sheriff. We'll just wait in the hall until you're done.”
We? My waffling heart flowed from boiling to frigid, flailed about like it was attempting a drunken River Dance under my ribcage, and then flushed back to hot, unable to decide between avid and avoidant. Probably my heart had finally lost its frigging mind. I no longer wanted to see Mark Batten walk through that door. There was a distinct chance that I was going to get blamed for this whole mess. It wasn't my fault, but since when did that matter?
“I'm about finished here.” Hood stood, pushing the stool away with the back of his thick legs.
When Chapel disappeared, Hood scratched at the back of his neck with the end of his pen, his eyes playing down the length of the sheet over my legs. I picked up subtle flickers of his curiosity. It was wildly inappropriate, but he didn't seem aware he was doing it so I let it go.
He said, “Have you ever taken any self-defense classes?”
“No, but I should,” I acknowledged. “Why do you ask?”
“Top of mind when I see an attack like this. Everyone should have at least some idea of how to fend an attacker off. I'm sort of biased,” he said, nodding. “I teach police defensive tactics.”
“Hence the hot bod,” came out of my mouth before I even knew I was going to say it. Horrified, I stuck my straw in my mouth and pretended great interest in my ice water so I didn't have to meet his eyes.
He was quiet for a moment, assessing. “So when you played dead on the floor, you're saying you somehow slowed your heartbeat and held your breath? Autogenic training, some Zen thing?”
“That's not at all what I said,” I looked up into his perfectly human eyes. We stared each other down for a minute, the witch and the skeptic.
“Just clarifying,” he said amiably. The smile made another appearance, at which point I could have sworn I melted and slid into a puddle of mush beside the bed; it lingered lightly on his lips, like he wasn't sure whether to call a shrink for me, or himself. He made to leave.
“And…” His boots scuffed the floor as he stopped suddenly. “When you called your revenant, did you do it with…” He made awand-motion in the air that he must have seen Mickey Mouse make in the Sorcerer's Apprentice. “Mystical abilities?”
“No,” I said sourly. “I called his cell phone.”
“Right. Blackberry?”
“iPhone,” I sighed.
He nodded as though this made perfect sense, stroked his chin. “I'd like to speak to this Lord Dreppenstedt. Have him come into my little station in Ten Springs and make a statement. Or I could drop by your place?”
“Number one, on Shaw's Fist. It's the last cabin in the row, or the first, if you're one of those annoying glass-half-full types. It would be better to come after dark.”
“After dark,” he repeated. “Because your buddy's a real live vampire, right?”
“Revenant,” I reminded. “And I wouldn't call him live, exactly.”
Hood paused in the doorway, tucking his notebook away inside his jacket. “Are you actually bowlegged?”
“No, but it sounded good at the time,” I said miserably, sinking back into my pillows.
“Well, for what it's worth,” he started, and then apparently thought better of it. He had that charming redhead habit of turning helplessly pink when he was embarrassed and a blush crept up his throat. He smiled it away, full-beam this time; it was dizzying how gorgeous it made him. “I'll check back with you if I have any further questions.”
I found my voice by some miracle. “You do that, sheriff.”
TEN
There were so many things I should have seen looking back, proving once and for all that, as I suspected, I am an idiot. The phone call itself, for instance, of course neither Fed would have given out my private unlisted number. I hadn't yet figured out how she had it. Could a failing clairvoyant ferret out phone numbers, or did she have friends in low places?
That nonsense about no cell reception, what a
We? My waffling heart flowed from boiling to frigid, flailed about like it was attempting a drunken River Dance under my ribcage, and then flushed back to hot, unable to decide between avid and avoidant. Probably my heart had finally lost its frigging mind. I no longer wanted to see Mark Batten walk through that door. There was a distinct chance that I was going to get blamed for this whole mess. It wasn't my fault, but since when did that matter?
“I'm about finished here.” Hood stood, pushing the stool away with the back of his thick legs.
When Chapel disappeared, Hood scratched at the back of his neck with the end of his pen, his eyes playing down the length of the sheet over my legs. I picked up subtle flickers of his curiosity. It was wildly inappropriate, but he didn't seem aware he was doing it so I let it go.
He said, “Have you ever taken any self-defense classes?”
“No, but I should,” I acknowledged. “Why do you ask?”
“Top of mind when I see an attack like this. Everyone should have at least some idea of how to fend an attacker off. I'm sort of biased,” he said, nodding. “I teach police defensive tactics.”
“Hence the hot bod,” came out of my mouth before I even knew I was going to say it. Horrified, I stuck my straw in my mouth and pretended great interest in my ice water so I didn't have to meet his eyes.
He was quiet for a moment, assessing. “So when you played dead on the floor, you're saying you somehow slowed your heartbeat and held your breath? Autogenic training, some Zen thing?”
“That's not at all what I said,” I looked up into his perfectly human eyes. We stared each other down for a minute, the witch and the skeptic.
“Just clarifying,” he said amiably. The smile made another appearance, at which point I could have sworn I melted and slid into a puddle of mush beside the bed; it lingered lightly on his lips, like he wasn't sure whether to call a shrink for me, or himself. He made to leave.
“And…” His boots scuffed the floor as he stopped suddenly. “When you called your revenant, did you do it with…” He made awand-motion in the air that he must have seen Mickey Mouse make in the Sorcerer's Apprentice. “Mystical abilities?”
“No,” I said sourly. “I called his cell phone.”
“Right. Blackberry?”
“iPhone,” I sighed.
He nodded as though this made perfect sense, stroked his chin. “I'd like to speak to this Lord Dreppenstedt. Have him come into my little station in Ten Springs and make a statement. Or I could drop by your place?”
“Number one, on Shaw's Fist. It's the last cabin in the row, or the first, if you're one of those annoying glass-half-full types. It would be better to come after dark.”
“After dark,” he repeated. “Because your buddy's a real live vampire, right?”
“Revenant,” I reminded. “And I wouldn't call him live, exactly.”
Hood paused in the doorway, tucking his notebook away inside his jacket. “Are you actually bowlegged?”
“No, but it sounded good at the time,” I said miserably, sinking back into my pillows.
“Well, for what it's worth,” he started, and then apparently thought better of it. He had that charming redhead habit of turning helplessly pink when he was embarrassed and a blush crept up his throat. He smiled it away, full-beam this time; it was dizzying how gorgeous it made him. “I'll check back with you if I have any further questions.”
I found my voice by some miracle. “You do that, sheriff.”
TEN
There were so many things I should have seen looking back, proving once and for all that, as I suspected, I am an idiot. The phone call itself, for instance, of course neither Fed would have given out my private unlisted number. I hadn't yet figured out how she had it. Could a failing clairvoyant ferret out phone numbers, or did she have friends in low places?
That nonsense about no cell reception, what a
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