Deja Who (Insighter #1)(13)

He liked her dark hair, falling like a sleek curtain to her shoulders. He liked her dark eyes, big and wide-set, like a sexy hammerhead shark.

Sexy hammerhead shark? Dude.

Yep; he had it bad, and that was fine. His last serious girlfriend was over a year ago, and he hadn’t gotten laid in eight months, a boss-with-benefits thing at part-time job number twenty. He hoped Leah would help him break his dry spell. Lately he’d been making excuses to himself to not masturbate.

Not tonight, right hand, I’ve got a headache.

You’ve always got a headache! When was the last time you took me out?

I take you out all the time! You’re a part of me!

Don’t you try to sweet talk me. You’re seeing that whore of a left hand, aren’t you? AREN’T YOU?

I swear, there’s nothing between us. It was that one time! I was drunk, I made a mistake, I’m only human!

I’m more than just a palm, four fingers, and a thumb, you know!

I know, I know . . . I’d never take you for granted, right hand. You’re like my right hand! And oh crap, pay attention, you’re about to lose Leah.

He liked her slender frame and medium height; at just under six feet, he was a comfortable head taller. It made him want to fold her into his arms and protect her. It made him want to fold her into his arms and kiss her until she was panting as hard as he was. I hope she lets me get the whole story out. Also I should probably work out more, because I should not be this out of breath after jogging after her for thirty seconds.

“—on with it.”

“Right. Listen, this is gonna sound weird—”

“Doubt it.”

“—but someone’s out to get you, and—”

“I know.”

“Oh. Oh! Well.” He tried a smile to see if she’d reflexively smile back—lots of women did, like people always shook your hand if you stuck it out there, but Leah was po-faced. “It’s easier, then. If you know what’s going on.”

“You would think.” She shifted; he was so busy watching her face he forgot to watch her hands. “But in fact, sometimes that makes it more difficult.” Then she stabbed him.

“Hey!” It wasn’t even a little bit like the movies. In the movies, half the time the bad guy (not that Archer was the bad guy, though later he understood why she thought so, and also, dammit!) didn’t even know he’d been stabbed at first. Too busy ranting at the hero to notice. Plus the heroes kept their knives so insanely sharp the villain didn’t even feel it going in. But Archer knew instantly that she had taken a knife out of her bra

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and stabbed him in the shoulder.

“Son of a bitch! In your bra? What the hell, Leah? What else is in there? In your bra? I should have seen that coming. But I was distracted because, y’know, bra. Ow-ow-ow.”

“I—I—” She looked, if possible, more shocked than he did. Not that he could see his face. But he felt pretty shocked, so he probably looked it and ow-ow-ow. “I can’t see you!”

“Well, your aim is pretty impressive.”

“I—I was wrong. That was disgraceful.” She did look remorseful, which went a little way toward cheering him up as blood dripped down his shoulder and pattered on the sidewalk. “It’s just as well I could not ram it home in your heart. All those ribs to get through—ugh. Most of the time the blade just glances off them. In the end it’s often too much trouble.”

“Wait. What?”

“But they will arrest you on my say-so and then you can sit in a cell and think about what you did.”

“What?”

“Not that you didn’t have it coming,” she scolded him. Yeah. She was scolding him. He tried to pay attention as his blood drip-drip-dripped into his battered sneaker, which had seen worse days, but not many. “You should be ashamed, killing me all the time. What is it with you? Were we married in another life? Are you killing me over and over again because I cheated on you?”

“What? No. What?” Waves of weird kept closing over him. First she was very very close and then she was very very far away. In all cases she was telling him off. Was it a dream? And if it was, was it a nightmare? It was weird that he didn’t know. He should know. He should be able to figure that much out at the least.

“Listen. I was hired to follow you but I do not like the vibe on this job. I wanted to warn you. I betrayed my solemn oath as an amateur private investigator and you took a knife out from between your boobs and stabbed me. Why’d you drag your boobs into it, Leah? Why? They didn’t deserve that. They’re innocent!”

A smile! And the smile did that thing to her face where years fell away and she looked mischievous and ready to have fun or make trouble or both.

“Private investigators do not take sacred oaths and I did not drag my boobs into anything, and stop calling me by my first name like you know me. Then . . . I was right. I can’t see you. I’m afraid I have confused you with my murderer. So what you’ve babbled at me as you go into shock makes sense.”

“I’m not going into shock.” He shivered so hard for a second he wondered if he was having a seizure. “All right, I’m going into a little bit of shock. Why were you dressed as a birthday candle in that picture?” he shouted because she was very very very very far away. When did she have time to run away so quickly? And she was smaller, now, too. “Come back!”