AT TEN TO SIX the following Monday, my phone rang. I glanced at the number that flashed up and frowned. Why was Denise calling me from her house? She was supposed to have gotten here fifteen minutes ago.
“What’s up?” I answered. “You’re running late.”
It sounded like she took a deep breath. “Cat, don’t be mad at me, but... I’m not coming.”
“Are you sick?” I asked worriedly.
There was the sound of another deep breath. “No, I’m not coming because I want you to go out with Noah. Alone. You said he seemed like a really nice guy.”
“But I don’t want to go on a date!” I protested. “I was only doing this so you could meet him, but then have a graceful way out if he wasn’t your type.”
“For God’s sake, Cat, I don’t need another date, but you do! I mean, my grandmother gets more action than you. Look, I know you don’t talk about the other guy, whoever he was, but we’ve been friends for over three years and you’ve got to start to live. Dazzle Noah with your drinking skills, burn his ears with your language, but try to have a little fun with a guy you’re not intending to kill by the end of the night. At least once. Maybe then you won’t be so sad all the time.”
She’d hit a nerve. Even though I’d never mentioned specifics about Bones, especially the one about him being a vampire, she knew I’d loved someone and then lost him. And she knew how alone I felt, more than I’d ever admit to.
I sighed. “I don’t think it’s a good idea—”
“I do,” she cut me off at once. “You’re not dead, so you need to stop acting like you are. It’s just dinner, not eloping to Vegas. No one says you even have to see Noah again. But just go out this once. Come on.”
I looked at my new kitty. He blinked, which I took as a yes as well.
“All right. Noah’s due here in five minutes. I’ll go, but I’ll probably say something completely inappropriate and be home in an hour.”
Denise laughed. “It doesn’t matter; at least you’d have given it a shot. Call me when you get in.”
I said goodbye and hung up. Apparently I was going on a date. Ready or not.
As I passed by a mirror, I did a double take at my reflection. My newly brown hair was cut shoulder-length and looked foreign, but that was the idea, in case Ian decided to confirm the rumors about my appearance. I didn’t need any vampires or ghouls getting a heads-up as to who I was because of my hair color. Blondes might have more fun, but I was hoping for a higher body count. The Red Reaper had been laid to rest. Long live the Brunette Reaper!
When Noah knocked on the door, I was as prepared as I was going to be. His smile froze when he saw me.
“You were a redhead before, right? I didn’t just imagine it in my anxiety?”
I raised a brow, no longer red but honey-colored. “I wanted a change. Been a redhead all my life, and I felt like something different.”
He backpedaled at once. “Well, it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. I mean, you were beautiful before and you still are now. Let’s go, before you change your mind.”
I already had, but that had nothing to do with Noah. Still, much as I hated to admit it, Denise was right. I could spend another night tormenting myself over someone I could never have, or I could go out and try to have a nice evening for a change.
“Bad news,” I told him. “My friend, um, got held up and she couldn’t make it. Sorry. If you want to cancel I’ll completely understand.”
“No,” Noah said at once, smiling. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”
It’s just one date, I reminded myself as I walked to his car. What harm could there be?
Noah and I went to Renardo’s, an Italian bistro. Out of courtesy I drank only red wine, not wanting to reveal my penchant for vast quantities of gin and tonic.
“What do you do for a living, Cristine?” he asked.
“Field research and recruitment for the Bureau.”
It was sorta true, if you called hunting down and killing creatures of the night research. Or defined going across the country rounding up the best men the military, law enforcement, FBI, or even the criminal justice system had to offer as recruitment. Hey, far be it for an operation that killed the undead to discriminate in who we hired, right? Some of our best team members had once worn an orange jersey. Juan was a penal code graduate who chose working for Don over twenty years behind bars. The mishmash might not make for the most traditionally behaved fighting unit, but it sure was a deadly one.
Noah’s eyes widened. “The Bureau? You’re an FBI agent?”
“Not technically. Our department is more of an extension of Homeland Security.”