"Laurell K. Hamilton - Anita Blake 05 - Bloody Bones" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Laurell K)

the date. I'm going to be out of town. A message would have been easier for
me, but cowardly.
I packed one suitcase. It was enough for four days and then some. If you
pack extra underwear and clothes that mix and match, you can live for a week
out of a small suitcase.
I did add a few extras. The Firestar 9mm and its inner pants holster.
Enough extra ammo to sink a battleship and two knives plus wrist sheaths. I'd
had four knives. All handcrafted for little ol' moi. Two of them had been lost
beyond recovery. I was having them replaced, but hand forging takes time,
especially when you insist on the highest silver content possible in the
steel. Two knives, two guns should be enough for one weekend business trip.
I'd wear the Browning Hi-Power.
Packing wasn't a problem. What to wear today was the problem. They'd want
me to raise them tonight if I could. Hell, the helicopter might fly directly
to the construction site. Which meant I'd be walking over raw dirt, bones,
shattered coffins. It didn't sound like high-heel territory. Yet, if a junior
partner was wearing a three-thousand-dollar suit, the people who'd just hired
me would expect me to look the part. I could either dress professionally or in
feathers and blood. I'd actually had one client who was disappointed that I
didn't show up nude smeared with blood. There could have been more than one
reason for his disappointment. I don't think I've ever had a client that would
have objected to some kind of ceremonial getup, but jeans and jogging shoes
didn't seem to inspire confidence. Don't ask me why.
I could pack my coverall and put it over whatever I wore. Yeah, I liked
that. Veronica SimsтАФRonnie, my very best friendтАФhad talked me into buying a
fashionably short navy skirt. It was short enough that I was a little
embarrassed, but the skirt fit inside the coverall. The skirt didn't wrinkle
or bunch up after I'd worn the outfit to vampire stakings or murder scenes.
Take the coverall off, and I was set to go to the office or out for the
evening. I was so pleased, I went out and bought two more in different colors.
One was crimson, the other purple. I hadn't been able to find one in black
yet. At least not one that wasn't so short that I refused to wear it.
Admittedly, the short skirts made me look taller. They even made me look
leggy. When you're five-foot-three, that's saying something. But the purple
didn't match much that I owned, so crimson it was.
I'd found a short-sleeved blouse that was the exact same shade of red. Red
with violet undertones, a cold, hard color that looked great with my pale
skin, black hair, and dark brown eyes. The shoulder holster and 9mm Browning
Hi-Power looked very dramatic against it. A black belt cinched tight at the
waist held down the loops on the holster. A black jacket with rolled-back
sleeves went over everything to hide the gun. I twirled in front of the mirror
in my bedroom. The skirt wasn't much longer than the jacket, but you couldn't
see the gun. At least not easily. Unless you're willing to have things
tailor-made, it's hard to hide a gun, especially in women's dress-up clothes.
I put on just enough makeup so the red didn't overwhelm me. I was also
going to be saying good-bye to Richard for several days. A little makeup
couldn't hurt. When I say makeup, I mean eye shadow, blush, lipstick, and
that's it. Outside of a television interview that Bert talked me into, I don't
wear base.
Except for the hose and black high heels, which I would've had to wear no