Part 2 (2/2)
”Oh, yes.” He smiled up at her winsomely. ”In fact, chere, I will guarantee you a fifty-dollar tip if you bring me an entire pot of it.”
She smiled, appropriately charmed. Dee thought he was a hottie, to use her turn of phrase, and if he turned the charm on just a bit thicker, she would let him explore at his leisure all of the curves and contours hidden beneath her creamy pink polyester waitress uniform. That was another benefit of being born with Brethren blood. He could read minds when he felt like it.
Tessa ordered a bowl of plain oatmeal and a gla.s.s of orange juice. Rene ordered more coffee and three slices of cherry pie.
”Why?” Tessa asked, looking somewhat repulsed as Dee set the plates down in front of him, like he'd ordered a s.h.i.+t sundae or something.
”Pie's good for breakfast,” he said. ”Pretty much like a danish or doughnut. And I like cherry the best. Not too sweet. Sort of tart.
You should try it sometime.”
”No, thank you. And I meant why three pieces?” ”Because,” he replied simply, ”I like pie.”
”You eat like a pig,” she muttered as she primly unfolded her paper napkin and smoothed it against her lap.
He shoveled in a wolfish mouthful and smiled. ”And you, pischouette, eat like a bird.”
Dee returned sometime later to collect their empty dishes and refill Rene's coffee. ”You're not from around here, are you?” she asked with a smile. He could smell her; the longer she stood beside the table, the faster her heart began to beat, and the more fervently through her slim but curvaceous form it sent her blood. The realization of this made him salivate unconsciously, and his gums ached dimly as they started to swell. Like Tessa, he hadn't fed since before leaving for New Orleans, and even though he didn't need to as frequently as she did, that didn't mean he didn't want to. Or wouldn't.
Besides, feeding would help to ease the throbbing headache that his hangover-and proximity to Tessa-had caused, which was all of the further incentive he needed.
”No, ma chere,” he told Dee, because she thought it was s.e.xy when he spoke French. He could sense this, too. ”I'm from New Orleans.”
”Are you really?” Dee's bright smile widened. ”I've been there for Mardi Gras a couple of times. At least before the hurricane.”
She was too sweet to be the type he ordinarily favored-which generally tended to fall into the ”hooker” or ”stripper” categories, as Tessa might have disdainfully noted. He didn't care; he liked hookers and strippers. Beautiful, buxom and all business. There were no strings attached, no promises inferred, no miscommunication. Just an exchange of money and services, plain and simple.
Dee wasn't like that, but she was readily available. She'd do in a pinch.
”Excuse me,” Tessa said, waggling her now-empty gla.s.s in the air. ”I'd like some more orange juice, please.”
”In a moment, pischouette,” Rene said, holding Dee's gaze. ”I think ma chere and I might step away for a bit, if you don't mind.”
Tessa blinked. ”What?”
”Sure,” Dee said, nodding. Her eyes had taken on a dreamy, dazed sort of cast, her smile distant and sleepy. Just as he could read minds, he could also open his mind to others, and through this ability, control them. Or, as he liked to consider it, persuade them to his point of view on things. ”Sure, that will be nice.”
”What?” Tessa said again as he stood from the table. ”What are you doing?”
”Finis.h.i.+ng my breakfast.” Rene dropped her a wink as Dee turned and began walking toward the restrooms. He followed, ignoring Tessa's sputtered, startled attempts at protest.
Fifteen minutes later, his cell phone rang, vibrating against his hip through his jeans pocket. Rene fished it out and grabbed a paper towel from the wall-mounted dispenser by the sink to wipe at the blood dribbling down his chin. He glanced at the number on the cell phone's caller ID and smiled. ”Hey, chere, how are you this morning?”
”Hey, Rene,” Lina Jones replied. ”What are you doing?”
”Me? Just having a bite before we hit the road.”
The young waitress, Dee, sat on the sink with her shapely b.u.t.tocks resting in the basin, her thighs spread wide, her calves dangling, her skirt hiked up to her waist to expose the crotch of her white cotton panties beneath. Her head had lolled back on her neck, and she blinked up at the fluorescent light fixture overhead in a stupefied trance. Because feeding from her throat would have left conspicuous teeth marks, Rene had instead tactfully bitten her high along her inner thigh, nearly to her groin, sinking his canines deep enough into her flesh to puncture her femoral artery. A bit more tricky than hitting the carotid, but Rene had plenty of practice at it.
Not that Dee was aware of what he'd done. Nor would she remember a thing-just a few more perks of his telepathic abilities. He hadn't hurt her, just turned her mind off for a little while, put her in a sleeplike reverie.
”Where are you?” Lina asked. She was probably the only woman he'd been emotionally close to in at least twenty years-and one of the only women he'd ever known that he hadn't slept with. She'd saved his life in more ways than one, and more times than just once. First, she had shot and killed the son of a b.i.t.c.h who'd blown his right kneecap off. After that, a mental pledge he'd made to somehow even the score with Lina had saved him from suicide; that little, niggling voice of reason in his head would remind him that no matter how lonely he was, how despondent or afraid, no matter how sweet a temptation the muzzle of his Sig Sauer might seem, he owed Lina. She'd never let him down. And I'll do the same by her.
”A little cafe in Boerne,” he told her.
He heard the rustling of paper over the line as she checked a map. ”How'd you beat us?” she asked with a laugh. ”We're stopped overnight in Seguin, not even into San Antonio yet.”
”Easy, chere,” he replied. ”Me and Tessa, we don't like each other. We don't need to stop and f.u.c.k like rabbits every fifteen minutes like you and Brandon. You get a lot more miles behind you that way.”
”Ha, ha,” she said dryly, but with just enough hint of affection in her voice that he could tell she was smiling.
He loved Lina. Not like he might have a wife or lover or even a sister-even though in his will, he'd left her everything since he had no real next of kin-but in some strange, deep and intrinsic way nonetheless. He would die for her, something he couldn't say for anyone else in the world.
Except for Irene.
”You still want to meet in Anthony, New Mexico?” she said. ”It's going to take me and Brandon a good nine hours to get there.
We could all hook up for supper?”
”That would be nice, sure.” He was glad that Lina and Brandon had fallen in love. The younger man had brought a light into Lina's eyes the likes of which Rene hadn't seen in ages. And Brandon was a good kid, Rene had to admit, earnest and easygoing, with just enough sc.r.a.p to stick up for himself if it came down to it. Brandon had broken most of the bones in both of his hands pounding the s.h.i.+t out of his brother, Caine, to prove that. ”You call your mere yet?”
”Yeah, just a little bit ago.” The bright cheer in Lina's voice faltered slightly. Her mother was undergoing chemotherapy following a recent mastectomy and he knew she was worried. ”She's got another round this afternoon but seems to be doing okay. As well as can be expected, I guess. She said Jackie's taking good care of her.”
He didn't know what she'd told her mother to explain her sudden flight, the complete abandonment of her life, but he suspected that it hadn't been too hard to convince the woman to keep mum about it. Lina's brother, Jackson, who was in Florida with their mother at the moment, had once been Brandon n.o.ble's teacher, and Lina had told Rene that Jackson had long suspected the n.o.bles of being something far more sinister than what met the eye.
”So we're meeting in Anthony, then?” Lina said, and he didn't need to see her, or read her mind for that matter, to know she forced the smile into her voice. ”How about eight o'clock? We'll find hotel rooms and then touch base, see where to meet for supper.” In a more relaxed and playful tone, she added, ”That should give me and Brandon plenty of f.u.c.k time along the way.”
Rene laughed. ”You're a mess, chere,” he told her fondly.
He returned to the table and fished his wallet out of his back pocket. ”You ready to go, pischouette?” ”Where's the waitress?” Tessa asked, frowning. ”What did you do to her?”
”Nothing.” He pretended to look hurt. ”She's right over there.”
He nodded to indicate Dee, who had exited the ladies' room shortly after he'd ducked out. Before leaving her, he'd whispered in her ear, quick and quiet words of instruction that had left her with no memory of what had happened-indeed, no memory of him and Tessa whatsoever.
He slipped a fifty spot out of his billfold and dropped it onto the table before dropping Tessa a wink. ”Come on. Let's. .h.i.t the road.”
Chapter Four.
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