Bloodshot (45 page)

The other eyebrow came up. “Ian and the kids both? Under one roof? You’re serious?”

“Seriously insane, I think. I’m trying to sort out a new condo … or maybe one of those cool old houses back around Nineteenth Street up on Capitol Hill. I don’t know. But for now, it just made sense to keep everyone together. Just until …” I wasn’t sure that there was an end point in mind, come to think of it.

Rose took a dainty sip and agreed, saying only, “Just until.”

In my bag, my phone began to buzz.

“Hang on a second,” I said, and fished it out. I saw the display and said, “Oh dear.”

“Trouble back at the homestead?”

“Nope. Trouble in New York. It’s Horace’s area code, and he’s no doubt in full-on diva mode. I can tell by the ring.” The phone quit vibrating, then immediately began anew as Horace proved to be his permanently impatient self. I said, “If I don’t answer this, he’ll just keep calling all night.”

“By all means,” Rose said with a smile. “Momma’s gotta pay the bills, after all.”

“Shut up, you.”

“Not likely.”

“Hey, when I’m done with this asshole, you want to come back to the
homestead
—as you put it—and have a drink?”

She said, “If you hadn’t offered, I would’ve had to stalk you.”

“Stalking is such an ugly word,” I said as I fidgeted with the phone. “Goddamn, he’s going to tear me a new one. I totally missed that last case he wanted to give me, and he’ll accuse me of blowing him off.”

“Did you?”

“I was otherwise occupied at the time. As you may recall.”

Out of desperation, I almost pressed the button to silence the ringer and leave us all in peace for the night, but upon the third cycle of ringing I changed my mind and pressed the green button instead.

“I’m here, Horace, and I humbly accept your recriminations.” I felt like I was stepping into a confessional. “Forgive me, you filthy crook. It’s been over three months since last we spoke, and I know that I missed that big job you wanted to foist upon me.”

It shouldn’t have surprised me when he said, “Oh, fuck that bitch. I pawned her off on someone else, and the whole thing turned out to be an orgy of disaster. Consider yourself lucky. You dodged a bullet on that one, and let’s call the whole thing water under the bridge.”

“Uh-oh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

“You’ve got something worse lined up, don’t you?” I asked, leaning back in the seat and giving Rose a wink.

“Worse?” He drew out the word like a salesman. “Or more
interesting
? Okay, Ray-baby, check this shit out. You are going to
love
this one.”

“God help me.”

“Oh, my beloved princess of pilfering. I wouldn’t count on it …”

I couldn’t help but smile. Life was getting back to normal again … God help us
all
.

C
HERIE
P
RIEST
is the author of eight novels, including
Boneshaker. Boneshaker
was nominated for both the Hugo Award and the Nebula Award, and it won the Locus Award for Best Science Fiction Novel. Cherie’s other books include
Four and Twenty Blackbirds, Fathom, Wings to the Kingdom
, and the Endeavour-nominated book
Not Flesh Nor Feathers
from Tor (Macmillan). Her short novels
Dreadful Skin, Clementine
, and
Those Who Went Remain There Still
are published by Subterranean Press.
Bloodshot
is her first book from Bantam. She lives in Seattle, Washington, with her husband and a fat black cat.