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

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He took a few steps, turned to gaze out the city. He wore an indecipherable smile, like he was laughing at me. I didn’t get the joke.

That was it, that was the thing about him: he got all the perks without any of the responsibility. He got to look like he was in control, with the glitzy casino, the penthouse suite, the beautiful women swooning on his sofa. He was all image. And he didn’t care.

“Does Rick know?” I said. “Do any of the other vampires know?”

His mouth turned, half smile, half sneer. “And what are you going to tell them? You tell them any of this, you think they’ll believe you?”

I opened my mouth, starting to say something about truth and justice, but he cut me off with a glance.

“This whole town’s a show, Kitty. Haven’t you figured that out? You’re not supposed to see the props and rigging backstage. Now why don’t you clap nicely at the spectacle and then go home, like everyone else.”

I stared. “So that’s it. Nothing happens.”

“Kitty, come on,” Ben said at my ear, then kissed my cheek. I hardly felt it. Hand on my arm, he urged me back toward the foyer.

Holding back a moment, I nodded to the woman on the sofa. “Is she going to be okay?”

“I take care of my people, Kitty. She’ll be fine.”

Oddly, I believed him. That was how vampires went unnoticed, how they’d existed for centuries as little more than legend and rumors. Like he’d said, bodies were bad for tourism. Hand in hand, my mate and I left.

At the elevator door, Sven held out his hand. I didn’t even have to ask what he wanted; I put the key card in it.

On the ride down, I wrapped my arms around Ben and hugged him tightly. I’d need another shower to get the smell of Dom’s place out of my nose. The smell of this whole town out of my nose.

Ben held me, tucked his chin over my head, and said, “You can’t have expected that to go any different than it did.”

I sighed. “I don’t know what I expected. I keep expecting people to be decent. Sometimes people are actually decent.” I thought about Evan, Brenda, and Odysseus Grant blazing to my rescue. And realized I still wasn’t sure I could trust any of them, that I couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t turn on me to serve their own purposes. “Does that make me really naive?”

“I think it makes you a good person.”

“Well, bully for me,” I grumbled.

Ben rumpled my hair, and I thought, well, at least we were both in one piece. We walked very quickly away from the Napoli, never looking back.

We managed to sleep for a few hours, and when we awoke, the sun blazed through the window, edging the curtains in light. I wanted to bask in that sunlight—I almost hadn’t made it to morning. I sat in bed, amid rumpled sheets, pleased that I was actually feeling better. Ben was still sleeping. We were together, and all was well.

Except the phone rang. Of course it did. The first time was Detective Gladden, informing me that they still hadn’t found Ben.

“Er,” I started, chagrined. In all the excitement, I hadn’t thought to call him back. “Detective? He’s right here.”

Gladden hesitated a moment. “What?”

“He’s right here. He showed up at the hotel late last night. He got away from Faber’s place during the ruckus. Slipped right out.” I didn’t have to mention him getting shot.

The detective paused again. I couldn’t imagine the look on his face. Finally, he said, “May I speak to him?”

Our blissful morning peace couldn’t last forever, I supposed. I nudged Ben awake and handed him the phone. The conversation was short, and Ben didn’t do much talking. Mostly made vague agreeing noises. Almost guilty. Gladden was probably chewing him out for not going to them first. Personally, I was glad he’d come to me.

Ben said, “Okay. I can do that. Thanks, Detective.”

Sighing, he handed the phone back to me. “He wants me to come in this afternoon for a debriefing. They want to know what happened. I don’t know how I’m going to explain it.” He ran a hand through his already-mussed hair. It didn’t help smooth it out at all.

“I wouldn’t mind hearing about that, too. Can I sit in?”

My phone beeped, indicating a message waiting—from my parents. Oh, yeah—I probably ought to call them.

Mom answered in the middle of the first ring. “Kitty! What’s happened? Have the police found him yet? Where are you, are you all right?”



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