Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand (Kitty Norville 5)

“Then they should have called me earlier,” I grumbled. “I don’t see how I even have time to go talk to them. We’re going to be in the middle of a lot of celebrating tomorrow.”

He raised his brows and clearly didn’t believe me. “But you’re curious. You want to know what a troupe of performing lycanthropes is really like.”

“What I really want to know is if they’re there because they want to be, or if something funky is going on. To be part of his act, they’d have to shape-shift every night. That’s not normal, it’s not right.”

“I’m still having a little trouble finding a baseline normal with this whole situation,” he said.

He hadn’t been a werewolf for even a year yet. We’d grown so comfortable, I forgot that. At least, I’d grown comfortable. I almost took him for granted. Almost.

“There’s something weird about the whole thing.”

He put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head. “You always manage to find the weird stuff, don’t you?”

I whined. It wasn’t like I went out looking for weird. Much. It just found me.

“Now, what about that drink you mentioned?” he said.

When Ben steered me toward the Olympus Hotel’s main bar—right across from the gun show—my feet started dragging. “This wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”

“This is where all your fans congregated. Think how popular you’ll be.”

The place was also filled with people from the gun show who looked like Boris.

“My fans or your fans?” I muttered.

In fact, we’d only just found places at the bar when someone called, “Ben! Hell, it really is you!”

A guy with Asian features, short dark hair, a long face and hard gaze, wearing a leather jacket—not a biker leather jacket, but a designer jacket in brown leather with lean, slimming lines—came over from one of the tables. In his thirties, he had polished good looks and the confident stance of someone who was successful in his line of work and proud of it.

Unlike the meeting with Boris, they engaged in a burly old-pal handshake. “Evan, how you doing?” Ben said.

“Not bad,” said the suave and smiling Evan. “Yourself?”

Ben gave a noncommittal shrug. “You here for the exhibition?”

“You know how it is, it’s a good place to meet up with people. Catch up on all the gossip.”

“Hear anything good?”

“I heard about Cormac. That must have been a rough scene.”

“It could have been worse.”

Wives who went to their husbands’ business conferences must feel like this. I didn’t even have a drink to hide behind yet. I sat there smiling. In five seconds, I was going to jump in and introduce myself.

I must have been vibrating or something, because they both looked at me. Ben might have been about to introduce me, but Evan beat him to it.

“And you’re Kitty Norville. Good to finally meet you,” he said, and we shook hands. He focused his gaze on me like he was taking aim. My shoulders tensed up. Then it clicked.

I glared. “You were at the show. I saw you! Left-hand side, third row back—you were spying on me!”

He didn’t try to deny it, and he didn’t seem bothered by it. His laid-back, amiable expression didn’t change. “I wanted to see what a performing werewolf looked like.”

“Well, I hope you had a grand old time at the freak show—”

Ben put a hand on my arm. “Kitty. Calm down.” My teeth were bared. I crossed my arms and snarled.

Evan continued, “Not to sound too rude, but I didn’t expect to see the two of you having a drink together.”