"Karen Koehler - Slayer--Black Miracles" - читать интересную книгу автора (Koehler Karen)

time to act on it. He certainly had the money. Just no luck at the moment. It took him a half dozen
attempts before a canary finally slowed and drew to the curb of the walk. Chill tonight. He pulled his coat
closer about him as he stalked past the meters, telephone poles and hookers on street corners on his way
to the curb.

Back in his college days--good Lord that was a looong time ago--he had been the proud owner of a
vintage 1958 Thunderbird, a shining white shark with a candy-apple-red interior. He missed that car
sometimes. Hell, he missed it most of the time, especially on cold nights like this. But cars andNew York
City did not mix well. One day I will leave this city, live in a big Victorian house down by the sea
somewhere onConey Island , and drive a Thunderbird everywhere I go. That or get a personal driver.

Debra chuckled.Dreamer.

He smirked.

тАЬHi there, Mister.тАЭ

He lost the smirk as he stopped to look over his shoulder. He saw one of the hookers had broken away
from the pack and was trailing him. Well this was just grand.

Yes, it certainly is,Debra whispered intimately.

Alek ignored the implications of that sly voice in his head and kept walking. Hopefully the young lady
would take a hint from his hostile reaction and look for work elsewhere.

Unfortunately, that didnтАЩt happen.

тАЬMister...hey...!тАЭ

Alek stopped just as he was about to step off the curb and into the street.

The girl had caught up with him. She was quite a little thing--then again, at his tall, lanky height, everyone
seemed тАЬlittleтАЭ to him. Yet she was more than merely small; she was petite, like a young doe. She had
mussed blonde hair screwed into a semblance of a modern hairdo and rain-smeary mascaraed eyes. She
was trying to look worldly and sophisticated, yet all of it only made her seem more vulnerable somehow.
She had lovely eyes, like aquamarines. Her mouth wasnтАЩt bad either. In fact, none of her was. Well...he
couldnтАЩt help but look her up and down, her flimsy black dress and lacy red shawl left little to the
imagination. Red. God, he loved red...

He shook himself out of it. He was ogling a little girl, for Chrissakes. A na├пve little girl, on top of it. A
professional would not solicit someone like himself, fresh from the steps of the Metro. A professional
would know someone dressed as he was in evening wear would have arranged for an uptown escort in
advance. The little girl was young and new and stupid to the work.

The idea made him sad somehow.
 тАЬYou want some company?тАЭ she asked, a classic pickup line. As he watched, her eyes flicked sideways,
then centered on his face again.

тАЬIтАЩm sorry,тАЭ he said.