Cerulean Sins Read Free Page B

my rather substantial fee in the hopes of saving millions. I was expensive, but not that expensive. Compared with what they stood to lose, I was a bargain.
    There were three groups of cars in the cemetery. Two of the groups were at least fifty feet apart because both Mrs. Bennington and Fidelis’s head lawyer, Arthur Conroy, had restraining orders against each other. The third group of two cars was parked in between the others. A marked police car and an unmarked police car. Don’t ask me to explain how I knew it was an unmarked police car, it just had that look.
    I parked a little in back of the first group of cars. I got out of my brand new Jeep Grand Cherokee, which was partially purchased by money I gotfrom my now deceased Jeep Country Squire. The insurance company hadn’t wanted to pay up on my claim. They didn’t believe that werehyenas had eaten the Country Squire. They sent out some people to take photos and measurements, to see the bloodstains. They finally paid up, but they also dropped my policy. I’m paying month by month to a new company that will grant me a full policy, if, and only if, I can manage not to destroy another car for two years. Fat chance of that. My sympathies were all for Gordon Bennington’s family. Of course, it’s hard to have sympathy for an insurance company that is trying to squirm out of paying a widow with three children.
    The cars closest to me turned out to be those of Fidelis Insurance. Arthur Conroy came towards me, hand outstretched. He was on the tall end of short, with thinning blond hair that he combed over his bald spot, as if that hid it, silver-framed glasses that circled large gray eyes. If his eyelashes and eyebrows had been darker, his eyes would have been his best feature. But his eyes were so large and unadorned that I thought he looked vaguely froglike. But then maybe my recent disagreement with my insurance company had made me uncharitable. Maybe.
    Conroy was accompanied by a near-solid wall of other dark-suited men. I shook Conroy’s hand and glanced behind him at the two six-foot-plus men.
    â€œBodyguards?” I made it a question.
    Conroy’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”
    I shook my head. “They look like bodyguards, Mr. Conroy.”
    I shook hands with the other two Fidelis people. I didn’t offer to shake hands with the bodyguards. Most of them won’t shake hands, even if you do offer. I don’t know if it ruins the tough-guy image or they just want to keep their gun hands free. Either way, I didn’t offer, and neither did they.
    The dark-haired bodyguard, with shoulders nearly as broad as I was tall, smiled, though. “So you’re Anita Blake.”
    â€œAnd you are?”
    â€œRex, Rex Canducci.”
    I raised eyebrows at him. “Is Rex really your first name?”
    He laughed, that surprised burst of laughter that is so masculine—and usually at a woman’s expense. “No.”
    I didn’t bother to ask what his real first name was, probably something embarrassing, like Florence, or Rosie. The second bodyguard was blond and silent. He watched me with small pale eyes. I didn’t like him.
    â€œAnd you are?” I asked.
    He blinked as if my asking had surprised him. Most people ignored bodyguards, some out of fear of not knowing what to do, because they’ve never met one; some because they have met one and figure they’re just furniture, to be ignored until needed.
    He hesitated, then said, “Balfour.”
    I waited a second, but he didn’t add anything. “Balfour, one name, like Madonna or Cher?” I asked, voice mild.
    His eyes narrowed, his shoulders a little tense. He’d been too easy to rattle. He had the stare down and the sense of menace, but he was just muscle. Scary looking, and knew it, but maybe not much else.
    Rex intervened, “I thought you’d be taller.” He made it a joke, with his happy-to-meet-you