I guessed.
I watched the end of his smoke flare, and doubted that Tami would approve, but she was out of eyesight. And anyway, he looked like he needed it. Not that the bad boy vibe was in any way lacking. The dark hair that wanted so badly to curl, but that he ruthlessly kept tamed, was the same as ever, as was the strong, tanned throat; the liquid dark eyes; and the set of tats he sported—which didn’t come off—on one T-shirt-clad shoulder, because I’d never seen him in a suit. But there was something sad about his expression.
Sad or hungry? I wondered, and sighed.
“Then let me be even clearer,” I said, “because I don’t know if he explained why.”
“I know why.” It was harsh.
I frowned. Because that reaction seemed a little . . . odd. “You do?”
“I know who I am, and I know wh
o she is, all right?” he said, in an undertone.
I frowned some more, because I was getting confused. “Who you are?”
“I know my place!” he told me, and stubbed out the barely smoked cigarette on the bottom of his boot. “Now, if that’s all?”
“Yeah, not quite,” I said, grabbing his bicep when he started to leave.
Rico gave me a less-than-fond look, which was not normal, but he followed me out into the foyer when I tugged on him. “Take a break,” I told Simon, the vamp on duty.
The tall Nigerian with the normally quick smile nodded solemnly and went inside. It looked like he thought Rico was about to get a chewing out. Rico obviously did, too, because his jaw was clenched and he looked like he wished he had that cigarette back.
It was weird, because I didn’t know why he’d be worried about anything I might say, unless he was afraid of being sent back home. As if. He was one of my most competent guys; nothing rattled him, at least not in combat.
Relationships, however, seemed to be another story.
“Look,” I told him. “I normally wouldn’t get involved, but—” I broke off, because Rico had suddenly jumped up, higher than my head, and grabbed something.
It was a little package, one of the ones Hilde had enchanted. It had been overlooked because it had been rotating behind one of the ribbed columns and was tricked out in white and gold like the ceiling. But he’d seen it. Rico’s eyes didn’t miss much.
Like my frown when he handed it over.
“I’m not stalling,” he told me. “Say what you have to say.”
“I will.” But I didn’t really want to do this, so I took a moment to open the package. A perfume bottle fell out into my hand. Lucky thing he’d caught it. The wrapping paper was wafting around on currents from the air-conditioning, but the magic was mostly spent. It would have been on the ground soon.
“What is that?” he asked, as if he cared.
“Perfume—or cologne. It works on both sexes, because it smells differently on every wearer. It’s supposed to tell you something about your true self.”
I eyed him up, which got me a raised eyebrow. “Are you going to try it?” he asked.
“I’ve already tried it.”
“Well, don’t douse me with it,” he said, leaning against the wall and lighting up again. “Unless you like the smell of fish.”
“Fish?”
“If it works.” He breathed deep and then let it out. The smoke was nothing special. Marco liked expensive Cuban cigars, and Mircea smoked little imported cigarettes with brown wrappers and an exotic, sweet scent. But Rico just used the usual stuff.
His cigarettes were like him: simple, straightforward, no-nonsense. It reminded me of what he’d told me when I first met him and had asked what he did: “I see trouble and I shoot it.” That was Rico in a nutshell.
Or maybe not.
I didn’t really know that much about him.