I found him dead in my kitchen.”
“Brutally stabbed?”
“No, um, the autopsy showed he had a congenital heart defect, a minor one that shouldn’t have given him any trouble, but for some reason, while he was waiting here to—to—well, he had an M.I. and died.”
“What’s an M.I.?”
“Myocardial infarction. Heart attack,” she said impatiently.
He gaped at her. “Holy shit, I’m lucky to be alive!”
“Well, you really kind of are.” She poked another piece of apple in his mouth. “Let the record show I still think you’re nuts. Also, once when I overslept and missed the bus, it crashed, and half the people aboard were killed.”
“Jesus Christ!” It was all he could say. This was worse—and cooler—than he had ever dreamed. “That’s it, that’s your magic. You’re phenomenally fucking lucky. All the time.”
“There’s no such thing as magic.” But that species of hellish doubt was on her face again. “Everybody’s lucky.”
“Sara, for God’s sake. Listen to yourself.”
“The team at the hospital . . .”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess. They were like the Three Stooges—or however many of them there were. Knocking heads, falling down, having heart attacks on the spot . . . and you walked away without a scratch.”
“That might be true . . .”
“We should go clubbing some night.”
She laughed unwillingly. “Sure we should. I’m sure the police will let you out in no time.”
“Oh, come on! After all this, you’re still calling the cops on me? We should get out of here!”
“You did try to kill me,” she reminded him—like he needed it! He’d never live it down. Derik Gardner, badass werewolf, totally unable to kill a nurse. A nurse with a doctorate, but still. “And I’ve only got your word that you’re not going to try again.”
“Well, my word’s good,” he grumped. Of course, she couldn’t know that. Not like another Pack member would know it. It made everything harder. Which was kind of cool. Yet aggravating. “And like I said, there’s more to this than what we can smell. I think—”
“Than what we can smell ?”
“Never mind. Look, let’s do some digging, okay?”
“Okay!” she said with fake enthusiasm. “Do you want to be Nancy Drew or a Hardy Boy?”
He ignored the sarcasm . . . he’d had years of practice with Moira. “Let’s find out what exactly you’re supposed to do. I mean, you don’t want to destroy the world, right?”
“This is the most surreal conversation I’ve ever had,” she commented. “And no. Duh.”
“So how come anybody who can see the future—I assume that’s how the bad guys knew to come after you—says you’re gonna do just that? Huh? Don’t you think that’s weird? Huh?”
“That’s not the only thing I think is weird.”
“Then hold on to your hat, sunshine.”
She eyed him warily. “What? I’m not really up to more surreal revelations . . .”
“I’m a werewolf.”
“Damn it! What did I just say ?”
11
“I’M A WEREWOLF,” THE GORGEOUS NUT JOB SAID again. He shifted in the chair and winced. She suspected he was sore . . . certainly there was plenty of dried blood on his forehead and speckled all over his shirt. She felt sorry for him and stomped on the emotion. “Soon to be a hairless one, but there you go.”
“Whine much? Try getting a bikini wax.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Look, one thing at a time, all right?” Sara tried not to show how rattled she was. She suspected she was fighting a losing battle. As if her day hadn’t been upsetting enough, she was actually turned on by hand-feeding Hunka Hunka Burning Looney. She could feel the stubble on his chin when she popped more apple slices into his mouth, could feel the warmth of his face, smell the apple sweetness of his breath, could
(I could do anything to him, anything at all.)
feel his . . . his . . .
(He couldn’t stop me. He’s tied up. I could sit on his lap and do . . . do anything . . . )
Aw,
“Brutally stabbed?”
“No, um, the autopsy showed he had a congenital heart defect, a minor one that shouldn’t have given him any trouble, but for some reason, while he was waiting here to—to—well, he had an M.I. and died.”
“What’s an M.I.?”
“Myocardial infarction. Heart attack,” she said impatiently.
He gaped at her. “Holy shit, I’m lucky to be alive!”
“Well, you really kind of are.” She poked another piece of apple in his mouth. “Let the record show I still think you’re nuts. Also, once when I overslept and missed the bus, it crashed, and half the people aboard were killed.”
“Jesus Christ!” It was all he could say. This was worse—and cooler—than he had ever dreamed. “That’s it, that’s your magic. You’re phenomenally fucking lucky. All the time.”
“There’s no such thing as magic.” But that species of hellish doubt was on her face again. “Everybody’s lucky.”
“Sara, for God’s sake. Listen to yourself.”
“The team at the hospital . . .”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess. They were like the Three Stooges—or however many of them there were. Knocking heads, falling down, having heart attacks on the spot . . . and you walked away without a scratch.”
“That might be true . . .”
“We should go clubbing some night.”
She laughed unwillingly. “Sure we should. I’m sure the police will let you out in no time.”
“Oh, come on! After all this, you’re still calling the cops on me? We should get out of here!”
“You did try to kill me,” she reminded him—like he needed it! He’d never live it down. Derik Gardner, badass werewolf, totally unable to kill a nurse. A nurse with a doctorate, but still. “And I’ve only got your word that you’re not going to try again.”
“Well, my word’s good,” he grumped. Of course, she couldn’t know that. Not like another Pack member would know it. It made everything harder. Which was kind of cool. Yet aggravating. “And like I said, there’s more to this than what we can smell. I think—”
“Than what we can smell ?”
“Never mind. Look, let’s do some digging, okay?”
“Okay!” she said with fake enthusiasm. “Do you want to be Nancy Drew or a Hardy Boy?”
He ignored the sarcasm . . . he’d had years of practice with Moira. “Let’s find out what exactly you’re supposed to do. I mean, you don’t want to destroy the world, right?”
“This is the most surreal conversation I’ve ever had,” she commented. “And no. Duh.”
“So how come anybody who can see the future—I assume that’s how the bad guys knew to come after you—says you’re gonna do just that? Huh? Don’t you think that’s weird? Huh?”
“That’s not the only thing I think is weird.”
“Then hold on to your hat, sunshine.”
She eyed him warily. “What? I’m not really up to more surreal revelations . . .”
“I’m a werewolf.”
“Damn it! What did I just say ?”
11
“I’M A WEREWOLF,” THE GORGEOUS NUT JOB SAID again. He shifted in the chair and winced. She suspected he was sore . . . certainly there was plenty of dried blood on his forehead and speckled all over his shirt. She felt sorry for him and stomped on the emotion. “Soon to be a hairless one, but there you go.”
“Whine much? Try getting a bikini wax.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Look, one thing at a time, all right?” Sara tried not to show how rattled she was. She suspected she was fighting a losing battle. As if her day hadn’t been upsetting enough, she was actually turned on by hand-feeding Hunka Hunka Burning Looney. She could feel the stubble on his chin when she popped more apple slices into his mouth, could feel the warmth of his face, smell the apple sweetness of his breath, could
(I could do anything to him, anything at all.)
feel his . . . his . . .
(He couldn’t stop me. He’s tied up. I could sit on his lap and do . . . do anything . . . )
Aw,
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