[Marnie Baranuik 02.5] Cold Company by A. J. Aalto

had? Some nerve from a guy whose sex life involved bunny slippers.
    “Now that this is all over, is she going to be all right?” Malashock asked.
    I thought that “all over” was a stretch; for Paula McKnight, it might never be, and I wouldn't lay long odds on “all right,” but she was a tough cookie. As a cop, Malashock knew that much already. She was looking for mystical answers where I had none.
    “Sorry,” I said, showing her my gloved hands, “I’m not that kind of psychic.”
    “Well, I do appreciate you offering your help, today,” she said, and the Blue Sense awoke to report her sincerity.
    “I didn’t do much,” I said with a sigh, attempting modesty; probably I should have left out the self-satisfied knuckle-cracking.
    “If there’s anything I can do for you in the future…”
    “Hold on,” I said, digging out my pink Moleskine notebook and a golf pencil. “Are you saying you owe me one?”
    “Uh…” She looked wary as I scribbled an IOU in my book. “Sure?”
    “Hot diggity-doggity-doo,” I said, handing her the pencil. “Sign here, please.”
    Malashock studied my face to decide whether or not I was serious before signing reluctantly. “As I was saying,” she said, no longer as sure of herself, “a real pleasure.”
    “Yeah,” I agreed, waving the notebook at her as she left. Harry slid up behind me, a cold press at my back.
    “Let us be off, dearheart.” His battleship grey eyes sparkled. In them, there was no hint of the violence that had caused his near-fatal salute. There was also no remorse, though I certainly hadn’t expected to find much. While Harry was concerned about the possibility of his soul’s redemption, his interest in total innocence waxed and waned. I had no doubt that he’d already rationalized his behavior and had moved on. Wesley might want to discuss it later, but Lord Dreppenstedt would feel no such need.
    Harry offered me his right arm, a familiar, gallant gesture that soothed my nerves. “If you’re quite finished, here?”
    I slid my Moleskine back in the pocket of my jeans and watched Malashock’s sedan pull away. “Nope. I’m pretty sure I’m not,” I said, “which I why I got this nifty IOU. Pretty crafty, huh?”
    “Oh, yes,” Harry said with a hint of a teasing smile, “How clever is my wonder-wench, and how perfectly proud I am of her divinipotence, if you will pardon my whildom words.”
    “Uh huh. I might not understand all that gobbledygook, but I hear the sarcasm, smartass, and I’m choosing to ignore it.”
    “Certainly, you do not expect me to chase the mare’s nest of your intellect whilst standing ankle-deep in the snow, angel?”
    I narrowed my eyes, trying to figure out whether that was an insult or not. “I’m Googling ‘mare’s nest’ when I get home, revenant,” I warned.
    Harry’s smile was slow, smug, and playful. “When your vocabulary is augmented, you may consider me suitably chastised.”
    “Uh huh. That being said, we better grab the other dead guy and get the fuck out while we can.”
    Harry did not hide this eye roll. “Eloquently put, my spirited sparrow.”
    A fierce new wind off the canal and a growling sky conspired to make our escape from Niagara miserable. My brother’s palpable relief, and Harry’s hand in mine, attempted to warm our departure, but the cold had settled in to stay. Paula’s freedom, if not her happiness, was certain. My own – from the work I did, the company I committed to keeping, and the visions I am subjected to – would never be, and for a moment, as I stood by Harry’s rental car in the frigid darkness, I felt it as cold and bitter as the stale coffee that had spent all day in the frigid car.
    When I came back to Niagara several months later, the season had changed, but the bitterness had only deepened.
     
    (Stay tuned for Last Impressions, Book Three of the Marnie Baranuik Files. And keep reading for a Bonus Excerpt from Touched, Book One of the Marnie Baranuik