Page 112 of Sinner's Salvation

They got out, went inside, and the three of them joined a man who was eating a huge sandwich at a four-seat table in the farthest corner of the room.

Marek sat down next to the man without hesitation. Evan pulled out a chair for Anna next to the wall, seated her, then sat down next to her.

The man saluted them with his sandwich. It took him a few chews to free up his mouth.

“Best sandwiches in the city are right here,” he said, rather than hello. “I’m Daryl Taft, I work for the CIA. No need for introductions, I know who you are.”

“You should order a sandwich,” Anna said to Evan. “And some coffee. It’s been a while since you ate.”

Marek turned and raised a hand at the man behind the deli counter. “Two coffees and two lunch specials, please.”

The man waved.

“Nothing for you?” Taft said to Anna.

She smiled at him, showing off her sharp canines. “I already ate.”

Taft choked on his mouthful. He pounded one fist against his chest. “Really? Who did you...I mean...” He stared at her like she was a serial killer holding a knife in one hand and a gun in the other.

“I donated,” Evan said blandly. “She doesn’t take much.”

Both Marek and Taft stared at him.

“You volunteered?” Marek asked.

“Of course I volunteered,” Evan said, abruptly angry. The man claimed to know what Anna was, but obviously hadn’t thought about the logistics of having their autoimmune disease. “I thought you knew everything you needed to know about her.”

“I know the high points, but not specifics.”

Evan covered his face with one hand. “In other words, you know the stories and what you learned from observing from a distance, but nothing else.”

“That sounds about right.”

Evan looked at Taft. “How about you, Mr. CIA, do you know more than my boss does?”

Taft took another huge bite of his sandwich, then smiled with his mouth full.

“Cute,” Evan said, with a shake of his head. He’d have to pay attention to this guy.

The owner of the deli arrived at their table with coffee and sandwiches. They thanked him and Evan decided food was more important than composing explanations or demanding them.

“What do you think you know about me?” Anna asked. She watched Evan eat with a faintly pleased expression.

“You’re a lot older than you look,” Marek said.

“You heal fast,” Taft said.

“You’re stronger too and you drink blood,” Marek added.

Anna glanced at Evan with questions in her eyes.

He turned to the two men across the table from him. “How old do you think she is?”

“We figured about one hundred years,” Taft said. “There’s no records about her before then.”

They didn’t know much then. Just enough to get them all into trouble.

Evan met Anna’s gaze. “I don’t think you can keep your existence a secret anymore without a lot of help.”

---