Part 100 (2/2)

”Cherie?”

”And speaking of problems.”

Shooting Austin a warning look, she turned to face Jacques. Translucent in the light from the office window, he looked exactly the way he had the first day she'd set eyes on him. She realized that she'd been expecting their night together to have changed him, but, unfortunately, it seemed to have changed only her perception of him, men were just so much more attractive when they were opaque.

”You are more beautiful this morning than I have ever seen you.” His eyes twinkled. It was a disconcerting effect since Claire could see the door through them. ”I have been thinking. One night cannot balance so many years alone; perhaps this afternoon...”

”No.”

His grin faded. ”But cherie, was I not all I promise I would be?”

”Yes, but...”

The grin returned. ”Give me flesh again, and we will drive away the but.”

”Look, Jacques, you're dead, so you have nothing to do, but I'm alive and I have...”

STRANGE TASTE IN MEN.

Shut up. ”... responsibilities.”

Jacques looked interested. ”Like what?”

”Like feeding the cat,” Austin declared in a tone that suggested he shouldn't have had to mention it.

”And?” Jacques wondered.

”And that's not important right now. What's important is that you're dead and I'm alive...”

”Cherie, non.”

”... and no matter how many times I give you flesh, you'll still be dead!” The words echoed in the empty lobby. From the look of pained betrayal on Jacques' face as he dematerialized, he wouldn't be back any time soon. ”I didn't mean to hurt him,” she sighed. ”I just wanted him to...”

”Go away. And he did, congratulations.” Critically inspecting a front paw, Austin snorted. ”I'm not sure this is as clean as it could be.”

Claire grabbed the edge of the counter, bent over, and rhythmically banged her head against the wood.

THAT WAS FUN.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

For the first time in weeks, as the pipes banged out the news that Claire was in the shower, Dean wasn't lost in daydreams of soap and water. Kneeling by the bed, he pulled out his old hockey bag, the only luggage he'd brought from back home. It was pretty obvious that Claire thought they could just go on as though he hadn't been willing to murder Faith Dunlop's boyfriend for no greater crime than being a total moron. Maybe she could, but that sort of thing changed a guy. Changed the way he looked at himself. Maybe it was time he moved on.

”I see Dean's truck is gone.”

Claire picked up her breakfast dishes, stared at them for a moment, and then carried them over to the sink. ”He left about ten minutes ago.”

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