I brushed out my hair again, then French-braided it.
A touch of lipstick and eyeliner, and I was good to go.
I wished it was Adam I was about to eat with instead of Amber, her jerk of a husband, and some important client.
It was enough to make me wish I had a plate in the microwave, too.
6
NEITHER OF THE TWO MEN WHO ENTERED THE HOUSE was handsome.
The shorter man was slightly balding, with plump hands that had three thick gold rings on them.
His suit was off-the-rack, but the rack had been expensive.
His eyes were pale, pale blue, almost as pale as Samuel's wolf eyes.
The resemblance made me want to like him.
He stood by almost shyly as the other man hugged Amber.
"Hey, sweetie," Amber's husband said and, to my surprise, there was honest warmth in his voice.
"Thank you for fixing dinner for us on such short notice." Corban Wharton was striking rather than good-looking.
His nose was too long for his broad face.
His eyes were dark and wide-set--and smiling.
There was something solid and reassuring about him.
He was the kind of person that you'd want beside you in a courtroom.
When he looked at me, he frowned briefly, as if trying to place who I was.
"You must be Mercedes Thompson," he said, holding out his hand.
He had a good handshake, a politician's handshake--firm and dry.
"Call me Mercy," I said.
"Everyone does." He nodded.
"Mercy, this is my friend and client Jim Blackwood.
Jim--Mercy Thompson, my wife's friend who is visiting us this week." Jim was talking to Amber and took just an instant to turn his attention back to Corban and me.
Jim Blackwood.
James Blackwood.
How many James Black-woods were there in Spokane, I wondered in dumb panic.
Five or six? But I knew--even though the strong cologne he wore kept me from scenting vampire--I knew I wasn't going to be lucky.
He'd think I smelled like I had dogs, Bran had assured me.
And even if he didn't, even if he knew what I was--I was just visiting.