"Your bounty hunter seemed like the kind of man who gets things done," I said.
"Why didn't you have him kill me instead of relying on backup?" Growing up with werewolves has taught me several ways of controlling the situation without being too aggressive.
Asking a question a little off topic is one way of doing it--and if the question is hidden as another question, my chances of getting information are even better.
"Kelly?" she said, her voice incredulous.
But she knew who I was talking about.
She must be the fae who'd created the incident that had almost gotten Maia hurt.
"Kelly would never hurt a woman.
But the police wouldn't have believed it." There was a tone to the woman's voice that told me she knew Kelly Heart personally--and felt a veiled contempt for something in him that she thought was a weakness.
"I take it I am speaking to the one who calls herself Daphne Rondo?" I'd remembered the missing producer's name because she shared the first with Scooby Doo's token cute girl and it had caught my attention.
I phrased the question carefully because the fae cannot lie--and it probably wasn't her real name.
Mostly the fae don't give their true names to anyone.
"Sometimes," she said, but she didn't like it that I'd figured her out.
She could have refused to answer, of course, but that would have been as good as an answer anyway.
A fae who wasn't Kelly Heart's missing producer would take great pleasure in informing me I was mistaken.
"Mr.
Heart is worried about you," I told her.
And then could have bitten my tongue.
This woman did not deserve to know about his concern--she'd sent him here to die.
If Adam had believed that Kelly had killed me, he would have personally seen to Heart's death.
Anyone who knew I was dating the local Alpha would understand that much--it was why she had contrived to set the bounty hunter up.
"He'd feel differently if he knew what you planned for him." "If he knew what I was after, he would support me with his whole heart," she said with sudden passion that told me she had her doubts, and they bothered her.
"He is my soldier, and he follows my orders." I'd heard that kind of talk before and felt my lips curl in anger--on behalf of a stranger who'd mainly just ticked me off .
.
.
but mostly for a friend of mine, Stefan, another soldier who'd been used too hard and had finally broken.
"You are overburdened with self-importance," I told her.
"But that is a common condition with the fae." I was tired, and it was hard to keep to the fine line that kept her from taking the upper hand without enraging her.
Who did she have? Stefan? I hadn't seen the vampire for weeks.
Zee? I hadn't called him as I'd planned to before my house burned down.
"You are overburdened with stupidity," she replied with icy contempt.