Free Hidden Crimes by Emma Holly Page B

leave well enough alone, he asked the question that
was needling him. “Tell me, Evina, are you always this bad-tempered
after a nice quickie?”
    “Yes,” she retorted. “My crew is constantly
warning me I’d better not get laid.”
    This was so silly both of them had to
laugh.
    Nate reached out to rub her thigh. For just a
second, she put her hand over his. Brief though the contact was, it
finished calming them.
    It occurred to Nate that they were reacting
to each other like they were pack.
    That idea shut him up until they reached the
not quite legal street market under historic Irving Bridge. The
cast iron bridge marked the boundary of a thriving artist’s
district. Some tables sold junk, others genuine finds. The vendors
were a mix too, from barely scraping by to commanding thousands at
galleries. Dave Redfield was at the upper end. He set his booth up
here every Monday so as not to lose touch with the community who’d
inspired him to begin with.
    Ironically, considering his name, Redfield
was a blue elf, his skin an indigo so dark it was nearly black. The
best way to tell it wasn’t was to compare the color with his ebony
waist-length dreads. His ice blue eyes added to his striking
appearance, as did his high cheekbones. Built on more solid lines
than most elves, who could be ethereal, the pointy ears he sported
declared the purity of his blood.
    Nate liked him even better for not being
snooty about his lineage.
    “Nate,” he said, rising from a cheap beach
chair to swing out a hand to him.
    Nate gripped the dark blue mitt and then
bumped knuckles, their personal manly greeting. “Dave. I’m hoping I
can introduce you to a new friend of mine.”
    “Always happy to meet a beautiful
female.”
    “Oh boy,” Evina said, though she was smiling.
“I see why you two get along.”
    Dave looked from her to Nate. “Both of you
are wearing serious auras. Something tells me you aren’t here to
admire paintings.”
    His latest creations hung on makeshift
pegboard walls that angled in a squared U behind him. One
had already caught Nate’s eye—a picture of this very bridge at
night with a pair of moonlit gargoyles poised on its railing, their
wings lifted for the moment of taking flight. The simplicity of
Dave’s style made the image charming and spooky at the same time,
as if Chagall and Grandma Moses were smoking faerie dust
together.
    “Not today,” he admitted regretfully. “I’m
hoping you can do me an under-the-table semiofficial police
favor.”
    Dave burst into a laugh. “Under the table and semiofficial. That sounds like you to me.”
    Nate put his hand on Evina’s shoulder. “My
friend saw something psychically, a child we think might have
disappeared. We can’t confirm that until we have a picture to go
with what she saw.”
    “I can do that,” Dave said, his handsome
features falling back into graver lines. “Why don’t we step into my
office?”
    His “office” was the space between his rear
pegboard wall and a pier of the old iron bridge. He’d stretched
lengths of fabric across clotheslines to give him privacy from the
bargain hunters and sightseers. Weeds grew from the uneven ground,
but the broken glass and clutter were cleared away. With a flourish
that reminded Nate elves were related to royalty, Dave opened
another folding beach chair for Evina. He set it at a small
paint-caked table.
    The elf looked down at her as she sat
gracefully, the dappled light underneath the bridge making quite a
picture of her. Evina was feminine yet fierce, sexy but natural,
her catlike curiosity overruling her slight shyness. She seemed
simultaneously vulnerable and imposing. Nate didn’t think he’d ever
met a woman whose contradictions fascinated him so much. To his
irritation, he wasn’t sure Dave had either.
    Obviously dazzled, the blue elf pulled out a
sketchpad and sat across from her. “You can come back and pose
anytime.”
    Evina’s hand flew up to her curly hair.
Unbeknownst to her,