Morgan smiled his charming smile and said, “Anita, why don’t we sit down and have some more coffee.”
“No, thanks, Morgan.”
“Ed, call me Ed.”
“Look, I’ve had all the good cop/bad cop I can stand. Either charge me or let me go.”
They exchanged looks. “Now, Anita.”
“You know, I’ve changed my mind, Morgan; call me Blake or Marshal Blake. No more first names.”
“If you’ll just talk to us.”
“I’m done talking. I’ve got a federal badge, and I have every right to this crime scene. So, one more time, charge me or let me go.”
Morgan’s brown eyes lost some of that friendly shine. “And exactly what would we charge you with, Marshal?”
I smiled back at him, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile. “There, that’s better; I knew you didn’t like me, either.”
“You said I wasn’t pretty enough for you,” Shaw said from the door, “so I thought we’d add Morgan. Or is he not pretty enough for you, either?”
I looked Morgan up and down, slow, the way some men will do to a woman. I made sure to hit his face last, so he’d have time to be pissed. But he wasn’t pissed; he was challenging, defiant, but not really angry. “Well?” he said.
I started to say something disparaging, but though not really my cup of tea, he was attractive enough. I sighed, tired of the games already.
“I was going to say something cutting, but you’re cute enough. I just didn’t know that the Vegas PD put seduction on their list of interrogation techniques.”
He looked surprised. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Why put you in here with me? Why make a point of you being all cute? What was it supposed to prove, or do?” I waved my hand at him, as if clearing the air. “Never mind, I don’t care.”
I looked past him to Shaw. “Are you going to charge me?”
“We don’t have anything to charge you with-yet.” He had to add the yet.
“Fine, then get out of my way.” I was almost touching him before he deigned to move. He opened the door and held it for me. I just kept walking.
10
SHAW ESCORTED ME back to my weapons. They couldn’t keep me from doing my job. They couldn’t keep me from having more weapons than God, but they didn’t have to like it. Fine with me. I’d gone in with fewer weapons showing to try not to rub their faces in my federal badge. Grimes had said they might see it as a weakness. Next time I’d wear the full gear, and the local cops could deal. I tried to be nice, since I’d had my share of being on the receiving end of federal attitude before they grandfathered us into a federal badge. Today I was beginning to understand what might make the Feds so grumpy. Be arrogant; they don’t pick on you as much.
The backpack was new, since I’d gotten more lethal toys than I could carry easily. I’d had to have the straps tailored down to fit snug at my back, and I had to keep it tight so it didn’t queer the draw from my shoulder holster with the Browning BDM. When I had to wear the vest, I carried the Browning on a thigh holster. The Smith amp; Wesson went in straps on the front of the vest. Without the vest, the S amp;W went at the small of my back. I’d given up on interpants holsters when women’s jeans started having so many damn styles and waistlines. I kept holy water, extra crosses, and holy wafers in little slots that had originally been for ammo, but there were enough pockets for extra magazines and other useful things. The backpack was actually pretty useful but awkward once the vest went on, which was another reason I didn’t care for the vest. I had to put the guns I was wearing on me before the backpack went on. I’d carry the vest and helmet back out in the big pack like they’d come in.
It was the big knife at the back, with its sheath connected to the shoulder holster, that made Shaw widen his eyes. I did my best to ignore him. There was room for an extra magazine on the other side of the holster for the Browning, which put me at fourteen rounds in the Browning and another fourteen in the extra magazine, plus the two extra magazines in the backpack. I put the Smith amp; Wesson at my waist, canted forward so it wouldn’t get caught in the other straps. I had a thigh holster that I’d modified to hold extra magazines for the Browning and the MP5, which would go on a tactical sling across my body once everything else was in place. In the backpack there was a Bantam shotgun with extra shells strapped to its butt, and more shells in the backpack. When it was time to hunt vampires, I’d carry the shotgun and leave the MP5 for backup, but not everything would fit in the backpack, so the MP5 just stayed out in the sling.
“If I’d seen you pack your gear, there wouldn’t have been an interrogation.”
I glanced at Shaw, then went back to ignoring him while I made sure everything was where I wanted it. You did not want things to slide around, because you needed to know where things were when you went to grab them. Seconds counted.
“You going to give me the silent treatment?”
“You treated me like a perp, Shaw. What do you want me to say, that I’m happy you like the way I pack for work?”
“You pack like a soldier.”
“She had a good teacher,” a voice from the door said.
I stood up, tugging the straps into place, and smiled at Edward. “You can’t take all the credit for me.”
He wasn’t very tall, five foot eight, so that Shaw had him by inches. He was muscular, but not muscled. He’d never have the shoulders that the bigger man had, but I knew that every ounce of him was more dangerous than any human being I’d ever known.
“You were still wet behind the ears when I met you,” he said, and he grinned. It was a real smile that went all the way up to his eyes. I was one of the few people on the planet who got Edward’s real smile. He had lots of fake ones. He made Detective Morgan look like an amateur at pretend. If Edward hadn’t been so terribly blond and blue-eyed, he could have fit in anywhere, but he was just too damned WASP-looking to hide anywhere too ethnic.
“Where the hell have you been… Ted? I thought you said the plane ride from New Mexico was shorter than the one from St. Louis.”
The smile vanished, and his eyes had that cold winter look to them. One minute happy, the next the real Edward looking out. He wasn’t exactly a sociopath, but he had his moments.
“I was being entertained by the Vegas PD.”
“They interrogated you, too?”
He nodded.
“You weren’t in on the hunt for Vittorio. What could you tell them?”
“They didn’t ask me about him.” He looked at Shaw when he said the last. It was not a friendly look, and Edward did a better not-friendly look than anyone I knew.
Shaw didn’t blanch under the gaze, but he didn’t look comfortable either. “We’re doing our job, Forrester.”
“No, you’re trying to scapegoat Anita.”
“What did they ask you about me?” I asked.
“They wanted to know how long we’d been fucking.”
I gave wide eyes to that. “What!”
He kept looking at Shaw. “Yeah, according to the rumor mill, you’re sleeping with me, Otto Jeffries, and a cop in New Mexico, oh, and a few others. Apparently, you’ve been a very busy U.S. Marshal.”
“How’re Donna and the kids?” I asked. One, I did want to know; two, I didn’t want to talk about the rumors any more in front of Shaw.
“Donna sends her love, and so do Becca and Peter.”
“When does Peter take his black belt test?”
“Two weeks.”
“He’ll get it,” I said.
“I know.”
“How’d Becca’s dance recital go?”
He gave that real smile again. “She’s really good. Her teacher says she has real talent.”
“Are you trying to shame me by doing the whole domestic thing?” Shaw asked.