He started to say something, but I cut him off.
"Think very carefully about the next thing you say, Special Agent Fox, because depending on what it is, I may or may not be seeing you in Philly today, or ever."
"Are you saying if I don't play nice, you won't play at all?" His voice was as cold as mine had been.
"Nice, hell. Fox, I'd just take professional at this point. What has got your panties in a twist about me?"
He sighed over the phone. "I researched the federal marshals who are also animators. It's a short list."
"Yeah," I said, "it is."
"Kirkland comes in, does the job, leaves. Every time you get involved in a case, it all seems to go to hell."
I took a deep breath and counted to twenty. Ten didn't do it. "Go back through and look at the kind of cases that I get called in on, Fox. No one calls me in unless things have already gone south. It's not cause and effect."
"You have worked some rough shit. I'll grant that, Marshal Blake." He sighed again. "But you've got a reputation for killing first and asking questions later. As for rumors, you're right--they don't paint a very flattering picture of you."
"You might bear in mind, Fox, that any man you've heard dirty stories about me from didn't get to f**k me."
"You're sure of that."
"Absolutely."
"So you're saying that it's sour grapes, because he didn't get the prize."
"So we are talking about someone specific. Who?"
He was quiet for a second or two. "You worked a serial killer case in New Mexico about two years ago. Do you remember it?"
"Anyone who worked that case will remember it, Agent Fox. Special Agent Fox. Some things you don't forget."
"Did you date anyone while you were out there?"
The question puzzled me. "You mean in New Mexico?"
"Yes."
"No, why?"
"There was a cop named Ramirez."
"I remember Detective Ramirez. He asked me out, I said no, and he didn't trash me."
"How can you be sure of that?"
"Because he was a good guy, and good guys don't trash you just because you turned them down."
Micah was idling in front of one of the parking garages on Pear Tree Lane. We'd turned off of 70, and I hadn't really noticed. "Are we parking?" he asked. What Micah was asking was, Are we going to Philadelphia?
"Did any of the agents on scene ask you out?" His voice was serious and not hostile now.
"Not that I remember."
"Did you have a problem with anyone while you were there?"
"Lots of people."
"You admit it."
"Fox, I am female, I clean up well, have a badge and a gun, raise the dead for a living, and slay vampires. A lot of people have issues with some of the above. Hell, a lieutenant in New Mexico quoted the Bible at me."
"What quote?"
" 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.'"
"He did not." He sounded shocked, something you don't hear much from the FBI.
"Yeah, he did."
"What did you do?"
"I planted a big kiss right on his mouth."
He made a startled sound that could have been a laugh. "You really did?"
"It bothered him a hell of a lot more than hitting him would have, and it didn't get me dragged out in cuffs. But I'm betting the other cops who saw me do it gave him hell."
Fox was laughing now.
There were cars behind us, honking. "Anita, are we going?" Micah asked.
"My assistant wants to know if we're going to Philly today. Are we?"
Fox's voice still held that edge of laughter. "Yeah, come on down."
I said to Micah, "We're going to Philly."
Fox said, "Marshal Blake, I am going to do what I never do, and if you tell anyone I did, I'll deny it."
"What are you going to do?"
Micah pressed the big red button on the little stand-up ticket machine. He waited for our parking ticket to pop out. I'd told him to do valet. When you drag your ass in at zero-dark-thirty, valet was worth it.
"I apologize," Fox said. "I listened to someone who was there in New Mexico. His version of your run-in with the lieutenant was different from yours."
"What did he say?"
We were in the dimness of the parking garage now.
"He said you hit on a married man and got pissy when he said no."
"If you'd ever met Lieutenant Marks, you'd know that wasn't true."
"Not cute enough?"
I hesitated. "I guess physically he wasn't that bad, but looks aren't everything. Personality, good manners, sanity--all nice things to have."
Micah had pulled around the little glass building.
The attendant was coming toward us. We were moments away from needing to get out of the car. "If we're going to make the flight, I gotta go."
"Why'd you turn down Detective Ramirez?" he asked.
I wasn't sure it was any of his business, but I answered. "I was dating someone back home. I didn't think it was fair to any of us to complicate things."
"Someone said you were all over him at the last crime scene."
I knew what he was referring to. "We hugged each other, Agent Fox, because after seeing what was in that house I think we both needed to touch something warm and alive. I let one man hold my hand and all the other men think I'm f**king him. God, there are times when I really hate being the only woman around this kind of shit."
I was out of the car. Micah was getting our bags from the back.
"Now that's not fair, Marshal. If I'd hugged Ramirez or let him hold my hand, there'd be rumors, too."
It stopped me for a second, and then I laughed. "Well, damn, I guess you're right."
Micah had traded the key for a little ticket stub. He popped the handles on the carry-on bags so they'd roll. I took one of them but let him take my briefcase, since I was still on the phone. The little bus was waiting for us and a few more passengers.
"I look forward to meeting you, Marshal Blake. Time I stopped listening to secondhand stories."
"Thanks, I guess."
"See you on the ground." And he was gone.
I folded the phone shut and was already going up the bus steps before the attendant tried to take my bag. It was the skirt outfit and the heels. I always had more offers to help with luggage when I was dressed like a girl.
Micah came up behind me, mostly ignored, though he was dressed up, too. We'd chosen his most conservative suit, but there's only so much you can do with a black Italian-cut designer suit. It looked like what it was: expensive.
No one would mistake him for a Fed of any kind. We'd pulled his thick, curly hair back in a tight French braid, which almost gave the illusion of short hair. He'd put on a white shirt with the suit and a conservative tie.
We settled into the back row of seats. He'd kept his sunglasses on even in the darkened parking garage, because behind those dark glasses was a pair of leopard eyes. A very bad man had forced him into animal form long enough, and often enough, that he couldn't return completely to human form. His eyes were yellow-green, chartreuse, and not human. They were beautiful in the tan of his skin, but they tended to freak people out, hence the glasses.
I wondered how the FBI would take the eyes. Did I care? No. Things had worked out with Special Agent Fox, or seemed to be working out. But someone who had been in New Mexico was trashing me. Who? Why? Did I care? Yeah, actually, I did.
Chapter 3
I hate to fly. I'm phobic of it, and we'll leave it at that. I didn't bleed Micah, but I left little half-moon nail impressions in his hand, though I didn't realize it until after we'd landed and were getting our bags from overhead. Then I asked him, "Why didn't you tell me I was hurting you?"
"I didn't mind."
I frowned at him, wishing I could see his eyes, though truthfully they probably wouldn't have told me anything.
Micah had never been a cop, but he had been at the mercy of a crazy person for a few years. He'd learned to keep his thoughts off his face, so that his old leader didn't beat those thoughts off for him. It meant that he had one of the most peaceful, empty faces I'd ever met. A patient, waiting sort of face like saints and angels should have but never seem to.
Micah didn't like pain, not the way Nathaniel did. So he should have said something about the nails digging into his skin. It bugged me that he hadn't.