Fatal Strike (McClouds & Friends #10)(14)

Miles recoiled visibly. “No, no,” he said hastily. “You keep him.”

She cuddled Marco back to her tits again, studying Miles intently, with those huge, exotically tilted eyes that haunted Petrie’s wet dreams.

“This isn’t about Cindy, is it?” she asked, very softly.

Miles shook his head. “Not at all.”

“Ah. That is good. Because, you know, ah . . . she is no longer with that man, hmm? The one she ran away with. You know that?”

“Don’t care,” Miles said, his voice flat. “Irrelevant.”

Sveti gazed at Miles searchingly for a moment, and then nodded, evidently satisfied. “Good,” she said. “She was just an excuse for you, anyway. A reason to hide. No one was contented with her. Not for you.”

Miles shook his head. “Can’t go there with you, Sveti. Not today.”

“You’re a fine one to talk about excuses,” Petrie blurted, and was immediately appalled at himself. What the f*ck possessed him? A death wish? A schoolyard hunger for attention? Jealous because she was talking to Miles and not him? Sveti had turned her fathomless dark eyes on him, wide and affronted and furious. Too late to turn back.

“I beg your pardon?” she said, icily.

Petrie gestured toward Marco. “Excuses. Like that one. You’ve always got a baby wrapped around your neck. Like a suit of armor. No guy’s going to get that close to a full diaper, so you’re safe, right? Good old Sveti. Always first in line to help with the kiddies.” He took a long swig, but Sveti was still glaring at him when he capped the flask.

“You are an *, Petrie,” she informed him.

“As you have told me many times before.” Petrie clucked his tongue. “Such tough language for Marco’s tender ears.”

“Shut up. My armor is of a better class than yours.” She slapped the capped liquor flask out of his hands, sending it spinning and bouncing off the steps. “Better to stink of baby poop than of bourbon.”

Marco tugged at Sveti’s neckline with a red, dimpled hand that shone with drool, and nuzzled hungrily at Sveti’s cleavage. Petrie jerked his chin toward the kid. “Looks like he wants to top up,” he observed.

Sveti’s face went crimson. She pulled a bottle from her purse, stuck it in Marco’s mouth, and stalked away. The two men waited until the doors of the church thudded shut, and exhaled. In unison.

“Wow, Petrie,” Miles said. “You have such a way with the ladies.”

Petrie retrieved his flask from the steps without comment.

“You are an *, though,” Miles went on. “Like she said.”

That pissed Petrie off. “This, from a guy who runs out on his friends without even a message to tell them he’s not rotting in a ditch?”

Miles shook his head. “You don’t see it, and it’s right in your face.”

“What?” Petrie felt his voice rising. “What’s in my face?”

“She likes you,” Miles said.

Petrie stared at the guy, slack-jawed. “Wrong,” he finally said. “Dead wrong. Don’t know where you got that. She hates my guts.”

Miles grunted. “That explains why her heart spikes to one-forty when she gets close to you. Her eyes dilate. And those pheremones must have . . .” He glanced discreetly down at Petrie’s crotch. “Yep. She blushed, too. I only saw from tits up, but God knows where it started from. All those capillaries, expanding just for you, you lucky bastard.”

“Bullshit,” Petrie muttered. His balls tingled, and his belly did a strange, flopping maneuver. He clenched to subdue it. “What the f*ck do you think you’re doing, looking at her tits?”

A mirthless smile twitched the corners of Miles’ hard mouth. “I may be f*cked up, but I’m not dead. Watch yourself, dude. Sveti’s the untouchable virgin princess. Rescued from evil ogres. They’ll shred your ass if you look at her funny. Let alone touch her.”

True enough. There was an unspoken dictate against thinking dirty thoughts about vulnerable, waif-like, china-doll perfect, tragically orphaned Sveti, always and eternally way too young. If anyone did think such thoughts, eight different guys in the McCloud Crowd, plus Tam Steele, who was worse than all of them put together, would rise up and smite him down. Splat.

“So it’s true, then?” Petrie said. “What they say, about your new superpowers? You saw all that? Or are you just jerking me around?”

Miles laughed and then put his hand abruptly to his head, wincing. “Superpowers, my ass. I heard the heart rate, I heard her breathing, I smelled the pheremones, I saw the pupils dilate. I’ve got a sensory overload problem. It comes at me like a fire hose. I can’t block it out.”

“I don’t see why you’d want to,” Petrie said. “Sounds handy.”

Miles just looked at him. The guy’s stark gaze gave Petrie a guilty twinge. It would seem that the guy was not having any fun at all with his super-senses. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean to make light of your, uh . . . disability.”

“It’s okay,” Miles said. “I’m used to being out there. I was a freak before. Now I’m a freak with brain damage. Just a little category shift.”

“So, it hurts?” Petrie pressed for more, unable to help himself.