He had a long coat on, and it was too hot for long coats.
I grabbed Richard's arm, slowed him. "Please," I said.
Richard stared down at me from behind black lenses, his eyes lost. I'd never realized how much of his expression was in his eyes. I couldn't read what he was thinking. With some effort, I might have found out, but the last thing I wanted to do was activate the marks in front of Niley's people.
Richard let me walk a little ahead of him. Shang-Da had put a sport jacket on over the white shirt and black slacks. He'd surprised me by having a snub-nosed thirty-eight, chrome-plated. It had a paddle holster and fit at the small of his back without breaking the line of his jacket. When I'd questioned the gun, he'd said, "These are not policemen."
The logic was sound, and he'd checked the gun automatically to see it was loaded. He handled the gun like it was habit. He was the first lycanthrope I'd ever met who carried and seemed comfy with it.
It was actually nice to not be the only person on our side with a gun.
There were two men still sitting. One was under twenty-five, with curly brown hair cut short and a wide, almost surprised face. Not Niley. The other one was well over six feet and must have weighed close to three hundred pounds. He gave the impression of size without being exactly fat. His hair was black and receeding sharply in front. He'd done nothing to hide this fact. Rather, the rest of his hair had been buzzed very close to his head, making it all the more obvious. The lack of hair made his face seem too small for his broad shoulders.
The dark pin-striped suit sat over his white shirt, smooth and costly. He wore a vest but no tie. The wide, white collar showed a curl of greying chest hair. He smiled as he watched us move through the tables of tourists and their screaming children.
His eyes were pleasant and empty like an amused snake. He waved large blunt-fingered hands. Gold rings glittered from every finger. "Ms. Blake, so good of you to come." He didn't stand for me, which made me wonder what was in his lap. A sawed-off shotgun, maybe. Or maybe his overly mannered speech was an affectation, and he didn't know the actions that went with it. Or maybe he didn't consider me a lady. Maybe.
Shang-Da had moved to one side so that he and Milo were facing each other. I narrowed my focus to Niley and the younger man. He looked benign, like he should have been sitting at one of the other tables, surrounded by normal people doing normal things.
Niley offered me his hand. I took it. His handshake was too quick, barely touching. "This is Howard."
Howard didn't offer me his hand, which made me offer my hand to him. His big brown eyes got even bigger. And I realized that Howard was afraid of me. Interesting.
"Howard doesn't shake hands," Niley said. "He's a rather powerful clairvoyant. I'm sure you understand."
I nodded. "I've never met a strong clairvoyant that would willingly touch a stranger. Too much crap to pick up."
Niley nodded, small head bobbing on his wide shoulders. "Exactly, Ms. Blake, exactly."
I sat down. Richard slid into the chair beside me.
Niley's eyes moved from me to Richard. "Well, Mr. Zeeman, we meet at last."
Richard stared at him from behind dark glasses. "Why did you kill her?"
The abruptness of it made even me wince.
I must have made some movement, because Richard said, "I didn't come here to play games."
"Nor did I," Niley said. "If you will accompany me to the men's room, I will check you for listening devices. Milo will check your bodyguard."
"Shang-Da," Richard said. "His name's Shang-Da."
Niley smiled even more broadly. If his smile kept getting wider, soon his face would just split open.
"Of course."
"Who gets to search me?" I said. "Howard?"
Niley shook his head. "My other associate is running a little late today." He stood and there was nothing in his lap. Paranoia. "Shall we, Mr. Zeeman? May I call you Richard?"
"No," Richard said, voice deep and low, as if he wanted to say more.
I touched his arm as he moved past me. I looked up into his face, trying to tell him with a look not to do anything stupid.
Niley took Richard's other arm, slipping it through his like you'd walk arm and arm with your lover. He patted Richard's arm. "My, aren't you a handsome fellow."
Richard gave me a look as Niley led him away. I'd have given a great deal to see his eyes at that moment. Usually the bad guys make moves on me.
Shang-Da moved back so Milo could come out from behind the table. They moved off together, not touching, the tension between them thick enough to swing on.
I was left with Howard and my back to the door. I changed chairs, sitting where Milo had been, so I could see the entrance. It put me closer to Howard, and he didn't like that much. I smelled a weak link.
"How good are you?" I asked.
"Good enough to be scared of you," he said.
I frowned at him. "I'm not one of the bad guys, Howard."
"I can see your aura," he said in a voice that I could barely hear above the murmur of voices and silverware.
The waitress came with glasses of water and menus. I assured her the others were coming back to the table, but I wasn't sure if all of us were ordering. She left with a smile.
I turned back to Howard. "So you can see my aura. So what?"
"I know how powerful you are, Anita. I can feel it."
"I can't see your aura, Howard. I can feel a little of your power, but not much. Dazzle me. Show me what you can do."
"Why?"
"Maybe I'm bored."
He licked his lips. "Give me something benign. No weapons, nothing magic."
That sort of cut down on my options. I finally took the cross around my neck off and handed it to him. I pooled the chain into his hand. "Don't touch my skin with your hand," he said.
I let the last of the chain spill into his hand and was careful not to touch him. He closed his hand over the cross. He didn't close his eyes, but he wasn't seeing the restaurant. He looked past it all, and I felt his power ripple over me like a tiny electric current.
"I see a woman, older, your grandmother." He blinked and looked at me. "She gave you this when you graduated high school."