Blood Rites (The Dresden Files #6) - Jim Butcher Page 0,75
I said. "Roar of the engine and so on."
Murphy's blue eyes glittered with annoyance and anticipation. "Pig. You really enjoy dropping all women together in the same demographic, don't you?"
"It's not my fault all women like motorcycles, Murph. They're basically huge vibrators. With wheels."
She tried for an angry expression, but part of a laugh escaped her throat, and she let it turn into a wide smile. "You're bent, Dresden." She frowned then, and looked at me a little closer. "What's wrong?"
"Took a bit of a beating yesterday," I said.
"I've seen you beaten before. It doesn't look like this."
Murph had known me for too long. "It's personal stuff," I said. "I can't talk about it yet."
She nodded and was silent.
The silent stretched until I said, "I found out I might have family."
"Oh." She frowned, but it was her concerned-friend frown instead of her impatient-cop frown. "I won't push. But if you ever want to talk about it…"
"When I want to," I told her. "Just not this morning. Have you got time to grab some breakfast with me?"
She checked her watch, and her eyes flicked toward a security camera and then to me, a warning. "Is this about that case we were discussing?"
Aha. The walls had ears, which meant that it was time for euphemisms. "Yeah. We'd be meeting with one other problem solver to discuss the situation."
She nodded. "You got the data?"
"Sorta," I said.
"Well. You know how much I'm looking forward to the family picnic today, but I might have a few minutes. Where did you want to eat?"
"IHOP."
Murphy sighed. "My hips hate you, Dresden."
"Just wait until they get to sit in my ritzy car."
We got in the car and I dropped the pup into the box I'd put in the backseat and lined with some laundry I'd had in the Beetle's trunk. He started wrestling with a sock. I think the sock was winning. Murphy watched him with a smile while I drove.
It was a Saturday morning, and I expected the International House of Pancakes to be packed. It wasn't. In fact, an entire corner had been sectioned off with an accordion-folded screen as reserved seating, and there still weren't enough customers to fill the remaining tables. The usual radio station wasn't on. The people eating breakfast seemed to be doing so in almost total silence, and the only sound was the clink of silverware on plates.
Murphy glanced up at me and then around the room, frowning. She folded her arms over her stomach, which left her right hand near the gun she kept in a shoulder rig. "What's wrong with this picture?" she asked.
Motion in the reserved area drew my eye, and Kincaid appeared and beckoned us. The lean mercenary was dressed in greys and dull blues, very nondescript, and had his hair pulled into a ponytail under a black baseball cap.
I nodded and went over to Kincaid, Murphy at my side. We stepped into the screened-off area. "Morning," I said.
"Dresden," Kincaid replied. His cool eyes slid over Murphy. "I hope you don't mind me asking the manager for a quiet section to sit in."
"It's fine. Kincaid, this is Murphy. Murph, Kincaid."
Kincaid didn't so much as glance at her. He drew the accordion curtains closed. "You said this was business. Why did you bring a date?"
Murphy clenched her jaw.
"She's not a date," I said. "She's going with us."
Kincaid stared at me for a second, all ice and stone. Then he barked out a throaty laugh. "I always heard you were a funny guy, Dresden. Seriously, what is she doing here?"
Murphy's eyes went flat with anger. "I don't think I like your attitude."
"Not now, kitten," Kincaid said. "I'm talking business with your boyfriend."
"He is not my boyfriend," Murphy growled.
Kincaid looked from Murphy to me and back again. "You're kidding me, Dresden. This isn't amateur hour. If we're playing with the Black Court, I don't have time to babysit little Pollyanna here, and neither do you."
I started to speak, and thought better of it. Murphy would have my head if I tried to protect her when she didn't think she needed it. I took a small but prudent step back from them.
Murphy eyed Kincaid and said, "Now I'm sure of it. I don't like your attitude."
Kincaid's lips lifted away from his teeth, and he moved his left arm, showing Murphy the gun rig under his jacket. "I'd love to chat with you over breakfast, cupcake. Why don't you run and find a high chair so that we can."