nikirik: переводы

→“Yeah,’” Eve said. “But now we have catered trouble.’”

→Except that he had.

→Which had already happened, really. The screwing-up part. Well, technically, she supposed Shane’s dad hadn’t broken any laws—yet—because Michael hadn’t really died.

→“Anybody human, he means,’” Lowe amended. “The vamps, they’ll scare the shit out of you if they can, but they won’t hurt you. Not unless you screw up and that Founder’s seal goes away. Got me?’”

→“I can make sure that Gretchen and Hans don’t make any follow-up visits,’” Hess said. “I can keep most of the cops away from you, maybe not all. I can put out the word—widely—that you’re not just under a Founder’s seal; Travis and I are keeping an eye on you. That’ll keep anybody else from trying to win friends by smacking you around.’”

→Shane frowned at him. “What can you do for us, if you’re Switzerland?’”

→“And when we can’t,’” Hess said, as smoothly as if they’d rehearsed all this, “things get ugly. It ain’t like the two of us are free agents. We’re Switzerland. If you cross the line, you’re on your own.’”

→“What Joe means,’” Detective Lowe said, “is that they ignore us as long as we keep it on our side of the tracks. Humans are the slave race here—forget about skin color. So we have to take care of our own when we can.’”

→“We’re neutral. There’s a few of us in town who did enough good for each side to earn a little freedom, as long as we’re careful.’”

→Lowe paused in his slow amble to nod.

→“I’m not,’” Hess said. “Trust me, you’d know if I was, because I’d be the bad cop.’” And there was something in his eyes that—oddly—made Claire believe it. “Look, I won’t lie to you. Gretchen and Hans, they’ve got their own agendas. But so do we. We want to make sure you’re protected, understand me? That’s our job. We serve and protect, and Travis and I believe in that.’”

→Claire nodded. Shane didn’t. He gave the detective a narrow little smile. “I’m a Morganville lifer. Define scary,’” he said. “Anyway, if you’re playing good cop, bad cop—’”

→“Officer Joe!’” Eve practically flew across the room to hug him. Shane and Claire exchanged a look. Yeah, this wasn’t something they were going to see every day. “Joe Joe Joe! I’ve been wondering where you were!’”

→A door slammed upstairs, and Eve came clattering down the stairs, fully dressed in Goth finery: a purple sheer shirt over a black corset thingie, a skirt that looked like it had gotten caught in a shredder, hose with skulls woven in, and her black Mary Janes. Very fierce. Her makeup was back in full force, ice white face, black-rimmed eyes, lips like three-day-old bruises.

→God, Morganville made her head hurt.

→It felt like being naked, except for all the clothes. The kisses this time were wet and urgent and deep, and the feeling of Shane’s muscles tensing and relaxing under her was incredibly exciting. This should be illegal, she thought. Well, it was kind of illegal. Or would be, if any clothes came off.

→Shane might not have been Michael, with all the responsibility, but he definitely wasn’t that impulsive. At least, not with her. His hands roamed, but never to places where she wanted them to—badly—and some of the places they roamed made her wonder why she’d never wanted someone to touch her there before. Like the small of her back, where the skin dipped into a shallow valley. Or the back of her neck. Or the inside of her arms. Or…

→She couldn’t really say thank you, because, hey, she didn’t build it. She didn’t even own it. But on Michael’s behalf she said, “We think so, too, sir.’” Claire settled nervously back on the sofa, perched on the edge. Shane remained standing, and Hess and Lowe moved around, not exactly searching, but cataloging everything. Hess stayed focused on the two of them, and after a moment, he bent his knees and sat down in the chair that Michael had occupied last night. Déjà vu, Claire thought. Hess seemed to shiver a little, and he looked up, maybe trying to locate the source of the draft that had just brushed past him.

→She heard shuffling footsteps behind her. Shane had woken up, and was standing in the hallway, barefoot and rumpled, with a fierce bed-head that got worse as he yawned and ran fingers through his hair, standing part of it on end.

→Joe Hess smiled. Unlike most smiles she’d seen since coming to Morganville, this one seemed…uncomplicated. Clean, sort of. Not happy, because that would have been weird, but comforting. “It’s okay,’” he said. “No, we haven’t found them, but you’ve got nothing to be afraid of. May we come inside?’”