Read Tribute for Free Online Page B

greeting.
    Spock sniffed around the Dumpster and seemed happy to lift his leg.
    “Hey. You’ve had a lot going on here the last couple of days.”
    “No point wasting time.”
    His grin spread slow and easy. “Wasting time can be the point.” He glanced at the Dumpster. “Are you gutting the place?”
    “Not entirely, but more than I’d hoped. Neglect takes longer to damage than deliberation, but it does the job just as well. Hello, Spock.” At the greeting the dog walked over, offered a paw. Okay, Cilla thought as they shook. Ugly but charming. “What can I do for you, Ford?”
    “I’m working up to that. But first, I brought you this.” He dug into the satchel, came out with the bottle of red.
    “That’s nice. Thanks.”
    “And this.” He drew out the graphic novel. “A little reading material with your wine at the end of the day. It’s what I do.”
    “Drink wine and read comic books?”
    “Yeah, actually, but I meant I write them.”
    “So my father told me, and I was being sarcastic.”
    “I got that. I speak sarcasm, as well as many other languages. Do you ever read them?”
    Funny guy, she thought, with his funny dog. “I crammed in a lot of Batman when they were casting Batgirl for the Clooney version. I lost out to Alicia Silverstone.”
    “Probably just as well, the way that one turned out.”
    Cilla cocked an eyebrow. “Let me repeat. George Clooney.”
    Ford could only shake his head. “Michael Keaton was Batman. It’s all about the I’m-a-little-bit-crazy eyes. Plus they lost the operatic sense after the Keaton movies. And don’t get me started on Val Kilmer.”
    “Okay. Anyway, I prepped for the audition by studying the previous movies—and yes, Keaton was fabulous—reading some of the comics, boning up on the mythology. I probably overprepped.”
    She shrugged off what had been a major blow to her at sixteen. “You do your own art?”
    “Yeah.” He studied her as she studied the cover. Look at that mouth, he thought, and the angle of her chin. His fingers itched for his pad and pencil. “I’m territorial and egotistical. Nobody can do it the way I do it, so nobody gets the chance.”
    She flipped through as he spoke. “It’s a lot. I always think of comics as about twenty pages of bright colors and characters going BAM! ZAP! Your art’s strong and vivid, with a lot of dark edges.”
    “The Seeker has a lot of dark edges. I’m finishing up a new one. It should be done in a few days. It would’ve been done today, probably, if you hadn’t distracted me.”
    The wine tucked in the curve of her arm took on another level of weight. “How did I do that?”
    “The way you look, the way you move. I’m not hitting on you on a personal level.” He slid his gaze down. “Yet,” he qualified. “It’s a professional tap. I’ve been trying to come up with a new character, the central for another series, apart from the Seeker. A woman—female power, vulnerabilities, viewpoints, problems. And the duality . . . Not important for today’s purposes,” he said. “You’re my woman.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Dr. Cass Murphy, archaeologist, professor of same. Cool, quiet, solitary woman whose heart really lies in the field work. The discovery. Prodigy. Nobody gets too close to Cass. She’s all business. That’s the way she was raised. She’s emotionally repressed.”
    “I’m emotionally repressed?”
    “I don’t know yet, but she is. See.” He pulled out his sketchbook, flipped to a page. Angling her head, Cilla studied the drawing, studied herself if she wore conservative suits, sensible pumps and glasses.
    “She looks boring.”
    “She wants to look boring. She doesn’t want to be noticed. If people notice her, they might get in the way, and they might make her feel things she doesn’t want to feel. Even on a dig, she . . . See?”
    “Hmm. Not boring but efficient and practical. Maybe subtly sexy, given the mannish cut of the shirt and pants. She’s more