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

“We hear that a lot,” I said. I wondered if he could see it. If I wasn’t so publicly known, would he be able to tell I’m a werewolf? Could he tell about Ben?

“Kitty’s my client,” Ben said. Again with the client thing. What was he going to say when we were both wearing matching rings?

“I have to say, that’s pretty funny,” he said.

“We hear that a lot, too,” I said. Evan laughed politely.

“You in town long?” he said to Ben.

“Just for the weekend.”

“Maybe we could have lunch or something, if you have time.”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll call you. Your number still good?”

“Last time I looked.”

The hair on my neck tingled, and the muscles in my shoulder tightened. A woman entered the bar. We all turned to look.

She was my height, but she had a presence that seemed to take up the room. Dark hair, short and full-bodied, bouncing around her ears. Spiky earrings, red lipstick. Dark sunglasses that she took off, folded, and slipped into a pocket of her leather jacket as she scanned the bar. And her outfit. That was mainly why everyone stared: knee-high leather boots with four-inch spike heels, perfectly shaped legs, a leather skirt that would have had me tugging at the hem, yet she wore it as naturally as skin, a form-fitted top of silk and lace, and a cropped leather jacket—all of it in black, of course. I might have seen her picture on a flyer taped to a street sign out on the Strip. Every straight man in the place left his jaw hanging open, and every straight woman clung a little tighter to her boyfriend.

Except me, ’cause I’m more secure than that. Mostly. I might have inched a little closer to Ben. But then, his jaw wasn’t open. He arced a brow and pursed his lips.

She looked at us, and those scarlet lips turned a smile. She marched over. Though she looked supernatural—in one sense—she smelled human. Basic, even. No perfume, no extras. Leather, clean soap, and gun oil. I’d bet an awful lot that that she carried a gun in a holster under that jacket. Maybe another tucked in the back waistband of the skirt. And probably a knife in her boot, stilettos up her sleeves, throwing stars in her pockets, and God knew what else. Everyone in the place might have stared, but no one sauntered up to offer to buy her a drink, because she was the scariest-looking person here.

“Brenda, Brenda, Brenda, I was wondering when you’d make an appearance,” Evan said, smiling and offering his hand for shaking.

She glanced at it, didn’t take it. Hands on her hips, she looked us all over like we were drenched in pond scum.

Evan smirked like this was par for the course with Brenda. And my God, did she not look like a Brenda. More like a Veronica, or maybe a Blaze. He carried on. “Brenda, do you know Ben? Ben, this is—”

“Oh, we’ve met,” Ben said.

“Been a while. How’s that knee?” Brenda asked, studying him up and down. I inched a little closer to him again. I wondered: was this all an act on her part? Surely nobody was this in-your-face naturally.

“Fine. Thanks,” Ben said, deadpan. Okay, that was a story I needed to pry out of him.

Then she looked at me. Scanned me up and down just the same way, and for some reason I suddenly felt like I had a target painted on my chest.

“And hello to you,” she said wryly. “I’ve always wanted to ask you something: Kitty’s your stage name, right? It can’t be your real name.”

She was about to make a “werewolf named Kitty” crack. I could feel it. My smile was strained to the point of breaking. “It’s my real name. Proof that God has a sense of humor,” I said.

“That’s too damn funny for words,” she said, shaking her head. “You like living dangerously, I take it.”

Who, me? A werewolf standing in the middle of a mini supernatural bounty hunter convention? “Oh, come on, are you telling me we aren’t all civilized people here?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. What’s the story, boys? There a reason you’re letting someone like her hang around?”

Which meant whatever it was she hunted, and however good she was at it, she hadn’t spotted Ben. None of them had. It was all I could do not to sigh with relief. But any second now another one of them was going to walk into the bar, and that one would be psychic, or magic, or something, and blow the whole deal. I didn’t want to know what this crowd would do if they found out what had happened to one of their own.

I relaxed and tried not to cling to Ben. That, if anything, would give it all away.

“She’s okay, Brenda,” Ben said. “Let her alone.”

She got close to him, right in his face. “And you are the last person I’d expect to stick up for something like that. No, I take it back—the second-to-last person. But Cormac’s not around at the moment, is he?”