Page 28 of Licence To Howl
Scarlett glanced at him. ‘What’s going on?’
Devereau drew in a breath. ‘He wants me to kill you. If I bring him your head tomorrow morning, I will get a free pass into his little gang.’
She bared her single fang and hissed. ‘That fucker. I thought I’d done a good job of flirting.’
‘You did.’ Devereau hoped he didn’t sound too bitter about it. ‘It’s something to do with your loyalties.’
She frowned. ‘Is that what Solentino said?’
‘Loyalties was the word he used.’
‘I made it clear that as long as we’re outside London, I am free from any constraints. I can do what I want. There’s nothing in any of my history to suggest otherwise. Nothing that Christopher Solentino would be able to find anyway.’
Devereau’s eyebrow twitched. ‘I think,’ he muttered, ‘you answered the question for yourself.’
‘What?’ The crease in her brow deepened. Then she paled. ‘You mean London. He’s planning something in London.’ She slowed to a stop as the next traffic lights turned red and turned to stare at him. Devereau noted the motorbike remained directly on their tail. Whoever that was behind that helmet, they weren’t trying to conceal their presence.
‘Keep your eyes ahead,’ he advised. ‘Try not to look angry.’
‘Try not to look angry? What the fuck, Devereau? What are we doing by leaving Solentino back there? We should take him out right now. Done, dusted, end of problem.’
He shook his head. ‘He’s got more people working for him than those blokes we met just now. What if someone’s waiting to take his place? What if he’s not actually the guy in charge but someone else is calling the shots? We can’t act until we know more.’
‘When did you become so bloody cautious?’
He kept his voice even, although he wanted to slam his fists against the Fiat’s flimsy dashboard as much as she did. ‘When it became clear that lives are at stake. Possibly a lot of lives. Solentino has got money but he couldn’t afford to come close to outbidding you for the Ring of All Seasons. He’s expecting a massive payout from whatever he’s planning. This is serious shit, Scarlett.’
‘You don’t need to tell me that,’ she growled. ‘I’m the one whose head he’s demanded on a silver platter.’ The lights changed and she took off again, narrowly missing rear-ending the smart car in front. Scarlett hissed under her breath in vexation and squared her shoulders. ‘If you won’t kill him, then what exactly will you do?’
‘Well, I won’t chop your head off, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘As if you could,’ she scoffed. ‘I’d like to see you try.’
No. She wouldn’t.
‘Come on, Devereau. What’s the big plan? Is MI5 going to come charging in and save the day?’
‘I don’t know what the plan is. I don’t have one. I’ll need to contact HQ and see what they think.’
‘You know what they’ll think. They’ll order you to off me so you can continue to string Solentino along.’
‘They wouldn’t do that.’ Then Devereau grimaced. Actually, they might say that. Sarah Greensmith might tell him to do exactly that.
‘I’m a vampire. That makes me immediately expendable in the eyes of the British government.’
‘Whether they order that or not, it’s a moot point. Don’t you get it, Scarlett? I like you. A lot. I care about you. A hell of a lot. No matter what’s happened between us in the past or what’s happening now, I would never ever hurt you. And I certainly wouldn’t kill anyone because some tosser in Whitehall ordered it. Whether I work for them or not, I’m not their beholden to them. When they say jump, I don’t say how high. I’m not that kind of person and you know that.’ He drew in a breath. ‘You also know somewhere deep inside you that I would kill myself before I’d ever harm a hair on your head.’
For a long moment Scarlett didn’t say anything. She kept her gaze trained on the road ahead. When she finally did speak, her voice was barely audible. ‘My favourite food,’ she said quietly, ‘is mashed potato.’
‘Mashed potato?’
‘With butter and cream. Sometimes with cheese melted through it. Sometimes with chives on the top. Sometimes I even go all out and add some crispy pancetta. But really, when it comes down to it, what I love is mashed potato. Even if it’s lumpy.’
Devereau looked at her. ‘The mashed potato I make is never lumpy.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
‘It’s true.’
