Bernardo drove me through a fast-food drive-up. Not the healthiest, but I needed meat; burgers would do. It would help delay the next need to feed, and I wanted to delay that and still keep my healing ability. I had a faint scar on my right arm, and it was my own damn fault for not taking care of my metaphysical business. It was while we were in line waiting to pick up the order that Bernardo said, "Before we meet up with Edward, I have to tell you something. He made me promise."
"That's ominous," I said, looking at him.
He smoothed his big, dark hands around the wheel, and that one gesture looked like a nervous gesture. Not good.
"What the hell is it?" I asked.
He took off his sunglasses, and took a deep breath. "I'm not the only one Edward called in to help watch his back while you were hurt."
I had a moment of not understanding, and then I got it. "Jesus, not Olaf."
Bernardo looked at me with eyes as dark a brown as my own. "Yeah, he called in the big guy."
I sat back in the seat and would have folded my arms over my chest, but there were too many weapons and the vest in the way. "Shit," I said, and the one word had a lot of feeling to it.
Olaf was also Marshal Otto Jefferies, an alias that allowed him to work for the armed forces on special projects sometimes, and the name on his U.S. Marshal badge. He'd never broken the law on U.S. soil to my knowledge, but in other countries, under his real name, he had. He earned his money as a mercenary and assassin, but his hobby was killing women. He'd kill and torture men, too, but usually only if necessary for work. Small, dark-haired women were his victims of choice, and I was very aware that I fit his victim profile. He'd made me aware of it the first time we met.
"Why did he invite Olaf to come play?" I asked.
"He didn't know how long you'd be out of commission. He needed backup, and since he has one of the warrants of execution he got to call in anyone he wanted. If he can't have you, he wants us." There was a certain unhappiness to Bernardo's voice.
"You sound jealous," I said.
He frowned at me as he eased the car up in line behind the other cars in the drive-up. "Maybe it's a little hard on the ego for Olaf and me that he prefers you to us. You've never been military. You've never been a lot of things that the three of us have been, and yet Edward prefers you as his main backup."
"You mean because I'm not a big, strong man, you feel slighted that Edward likes me better?" I let my tone speak for my view of that particular attitude.
Bernardo gave me a flat look. His face was still handsome, but there was now something in the eyes that might once have made me nervous. I was way past being nervous from hard looks. Hard looks couldn't hurt me, and it wasn't close to the hardest look he was capable of anyway. He didn't mean it.
"You know that's not what I mean."
"Isn't it?" I asked, and gave him flat look for flat look.
I watched something slide through his eyes, and then he smiled. "Well, I'll be damned."
"Probably," I said, "but what did you just think of?"
He gave me a quizzical look, shook his head as if to chase the puzzlement away, and said, "It is exactly that. I thought I was a little more evolved, but you're right. I'm this big, macho guy, with all this training that you don't have, and Edward would rather have you at his back than me. Edward is better at judging men and what they're capable of than anyone I've ever met except this one sergeant." He shook his head again. "Never mind, but my point is that if Edward believes you're better than me, or Olaf, at this job, then he must be right. It does hurt my ego that you sit there all itty-bitty and cute as hell, and you must be more dangerous than I will ever be. Yeah, that f**king bothers me."
I smiled, I couldn't help it. It was so terribly honest. Most men wouldn't have said it out loud, even if they'd thought it. It made me wonder how much therapy Bernardo had had, but I didn't say that part out loud. What I said was, "I'm flattered that Edward thinks I'm that good, because I know just how good you and Olaf are, well, when he's not distracted by the whole serial killer thing. But you're good, when you're not distracted by a woman."
"I just dragged you out of someone's bed so you could hunt bad guys, Anita; don't throw stones at my hobbies."
"I had to feed the ardeur, you know that."
"Yeah, but after a while it doesn't matter why you do something, Anita, only that you do it, and you are as into sex as I am now."
I started to try to argue, but we were at the window to pay. I handed him money, and he tried to hand it to the teenage girl at the window. She didn't take the money because she was staring at Bernardo.
He flashed her that dazzling smile and folded the money into her much smaller hand. He folded her fingers around the money, managing to half-hold her hand as he did it. It made her blush, and she stammered as she took the money and tried to count change back. I was betting that the change would be wrong; she was too flustered to count.
She handed him back some bills and coins. He handed them to me. I started unfolding it all and counting change against the receipt in my hand.
"Is this your girlfriend?" she asked.
"No, we just work together," he said, smiling.
The blush had begun to fade, and now it climbed up her neck and face again. "I get off at five o'clock."
"Sorry, babe, but you're way too young for me, and I've gotta work anyway."
"I'm eighteen," she said.
I doubted that. Apparently, Bernardo did, too.
"You got ID that proves that?" he said.
She dropped her eyes, and finally shook her head. The car behind us honked. A man with a badge that said Manager came into her little cubicle. She mumbled, "Please drive to the next window, sir." He was talking to her about her conduct as we drove forward to the suddenly empty line in front of us. The other cars had gotten their food and left while he was flirting.