Werewolf Cop by Andrew Klavan

Author:Andrew Klavan [Klavan, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery, Fantasy
Publisher: Pegasus
Published: 2014-01-11T11:00:00+00:00

17

MARGO

Nothing about her was as it seemed. She was dressed modestly enough in a pink sweater and black skirt, her long blond hair tied back with a ribbon—but she was not modest; glamour came off her like body heat. Likewise, she was standing in an unobtrusive posture, her arms hanging down, her hands clasped together in front of her—but she was not unobtrusive; how could anyone miss her? Everyone else in the crowd was moving toward the curb, fanning out toward their cars, while she alone was still. When, inevitably, his eye was drawn to that stillness, she broke out in a bright, natural smile and gave him a friendly wave—and these, he thought, were also deceptive. There was nothing bright or natural or friendly about her being here, nothing at all.

It wasn’t hard for him to disengage from Grace. She was as eager to get to the ladies on the church patio as the children were to get to the brownies there. He only had to release her elbow and she was gone into the coffee-hour crowd. But he didn’t kid himself that she wouldn’t notice him talking to a beautiful stranger. Of course she would. So he became deceptive too. He put on a false smile and, with his hands in the pockets of his slacks, he forced his body to seem relaxed. He ambled down the front path to where Margo was waiting for him.

“Zach,” she said, her voice warm and gracious. “It’s so good to see you.”

She offered her delicate white hand and he took it. He was still smiling. Anyone watching from a distance would have thought they were exchanging pleasantries.

But he said, “Do what you’re gonna do, Margo. I won’t be blackmailed.”

And she, still warm and gracious, answered, “I don’t want to blackmail you, darling. But I do need to see you. Talk to you. I think you owe me that much—that much respect, at least, after what we had together.”

“Do I?” Still smiling.

“I think you do, yes. Unless you think I’m something—much lower than what I’d like you to think I am. Come see me, Zach. Please. If that’s blackmail, it doesn’t seem so high a price to pay to protect . . .” she made a movement of one petite hand at the church courtyard, at the clutches of women in red and blue and white and the circles of men in black and gray and the children chasing around their legs. It was a witty gesture, with one sophisticated eyebrow raised. It was meant, Zach knew, to signify the staid, respectable casserole conformity of these funny little church-going creatures—as opposed, he guessed, to the wild, natural passion of what they’d “had together.”

He followed her gesture, glanced at the church crowd over his shoulder, smiling at someone he pretended to know. His mind raced over the options and possibilities. He had been planning to confront her anyway, hadn’t he? He had only put it off because she had not contacted him for

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