Read Last Impressions (The Marnie Baranuik Files) for Free Online Page B

at Batten. “Shruff and cinders, it’s enough to curl one’s liver.”
    Batten looked at me for a translation. I mouthed curl one’s liver? with a baffled shrug.
    “The PCU is on forced vacation, Harry. As you can see,” I shook a leather-gloved thumb at Kill-Notch’s wild shirt and hairy mouth. “Batten’s more vacated than I am.”
    Harry’s thrice-pierced eyebrow inquired for him while he whisked the cinnamon duster from the cupboard and pulled fresh espresso into my demitasse cup. While Batten tucked his kit under his chair, I gave Harry a brief and fairly defensive explanation of Assistant Director Johnston’s concerns and the investigation of Internal Affairs, which degenerated quickly into F-bombs and enthusiastic arm-waving, with a moistly vigorous raspberry as an exclamation point. Batten and Harry exchanged a quiet moment of barely tolerant eye contact, during which they came to some agreement.
    “She has no idea how broken she is, does she?” Batten asked Harry.
    “Yes, I do,” I shot back.
    “One might suggest that it is her absolute lack of self-awareness which provides the comic fodder,” Harry said, placing the newly-filled mug in my hand.
    “I’m agreeing with a vampire,” Batten said, casually dropping the V-word again and helping himself to yet another beer. “There’s a first time for everything.” He tipped the beer toward Harry, who put one hand up to refuse the offer.
    “Thank you, no.” His eyes shifted subtly from cashmere grey to chrome and he eyeballed my throat. “I prefer a warmer libation.”
    Batten took his seat with a thud and a wince.
    “Don’t taunt the vampire hunter, Harry,” I said. “We were all getting along so nicely.”
    “Do forgive my behavior, Mr. Batten. How ungentlemanly of me,” he said without a trace of sincerity. “Now, dearest chickadee, I trust you had the opportunity to conclude your romantic pursuits to a satisfactory end?”
    I froze, wide-eyed, with my espresso at my mouth, and when I tried to answer it came out as, “ Erp .”
    Batten cut his stormy blue eyes at me. Was it my imagination, or were they twinkling? “A date?” One corner of his lips twitched. “With a man?”
    I mumbled something to Harry about it being cut short, but he shushed me and leaned bodily toward Batten to report his gossip in an eager, conspiratorial rush.
    “Not a man. A lawyer .”
    Batten choked on his beer and had to put the bottle down to wipe foam off his retina-injuring Hawaiian shirt.
    Harry agreed with Batten’s unspoken assessment with a curt nod. “A solicitor,” he repeated. “Bezonter me! Who could have imagined a bootless jackleg sporting ivory at my darling minion over oysters?”
    “Bootless jackleg?” Batten said, looking at me for translation.
    I shrugged and added, “Sporting ivory?” to our mutual need-to-know list. I thought that might be a dick joke, but Binswanger hadn't been sporting anything elephantine as far as I'd been able to spot, except for his ego.
    “A lawyer,” Harry huffed again, in no mood to fill us in. “Which of course renders him unsuitable to kiss a whore, never mind my precious DaySitter.”
    “Harry!”
    “I cry you mercy, my love,” Harry said, working himself into a true drama king froth that really belonged on stage. “Oh, tell me that you did not allow him to press his poisonous lips to my pet’s sweet honey bud.”
    “Whoa! That better mean ‘mouth’, buster.”
    “My Own,” he said, clutching at his chest, where there was no beating heart to ache. “I could not bear the thought.”
    I crossed my arms over my chest, letting my scowl answer for me. Through the Bond, I felt only Harry’s glee; confident in his role as my forever companion, he wasn’t the tiniest bit jealous, and was, in fact, delighted with the opportunity to tease me while baiting Batten. My Cold Company knew the lawyer wouldn’t last. He was allowing what he no doubt considered a harmless, dead-end dalliance until it was