When Jimmy from Splatz showed up, I walked him through the precinct so he could get a handle on the work he needed to do. Then, I remembered Dickhead’s check was burning a hole in my pocket. And it was Wednesday. I had places to go and people to see, so I popped my head into Cap’s office and told him I was headed out.
Cap glanced up from his laptop. “Plans?”
“Yes.”
“Where you headed? Want some company?”
I stopped in my tracks. The last time Cap asked to go somewhere with me was the 5th of never. “Out. And…no.”
What the hell was going on with Cap? Didn’t he have a job to do? I spun on my heel and hurried out the door before either one of us could ask for an explanation. Even captains and corpse whisperers are entitled to their secrets.
7
Secrets and Dreams
Wednesday nights are special. All week long I run around in black jeans, raggedy T-shirts, and a pair of zombie-stomping boots. But on Wednesday nights, I trade in my zushi-stained work duds for a fringy red salsa dress that Nonnie picked out. (Why Nonnie? Because I know crap about dresses. It’s the only dress I own.) Then I slip on the size ten canary yellow dancing shoes Leo Abruzzi gave me, along with a gift certificate for ballroom dancing lessons at Arthur Murray’s. That was right before the drug he was taking to keep from turning into a biter failed. Before he died. And before I had to put him down to keep him from coming back.
“Life’s too short,” he’d told me the night he died. “Don’t leave nothing on the table.”
For a double-talking, mobbed up douche canoe, the guy made a lot of sense.
So, for one hour a week, I pin up my hair, slap on some makeup, think of Leo, and live my dream.
I was putting on the finishing touches for my big night out when the doorbell rang, prompting Headbutt to raise his head off the floor vent. Kulu imitated the ring of the bell and screeched Get outta here from her perch. I opened the door and was surprised to find Rico.
“Ah…hi,” he said, looking at me as if he’d never seen me before.
“Hi, yourself.”
He stood on the porch, speechless.
“What brings you by?”
“I, ah. I didn’t like the way we ended our discussion earlier. About Jade.”
His eyes slowly traveled from the top of my head to my breasts, then lingered at my hips before drifting down my legs.
“Why…why are you dressed like that?”
“I’m on my way out.”
“It’s nice. The dress, the hair. The makeup.” He pointed to my feet. “And the shoes. They’re…different.”
Heat rose in my cheeks. “Yeah. Not very practical for zombie hunting.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off me. His lips curved into a bemused half-smile that was hot as hell, and yet, a little creepy.
“Date?”
“What?”
“Do you have a date?”
“Oh. Yeah. He should be here any minute, so—”
“I’m sorry,” Rico said. “I should have call—”
A red MX5 pulled into the driveway behind Rico’s car. I stifled a wince as Sean Ferris opened the door and slid out from behind the wheel.
Rico blinked. “What’s he doing here?”
Ferris flashed a ridiculously perfect grin and bounded across the lawn to my front steps.
“Hey, De Palma! Good to see you.”
It had been a while since they’d seen each other. They shook hands, but I sensed a weird vibe passing between them, a tenseness in the air.
Ferris casually moved beside me, put his hand on my waist, and asked, “So, what brings you by?”
Rico’s eyes narrowed. “What brings you by?”
Ferris, an FBI agent, had worked with Rico and me on the task force protecting Leo’s butt while he waited to testify before the grand jury. Ferris was a damn fine agent and a straight shooter. He was a quick study when it came to hunting Zs, too. The three of us made a kick-ass team—when it came to the job.
But instead of hanging out after work and grabbing a beer, like I do with Rico, Ferris and I go dancing. And we kiss. And we do other things. Things that I don’t do with Rico. I didn’t think my relationship with Ferris was any of Rico’s business, so I’d never mentioned it.
Talk about awkward. It was time for me to come clean.
“Sean, ah, Ferris is taking me to dance class.”
Rico nodded and offered a smile, but it was thin and didn’t reach his eyes. Early on, there had been sparks flying between Rico and me. But then Jade Chen, that five-feet-two collection of silicone and hairspray, who hates me more than anal leakage, sank her hooks into him. She’ll do whatever it takes to get what she wants, and although she’s never said it, she resents me working with him. That’s okay. It goes both ways. I can’t stand the way she uses and abuses my partner.
“Wow. Hey. Good for you guys,” Rico said. “You…have a nice time.” He trotted down the steps, then turned back and studied us with unreadable eyes. “Nice running into you, Ferris. See you at the task force meeting in the morning. And you,” he said pointing to me, “I’ll pick you up at 8 a.m. sharp.”
“Mañana,” I said as he started down the driveway.
He stopped short at the sight of Ferris’s MX-5 blocking him in. If Rico had been angling for a hasty exit, he wasn’t going to get it.
“I’ll grab my purse and lock up,” I said. “You move your car. And be nice.”
Ferris threw me a wink. “I’m always nice, Allie girl.”
Ferris and I walked into Arthur Murray’s two minutes late. This was only our third week. Counting tonight, we’d been late three times. Big mistake. Our instructor, a tiny, wrinkled Bolshevik named Madame Olga, stopped her class, crossed her arms, and tapped her toe on the wooden dance floor, waiting for us to join the class.
“You two, with the banana-boats shoes and the slicky-boy smile, late again. Back row,” she said, snapping her gnarly fingers. “And pay tensions, please. No canoodling. Tonight, we Salsa.”
We slunk into the back row, took our places, and listened while the tiny gremlin with the white bird’s-nest hair shouted instructions like a drill sergeant.
“Ladies. Eight steps. This way,” she said, turning her back to the class. “On one, please. Right foots back, one. Left in place, two. Feets together, three. Pause, four. Left foots forward, five. Right in place, six. Feets together, seven. Pause, eight. See? Now, men’s steps. Left foots forward, one. Right in place, two. Feets together, three. Pause, four. Right foots forward, five. Left in place, six. Feets together, seven. Pause, eight. Is simple, yes? And begin, on one!”
Ferris’s left foot slid forward. I stepped in and mashed it with my right. We started over. Ferris’s left foot slid forward. I stepped in and mashed it with my right.
“You’re the girl,” he whispered. “Follow me. I move forward. You move back.”
Certain that the third time was the charm, Ferris stepped forward with his left, and I crushed it with my right. Lather, rinse, repeat. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Sweat broke out on my forehead as a scowling Madame Olga slipped through the dancers, adjusting, correcting, and tsk-tsking.
“Jesus, this is hard,” I said. “She’s almost here. Just let me lead.”
“Not a chance.”
“Do it.”
Madame Olga’s eyes snapped our way. “Shush. No talking.” She turned to the couple beside us and stomped her foot. “No, no with the droopy shoulders. Shoulders back, arms up. Once more.”
“Oh, God. Here she comes.” I grabbed Ferris’s hand, stepped forward and kicked his left foot back. He stuttered for a count, then rolled his eyes, and followed my lead.
“If you ever tell anyone I let you lead, I’m out.”
“I can’t help it. She scares me.”
Madame Olga’s eyebrows bunched as her gaze fell on us. She brought her fingers to her chin and watched us for an entire eight-count.
“Is backwards!” She final
ly said, pulling me from Ferris’s arms.
She stepped in front of him and grabbed his hands. “Slicky-boy, show how man leads.”
On the next one count, Ferris led that crotchety crone across the floor in a flawless Salsa.
“This. This,” she cried, “Is how mens Salsa. Pay tensions, class. Notice the feets, the arms, even the hips. Nice rhythm. Very good student.” She glanced at me and sighed. “Keep trying, Miss Banana Boats.”
Sure thing, you crusty Cossack. Break a hip.
Three weeks into dance class and my dream was fading fast. But I sucked it up and toughed it out, because the thought of Leo sitting on a cloud, laughing his ass off at me, was more than I could bear.
It’s amazing how a one-hour dance class flies when you’re having fun. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. I wouldn’t know. After class, Ferris was quiet, giving me a little space as I limped back to his car, nursing a blister on my heel. But I don’t do quiet very well, so the lull didn’t last long.
“What’s she doing, watching your hips, anyway?”
Ferris laughed. “Babe. She’s a dance teacher. That’s her job. She’s also old as hell. Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
“Of course not,” I said, climbing into the car.
And I wasn’t. Well, maybe a little. The old bat was graceful for a bitchy bag-o-bones. I’d been called a lot of things in my day, but graceful was never one of them
“Want to stop for a drink on the way home?” he asked, as he buckled his seat belt.
“Not really.”
“Want some ice cream?”
“No.”
“Want to make out?”
Ferris always had the best ideas.
He wasn’t ready to cave on the ice cream, so he swung into United Dairy Farmers and bought a pint of Rocky Road. Then he stopped at the liquor store, so I’d have the fixings for a Jack Daniel’s slushie. After an awkward and crappy beginning, the night was starting to look up.
By the time we made it home, it was ten o’clock. Ferris turned on the lamp, lay on the couch and switched on the big screen in my living room, while I grabbed some spoons and cups. Jade Chen’s voice drifted into the kitchen and brought the night crashing back into the dumpster.
“Amid a media frenzy and ACLU protesters this morning, noted zombie wrangler, Allie Nighthawk, slays twenty so-called ‘deadheads.’ Film at eleven.” I sprinted back into the room at the sound of her voice, stared at the screen, and watched her put the word deadheads in air quotes.
That ambitchous, mega-mouthed weasel.
I dove across the couch for the remote, to make her forty-two-inch face disappear. Ferris caught me in mid-dive and pulled me close.
“Turn her off,” I whined. “Before I have to throw my shoe at the TV. I can’t afford to break another one.”
Ferris kissed the tip of my nose, picked up the remote, and turned off the TV.
“Who needs TV?” he asked, nuzzling my neck. “I’ve got all I want right here.”
I giggled. Or maybe it was Little Allie who giggled. It was hard to be sure.
“I thought you wanted ice cream? It’ll melt.”
“What ice cream?” he said, nibbling on my ear.
This dating thing was fun, but it made me a little nervous. I mean, I’d dated before. I’d had boyfriends, and I wasn’t a virgin. But most guys find me a little…intimidating. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. I’m rough around the edges, and as long as I’m being honest, let’s face it, God forgot to give me a filter. None of that seemed to matter to Ferris.
When Ferris looked at me, I was exciting. I was pretty and smart, and sexy and graceful. Maybe not graceful, exactly, but coordinated. Okay, so strike graceful. This was our third date, if you could call hanging out with a pocket-sized dance Nazi and twelve other couples a date. But that was earlier. We were here now, just the two of us. I could feel the beat of his heart against my chest. His breath was warm and soft against my neck and smelled like wintergreen. Somehow, it always smelled like wintergreen. When he was angry, his blue eyes turned almost indigo. When he was feeling mischievous, they blazed bright as cobalt. But as I lay there in his arms, his eyes were periwinkle soft, filled with longing, and maybe, just maybe, a hint of something more.
He kissed me, softly at first, then with more urgency, tonguing me long and deep and slow. Suddenly, I realized that it hadn’t been nervousness I’d been feeling. It had been anticipation. And at that moment, there was nowhere else on earth I’d rather be.
He scooped me into his arms and pulled me to his chest. “Let’s move this somewhere more comfortable,” he whispered, as he carried me into the bedroom.
8
Just Plain Awkward
Something was pressing against my nose. I opened my eyes and found Ferris’s arm draped across my face. We were lying on the bed. Naked.
What the…? Oh, yeah.
Memories of last night looped through my brain like a video. An X-rated video. I smiled and snuggled back into Ferris, wishing I could stay here all day, under his body, wearing it like an afghan. But the sun was up, my neck was stiff, and I needed a cup of coffee. I picked up Ferris’s hand and laid it on my pillow, then untangled our legs and scooted off the bed. On my way to the kitchen, I glanced at my watch. It was 7:50.
“Holy shit!” I screamed. “Ferris, get the hell up.”
A soft snore drifted from the bedroom.
“Now!” I shouted, throwing poor Headbutt out the door for his morning deposit.
When Ferris didn’t respond, I sprinted back into the bedroom and snatched his shirt, the first piece of clothing I found, and threw it on.
“Seriously. Get your ass up.”
He rolled over and covered his head with a pillow, so I grabbed his arm, yanked him to the edge of the bed and bent down until we were nose to nose.
“Get out of bed now before I make you.”
He snored in my face and nice Allie disappeared. I reached behind him and rolled him off the bed. He hit the floor with a thud.
“What the hell?” He rolled onto his back and rubbed his face. “Why’d you do that?”
“It’s 7:50. Rico will be here in ten minutes.”
“And?”
“I don’t want him to see you here.”
I threw Ferris his pants and he lobbed them onto the bed.
“Why?”
“This,” I said, pointing back and forth between us, “is none of his business.”
He sighed, slowly climbing to his feet, and then reached for his pants. “Are you ashamed to be seen with me? Or are you a prude?”
“I am not a prude.”
“So, you are ashamed to be seen with me,” he said, slipping into his pants.
“No. Of course not. It’s just…awkward. He’s my partner, for crissake!”
Ferris laughed. “He’s an adult, Allie. And so are you. He knows we had a date last night. And I’m pretty sure he knows you have sex.”
Until last night, I hadn’t had sex in a very long time, but Ferris didn’t need to know that.
I handed him his shoes and pointed toward the door. “Please. For me, just go.”
“Can I at least have my shirt back?”
“No. It’s all I’ve got on.”
“We have a meeting with Director Horton in half an hour. I need my shirt.”
“This can’t be your only clean shirt.”
He shrugged. “I was going to do laundry when I got back last night.”
“Fine,” I said, shoving him out into the hall. “Don’t turn around.” I ripped off his shirt and handed it out the door. “Now, please go.”
When I felt him grab the shirt, I slammed the door in his face.
Ferris’s voice drifted in from the hall. “I’d like to do that with you again, Allie girl. Soon. Really soon.”
I cracked the door, stuck out my head, and kissed him on the lips. “Me too. Now, get the hell out of here.”
The doorbell rang, sending Kulu into a tizzy.
<
br /> Me? I sprang into trapped badger mode. “Shit, shit, shit! He’s here. What am I going to do?”
Ferris squished his eyebrows together. “Maybe…answer the door?”
“I’m naked.”
“You get dressed. I’ll get the door.”
I started to object, but what was the point? The genie was coming out of the bottle and there’d be no putting it back. I slid on yesterday’s jeans, grabbed my T-shirt from the bedpost, yanked it over my head, and made it to the living room in time to see Ferris open the door.
“Hey, dude,” he said, stepping aside to let Rico pass.
Rico walked inside, eyeing Ferris’s bare feet. Little Allie groaned.
I couldn’t face Rico, so I spun on my heel and headed back to the bedroom. “Almost ready,” I called over my shoulder. “Just let me grab—”
“Nighthawk.” Ferris said softly, eyeballing my shirt.
Rico looked on in stony silence.
“Your…shirt.” Ferris said. “It’s…inside out. And backwards, maybe.”
“Huh. So it is,” I said, without even bothering to look. “Be right back.”
I sprinted to the bedroom, slammed the door, and nearly hyperventilated while Little Allie verbally abused me.
Yes, of course, this is not my finest hour. Absolutely, I am a moron. Thank you so much for pointing that out, you haranguing head-hag. And since I don’t have time for a meltdown, how about you take a big old gulp of shut the hell up?
I took off my shirt, turned it right side out and slipped it over my head, making sure that the words Zombie Queen were on the back, where they belonged. After a few calming breaths, I left the bedroom with my head held high, filled Headbutt’s bowls, and let him back in the house. Then I threw some chicken-flavored dog biscuits into Kulu’s cage, because she doesn’t like the liver-flavored ones.
“Let’s go,” I said, slipping into my shoulder holster.
Rico, who hadn’t uttered a single word since he’d arrived, watched Ferris and me filter toward the door. After staring at the floor and pursing his lips, Rico finally decided to speak.
Corpse Whisperer Sworn Page 6