Driving Mr. Dead (Half Moon Hollow 1.5) - Page 26

“It was a speculative venture,” he said, his tone hedging.

“The fact that you don’t seem to want to explain that cryptic remark is going to make me ask you lots more questions,” I promised him.

He sighed and explained, “Say I was sitting in a tavern, and I just happened to sense that a fellow’s brother was about to gamble the family fortune away or that a man’s favorite daughter was about to elope with the help, causing a disastrous scandal. If I just happened to befriend that fellow and be there for him when his tragedy struck, offering my discreet monetary help in return for a few family knickknacks, who would be the wiser? Of course, I offered a reduced price for those knickknacks, and the families were so grateful for aid in their times of distress that they didn’t question my offer.”

“But that’s so mercenary!”

“On the contrary, the families I did business with desperately needed the money I offered them. I was helping them.”

“You were helping yourself!”

“I was using the tools I was provided with to make my way in the world. I was raised in a fine house with carefully chosen furnishings. And although I didn’t stand to inherit any of it, I was taught their history, their value. I can’t be faulted for using that knowledge.”

“And the fact that you believe that is what is so very troubling.”

Eyebrows raised, I glanced at the case securely wedged against his side in the booth. That certainly changed my guesses about the case’s contents. Crown jewels? Priceless art? Ancient coins?

That would be sort of exciting, to know that I was helping complete some Council project or bringing scary-ass Ophelia, the forever-teenage head of the local Council branch, her personal art collection. Maybe that would make her more lenient when I inevitably ran afoul of the local vampires.

“Why live out in the middle of nowhere?” I asked.

“I’ve never been much of a joiner. And as technology has improved, I’ve felt less and less alone. Thanks to the telephone, color television, the Internet, I’ve been able to keep up with current events, terminology. I’m not left entirely out of the loop.”

“Why haven’t you left your house in so long? Is it because you were traumatized in the crash? Do you have PTSD?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. That was an interesting change in role. “Not exactly.”

The tone of his voice didn’t invite further questions, so in the interest of the progress we’d made so far, I chose to shut up. He glanced down, as if he could see my carefully bandaged hand through the table, despite the fact that I’d kept it folded in my lap and out of his sight. It seemed rude, otherwise, like waving a Twinkie in front of someone on Atkins.

“What’s happened to your hand?” he asked. “Why are you being so careful with it?”

“Nothing,” I said, tucking the injured hand under my jeans-clad leg.

His lips twitched in disapproval as he leaned forward, his voice sultry and persuasive. And I had to clamp my thighs together, because that was just unfair. “Miss Puckett, do you honestly think I can’t sense fresh blood? Even in an environment as foul as this, I can smell it on you. Frankly, its pleasant distraction is the only thing keeping me from losing my mind in this crowded restaurant. Now, be a good girl and show me your hand.”

“Are you trying to hypnotize me?” I asked, my eye narrowed. “Vampires can do that, right? Control people like puppets? Are you going to make me cluck like a chicken in this foul, crowded restaurant?”

For the first time, he gave me a true, sincere smile. It was as if the clouds parted, the room lit up, and I was able to see what Mr. Sutherland looked like when he was human. Well, human and in a really good mood.

“No, I don’t have that particular gift. I am merely concerned about any tendencies you may have to injure yourself while I’m asleep. Will I wake up tomorrow night to find you have knocked yourself unconscious against the steering wheel and veered into a river?”

“That won’t happen,” I grumbled. “Again.”

His jaw dropped.

“I’m kidding!” I exclaimed, laughing as I held up my hand. “I caught my fingertip in the lock of a bathroom stall. It sort of snipped the tiniest bit of the fingertip off.”

“That cannot possibly be true.”

I held the finger up for his inspection. “There’s a reason we carry a suitcase-sized first-aid kit in the backseat. I manage to injure myself in increasingly inventive ways. I’ve been burned by a peanut salesman with bad aim at a Cubs game. I got a jellyfish stuck in my bikini top in Jamaica, which required some interesting ointment placement. Once my fian—a friend was opening a bottle of champagne in the next room, and the cork ricocheted around a corner, off the ceiling, and hit me right in the eye. I had a shiner for a week. My neighbor slipped brochures for a women’s shelter under my door.”

“You’re exaggerating,” he said.

“Would you like me to show you the scars?”

He grinned. “Where exactly are these scars?”

Was I suffering from a French-fry-induced high, or was Mr. Sutherland flirting with me?

Tags: Molly Harper Half Moon Hollow Vampires
Source: readsnovelonline.net
readsnovelonline.net Copyright 2016 - 2025