“I’m fine. I’ll be out in a second.” She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her face after washing her hands. She looked like hell. There wasn’t enough concealer on the planet to hide the dark circles under her eyes, and her skin was so pale it was practically transparent. Just the sort of image people want to see as they’re being served a meal. Good lord. She looked like a patient from some viral apocalypse flick.
When she emerged from the bathroom, Lance was waiting by the door, his arms folded across his chest. “I thought you said you were over the mono.”
“Me too.” Of course her current malady had mono trumped by about a hundred million. “I’m probably just not back to one hundred percent is all.”
“Go home. You can’t be here if you’re still sick, Claire, and you’ve been dragging around for the past week like you’re on your last leg. I’m trying to bring customers in, not send them screaming for the door.”
She let out a tired groan and leaned against the wall for support. “I know. You’re right. But I promise I’m not contagious.” Unless vampire sperm could magically impregnate not just her but anyone who got too close to her. “I can’t afford to miss any more shifts and I’d never come to work if I was sick; you know that. It’s just exhaustion, that’s all.” Rent was due next week and she was already going to be short thanks to her little vacation with Mikhail. “I need to be here.”
“You so much as sneeze and you’re out the door,” Lance warned.
“No sneezes, no coughing, not even a sniffle. I swear.” She couldn’t guarantee that she wouldn’t have to sprint to the bathroom again, though. Especially if someone came in and ordered the corned-beef hash. Blech.
“All right.” Lance gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “But I’m switching your morning shift tomorrow with Kerri’s afternoon one so you can sleep in. You look like you could use a little rest.”
God bless him. “Thanks.” Claire was certain she’d collapse into bed as soon as she got home and sleep until tomorrow afternoon. She’d never known such bone-deep exhaustion.
Lance winked as he headed back toward the kitchen. “Get back to work.”
“Yes, sir.” Claire winked back and took off to check on her tables.
The remainder of her shift passed quickly thanks to a steady stream of customers and the twenty packets of saltines that no longer made her feel like she was going to upchuck her stomach lining. She kept one eye on the door at all times, her nerves getting the better of her every time a man walked in wearing a dark-colored shirt. She’d fled the safety of Mikhail’s fortress of a house, but she wasn’t stupid. Claire knew that it wouldn’t take long for the Sortiari to realize that she was no longer under the vampire’s protection. And when they did they’d come for her. And they wouldn’t play nice.
When she’d grilled Mikhail for information on the secret society that had it out for him and apparently everyone he’d ever met, she’d been less concerned with the foot soldiers and more interested with who was pulling the strings. The puppets had been inconsequential. As a hustler, Claire never bothered with lackeys. If she couldn’t do business with the number one guy—be it to fence something she’d lifted or to play the shill—she didn’t waste her time. She’d needed to understand what these Sortiari were before she could get a bead on their guard dogs. In hindsight, she should have learned everything she could about the slayers. Including their weaknesses. Because if she had another late-night run-in with the freakishly strong black-eyed monsters she doubted she’d come out of it on top.#p#分页标题#e#
As Claire busied herself with filling salt and pepper shakers and replenishing ketchup bottles for the next day, her thoughts drifted inevitably to Mikhail. Was he upset? Distraught that she’d left? Angry? Did he miss her with the same bone-deep ache that she felt? Most important, would he find her or had Claire managed to successfully block their connection and mask her whereabouts from him? He’d glutted himself on her blood the last night they’d been together. She could still hear the steady beat of his heart in her ears, feel the gentle pulse against her cheek. He could try to track her now, hunt her down like he had before. And a part of her yearned for it. Hoped against all hope that he’d come and find her once again.
Surely he’d show up eventually. Then again, she’d run out on him when she knew he couldn’t go after her. That sort of morning-after dash tended to send a pretty straightforward message. He could have decided to wash his hands of her. Not to mention that she was doing everything in her power to disrupt the tether that connected his soul to hers. So yeah. Could she really be surprised that he hadn’t shown up ready to whisk her off her feet?