Micah Read Online Free PDF Page A

me away enough so he could gaze into my face. “You are not a mess.”
    I gave him a look.
    He laughed and said, “Maybe a little messy, but not a mess.” His voice had gone all gentle. I loved his voice like that, loved that I was the only one his voicewent soft for. So why couldn’t I just enjoy him, us? Hell if I knew.
    â€œThe Feds are waiting for us,” I said.
    It was his turn to give me a look. Even with the dark glasses, I knew the look.
    â€œI’ll be okay,” I said. I gave him a smile that almost worked. “I promise to try to enjoy the parts of this trip that are enjoyable. I promise to try to not get in my own way, or weird myself out about us being . . . just us.” I shrugged when I said the last.
    He touched the side of my face. “When will you stop panicking about being in love?”
    I shrugged again. “Never, soon, I don’t know.”
    â€œI’m not going anywhere, Anita. I like it right here, beside you.”
    â€œWhy?” I asked.
    â€œWhy what?”
    â€œWhy do you love me?”
    He looked startled. “You mean that, don’t you?”
    I realized I did. I had one of those aha moments. I didn’t think I was very lovable, so why did he love me? Why did anyone love me?
    I touched his lips with my fingers. “Don’t answer now. We don’t have time for deep therapy. Business now. We’ll work on my neuroses later.”
    He started to say something but I shook my head.
    â€œLet’s go meet Special Agent Fox.” When I took my hand away from his lips, he just nodded. One of the reasons we worked as a couple was that Micah knew when to let it go, whatever the “it” of the moment happened to be.
    This was one of those times when I truly didn’t know why he put up with me. Why anyone put up with me. I didn’t want to ruin this. I didn’t want to pick at Micah and me until we unraveled. I wanted to leave it alone and enjoy it. I just didn’t know how to do that.
    We got our bags settled, and off we went. We had FBI to meet and a zombie to raise. Raising the dead was easy; love was hard.

CHAPTER
4

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    We met the Feds at the baggage return area, as arranged. How did we know who the FBI agents were in the crowd of people, most of the men dressed in suits?
    They looked like agents. I don’t know what it is about FBI training but Feds always just seem to look like what they are. All flavors of cops tend to look like cops, but only FBI looks like FBI and not plain cops. Don’t know what they do to them down in Quantico, but whatever it is, it sticks.
    Special Agent Chester Fox, agent in charge, was very Native American. The short hair, the suit, the perfect fitting-in couldn’t hide the fact that he was so very not like the rest of them. I understood now some of his pissiness on the phone. He was the first Native American agent that I’d ever found involved in a case that had nothing to do with Native Americans. If you happened to be Native American, you could usually look forward to a career of dealing with cases that called for your ethnicity but not necessarily your talents. Cases involving Native American issues were also not usually career makers, though they could be career breakers. Another interesting thing about the FBI and its dealing with Native Americans was that if you looked Indian enough, they would assign you even if the case involved a totally different tribe, with a totally different language and customs. You’re Indian, right? Aren’t all Indians the same?
    No. But then the American government—whatever branch—has never really grasped the concept of tribal identity.
    The agent with him, I knew. Agent Franklin wastall, slender with skin dark enough to actually be black. His hair was cut shorter and closer to his head than the last time I’d seen him in New Mexico, but his hands were still graceful and nervous. He smoothed those