Micah

We picked up Larry's files on the way to the airport. Micah drove so I could find a phone number to call and let everyone in Philly know that there'd been a change of cast. The business card read, Special Agent Chester Fox.



He answered on the second ring. "Fox." Not even a hello. What was it about police work that made you have bad phone manners?



"This is Federal Marshal Anita Blake. You're expecting Marshal Kirkland this morning?"



"He's not coming," Fox guessed.



"No, but I am."



"What happened to Kirkland?"



"His wife is in the hospital." I wondered how much I owed him on the phone. I decided not much.



"I hope she's going to be all right." His voice had lost some of its edge. He sounded almost friendly. It made me think better of him.



"She probably will, but they're not sure about the baby."



Silence for a moment. I'd probably over-shared. That girlness again. Harder to be terse.



"I didn't know. I'm sorry that Marshal Kirkland couldn't make it and even sorrier for the reason. I hope things work out for them."



"Me, too. So I'm filling in."



"I know who you are, Marshal Blake." He was back to not sounding entirely happy. "Your reputation precedes you." That last was definitely not happy.



"Are we going to have a problem here, Agent Fox?"



"Special Agent Fox," he said.



"Fine, are we going to have a problem here, Special Agent Fox?"



"Are you aware that you have the highest kill count of any legal vampire executioner in this country?"



"Yeah, actually, I am aware of that."



"You're coming here to raise the dead, Marshal, not execute anyone. Is that clear?"



Now I was getting pissed. "I don't kill people for the hell of it, Special Agent Fox."



"That's not what I've heard." His voice was quiet.



"Don't believe all the rumors you hear, Fox."



"If I believed them all, I wouldn't let you step foot in my city, Blake."



Micah touched my leg, just to be comforting, while he drove one-handed. We were already on 70, which meant we'd be at the airport in moments.



"You know, Fox, if you're this unhappy with me, we can turn around and not come. Raise your own damn zombie."



"We?"



"I'm bringing an assistant," I said, voice angry.



"And exactly what does he assist you with?" And his voice was full of that tone, that tone that men have been using against women for centuries. That tone that manages to imply we're sluts without ever saying so.



"I'm going to be very clear here, Special Agent Fox." My voice held that calm, cold anger that I used in place of screaming. Micah's hand tightened on my thigh. "Your attitude makes me think we won't be able to work together. That you've listened to so many rumors that you wouldn't know truth if it bit you on the ass."



He started to say something, but I cut him off.



"Think very carefully about the next thing you say, Special Agent Fox, because depending on what it is, I may or may not be seeing you in Philly today, or ever."



"Are you saying if I don't play nice, you won't play at all?" His voice was as cold as mine had been.



"Nice, hell. Fox, I'd just take professional at this point. What has got your panties in a twist about me?"



He sighed over the phone. "I researched the federal marshals who are also animators. It's a short list."



"Yeah," I said, "it is."



"Kirkland comes in, does the job, leaves. Every time you get involved in a case, it all seems to go to hell."



I took a deep breath and counted to twenty. Ten didn't do it. "Go back through and look at the kind of cases that I get called in on, Fox. No one calls me in unless things have already gone south. It's not cause and effect."



"You have worked some rough shit. I'll grant that, Marshal Blake." He sighed again. "But you've got a reputation for killing first and asking questions later. As for rumors, you're right--they don't paint a very flattering picture of you."



"You might bear in mind, Fox, that any man you've heard dirty stories about me from didn't get to fuck me."



"You're sure of that."



"Absolutely."



"So you're saying that it's sour grapes, because he didn't get the prize."



"So we are talking about someone specific. Who?"



He was quiet for a second or two. "You worked a serial killer case in New Mexico about two years ago. Do you remember it?"



"Anyone who worked that case will remember it, Agent Fox. Special Agent Fox. Some things you don't forget."



"Did you date anyone while you were out there?"



The question puzzled me. "You mean in New Mexico?"



"Yes."



"No, why?"



"There was a cop named Ramirez."



"I remember Detective Ramirez. He asked me out, I said no, and he didn't trash me."



"How can you be sure of that?"



"Because he was a good guy, and good guys don't trash you just because you turned them down."



Micah was idling in front of one of the parking garages on Pear Tree Lane. We'd turned off of 70, and I hadn't really noticed. "Are we parking?" he asked. What Micah was asking was, Are we going to Philadelphia?



"Did any of the agents on scene ask you out?" His voice was serious and not hostile now.



"Not that I remember."



"Did you have a problem with anyone while you were there?"



"Lots of people."



"You admit it."



"Fox, I am female, I clean up well, have a badge and a gun, raise the dead for a living, and slay vampires. A lot of people have issues with some of the above. Hell, a lieutenant in New Mexico quoted the Bible at me."



"What quote?"



" 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.'"



"He did not." He sounded shocked, something you don't hear much from the FBI.



"Yeah, he did."



"What did you do?"



"I planted a big kiss right on his mouth."



He made a startled sound that could have been a laugh. "You really did?"



"It bothered him a hell of a lot more than hitting him would have, and it didn't get me dragged out in cuffs. But I'm betting the other cops who saw me do it gave him hell."



Fox was laughing now.



There were cars behind us, honking. "Anita, are we going?" Micah asked.



"My assistant wants to know if we're going to Philly today. Are we?"



Fox's voice still held that edge of laughter. "Yeah, come on down."



I said to Micah, "We're going to Philly."



Fox said, "Marshal Blake, I am going to do what I never do, and if you tell anyone I did, I'll deny it."



"What are you going to do?"



Micah pressed the big red button on the little stand-up ticket machine. He waited for our parking ticket to pop out. I'd told him to do valet. When you drag your ass in at zero-dark-thirty, valet was worth it.



"I apologize," Fox said. "I listened to someone who was there in New Mexico. His version of your run-in with the lieutenant was different from yours."



"What did he say?"



We were in the dimness of the parking garage now.



"He said you hit on a married man and got pissy when he said no."



"If you'd ever met Lieutenant Marks, you'd know that wasn't true."



"Not cute enough?"



I hesitated. "I guess physically he wasn't that bad, but looks aren't everything. Personality, good manners, sanity--all nice things to have."



Micah had pulled around the little glass building.



The attendant was coming toward us. We were moments away from needing to get out of the car. "If we're going to make the flight, I gotta go."



"Why'd you turn down Detective Ramirez?" he asked.



I wasn't sure it was any of his business, but I answered. "I was dating someone back home. I didn't think it was fair to any of us to complicate things."



"Someone said you were all over him at the last crime scene."



I knew what he was referring to. "We hugged each other, Agent Fox, because after seeing what was in that house I think we both needed to touch something warm and alive. I let one man hold my hand and all the other men think I'm fucking him. God, there are times when I really hate being the only woman around this kind of shit."



I was out of the car. Micah was getting our bags from the back.



"Now that's not fair, Marshal. If I'd hugged Ramirez or let him hold my hand, there'd be rumors, too."



It stopped me for a second, and then I laughed. "Well, damn, I guess you're right."



Micah had traded the key for a little ticket stub. He popped the handles on the carry-on bags so they'd roll. I took one of them but let him take my briefcase, since I was still on the phone. The little bus was waiting for us and a few more passengers.



"I look forward to meeting you, Marshal Blake. Time I stopped listening to secondhand stories."



"Thanks, I guess."



"See you on the ground." And he was gone.



I folded the phone shut and was already going up the bus steps before the attendant tried to take my bag. It was the skirt outfit and the heels. I always had more offers to help with luggage when I was dressed like a girl.



Micah came up behind me, mostly ignored, though he was dressed up, too. We'd chosen his most conservative suit, but there's only so much you can do with a black Italian-cut designer suit. It looked like what it was: expensive.



No one would mistake him for a Fed of any kind. We'd pulled his thick, curly hair back in a tight French braid, which almost gave the illusion of short hair. He'd put on a white shirt with the suit and a conservative tie.



We settled into the back row of seats. He'd kept his sunglasses on even in the darkened parking garage, because behind those dark glasses was a pair of leopard eyes. A very bad man had forced him into animal form long enough, and often enough, that he couldn't return completely to human form. His eyes were yellow-green, chartreuse, and not human. They were beautiful in the tan of his skin, but they tended to freak people out, hence the glasses.



I wondered how the FBI would take the eyes. Did I care? No. Things had worked out with Special Agent Fox, or seemed to be working out. But someone who had been in New Mexico was trashing me. Who? Why? Did I care? Yeah, actually, I did.