"George R. R. Martin - WC 4 - Aces Abroad" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

felt, as if everyone who was staring at her was trying to discover who she was,
was trying to divine the precious secrets that were the only masks that she had.
She felt a desperate need to get away from all the staring eyes, but she
wouldn't let herself run from them. It took all her nerve, all the cool she
could muster, but she managed to walk into the hotel lobby with precise,
measured steps.
Inside it was cool and dark. Chrysalis leaned against a high-backed chair that
looked as if it'd been made sometime in the last century and dusted sometime in
the last decade. She took a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly.
"What was that all about?"
She looked over her shoulder to see Peregrine regarding her with concern. The
winged woman had been in one of the limos at the head of the parade, but she'd
obviously seen the byplay that had centered around Chrysalis's jeep. Peregrine's
beautiful, satin-feathered wings only added a touch of the exotic to her lithe,
tanned sensuality. She should be easy to resent, Chrysalis thought. Her
affliction had brought her fame, notoriety, even her own television show. But
she looked genuinely concerned, genuinely worried, and Chrysalis felt in need of
sympathetic company.
But she couldn't explain something to Peregrine that she only half-understood
herself. She shrugged. "Nothing." She looked around the lobby that was rapidly
filling with tour personnel. "I could use a few moments of peace and quiet. And
a drink."
"So could I," a masculine voice announced before Peregrine could speak. "Let's
find the bar and I'll tell you some of the facts of. Haitian life."
Both women turned to look at the man who'd spoken. He was six feet tall, give or
take, and strongly built. He wore a suit of white, tropical-weight linen that
was immaculately clean and sharply creased. There was something odd about his
face. His features didn't quite match. His chin was too long, his nose too
broad. His eyes were misaligned and too bright. Chrysalis knew him only by
reputation. He was a justice Department ace, part of the security contingent
Washington had assigned to Tachyon's tour. His name was Billy Ray. Some wit at
JD with a classical education had tagged him with the nickname Carnifex. He
liked it. He was an authentic badass.
"What do you mean?" Chrysalis asked.
Ray looked around the lobby, his lips quirking. "Let's find the bar and talk
things over. Privately."
Chrysalis glanced at Peregrine, and the winged woman read the appeal in her
eyes.
"Mind if I tag along?" she asked.
"Hey, not at all." Ray frankly admired her lithe, tanned form, and the
black-and-white-striped sundress that showed it o$: He licked his lips as
Chrysalis and Peregrine exchanged unbelieving glances.
The hotel lounge was doing desultory afternoon business. They found an empty
table surrounded by other empty tables and gave their orders to a red-uniformed
waiter who couldn't decide whom to stare at, Peregrine or Chrysalis. They sat in
silence until he'd returned with the drinks, and Chrysalis drank down the
thimbleful of amaretto that he'd brought.
"The travel brochures all said that Haiti's supposed to be a bloody tropical
paradise," she said in a tone that indicated she felt the brochures all lied.
"I'll take you to paradise, babe," Ray said.