"Tanya Huff - Keeper's Chronicles 1 - Summon the Keeper" - читать интересную книгу автора (Huff Tanya)

"Ms. Hansen?" Dean put the tray down on the desk and pushed his glasses
back up the bridge of his nose. She wasn't in Mr. Smythe's suite-her suite now, he
supposed-and she wasn't in the office. He hoped she wasn't upstairs packing. Am I
fired if she leaves?
Footsteps descending the stairs seemed to confirm his worst fears, but when
she came into view, she wasn't carrying her bags. She hadn't even put her coat on.
"Oh, there you are, Dean."
There he was? He hadn't gone anywhere except to get her the coffee she'd
asked for. "I brought cream and sugar," he told her as she squeezed under the counter
flap. "You didn't say how you took it."
"Definitely cream." She poured some into the mug and frowned at the sugar
bowl. "Do you have any packets of artificial sweetener?"
"Sure." As far as he could tell, she didn't need to watch her weight. While not
quite a woman a man could see to shoot gulls through, she was on the skinny side and
that much cream would pack on more pounds than a bit of sugar. "I'll go get you
some."
"Dean?"
He straightened in the lobby and turned to face her over the counter.
"Bring your toolbox, too."
Cradling the coffee mug in both hands, Claire leaned against the wall and
watched Dean work. He'd had no trouble cutting the padlock off, but the original lock
was proving to be more difficult.
"I think you should call a locksmith, Ms. Hansen. I can't get in there without
damaging the door some."
"How much?"
He shrugged. "If I get my crowbar from the van, I could probably force it
open. Just stick it in here…" He ran a finger down the crack between the door and the
jam where the tongue of the lock ran into the wall. "… and shove. It'll crack the wood
for sure, but I can't say how much."
Claire took another swallow and considered her options. As long as Dean
stayed out of the actual room, there should be no problem; only the largest of sites
were visible to the untrained eye. "Go get your crowbar."
"Yes, ma'am."
When the sound of Dean's work boots clumping against bare wood suggested
he'd reached the lobby, Austin stretched and glared up at Claire. "Couldn't this have
waited until after breakfast? I'm starved."
"Could you have actually eaten not knowing what we were in for? Never
mind. Stupid question."
"You've got your coffee, the least you could've done was given me the cream."
"The vet said you're not supposed to have cream." She squatted and rubbed
him behind the ears. "Don't worry, it'll all be over soon. Waiting out on this side of
the door has me so edgy, I'm positive the site's in there."
"In a just world," the cat growled, "it would've been in the kitchen."
His boots wet from the run out to the van, Dean slipped them off at the back
door and started upstairs in his socks. Making the turn on the second floor landing, he
heard voices. I guess she's talking to the cat.
Voices. Plural, prodded his subconscious.
You're losing it, boy. The cat's not talking back.
She had her back to him when he stepped out into the third-floor hall. "Ms.
Hansen?"