Free Anita Blake 18 - Flirt by Laurell K. Hamilton Page B

of the steps.
    “Keep going,” Nicky said.
    “Shouldn’t one of you lead, since I don’t know which car is yours?”
    They exchanged a glance, as if they hadn’t thought of it. I had shaken them, or the lioness had. I hoped that would help us. Nicky led the way and Jacob dropped beside me. I’d honestly expected it to be the other way around, but it didn’t matter to me.
    “I’m cooperating; how about calling your sniper now?”
    “When we’ve searched you for weapons, and we’re in the car.”
    I let out a breath, nodded, and kept walking. I wanted to scream at them to call off their sniper, but they were recovering from the metaphysical surprise my lion had thrown them. They were gathering their plan around them again, sinking into it. I debated on whether I wanted them back in control. For now, I gained nothing by poking at them, so I followed skater boy to a big SUV. They had parked at the edge of the lot, so that thick trees and bushes were against the far side, so when they took me around to the passenger side, no one could see them frisk me.
    “Lean on the truck,” Jacob said.
    I put my hands on the side of the very clean SUV. There was a rental sticker in the window. I was thinking again, noticing things again. I could do this. We’d all get out alive, and that thought, that hope, was what they were counting on. Hope is a wonderful thing, but it can be used by very bad people to get you to cooperate until it’s too late. You think you’ll find a way out until it’s too late to save yourself, too late to save others, too late for anything that matters. Serial killers do that a lot, put a weapon on you in a public area, and then make you get into their car, promising not to hurt you. They lie. The general rule is that if someone puts a weapon on you in a busy area where you can yell for help, yell. Because once they get you alone, what they plan to do to you is a lot worse than getting shot, or stabbed, or a quick death. You never let the bad guys run the show, ever. I knew that. I really knew that, but I leaned against the truck and prepared to let them take my weapons. I knew I’d do what they wanted until they made that first call to the sniper on Micah. I had no other options—yet. And that bastard hope made me think I’d have another chance later to do more, even while the other part of me snickered cynically in my brain. I was acting like a civilian, and though I’d never worn a uniform of any kind, civilian was not what I was.
    Jacob started patting me down, starting at my wrists under the suit jacket. He paused. “I can rip the jacket, or you can put your arms back and I can slip it off; your choice.”
    I put my arms back, and he slipped the jacket down, surprisingly gently. The jacket revealed the knife sheaths on both forearms with their slender silver-coated daggers. It also showed the shoulder holster against the rich blue of the tank top, and the Smith and Wesson at the small of my back.
    “This is what you wear for every day?” Jacob asked.
    “Not usually, but I’m expecting a call about a vampire execution out of state.”
    “When and from whom?” he asked.
    Whom? What kind of bad guy uses whom ? But I didn’t say it out loud; I wanted this to go fast so he’d make that phone call. “I don’t know for sure, and the marshal in charge of the case.”
    “That’s a custom shoulder rig,” Nicky said.
    “My shoulders are narrow enough I have to have custom to fit anyway, so I put on some extras.”
    “They aren’t narrow; you’re just small,” he said.
    “Fine, take the weapons, and make the damn call.”
    “Some girls just can’t take a compliment,” Nicky said, leaning in close enough to put his face against my hair, as his hands found the gun at the small of my back, and pulled it from its holster. He rubbed his cheek against my hair like he was scent-marking me. I think he meant it to be irritating, or maybe even threatening; some women would have taken it that