"Allston, Aaron - Doc Sidhe 01 - Doc Sidhe" - читать интересную книгу автора (Allston Aaron)

УNo.Ф
УGaby, I love you.Ф There they were, the magic words. HeТd never had any problem saying them. He meant them.
He waited, but this time she didnТt say them back. She just gave him a look full of hurtful sympathy.
УOh, Jesus.Ф He slumped back in his chair. УWhen did this happen?Ф
УHarris.Ф She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, he knew sheТd found the words. УI think the world of you. I donТt want to lose you as a friend. But . . . well, this is my fault. I keep expecting you to be something youТre not.Ф
УWhich is what? Just where exactly do I fall short?Ф He searched her face for a clue.
She moved like a butterfly impaled on a pin, struggling with words that didnТt seem to want to come out. УI donТt think I can describe it.Ф
УTry.Ф His voice fell to a whisper. УI can change.Ф
It was the wrong thing to say. HeТd never known he could sound so pathetic. Suddenly he knew why she was doing this. HeТd become a neighborhood dog and she was the woman heТd followed home.
He wouldnТt want a dog, either.
Her next words were the rocks thrown to drive him off. УI think I need my keys back.Ф She set down his own apartment key beside his silverware, then wiped at the tear that threatened to roll down her cheek.
He looked at the key. She didnТt even want to come out to his doghouse anymore. He almost laughed.
He pulled out his keychain and wrestled her building and apartment keys off the metal coil. He set them down in front of her.
She put them in her fanny pack and zipped it up. Her voice was low, pained. УGood-bye, Harris.Ф And she left.
Harris watched the door swing closed behind her. УZeb shouldТve put you in the ring tonight,Ф he said. УYou wouldТve pounded Sonny flat.Ф
The waitress set GabyТs soup down in front of him.
What the hell. His life wasnТt over. He had a great bowl of wonton soup and a pair of well-tied shoes.

Chapter Two
Phipps looked up as Gaby come out of the restaurant.
An interesting change. Before, sheТd been alert. Now she walked with her head down, hands stuffed into her jeans pockets. A more likely target for a mugger. Phipps might actually have to protect her. The irony amused him.
The guy in the jeans jacket, the one whoТd met her at the door, didnТt come out with her. Phipps liked that. One less complication, assuming that she didnТt hook up with him again later.
He glanced at his watch. Three hours until midnight. All he had to do was keep near her for a couple more hours and everything would be all right. He gathered up his newspaper and blended in with the sidewalk traffic as he followed her.

There was still some of the Stolichnaya in his cabinet. Harris uncapped it and carried it to his sagging couch. Gaby would be annoyed with him for treating the expensive vodka like common booze. He looked forward to that.
On the end table was the file full of newspaper clippings his mother had sent him over the years. He groaned when he saw it. ThatТs a call he didnТt want to make. Hi, Mom, Dad. You know all that money you spent to support me while I beat people up in New York? Uncle Charlie was right: you wasted it.
He picked up the folder and shuffled through the clippings.
Some of it was college paper stuff about the theater productions heТd been involved with: a picture of him onstage in Death of a Salesman, another of him backstage doing his own makeup for Ethan Frome. But the majority of stories were about tae kwon do.
So many tournaments, competitions, demonstrations. His home-town newspaper had glowingly reported his Olympic career. It even made his first-round loss in Seoul sound like a moral victory. It wasnТt; heТd just gone out there and gotten clobbered.
Harris looked at the pictures of the happy, cocky, eager kid he used to be. Dark hair, features that looked brooding even when he was happy. УA soap opera hero face,Ф Gaby had said a long time ago. УYou ought to go over to NBC and try out for a part. Put that theater major to some good use for once.Ф
He tipped the bottle up and took a pull on it, felt the liquor burn down his throat. Maybe heТd do that now. TheyТd hire him to be the next bare-chested hunk. Gaby would be channel-surfing and would spot him licking the tonsils of some soap opera sweetheart. SheТd drop her teeth.
The thought warmed him. Or maybe that was the vodka. He took another swallow.
Later, when the bottle barely sloshed as he set it down, it occurred to Harris that it was time to talk some sense into her. He needed to get out of the apartment anyway; ever since it had started rocking heТd felt seasick. Fresh air would help.
Down on the sidewalk, he tried to take another drink, but lifted a wad of newsprint to his mouth.
He stared accusingly at his hand. It had brought the wrong stuff. It failed him even when he wasnТt throwing a backfist with it.
He smoothed out the wad of paper and smiled down at the expectation and hope he saw in his own younger face.
Then, with meticulous care, he tore the first articleТs headline free and let it flutter to the sidewalk. That felt good. Half a dozen words he no longer had to live up to.
Walking toward GabyТs home, he ripped loose another strip of words.

Gaby got her apartment door closed and threw the three deadbolts on it.
Her feet hurt. She must have walked for two hours after she left Harris.
And she still hadnТt eaten. Small wonder. That talk had killed her appetite. She wondered if sheТd be hungry again before summer.
Someone knocked on the front door, startling her. Her visitor must have come up the stairs right behind her. Gaby put her eye to the peephole.
Her visitor was an old man, elegantly dressed, his face merryЧthe perfect grandfather, obviously rich and good-natured. It had to be one of the other tenants; she hadnТt buzzed anyone into the building. SheТd never seen him before. УWho is it?Ф she asked.
УMiss, ah, Gabriela Donohue?Ф
УThatТs right.Ф She waited patiently; no need to unlock the door, no matter how innocuous he looked, until he satisfied her that she had a reason to.
УThank you,Ф he said. Then he stepped away from the door, out of sight.
Someone moved in to take his place. It was a man in a dark overcoat, so tall that she could not see above the knot of his gray necktie, so wide that he seemed to match the door in breadth. Gaby took an involuntary step back.
There was a sharp bang! and the door crashed down, its locks and hinges shattered; it fell against Gaby and staggered her. Beyond, the huge man was striding forward, and the old man and another intruder came close behind. . . .
Gaby felt icy terror grip her stomach. She turned and ran. She had to reach her bedroom, the fire escape outside her windowЧ