The Hell Yo - lanyon Josh - Страница 22
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of the closed door.
As the glass door settled into place, I heard his muffled curse, one arm cradling what
were apparently sore ribs. Instinctively, he turned to go after them. From my vantage point I
saw him check. He turned back, shoved open the door, and leaned inside the doorway. I
waved my arm to signal that I was okay – and to go after them – but it took him a moment
to pinpoint me in the relative gloom of the shop’s interior.
Then he was gone.
Through the front window, I watched him sprint down the busy sidewalk in pursuit.
One arm was clamped to his side as though to brace himself. He didn’t know what he was
pursuing; it was the same reflex that makes a dog chase a car down the street.
I knelt, gathered the fallen papers and books. My heart was kicking hard with a rush of
adrenaline and tension. I was irritated that my hands weren’t quite steady. I still wasn’t
convinced the whole incident wasn’t mostly ridiculous.
Jake was back in under five minutes. “So…did they see your prices? What was that
about?” Despite the wisecrack, his face was glazed with sweat, and beneath the tan, pale. He
moved like he hurt.
“I take it they got away?”
He glared at me, still breathing hard.
“They came in asking for Angus. They didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t know
where he was.”
“Maybe you weren’t convincing.”
“Jake,” I said hotly. “I don’t know where he is.”
He let that go. “So what happened? They threatened you? What?”
“Yeah. Sort of.” I felt like an idiot. I couldn’t picture Jake letting a pair of girls chase
him around a room. “They got here a couple of minutes ahead of you. Nothing actually
happened.”
Jake scowled. “The goddamn door was shut, Adrien, with a closed sign on it. Something
sure as shit was going down in here. I know guilt when I see it. Those two were guilty as
hell. Did you get a name? Did you recognize either of them?”
“One of them, the blonde, was named ‘Kinsey.’ I recognized the dark-haired girl from
Guy Snowden’s class last Monday.”
All business, he sat on the fat arm of one of the faded, comfy chairs, and took out a
notebook to jot down my information. By the time we finished, his color was better. He had
caught his breath again.
Flipping the notebook shut, he straightened and came over to the counter where I
stood.
“I think I’ll have another word with Professor Snowden,” he said. I didn’t like his
smile. I wondered what the first word had been and decided I’d be happier not knowing.
“So what are you doing here?” I asked. “How are you feeling?”
Our public greetings were always awkward. Occasionally, he’d actually kiss me hello, if
we were well and truly on our own, but generally any physical display of affection had to
wait till we were behind closed – and locked and bolted – doors. Today, in particular there
seemed to be a force field around him.
I didn’t care; I was happy that he was alive and in one piece. And that he’d come to see
me so soon after getting released from the hospital. So, I settled with gripping his arm as it
rested on the counter, giving him a friendly shake. “Nice to see you.”
A weird expression crossed his features. His hazel gaze met mine, swerved away.
“Kate’s pregnant,” he said.
“Oh?” For a second I actually couldn’t think who Kate was. Then it registered. Kate.
The red-haired woman in the hospital. Kate Keegan. The woman he slept with when he
wasn’t sleeping with me.
“Kind of a surprise,” I said neutrally. He seemed shaken, but not upset. Had it been
planned? Was he glad? Was she trying to manipulate him? Trap him?
“Yeah.” He smiled, a goofy smile.
So he was happy about it.
“She’s keeping it – the baby – then?”
He nodded. His eyes met mine. Fell away. “Yeah. That much we’re agreed on.”
“What do you not agree on?”
He wasn’t looking at me. He said carefully, “We’ve talked about getting married, but
this would kind of escalate things.”
I blinked. “Sure.”
“We’re both in a pretty good position financially and with our careers.” He glanced my
way. “But it’s not like we planned for it. It would mean a lot of…adjustments.”
“Right.”
He took a deep breath, then let it out. “Anyway, I thought I’d better tell you.” He
looked at his watch and said with relief, “I’m late. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay.”
He grabbed me around the neck in a quick bear hug and banged his cheek against
mine. Or that was his intention. In fact, he knocked both our heads together kind of hard,
which felt symbolic. He grunted, and I grunted. He let loose and was gone. I watched him go
through the little birdies circling my head.
Chapter Nine
After Partners in Crime broke for the evening, I went upstairs and discovered that Guy
Snowden had left another of those cautious, noncommittal messages on my machine. I
figured if he was still noncommittal, Jake must not have got hold of him. I tried calling him
back, got his machine again, and left a less cautious message of my own.
Still no word from the Dark Realm regarding Blade Sable. My online query lay right
where I had left it. Discussion did not exactly scintillate. Spells were exchanged, political
opinions were exchanged, a video was recommended: Cursed with Christina Ricci. This
triggered an unexpectedly heated debate of the flick’s cinematic merits and Ricci’s physical
ones. I sighed. Signed out.
An evening of surfing the ’Net for information on local Satanic organizations did little
for my nerves, although I thought I had a better understanding of what Satanism was.
As with Christianity, there appeared to be several different religious belief systems and
practices in Satanism. Traditional Satanists worshiped the deity Satan, aka the Christian
Devil. But the majority of Satanists seemed to view Satanism as an abstract philosophy with
Satan functioning as a symbol for pre-Christian life concepts.
Of course, according to the Religious Right, anyone who wasn’t practicing conservative
Christianity was a Satanist.
The ugly stuff, the stuff that got the media attention, seemed to fall into the category of
Satanic dabbling. A mix of everything from Wicca to psychotropic werewolves with, as far as
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