Read Online Stone Cold Lover by Christine Warren - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christine Warren
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myself and showing you the door.”
He had tried to protest, but she had cut him off.
“However, I’m not stupid enough to send you packing if there might really be some magical mystery freaks looking to feed me to their demon overlord or something. So, first things first. We need to find out if our mad bomber friend made it out of the building last night. If he didn’t, well, that’s that; but if he did, then we can start figuring out how much trouble I’m really in.”
Spar had assumed they would simply return to the abbey and look for the nocturnis ’s remains, but Felicity had disabused him of the notion.
“The explosion was big enough news that they aired it on the station Ella and Kees were watching in Vancouver. That means the police will have the scene locked down tight. We’d never get near it, and if we called the authorities or started poking around, they’d think we could have had something to do with it. No, we need to talk to someone they expect to be asking questions about it, because that’s who just might have the answers.”
Following someone else’s lead didn’t sit well with Spar; he’d had to remind himself a thousand times on the short walk to the restaurant to refrain from ordering Felicity about. He wanted to order her to walk close behind him, that he might protect her from attack, and to remember to allow him to pass first through any doors so he could assess the safety of each new environment. One hard kick to his shin when he’d tried to yank her back into her apartment so that he could exit first had assured him that she would ill appreciate any such chivalry on his part.
She might be small, but he thought her boots must be lined with steel.
Felicity paused inside the crowded room to unzip her coat and scan the sea of faces. Spar watched her closely enough to note when her gaze settled on a lone human male in a corner booth near the window. He followed closely as she waded through the tables and chairs to her target.
“Hey, there, Ricky,” she greeted, sliding into the seat opposite the human without waiting for an invitation. “Fancy meeting you here. Buy you a café ?”
Spar squeezed into the booth beside her, noticing the way the man she spoke to eyed him coolly before his gaze dropped to Felicity’s chest.
“Morning, chère, ” the man drawled, finally lifting his eyes to her face. “To what do I owe this pleasure today?”
“Coffee first.” Felicity reached around Spar to grab the attention of a passing waitress. “A refill for my friend,” she said, accepting a menu and handing a second to Spar. “ Café au lait for me and, uh, noir for him.”
The woman nodded and bustled off before Spar could comment or wonder what it meant. He spoke French—and English, Latin, Greek, all the Romance languages, as well as Russian, Sanskrit, and Arabic—so he recognized the work for “black,” but how did that translate to a foodstuff?
“Not that I’m minding the company, Fil, but aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” The human called Ricky drained the liquid from his thick white cup and gave Spar an assessing glance.
“Ricky, this is Spar. Spar, this is Ricky Racleaux. He’s a reporter for the Gazette. ”
The human snorted. “Spar? Don’t tell me. Did you finally pick up an old man to decorate the back of that bike of yours, chère ? Find him down at the Maison Grande?”
“Yeah, right between the knife fight and the heroin deal.”
Spar tensed for a moment before the sarcasm in Felicity’s voice registered. Apparently, she was not in the habit of frequenting places where people routinely engaged in armed combat or traded in illicit substances. She was simply doing what a former Warden of his had referred to as “giving the other guy some shit.”
“Hey, we haven’t talked much lately. How do I know what you do for fun these days?” Ricky gave a Gallic shrug, but his expression denoted humor. “I was starting to think you’d
He had tried to protest, but she had cut him off.
“However, I’m not stupid enough to send you packing if there might really be some magical mystery freaks looking to feed me to their demon overlord or something. So, first things first. We need to find out if our mad bomber friend made it out of the building last night. If he didn’t, well, that’s that; but if he did, then we can start figuring out how much trouble I’m really in.”
Spar had assumed they would simply return to the abbey and look for the nocturnis ’s remains, but Felicity had disabused him of the notion.
“The explosion was big enough news that they aired it on the station Ella and Kees were watching in Vancouver. That means the police will have the scene locked down tight. We’d never get near it, and if we called the authorities or started poking around, they’d think we could have had something to do with it. No, we need to talk to someone they expect to be asking questions about it, because that’s who just might have the answers.”
Following someone else’s lead didn’t sit well with Spar; he’d had to remind himself a thousand times on the short walk to the restaurant to refrain from ordering Felicity about. He wanted to order her to walk close behind him, that he might protect her from attack, and to remember to allow him to pass first through any doors so he could assess the safety of each new environment. One hard kick to his shin when he’d tried to yank her back into her apartment so that he could exit first had assured him that she would ill appreciate any such chivalry on his part.
She might be small, but he thought her boots must be lined with steel.
Felicity paused inside the crowded room to unzip her coat and scan the sea of faces. Spar watched her closely enough to note when her gaze settled on a lone human male in a corner booth near the window. He followed closely as she waded through the tables and chairs to her target.
“Hey, there, Ricky,” she greeted, sliding into the seat opposite the human without waiting for an invitation. “Fancy meeting you here. Buy you a café ?”
Spar squeezed into the booth beside her, noticing the way the man she spoke to eyed him coolly before his gaze dropped to Felicity’s chest.
“Morning, chère, ” the man drawled, finally lifting his eyes to her face. “To what do I owe this pleasure today?”
“Coffee first.” Felicity reached around Spar to grab the attention of a passing waitress. “A refill for my friend,” she said, accepting a menu and handing a second to Spar. “ Café au lait for me and, uh, noir for him.”
The woman nodded and bustled off before Spar could comment or wonder what it meant. He spoke French—and English, Latin, Greek, all the Romance languages, as well as Russian, Sanskrit, and Arabic—so he recognized the work for “black,” but how did that translate to a foodstuff?
“Not that I’m minding the company, Fil, but aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” The human called Ricky drained the liquid from his thick white cup and gave Spar an assessing glance.
“Ricky, this is Spar. Spar, this is Ricky Racleaux. He’s a reporter for the Gazette. ”
The human snorted. “Spar? Don’t tell me. Did you finally pick up an old man to decorate the back of that bike of yours, chère ? Find him down at the Maison Grande?”
“Yeah, right between the knife fight and the heroin deal.”
Spar tensed for a moment before the sarcasm in Felicity’s voice registered. Apparently, she was not in the habit of frequenting places where people routinely engaged in armed combat or traded in illicit substances. She was simply doing what a former Warden of his had referred to as “giving the other guy some shit.”
“Hey, we haven’t talked much lately. How do I know what you do for fun these days?” Ricky gave a Gallic shrug, but his expression denoted humor. “I was starting to think you’d
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