Blood and Fire (McClouds & Friends #8)(45)

“That’s stupid,” Bruno muttered.

“Yeah? My home, my vehicle and my privacy got bombed to rubble the last time I answered a phone call from one of you clowns!”

“You were reimbursed in full! They threw money at your head to make up for that! You have no reason to feel sorry for yourself!”

“You can’t reimburse privacy,” Aaro said darkly. “Doing favors for you guys is costly on a whole lot of levels.”

“Look at it this way,” Bruno said. “I’m a client, OK? Bill me by the hour. Name your f*cking rate. Save your receipts. I’m not asking any favors, so I won’t unleash the curse. No favors, no curse. Simple.”

“Nothing’s simple about broken bodies on the street.”

“I told you,” Bruno protested. “They were trying to kill—”

“Yeah, I get the white knight thing, but was it necessary to snuff the guys? Was your brain functioning at all? You’ve got no idea who they were, what they want, or from what direction they’ll come the next time.” His eyes cut to Lily. “Or do you?”

She shook her head, her lips tight.

“Great. So now, instead of having somebody to interrogate, you’ve got a possible murder rap. What a trade-off. Why didn’t you just beat the shit out of them? You, my friend, have f*cked up.”

Bruno bit back a snotty retort. He was still afraid to think about the entity that had taken over his body during that fight. And he didn’t want to get mired in explanations and selfjustification. Waste of time and breath. There was nothing he could say to Aaro that wouldn’t be whining, or excuse mongering. He shook his head. Later for that.

“OK, then,” Aaro said sourly. “Whatever. By the hour, up the ass, receipts itemized. What do you want me to buy?”

“Sensible winter shoes.” Bruno turned to Lily. “What’s your size?”

“Six, but seriously, I really don’t want—”

“A big sweater for her, some drab color. A wool knit cap. A winter coat. Down, with a hood. Black nylon, something big and puffy. Jeans for both of us. I’m about your size, for her . . .” He looked her over appraisingly. “Ten for her. And get me a sweatshirt.”

She jumped. “Hey. That’s not my—”

“Yeah, I know you’re more like an eight, but I want them loose,” he snapped. “This is not about showcasing your ass.”

“Speaking of her ass,” Aaro interjected. “You haven’t told me how you want the underwear.” He eyed her, chewing his lip.

Lily lunged for the door. “I’m done. Have a nice life, gentlemen.”

Bruno caught her as she grabbed the handle, and yanked her back. His arm locked around her, clamped over her heaving ribcage.

“Let go of me,” she said. “Right now.”

“I can’t,” he said. And it was the literal truth.

Aaro made a disgusted sound. “You’re cooked, buddy. Your judgment is deep-fried in testosterone. Not a pretty sight.”

“Go earn your hourly fee and get out of my face,” Bruno said.

The slam of the van door cut off a string of obscenities, which then faded away into the distance.

The silence in the van was punctuated by Lily’s rapid breathing. The thrum of her pulse was too fast. She was shorting out. Muscling her around probably wasn’t helping, but he couldn’t stop. He was shaking, too. His heart banging just as hard.

She pried at his wrist. Her hand was icy cold. He covered it with his and opened his jacket, pulling her back so she could soak up some skin-on-skin heat. The contact had its predictable effect.

He tried to keep his lust locked up in the privacy of his own head, but Lily could pluck horndog impulses right out of the airwaves with the precision of a pair of surgical tweezers. She shifted against him, moving uneasily against the throbbing heaviness in his groin.

“Sorry,” he offered. “All that talk about asses and underwear. I’m suggestible. Plus there’s the combat buzz. Gets you every time.”

She scowled at him through tangles of bright hair. “Just a physiological phenomenon? Nothing personal? Gee, that’s so flattering.”

He started to laugh. She winced when his hand tightened on her shoulder. He lifted it, angry at himself for having forgotten the bruise.

He pushed her coat open and plucked the shirt down. Oh, ouch. It was bruising already. He laid his hand over it. No pressure, just warmth. “I’m sorry about this,” he said. “I wish I had some ice for you.”

She started to shrug, thought better of it. “I’m not sorry. If they’d hit your skull, you’d have gone down, and we’d both be dead. Or worse.”

“There’s worse?” He smiled. “That’s a positive way of looking at a big hematoma. You working on that glass-half-full attitude?”

She snorted. “Hardly. Speaking of attitudes. Aaro? Holy shit, Bruno. Where did you dig this guy up? He’s horrible!”

“Sorry about that,” Bruno said ruefully. “He was always sort of a clam, but today he’s totally on the rag. Still, he has the resources that I need. And did you come across his name from your research on me?”

“Nope,” she said. “Never heard of the guy.”

“That means he was the right one to call.”