Page 193 of White Wolf
The door opened off to her left, and Lanny said, “So I guess that whole stay-out-of-the-sun thing is just Hollywood bullshit.”
“Guess so.”
“What are we gonna do with His fucking Majesty in here?”
She rolled her head to the side, the press of warm brick against her scalp a strange, grounding sort of comfort, so she could look at him.
He was so tired his face looked bruised. Or maybe that was the cancer. But he was asking her, letting her make the impossible decision here, and that was, she thought, a sign that they were okay, despite all the craziness.
“On one level, he committed a crime, knowingly – assault at the very least – and he needs to be arrested. He’s confessed, and I don’t think he’ll put up a fight,” she said. “But on another, he’s avampire. Which. Fuck. And there’s another one out there running around who killed Jamie Anderson last night.
“I have no idea what to do, Lanny,” she admitted, voice full of cracks.
He nodded. “What does your gut say?” When she hesitated, he said, “Not as a cop, not as anybody’s great-relative. As you. What does your gut say?”
She closed her eyes and gave herself one moment of total blankness. No thinking, no worrying, no breathing. It was a technique she’d developed as a beat cop: those pauses where she forced everything away and left room only for instinct and animal impulse.
When she opened her eyes, she said, “I say we let him lead us to Chad Edwards. He’s the wild card here. And we let Nikita and Sasha handle Alexei, if they will.”
“And if they won’t?”
“Then we arrest him, too.”
Lanny nodded. “Okay.”
~*~
“This is my card.” Trina handed it over. “Lanny’s and my cell numbers are on the back. Please call us when you find him.”
Alexei nodded, face grave. “I will, yes, of course. Thank you.” He gave them each a serious and sad look and then set off down the sidewalk, card held tight between his fingers, in front of his chest like he was guarding it. All in all, an impressive display of worry and guilt.
When he was out of sight, Trina’s knees buckled and she grabbed at the handrail of the precinct steps to steady herself.
“Burgers and a nap?” Lanny asked.
“God, yes.”
By unspoken agreement, they were too tired to wait for a to-go diner order and grabbed grease-stained bags of McDonald’s instead. Trina’s apartment was closer – and cleaner – so they went there and spread out a picnic on the coffee table, slumped against opposite arms of the sofa.
Lanny ate two cheeseburgers with methodical efficiency, and then, some of the color back in his cheeks, he took his first deep breath and relaxed visibly. He picked his box of fries up and settled deeper into the couch cushions, eating more slowly now.
Trina picked at her own food, hungry, but stomach tight with nerves.
“There’s a family resemblance,” Lanny said.
She’d zoned out, staring at her burger without interest. “What?”
“You and Nikita. It’s in the cheekbones.” He gestured to his own with a fry.
She set her burger down on its wrapper on the table, the tightness in her belly intensifying. Her breath came a little shallow. “Yeah?”
His grin was crooked. “It sounded like so much crazy bullshit, your story.” He shook his head. “I still don’t believe it, really. But. The cheekbones. I can tell you’re related. You guys could be cousins, to look at you.”
Her hands were cold, and she chafed her palms together. She wanted his observation to be reassuring, but somehow it rattled her even more. “He looks a lot like my grandfather,” she said, and then snorted. “He ought to; he’s his dad. Damn.”
Lanny pulled the throw blanket off the back of the couch and tossed it over her legs.
She gathered it up to her chin gratefully. “You have no idea how badly I didn’t want it to be true,” she confessed, shivering.
