Micah   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

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 fucking 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.

We got trapped in the aisle of the plane, because everyone else had stood up and grabbed their bags, too. We had time for me to lean in against his back and ask, "Why didn't you say something?"

He leaned back, smiling down at me. "Truthfully?"

I nodded.

"It was sort of nice to be the brave one for a change."

I frowned at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He turned enough so he could lay a kiss, gently, on my lips. "It means that you are the bravest person I've ever met, and sometimes, just sometimes, that's hard on the men in your life."

I didn't kiss him back. For the first time ever with him, I did not respond to his touch. I was too busy frowning and trying to decide if I should be insulted.

"What, I'm too brave to be a girl? What kind of macho bullshit—" He kissed me. Not a little kiss, but as if he'd melt into me through my mouth. His hands slid up over the leather of my jacket. He pressed himself against me, so that every inch of him was pressed against every inch of me. He kissed me long enough and held me close enough that I felt when his body began to be happy to be there.

He drew back, leaving me breathless and gasping. I swallowed hard and managed a breathy, "No fair.