"Hamilton,.Laurell.K.-.Anita.Blake.-.12.-.Incubus.Dreams" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Laurell K)

УMaybe IТm psychic.Ф
УDolph,Ф I said.
He almost smiled. УI got a bad feeling, thatТs all. This is either their first kill, or the first kill weТve found. It was awful damn neat for a first kill.Ф
УSomeone meant for us to find her, Dolph, and find her tonight.Ф
УYeah, but who? Was it the killer, or killers? Or was it someone else?Ф
УLike who?Ф I asked.
УAnother customer that couldnТt afford to let his wife know where heТd been.Ф
УSo he opens her coat, draws out her hair, tries to make her more visible?Ф
Dolph gave one small nod, down.
УI donТt buy it. A normal person couldnТt touch a dead body, not enough to open the coat, mess with the hair. Besides, that flash of pale flesh was done by someone who knew that it would be as visible as it is. A normal person might drag her out from behind the Dumpster, maybe, but they wouldnТt mess with her, not like that.Ф
УYou keep saying, Тnormal,Т Anita; donТt you know yet, there is no normal. ThereТs just victims and predators.Ф He looked away when he said the last, as if he didnТt want me to see whatever was in his face.
I let him look away, let him keep that moment to himself. Because, Dolph and I were trying to rebuild a friendship, and sometimes you need your friends to pry, and sometimes you need them to leave you the fuck alone.


5

I didnТt want to go back to the reception. First, I wasnТt in the mood to be merry. Second, I still didnТt know how to answer ArnetТs questions. Third, Micah had made me promise IТd dance with him. I hated to dance. I didnТt think I was good at it. In the privacy of our home, Micah, and Nathaniel, and hell, Jason, had told me I was wrong. That I actually danced very well. I did not believe them. I think it was a throwback to a rather horrible junior high school dance experience. Of course, it was junior high, is there any experience except horrible for those few years? In Hell, if youТre really bad, you must be fourteen forever, and be trapped in school, and never get to go home.
So I walked into the reception, hoping I could say I was tired, and we could leave, but I knew better. Micah had dragged a promise out of me that IТd dance with him, and heТd gotten me to promise a dance for Nathaniel, as well. Damn it. I donТt promise things often, because once I do, I keep my word. Double damn it.
The crowd had thinned out a lot. Murder scenes take so much time out of your night. But I knew that the boys would be there, because I had the car. Nathaniel was at the table where IТd left them, but it was Jason with him, not Micah. Jason and Nathaniel were leaning so close together that their heads nearly touched. JasonТs short blond hair seemed very yellow against NathanielТs dark auburn. Jason wore a blue dress shirt that I knew was only a shade or two bluer than his eyes. His suit was black, and I knew without seeing him standing that it was tailored to his body, and probably Italian in cut. Jean-Claude had paid for the suit, and he was fond of Italian-cut designer suits for his employees. When he wasnТt dressing them like they were extras in a high-class porno movie, anyway. For a mainstream wedding, the suit worked. Jason also worked at Guilty Pleasures as a stripper, and Jean-Claude did own the club, but it wasnТt that type of employment that let Jason rate designer clothes tailored to his body. Jason was Jean-ClaudeТs pomme de sang. Jean-Claude did not think I treated Nathaniel with enough respect for his position as my pomme de sang. I had let Micah and Nathaniel go shopping with Jason for dress clothes, and I footed the bill for my two boys. It had been outrageous, but I couldnТt let Jean-Claude be nicer to his kept man than I was to mine. Could I?
Technically, Micah wasnТt a kept man, but the salary he drew from the Coalition for Better Understanding Between Lycanthrope and Human Communities didnТt cover designer suits. I made enough money to pay for designer suits, so I did.
I had time to wonder what Jason and Nathaniel were up to, talking so close together, like conspirators. Then I felt, more than saw, Micah. He was across the room talking to a group of men, most of them cops. He shook his head, laughed, and started across the room, toward me. I didnТt get much chance to see Micah from a distance. We were always so close to one another, physically. Now I was able to watch him walk toward me, able to admire how the suit clung to his body, how it flattered the broad shoulders, the slender waist, the tightness of his hips, the swell of his thighs. The suit fit him like a roomy glove. Watching him move toward me, I realized the suit was suddenly worth every penny.
The music stopped before he reached me, some song I didnТt recognize. I had a moment of hope that we could just sit down and find out what the other two men were finding so fascinating. But it was a vain hope, because another song came on. A slow song. I still didnТt want to dance, but as Micah got close enough to touch, I had to admit that an excuse to touch him in public was not a bad thing.
He smiled, and even with the sunglasses in place, I knew what his eyes would look like with that smile. УReady?Ф
I sighed, and held out my arms. УAs IТm ever going to be.Ф
УLetТs shed the leather jacket first.Ф
I unzipped it, but said, УLetТs keep it, IТm a little cold.Ф
His hands slid around my waist. УIs it getting colder outside?Ф
I shook my head. УNot that kind of cold.Ф
УOh,Ф he said, and he pulled back his hands, which had been sliding up my back underneath the leather jacket. He went back to my waist and slid his hands underneath the tux jacket, so that only the thin cloth of the dress shirt separated my skin from his.
I shuddered under that touch.
He leaned his mouth in close to my ear, before heТd finished the long, slow slide of his hands that would have pressed our bodies together. УIТll warm you up.Ф His arms pressed me into the curve and swell of his body, but not so tight as to make me uncomfortable in public. Close, but not like we were glued together. But even this close, I could feel the swell of him under the cloth of his pants. The barest brush of touch, which let me know that there was more than one reason he didnТt hold me as tight as he could. He was being polite. I wasnТt a hundred percent sure whether this politeness was really MicahТs idea, or if heТd picked up my discomfort. He was always very, very careful around me. In fact, he mirrored back so exactly what I wanted, what I needed, that it made me wonder if I knew him at all, or if all I saw was what he wanted me to see.
УYouТre frowning, whatТs wrong?Ф He was close enough that just turning his head in against my face allowed him to whisper.
What was I supposed to say? That I suspected him of lying to me, not about anything in particular, but about nearly everything. He was too perfect. Too perfectly what I needed him to be. That had to be an act, right? Nobody was perfectly what you needed them to be, everybody disappointed you in some way, right?
He whispered against my ear, УYouТre frowning harder. WhatТs wrong?Ф
I didnТt know what to say. Why was I left so often this night with a dozen things to say and nothing I wanted to share out loud? I decided for partial truth, better than a lie, I guess. УIТm wondering when youТre going to spoil everything.Ф
He drew away enough to see my face clearly. He let his puzzlement show. УWhat have I done now?Ф
I shook my head. УThatТs the problem, you havenТt done anything, nothing wrong anyway.Ф
I looked at him and wanted to see his eyes. I finally reached up and moved his dark glasses just enough to glimpse his chartreuse eyes. But, of course, that was a mistake, because I found myself gazing into those eyes, marveling at how green they looked tonight. I shook my head again. УDamn it.Ф
УWhat is wrong?Ф he asked.
УNothing, and thatТs whatТs wrong.Ф Even to me it made no sense, but it was still true. Still how I felt.
He gave me that smile that was part puzzlement, part irony, part self-deprecation, and part something else. Nothing about that smile was happy. HeТd come with that smile, and I still didnТt understand it, but I knew that he used it less and less, and usually only when I was being silly. Even I knew I was being silly, but I couldnТt seem to help it. He was too perfect, so I had to poke at it. Our relationship worked too well, so I had to see if I could break it. Not really break it, but see how far it would bend. I had to test it, because what good was something that couldnТt be tested? Oh, hell, that wasnТt it. The truth was that if I let myself I could be happy with Micah, and it was beginning to get on my nerves.
I leaned my forehead against his chest. УIТm sorry, Micah, IТm just tired and feeling grumpy.Ф
He walked me a little to one side, off the dance floor, not that weТd been dancing. УWhat is wrong?Ф
I tried to think what was wrong. I was taking something out on him, but what? Then, part of it hit me. УIt didnТt bother me to see the dead woman. I felt nothing.Ф
УYou have to divorce yourself from your emotions, or you canТt do your job.Ф
I nodded. УYeah, but once I had to work at it. Now I donТt.Ф
He frowned down at me, his eyes still peeking over his partially lowered glasses. УAnd that bothers you, why?Ф
УOnly sociopaths and crazy people can look at the violently dead and feel absolutely nothing, Micah.Ф
He hugged me to him, suddenly, fiercely, but was careful to keep part of his body away. It was the kind of hug youТd give a friend in need. Maybe a little tighter, a little more intimate, but not much. He always seemed to know just what I needed, just when I needed it. If we werenТt in love, then how did he do that? Hell, IТd been in love with people that didnТt even come close to meeting this many of my needs.
УYou are not a sociopath, Anita. You have given up pieces of yourself so you can do your job. You told me once, itТs the price you pay.Ф