The woman had her back to me, but those curves looked familiar.
“Patrick?” I asked. His too-blue eyes flashed to me, and then away. He looked uncomfortably guilty. “What’s up?”
Lewis was up off the couch, now, too, clearly wary. He didn’t like drop-in visitors any more than I did, especially not right now, when things were so… weird.
“I’m sorry,” Patrick said. “You see, I had a preexisting commitment.”
“Sorry…?”
“A business partner,” he said, and indicated the woman, who was still studying the Mondrian with her back to me. “We have something of a barter arrangement. I owe her something.”
She turned, finally, and it took me a few seconds before the memory ball dropped. Yvette Prentiss, from my funeral. She was out of uniform—no lace dress—but the skintight jeans with lace insets on the sides and the tight lace shirt, no bra in evidence, made a definite fashion statement. The statement said, Hi, I’m a total slut, climb aboard and ride me like a rented pony. Bear in mind, this is coming from a girl with a finely honed appreciation for trashy outfits. I once spent two hundred bucks on a pair of thigh-high patent leather boots, just to say I owned them. But there are limits.
Her eyes widened, and kept on widening. On her, that looked sexy. Her pouty, collagen-enhanced lips parted. “Oh,” she whispered, low in her throat. “I know you.”
“Yvette?” Lewis had stepped into the conversational gap. He took a couple of steps closer, and extended his hand. “We met at the—”
“Memorial service,” she supplied, looking past him at me. “For her.”
Lewis turned and looked, too, as if he’d forgotten all about that. “Well… yes. She’s—”
“—Djinn.” How sweet, they were finishing each other’s sentences. Lewis still had hold of her hand. I didn’t care for that at all, but I could see from the warm, oh-so-sexy smile she favored him with that she liked it just fine. “Thank you, Patrick. But you know she’s not exactly what I was looking for.”
Patrick cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Yes. Well, another small problem… she’s already been claimed.”
Yvette’s smile died a fast, ugly death. Her prettiness had a hard edge to it, I found, like a razor blade under velvet. “This isn’t what we agreed.”
“I know.” He helplessly indicated Lewis. “There were… considerations.”
Her green eyes locked onto Lewis’s face and held there. The smile came back, but I didn’t trust it. I couldn’t tell from Lewis’s bemused expression if he was even paying attention to anything but the generously revealed swell of her chest.
“Of course,” she said. “Well, I’m flattered to meet you again… sorry, I didn’t catch your name…?”
“Call me Lewis,” he said. She was pretty much the last person I’d pick to know who he was, but I could tell he didn’t feel the same way. “You were looking for a Djinn?”
“Well, yes.” She looked sad-clown distressed, but not enough that it made her look less than stunningly attractive. “I’m afraid mine—well, a friend of mine needed his services. I’m currently without support. I was hoping to persuade your friend to work for me. Temporarily. It’s important.”
Lot of that going around. I folded my arms and tried to look threatening. Neither of them paid the least bit of attention. Patrick wouldn’t meet my gaze, either. The kid was roaming the room, checking out the stuff. He looked back over at Yvette, who nodded slightly, and went back to messing with movables, picking them up and putting them down. Checking for price tags? Jeez.
“I’m afraid she’s booked up,” he said. “But maybe there’s something I can do for you.”
Her eyes raked him up and down. Blatantly. “I’m sure that’s perfectly true.” She giggled.
He laughed. I hadn’t heard Lewis laugh in—well, I don’t think I’d ever heard him laugh. Not a yuk-it-up kind of guy, generally. His humor was quiet, his sexuality—well, until now, I would have thought it was kind of subdued.
“Nothing I can do to change your mind?” she asked, and looked up at him from under thick lashes. Moved closer. “You look like you’d drive a hard… bargain.”
I rolled my eyes, thought about picking up the phone. Hello, Central Casting? Are you missing your Seducto-Bitch stereotype? Surely he could see it was an act.
“I’ve been known to… bargain,” he said, and smiled at her. Was that a leer? Was he actually flirting with Miss Artificial Intelligence of 2003? “Maybe later we could—”