"That makes sense… I guess. Now, my second question." She smiled sweetly. "What's your name?"
Jennifer herself barely understood why she asked him' that, knowing only that she wanted them to interact on a personal level, not as anonymous masked figures.
He drew back in his chair, frowned at her. "I could make you. tell me where the diary is."
Jennifer pulled the sweatshirt more tightly around her. Her throat was suddenly dry with the realization that she was treading in dangerous, potentially fatal waters.
"I know you could," she said in a small voice. "But you wouldn't.
"
"What in the world makes you say that?"
She shrugged slim shoulders. "I just know you wouldn't." He stared at her a moment longer, but she wouldn't drop her gaze. He growled something inarticulate, like an irate bear, and then said in an angry voice, "Brennan."
Jennifer nodded, obscurely relieved that she had been correct. Not that she had really been in danger. Her powers had certainly rejuvenated by now, and if he had attacked her all she would have had to do was ghost.
"Good," she said. "The books are with Dr. Tachyon."
"Tachyon?" Brennan asked in obvious astonishment. "Actually," she smiled, "in his wax figure in the Bowery Dime Museum."
"Not a bad hiding place," Brennan said after a moment of reflection. "Kien's men are still looking for you-once Wyrm tastes a scent he can follow it anywhere, as long as traces of it remain on his tongue-so I'll take you to a safe place and then go after the books. I'll keep the diary, you can have the others."
"I'll go with you-"
"No." The word was as hard and sharp as the edge of a guillotine blade. Jennifer knew there'd be no arguing with him about this.
"Well, if you're going to take me someplace, make it a place with food. I feel like I haven't eaten in a week." Brennan thought for a moment, then nodded. He reached into a back pocket of his jeans and took out a playing card, an ace of spades, borrowed a pen from Father Squid's desk, and scrawled a note on the face of the card. He put the pen back and passed the card to Jennifer.
"Hiram Worchester is throwing an aces-only party in his restaurant, Aces High. You should be safe there and there'll also be plenty to eat. You've heard of Fortunato?" Jennifer nodded. "Give this to him."
Jennifer glanced at the note he'd written on the card. It was short and to the point: Watch over her. Y. She looked up at Brennan, respect in her eyes. She'd heard a little about the shadowy ace, Fortunato. Not much, as he wasn't one to seek publicity, but the fact that Brennan was on personal terms with him was an interesting development. She wondered if he were an ace himself, and what ability the virus had given him.
"Or Tachyon, if Fortunato s not there. Whatever you do, though, stay away from Captain Trips-the tall, skinny hippie-and the dancer known as Fantasy. I'm not sure about them. Not sure at all."
She pondered his advice for a moment, then nodded. If she was to trust him, she'd trust him all the way.
"I don't want to be a bother, but could we stop for some clothes? I'd hate to go to Aces High dressed like this."
"The father told me about the state of your, um, dress." He reached down into the case on the floor by his feet and took out a bundle of clothes. "I hope they fit." He looked at her critically. "You're taller than I first thought."
He studiously looked all about the office while Jennifer stood, pulled the sweatshirt off, and got into a pair of jeans and a dark pullover sweater. She put on the socks Brennan had brought her and looked up from lacing the running shoes to see him gazing at her intently. There was also a mask among the clothing. She stuffed it into the back pocket of her jeans and stood up. The shirt and shoes fit fine, though the jeans were a little short and hugged her slim figure tightly. She folded the sweatshirt neatly and left it on the priest's desk with a short explicatory note.
"Right." Brennan stood and hefted his case. "First stop, Empire State Building." He smiled in satisfaction. "If you're not going to be safe in a room full of aces you wouldn't be safe anywhere."
Upstairs in his mother's brownstone, in the comfortable luxury of the upper West Side, Fortunato closed his eyes. Miranda straightened his black tie with skillful fingers. She was in her late forties now, heavier than she should have been if she was still a geisha, wearing tailored Chanel instead of low-cut ready-to-wear. She'd become his mother's business manager ten years ago and hadn't turned a trick since.
"You look bad," she said. "Is Veronica not working out?"
"No," Fortunato said. " I don't think she's going to make it."
"I never understood her. All she wants is to be married and have kids and put them in day-care, to have a husband she never sees, to have servants and cars and money. I keep asking myself what I did wrong."
"It's not you. It's the whole country. Greed is very chic these days."
She touched his lips and the skin tingled. "You're very tired."
"Exhausted."
" I used to know the cure for that." She was standing very close. He could smell her perfume and the sweetness of her skin. She read the willingness in his face and said, "Lie down."
He stretched out across the bed. She took off her jacket and skirt. Fortunato reached for his tie and she said, "Don't move. "
She took the rest of her clothes off. She was still graceful enough to get out of her panty hose without breaking the mood. Her bra had left lines around her chest and over her shoulders and there was dark stubble under her arms.
She got onto the bed and straddled Fortunato and began to touch herself. She started with her forehead and let her fingers trickle down her cheeks and back up to where her ears met her jawline. Goose bumps came up on her neck. She swayed forward until her full, sagging breasts were inches from his face. He leaned up to kiss them and she pulled away. "No," she said. "I told you to hold still."
She brushed her broad, dark nipples with her fingertips until they tightened and thrust out at him. Then she brushed lightly over her belly and buried her left hand in her pubic hair. With her right she touched Fortunato's lips again. He licked her fingers and arched his back.
She moved up the bed on her knees and lowered herself onto his mouth. "Gently," she said. "It's been a long time." As he licked and probed with his tongue she gradually began to melt and open to him. She took hold of the brass railing of the bed and slowly moved against him, her breath coming faster, her heavy thighs pressing against the sides of his head.
Then her body stiffened and she let out a tiny, hoarse scream and he drank the power from her, hungrily, gratefully. He felt it tingling through his body and hardly noticed as she bent to kiss him lightly on the mouth. "You taste like me," she said. "Take care, Fortunato."
She picked up her clothes and was gone.
Fortunato came downstairs to find a circle of beautiful women around the couch in the sitting room. In the middle sat a tall, striking girl in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt.
"Ichiko," Fortunato said, using his mother's geisha name. "What's the deal?"
"Ellroy found her in Jokertown," Ichiko said. Like Miranda, she'd put on weight in the last ten years. She was tall anyway, and now she looked positively Anglo-Saxon. She wore a black cotton sweater and skirt with a red-and-black silk blouse. The top three buttons were undone. She-moved across the room to Fortunato without sound or visible effort. "She was coming out of the Church of Jesus Christ Joker and looked like she was about to get in trouble with one of Gambione's scouts. Ellroy offered her a ride." She shrugged. "Here she is."
"She's beautiful."
"Yes," Ichiko said. "She is."
"Okay," Fortunato said to the others. "Break it up. Don't you ladies have places you're supposed to be?" They moved off, one at a time, Caroline stopping to slip one arm around his waist as she passed. Then he was alone with her. "I'm Fortunato," he said.
"Cordelia." She didn't stand up, but held her hand out to him. Fortunato took it for a second and then sat down next to her. "I appreciate the rescue," she said. Her voice was deep, a little breathless, very Southern. Sexy.