Laurell Hamilton - Flirt

She focused on me again, and now the rage was in her eyes, her face. God, she was angry. “Two weeks ago a young man came to my door. He told me his mother had recently died and that he found letters. He showed me letters from my husband to his mother. There were pictures of them on vacations together. He took her to Rome, but wouldn’t take me. He took her to Paris, but wouldn’t take me. He once told me that I was one of the least romantic women he’d ever met; it was one of the reasons that he wanted me to be his wife and partner, because he knew that I wouldn’t let sentiment get in the way of getting wealthy and successful, because I wanted it as badly as he did.”

“You’ve always been wealthy?” I asked.

She nodded. “It was my money that he used to start his company, but he made even more. There was a letter to this woman where he literally said that if he hadn’t signed a prenuptial agreement where he’d have to give up controlling interest in his company and have no money that he would have divorced me and stayed with her and their son.”

The look on her face was bleak, like someone who had seen the worst possible thing and lived. She knotted those slender, perfectly manicured hands in her lap and continued to stare past me at things I couldn’t see.

“That must have been very painful to read,” I said.

She didn’t react.

“Ms. Zell,” I said softly.

She shook herself, like a bird settling its feathers, and gave me a hard look. I’d seen a lot of hard looks in my day, but this was a good one. I believed she meant to do exactly what she’d said with her shiny new axe.

“How soon can we schedule it?” she asked.

“We can’t,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“I won’t do it,” I said.

“Don’t be silly, of course you will.”

“No, Ms. Zell, I won’t.”

“Two million beyond your fee. Two million dollars that no one knows about but us.” She seemed very sure of herself.

I shook my head. “It’s not about money, Ms. Zell.”

“You have to do this for me, Ms. Blake. You’re the only one who can raise a zombie that can feel real fear and real pain.”

“I couldn’t guarantee that he’d feel the same pain he would have felt when he was alive,” I said. I tried to concentrate on the details so I wouldn’t concentrate on other things.

“But he will feel pain, real pain?”

“He’ll be able to feel. I’ve had zombies stumble on rocks and fall. They react like it hurts.”

“Perfect,” she said, and that one word was full of so much anticipation.

It made my stomach clench to realize what she was anticipating. “Let me test my understanding, Ms. Zell, just so we’re clear. You want me to raise your husband, Chase, from the dead so that he will think he’s alive and be able to feel terror and pain while you chop him up with an axe. Do you realize that an axe won’t kill a zombie, so he’ll keep thinking and being afraid even if you chop him to bits? He’ll be afraid until I lay him to rest again.”

“I don’t want you to lay him to rest. I want his pieces buried as they are, so that he’ll be buried alive and aware until he rots away.”

I did the long blink at her, the one I reserve for moments when I can’t think of a damned thing to say. I finally found something to say: “No.”

“What?” she asked.

“No, as in no, I won’t do it.”

“Three million,” she said.

“No,” I said.

“How much will it take?” she asked.

“You don’t have that kind of money.”

“Yes,” she said, “I do.”

“Jesus, woman, if you are sane enough to understand what you are asking me to do, then it is maybe the worst thing I’ve ever heard of one human being doing to another. That should frighten you, Ms. Zell. It really should if you knew the kind of crimes I’ve worked.”

“You do a lot of serial killers and rogue monsters. I did my research on you, Anita Blake.”

“Good for you, but you are a nasty piece of work.”

“I don’t care what you think of me as long as you do what I want.”

I pushed back from my desk. “No.” I stood up.

She finally realized I was serious, and she looked afraid. Of all the emotions she could have felt I hadn’t expected fear. “If not money, then what? What do you want, Anita? Name it and if money can buy it, it’s yours. What do you want?”

“From you, absolutely nothing.”

“If not for you, then your boyfriends. I had you researched and surely someone in your life must need things that money can buy.”

“Get out,” I said.

“I won’t take no for an answer. You’re the only animator who can give me Chase alive enough for him to suffer. I want him to suffer, Anita.”

“Yeah, I heard that part.” I started around my desk. I was going to open the door and get her the fuck out of my office. She stood up, and in her heels she was almost a foot taller than me. She moved between me and the door. I could have manhandled her, but the business manager, Bert, frowned on us bruising people while on office property.

“I heard that some of your vampire kills aren’t exactly on the books all legal and nice. Everyone knows you’ve murdered people, Anita.” She was actually right, but they had all been people trying to kill me, or people who had threatened me, or monsters who were trying to kill me, then eat me, or who were threatening to hurt people I was trying to protect. I didn’t lose sleep over any of my kills.

“First, it’s Ms. Blake to you. Second, people say a lot of shit about me. I wouldn’t believe it all.” Once upon a time I’d been a bad liar, but that had been a long time ago.

“I’ll take proof to the police about some of your crimes. You’ll lose that badge of yours, if not more.”

“And I’ll tell the police what you wanted me to do, because anyone who would really do what you’re describing would do something to a live person.” I studied her face. “How’s his illegitimate son’s health lately?”

Her face flickered uncertainly.

“If anything happens to him I will make sure the police come to your door.”

“You don’t know his name.”

“Oh, please, like I couldn’t find that out. He’s probably got a page on the Internet somewhere where he’s talked all about his father being Chase Zell.”

She frowned at me, as though she was wondering if I was right.

“Nothing happens to the kid, or you will not have enough money to keep yourself out of jail, or at least the nut house.”

“I am not crazy, Ms. Blake. I’m a woman scorned.”

“He was married to you for twenty-five years. I think the poor bastard suffered enough.”

That was it. She turned on the stiletto points of her expensive shoes and stalked out. If I’d known that that would make her leave I’d have said it sooner. Seemed this was my week for people wanting my very “alive” zombies for very bad purposes.

Two weeks passed before I went back to the restaurant where Micah, Nathaniel, and Jason had flirted with the waiter and, all right, so had I. This time I was at a table not a booth, and all by my lonesome. Though honestly I’d eaten more lunches alone in my adult life than with anyone else. The workers at Animators Inc. had staggered schedules so no one had lunch at the same time. Sometimes I brought a book; sometimes it was just good to get out of the office. Today I had actually brought the latest copy of The Animator , our trade publication. There were a couple of articles I’d been wanting to read, so I’d order food, read, and hopefully learn something.

My waitress was petite, blond, and female when I ordered drinks, but when the drinks came my waiter was tall, black-haired, and male. It was the waiter from the time before. He put down my Coke, smiled, and said, “I traded tables with Cathy; I hope you don’t mind.”