“So now what?” he finally asked.
“Well, first I think it would be a good idea to find out how Miller discovered we were here and how he knew you’d offered to partner with me. I’m still not sure about whether we’d work as business partners. But I do not like being threatened and I really don’t like being bugged.”
“I can’t believe he actually had the balls to threaten you—and in the middle of a public restaurant.” A slow flush was spreading up Creede’s neck and his voice was low and growling. “Has he lost his fucking mind?”
“Ah, wait.” I raised a finger. “It was not a threat. It was a promise.” I rolled my eyes. “Relax, John. I’m a big girl. I don’t terrify easily.” I watched as he forced himself to calm down. It took a few minutes. He was not taking this situation well. Then again, who would? “Seriously, until you get your legal issues dealt with and I get my legal issues dealt with, we may not want to even try. Because if he can make trouble, he will. He has the connections to do it and apparently he has the technology. You’ll want to do a full scan of your car for trackers and maybe even take it to a priest. Oh, and throw away your clothes.”
“I know how to search for bugs, Celia. I’ve been doing this longer than you.” His growl was growing, but I wasn’t done. Because it needed to be said.
“And yet, they were here and overheard our conversation somehow. I’m pretty sure you’d be chiding me under the same circumstances. Because he’s not going to stop. You know it. Not until he finds some way to get to you—assuming he lives that long.”
Creede’s head jerked and his eyes widened with shock. I could tell he was jumping to conclusions from the look on his face, and it irritated the hell out of me.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I snapped, “I’m not going to do anything. But I don’t need to. That must have been one powerful oath you set up, because he was barely able to walk on his own and I’m pretty sure his arm is literally rotting meat.”
Creede looked from me to Juan, who nodded his agreement.
He started drumming his fingers on the table, his eyes going distant. I could tell he was going over the oath in his mind, checking to see if it was more powerful than he’d imagined. He shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t be that bad. Don’t get me wrong. If he’s not careful, he’ll lose the arm. But that should be the extent of it.”
“You didn’t smell him. The man is dying.”
Creede leaned back at an angle, his fingers drumming an irritable rhythm against the tablecloth. “The only way it would be that bad is if the oath is still active. So long as he’s still screwing me over, the oath is going to eat at him.”
Ah, I got it. It was a vicious cycle. “He blames you and is bitter, so he keeps trying to get even. And every time he does, the oath gets worse.”
“He can’t be that stupid.” Creede shook his head. He was still angry but there was sadness mixed in with it. I wasn’t surprised. They’d been friends and business partners for a long time.
I snorted. “He’s obsessed. Besides, you know as well as I do that people delude themselves all the time. Given enough time, he’ll have the whole thing being your fault. Probably even sue your ass.” There was a little lisp at the end of that. I’ve been having some trouble adapting to talking with the fangs. However, I will say it was harder than it should have been to put the glass down straight on the table.
“How many of those have you had?”
I sighed. “Not that many. Don’t worry. Vampire metabolism. I’ll be dead sober in no time.” I hadn’t meant the pun but recognized it when I saw his lips twitch. He had good lips. Very kissable. Not that I was ever going to, even though I could feel the brush of magic, just at the edge of my skin. Bruno was moving back soon. Just the thought made me smile, but that didn’t mean I was blind. I could look. I just wouldn’t do anything about it.
Right?
Creede scolded me, “You can’t eat anything solid. Drinks are going to hit you harder and faster than they did when you were human. Even if they do wear off quicker.” Shaking his head, “I’ll drive you back to Birchwoods.”
“Nope. I’m not leaving my car in town.” I shook my head firmly. Well, sort of firmly. Maybe the margaritas had gotten to me a little more than I’d thought. “And besides, I’ve got things to do.”
“You’re not driving like this.”
“Of course not. I’ll take a cab.” Actually, by the time we got back to the attorney’s office I’d be fine to drive. Definitely. Well, at least probably.
“Don’t lie to me, Graves.”
“Who’s lying?” I batted my eyes at him in a deliberately exaggerated gesture and ran a fingernail down his hand. I wasn’t using full siren magic on him, just flirting a little, but he pulled his hand away like it was burned. He was affected. I could tell. I could sense he wanted to help. Wanted to . . . but he fought it off with a shake of his head.
“Fine. You have things to do. I get that. But you nearly had your head blown off earlier today and you just got threatened because of me. So I’m sticking with you until the alcohol wears off and you have a better chance of defending yourself.”
“Whether I like it or not?”
“Is being driven around by me really such a terrible fate?” He gave me that charming, handsome smile that he seemed to be able to turn on and off at will. It was nice, but I liked the real one better. Shame he didn’t get much chance to use it.
7
I had John drive me to Isaac and Gilda Levy’s shop. They’d redone the place and I would’ve loved to spend some serious shopping time there—as would Creede, judging by the way he was eyeing Gilda’s new stock of magical artifacts—but the day was getting away from me. I still had a lot to do before I met with El Jefe at the university and I really needed a little time on my own, to think. So after only a couple of minutes of good-natured fussing from Gilda, I was able to leave with my new jacket—outfitted with receptacles for my favorite weapons—and a promise that she’d have Isaac “age” a replacement death stone for my Wadjeti. She swore they could have it to me within the hour, so I could wait, or they’d deliver it to my office.
I didn’t have the time to wait, so delivery it was. By the time we were finished at the shop I was stone-cold sober and Creede agreed to take me back to my car. Before he left he insisted on putting a protective spell on me, strong enough to protect me from bullets. He swore it would last through the day—long enough to get me back to the protective confines of Birchwoods.
When I walked in the front door of my office at around three, the reception area was clean, quiet, and smelled of lemon furniture polish. Thank God. Well, actually, thank Dottie. Maybe both. Whatever, I was grateful. I snagged a large stack of messages from my slot on the front desk before pounding up the stairs.
One call from Dawna. Three from reporters who wanted my take on the statement Cassandra Meadows had made to the press after the Will reading. Since I didn’t know what she’d said, I couldn’t comment. But I wouldn’t anyway. In a mudslinging contest, everybody gets dirty.
I unlocked my office door, tossed my purse and keys onto the desk, and sat. No messages from Ivan. I debated calling the embassy. He’d made it sound so urgent, but I’d managed to see a piece of the continuous news feed shown on the television in La Cocina’s bar and nothing big appeared to be going on in Rusland. The king was attending a financial conference in Greece, and since Ivan was his head of security, he was probably there as well.