She didn't have the slightest idea how to protest, even if she were so inclined. She let him lead her away from the dead dog monster, out of the alley, back into the world that made sense.
*****
"So this is what you do," she said after two cups of coffee doctored with a shot of whatever dark, smooth potable Jason produced from the flask in his coat. "You hunt monsters."
"Not exactly." Jason nodded his thanks as the waitress refilled his cup and Rowan's; the former drank his black, the latter added soymilk. "We're federal agents, like I told you, but our jurisdiction is a little more arcane than the FBI. Your friend Garcia, for instance, got in over his head--he owed money to the people who promised to make him a virtuoso. He couldn't pay, so they sent someone to take it out of his hide. Literally."
"That thing?"
"Three of those things," Rowan clarified. "We got the first one--it was sent to his home, which we'd staked out. The second one found him just as we found the third one. All three are now dead...unfortunately so is Mr. Garcia."
Stella shut her eyes. "Fuck."
"I'm sorry," Rowan told her, squeezing her hand. "We tried."
She didn't know what she was getting upset over--she hadn't known Tony that well--but her eyes were suddenly full of tears. "I wish I could just block out the last few hours. Except the show. That was un-fucking-believable."
"Thank you," Jason said. His eyes were on her coffee cup, and was it her imagination or did he look a little bit guilty? What for? "If you need backup again, just let me know, and if I can get the time off I'll be glad to help you out."
Stella blinked. She was so tired--the café was starting to get a little blurry. She probably shouldn't have made her second coffee quite so Irish.
Jason locked eyes with her. "I'm sorry, Stella. You're a civilian. Rules are rules."
"What..."
She felt herself slumping sideways, and Rowan moved around to her side of the booth to hold her up. She heard him sigh. "The cab's waiting."
The last thing she heard, before she passed out, was Jason saying, "Trust me...pretty soon we'll be able to call it even."
*****
"Damn shame about Tony," Roy said. "I've got feelers out for a new violin, don't worry. Tammy said she knows somebody that might be able to hook us up. How you feeling?"
"Kind of hung over," Stella replied, staring down at the half-legible notes she was translating into actual song lyrics. Whatever she'd been high on, it was good shit--there were bits of at least three songs in her notes, and they all had potential. "Did you hear back from the guy at Slipknot?"
"Yeah--we're booked. I've got two more leads, too--seems like word's gotten around about last night. Munson wants us to come back, too. I'll let you know."
"Okay, see you tonight at rehearsal."
"You got it, Stel."
She hung up and switched the ringer off--she hated talking on her cell in places like the coffee shop, but the place was packed and she hadn't wanted to leave and risk somebody stealing her table.
Jason had let her know before he and his people left that the cops had found Tony dead in his apartment from what looked like an overdose. She had apparently commemorated his passing by getting as fucked up as humanly possible, because she couldn't remember a thing about leaving the club or getting home. Thank god she'd made it back with her guitar; it and her bag were both waiting for her on the coffee table when she stumbled bleary-eyed out of bed Sunday morning.
"I have to ask you something," came a voice.
She looked up into the greenest eyes she'd ever seen.
"Yeah?"
"Is Stella Blue your real name?"
She stammered for a second, then managed, "Yeah, actually it is...Stella Tamira Blue. It was either be a musician or a porn star."
The young woman's laugh rang like wind chimes. A single dark brown curl escaped the bandana she had it confined in. "I don't want to bother you," she said. She had a dimple in her right cheek. "I just saw your show last night and wanted to tell you how incredible it was."
"Thank you." Stella looked around--all the tables were still full. "Do you want to sit down?"
"Um...sure." She sank gracefully into the opposite chair, somehow juggling a messenger bag that appeared laden with books, a huge cup of coffee, and an instrument case without dropping anything. She was taller than Stella--most people were--and curvier, wearing flare-legged jeans and a t-shirt that had a cupcake-and-crossbones design over the bust, and Stella didn't miss the tiny triangular rainbow pin on her bag, or the title of one of the battered books that poked out: Science and Lore of the Kitchen.
Stella's eyes fell on the instrument case.
The woman was carrying a violin.
You have got to be shitting me.
"My name's Angie," she was saying. "I'm a music major at UT."
Stella almost didn't remember to reply. She was too busy staring at Angie's full, lush lower lip.
Before things could get too awkward, though, she got her head out of her ass. "Nice to meet you, Angie."
Angie's proffered hand was soft but strong, and she had a tattoo of an angel playing the violin all down her arm. One wing curved over her collarbone and probably her breast. Her curly hair was at least shoulder length, and she had a heart-shaped face with a pierced eyebrow.
Stella's nethers started turning cartwheels and yelling "Wheeeeee!"
She would never know why, but for some reason she had the sudden thought that next time she saw Jason, she was going to hug him, then wring his neck.
"So tell me, Miss Stella Tamira Blue," Angie was saying, her attention taking complete and utter hold of Stella's, her finger brushing ever so lightly along the inside of Stella's wrist, "I heard a rumor that your song 'Kiss the Moon' is about the first time you slept with a woman."
Stella smiled at her. She couldn't seem to stop smiling. "As a matter of fact, it is."
"What are you working on now?"
"Well...I think it's going to be a song about kissing a total stranger in the middle of a crowded coffee house."
Angie lowered her eyelashes, but she was still smiling. "Good."
The Agency, Volume IV Page 15
