7 Die For Me by Karen Rose

Author:Karen Rose [Rose, Karen]
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Hachette Book Group USA
Published: 2010-02-20T22:00:00+00:00

Wednesday, January 17, 5:00 A.M.

Vito crept from Sophie’s bed, where she slept curled up like a kitten. A very beautiful, teachable kitten. He moved his shoulders. With claws. Which she’d dug into his back that last time, when he’d taken her so high . . . The memory made him shudder. He’d like nothing better than to feel those sharp claws once more. But he had to get home and change and get on with his day.

Another day of identifying bodies. Of notifying grieving families. Of trying to stop a killer, before there were any more bodies or grieving families. Vito pulled on his clothes, then pressed a kiss against Sophie’s temple. At least he’d satisfied one customer.

He looked around for something to write on. He didn’t want to leave without saying good-bye. He got the impression she’d gotten enough of that over the years, from men who’d taken what they’d wanted and gone on, leaving her to believe that’s all there was.

She had no paper on her nightstand, unless he counted the candy wrappers, which he did not. But a framed picture caught his eye. He carried it to the window and held it to the light from the streetlamps. It was a young woman with long dark hair and big eyes, taken sometime in the fifties. She sat sideways, looking over the back of a chair, in front of what looked like a dressing room mirror. Vito thought about Sophie’s father, a French film star with whom she hadn’t spent much time until the end of his life. He wondered if this was her mother, but doubted she’d keep her picture next to her bed.

“My gran.” He looked over to see her sitting up in bed, knees pulled to her chest.

“She was an actress, too?”

“Of a fashion.” She lifted a brow. “Double bonus prize if you know who she is.”

“I liked the bonus prize from before. Are you going to give me a hint?”

“Nope. But I will make you breakfast.” She grinned. “I figure it’s the least I can do.”

He grinned back, then picked up another photo, turning on a lamp. It was the same woman, with a man he did recognize. “Your grandmother knew Luis Albarossa?”

Sophie poked her head out of a sweatshirt, her face stunned. “What is it with you? You know French actors and Italian tenors, too?”

“My grandfather was an opera fan.” He hesitated. “So am I.”

She’d bent at the waist to pull on a pair of sweats and paused, her hair a curtain over her face. She parted it with one hand and glared out. “What’s wrong with opera?”

“Nothing. It’s just that some people don’t think it’s very . . .”

“Manly? That’s just macho bullshit inherent in a patriarchal society.” She yanked at the sweats and pushed her hair from her face. “Opera or Guns-N-Roses, neither makes you less of a man. Besides, I’m the last person you need to prove your manhood to.”

“Tell that to my brothers and my dad.”

She looked amused. “What, that you give great sex?”

Startled, he laughed.

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