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Cerulean Sins :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 117 из 352There'd been a lot of personnel through here to fill up one of those large bags. So where was everyone, and where was Dolph?
20
Dolph found us in the kitchen while I was helping Jason with the gloves. There's an art to putting them on, and it was Jason's first time, so he was like a small child with his first set of gloves, too few fingers and too many holes.
Dolph came in through the dining room the same way we'd come, though he almost filled the doorway, whereas Jason and I had walked through together with plenty of room to spare. Dolph is built like a pro-wrestler, wide, and he's six eight. I'm sort of used to him by now, but Jason did what most people do. He looked up, and up. Other than that, he behaved himself, which for Jason was a minor miracle.
"What's he doing here?" Dolph asked.
"You said if I wasn't well enough to drive I could bring a civvie driver. Jason's my driver."
He shook his head, his dark hair so freshly cut that his ears looked pale and stranded. "Don't you have any human friends left?" he asked.
I concentrated on helping Jason into the gloves and counted to ten. "Yeah, but most of them are cops, and they don't like playing chauffer."
"He doesn't need gloves, Anita, because he is not staying."
"We had to park too far back for me to walk without someone to catch me if I needed it. I can't send him back through that pack of reporters."
"Yeah, you can," Dolph said.
I finally got the last finger in place. Jason stood there flexing his hands inside the gloves. "How come it feels wet and powdery all at the same time?"
"I don't know, but it always does," I said.
"He is out of here, Anita, do you hear me?"
"If he sits on the front stoop, they're going to have pictures of him. What if someone recognizes him? Do you really want the headlines to read werewolves attack suburbia?" I slipped into my own pair of gloves with practiced ease.
"Gosh," Jason said, "that was nifty, you made that look easy."
"Anita!" It was almost a yell.
We both looked up at Dolph. "You don't have to shout, Dolph, I can hear you just fine."
"Then why is he still standing here?"
"I can't send him back to the car. He can't sit out front. Where would you like him to be while I check out the crime scene?"
He balled his big hands into even bigger fists. "I—want-him-out-of-here." Every word was squeezed out through gritted teeth. "I don't care where he fucking goes."
I ignored the anger, because it didn't get me anywhere to pay attention to it.
20
Dolph found us in the kitchen while I was helping Jason with the gloves. There's an art to putting them on, and it was Jason's first time, so he was like a small child with his first set of gloves, too few fingers and too many holes.
Dolph came in through the dining room the same way we'd come, though he almost filled the doorway, whereas Jason and I had walked through together with plenty of room to spare. Dolph is built like a pro-wrestler, wide, and he's six eight. I'm sort of used to him by now, but Jason did what most people do. He looked up, and up. Other than that, he behaved himself, which for Jason was a minor miracle.
"What's he doing here?" Dolph asked.
"You said if I wasn't well enough to drive I could bring a civvie driver. Jason's my driver."
He shook his head, his dark hair so freshly cut that his ears looked pale and stranded. "Don't you have any human friends left?" he asked.
I concentrated on helping Jason into the gloves and counted to ten. "Yeah, but most of them are cops, and they don't like playing chauffer."
"He doesn't need gloves, Anita, because he is not staying."
"We had to park too far back for me to walk without someone to catch me if I needed it. I can't send him back through that pack of reporters."
"Yeah, you can," Dolph said.
I finally got the last finger in place. Jason stood there flexing his hands inside the gloves. "How come it feels wet and powdery all at the same time?"
"I don't know, but it always does," I said.
"He is out of here, Anita, do you hear me?"
"If he sits on the front stoop, they're going to have pictures of him. What if someone recognizes him? Do you really want the headlines to read werewolves attack suburbia?" I slipped into my own pair of gloves with practiced ease.
"Gosh," Jason said, "that was nifty, you made that look easy."
"Anita!" It was almost a yell.
We both looked up at Dolph. "You don't have to shout, Dolph, I can hear you just fine."
"Then why is he still standing here?"
"I can't send him back to the car. He can't sit out front. Where would you like him to be while I check out the crime scene?"
He balled his big hands into even bigger fists. "I—want-him-out-of-here." Every word was squeezed out through gritted teeth. "I don't care where he fucking goes."
I ignored the anger, because it didn't get me anywhere to pay attention to it.