When Venus Fell Read Free

be a day when you people stop dropping into our lives for these little chats? It must be a slow day in the goon-squad headquarters. I’d think my sister and I would rank below your
fun
cases—like harassing old dopers and trying to catch congressmen taking bribes.”
    “I was in the Boy Scouts once,” he said sarcastically. “Does that count as a fascist arm of the government, too?”
    “It’s a paramilitary organization designed to indoctrinate children, so yes, it counts.”
    Ella moved weakly in my grasp. “Who?” she moaned. I smoothed a hand over her forehead. “Sssh.”
    He nodded toward Ella, frowning. “She needs help. I can carry her out to your car. It’s running today, isn’t it?” He arched a dark brow. “You know, I never thought a car that old could start without a crank on the front.”
    He even knew about the ancient, undependable hatchback. My mouth went dry. “I don’t need your help. Or your bullshit. Just go back and report that as usual, we’re minding our own business and trying to get along. We pay our bills, we pay our taxes. Believe it or not we are
still
not consorting with the type of people you government SOBs assume we might consort with. So leave us alone.”
    “I wish to hell I
could
leave you alone, but it took me months to find you. I give you credit—you’re an expert at keeping out of sight. You were a challenge, even for me. And I have sources most people don’t have.”
    The implication made me stare at him in genuine fear. The manager ran back with a washcloth and a cup of water. I helped Ella sit up and wiped her face, then forced myself to speak calmly. “It’s okay, El. Relax. I’ll get your pills.”
    She sipped from the cup, then coughed and gagged. I guided her head off my shoulder, then gave him a frigid stare. “I know you guys get your jollies bullying innocent citizens, but would you mind coming back when my sister feels better?”
    “I want to get this over with. I have to leave town tonight.”
    “Too bad. You can talk to me when hell freezes over.” Ella groaned, leaned her head back on my shoulder, then shut her eyes. I dabbed her forehead. He waited patiently through all this, and I noticed he had the good grace to avoid lookingat her. I could have done without his narrow-eyed scrutiny on me, however. “You know,” he said evenly, “it’s not that much fun tormenting somebody who’s already got so much trouble on her hands. Even if you do fight back pretty well.”
    “What a compliment.”
    “Look, let’s stop this. I’m not what you think I am. I’m not a friend, but I’m not an enemy, either.”
    “Oh, really. How mysterious. Look—either tell me what you want or get out of here.”
    Frowning, he pulled a dog-eared black-and-white photo from his shirt pocket and held it out. For the first time I noticed his right hand. I froze. Whoever he was, something awful had happened to him.
    His ring finger and little finger were gone, as well as a deep section at their base. His middle finger was scarred and knotty. Lines of pink scar tissue and deep, puckered gouges snaked up his right forearm. Grotesque and awkward, the hand looked like a deformed claw.
    Suddenly I was aware of my own fingers, flexing them, grateful they were all in place. He wasn’t an invincible threat. He was very human, and more than a little damaged.
    “Enjoying the view?” he asked tersely. I jerked my gaze to his face. Ruddy blotches of anger and embarrassment colored his cheeks. He quickly transferred the photo to his undamaged left hand and dropped the right hand into the shadows between his knees. “Have you ever seen a copy of this picture before?”
    I took a deep breath and looked at the photo. A solemn, handsome young boy gazed back at me from my parents’ wedding picture. There was only one copy of the picture, I thought, and I still had it. “Where did you get that?”
    “It’s been in my family.”
    “Who? What family?”
    “The Camerons.”
    I