Aphrodite's War (16 page)

Now they basked in the unrelenting heat of the sun.
“This was a good idea,” Adrian said. “I never would have thought of
this.” He sounded much calmer.
Poetry surveyed the tar-striped concrete surrounding them. Nothing
interrupted the vista but wide expanses of blue sky beyond.

“It’s not the best view,” she said. “But it’s private.”
“I’ll take it.”

Poetry popped open two beer and handed one to Adrian. She took a
greedy pull of the crisp lager before assembling their lunch.
“Ahhhhh…”
Adrian nodded. “This is much better than wasting the day in an
office.” He shot a grateful smile in Poetry’s direction.
“You’re welcome,” she said. “But I’m just getting started.”

She placed foil-wrapped chicken on a paper plate, along with
homemade pita bread, still soft and fresh. She fanned the lid to the
hummus at Adrian’s dilating nostrils with a flourish.

“Oh, wow.” He blinked in pleasure.
“And,” Poetry plucked two small Tupperware containers from the
bottom of the bag, “Greek salad.”
Adrian gave her a goofy smirk. “I love Greek salad.” It looked and
sounded so unlike him Poetry giggled.

She straightened self-consciously and covered her mouth with a
plastic fork. “It’s the genuine thing too.” She unfastened her container
and scooped a forkful of tomato, feta, and olive into her mouth. The salty
tang of the Mediterranean exploded in her mouth and she sighed.

“No fake ingredients.”
Adrian opened his and dipped his nose close to inhale the food.
“Smells like fresh basil and oregano.”
“It’s how my dad does it.”
Adrian took a bite that made his eyelids flutter. She laughed and
almost spat on her knee.

“This is the best salad I’ve ever tasted.”
“That’s nothing. Try the hummus and pita bread.”
“Son of a bitch.”

Frank Fleisher got tired of holding binoculars up to his lawyer’s
balcony. He could smell his own stink so he let his arms drop. He
couldn’t see shit anyway.

He’d seen Olsen go in with that tramp, and he ain’t been out yet. That
meant only one thing.

Adrian Olsen was balling that dirty spic and he’d lied about it. Come
to think of it, that meant two things. Frank had seen the mean in Olsen’s
eye when he’d tried to set him straight. Offended in that way a man gets
when somebody puts his woman down. He was surprised the boy didn’t
jump him. Had to see it for himself though. Ditched the press first and
found his lawyer’s fancy building with his fancy loft and his fancy
balcony.

Sure as shit. Olsen ran through those doors like a jackrabbit with his
harlot trotting behind. No movement by the windows or veranda meant
they weren’t standing. Playing hide the salami, that’s what they were
doing.

Frank’s bowels curled like a coiled snake ready to strike. He tuned out
the din of traffic surrounding him as rage simmered like all-day stew.
He’d thought Adrian Olsen was different, not like these bleeding-heart
Liberal types. The boy was smart but soft.

But that was just fine. He knew how to deal with guys like him. He’d
play it cool for now. Frank put the truck in gear. He had an errand to run.

Frank sucked hard on his dentures until he tasted breakfast. No, he
hadn’t planned that bombing, but he sure wanted to shake the hand of the
guy who’d done it.

Strife couldn’t remember when she’d had such a good time. Playing
human had advantages.

Like the simple pleasure of exploring a new city with a learned escort.
Ranjan treated her with respect: opening doors and paying for lunch at
Tony Roma’s.

He almost charmed her into forgetting her true intentions. She should
have absorbed the rich history of the Aviation Museum or the splendid
decadence of West Edmonton Mall. Instead, she took stock of the
military impracticality of the airport and the casualty potential of the
world’s largest mall.

Standing over the performing sea lions, Strife surveyed the mortal
throng. So many people from all over the world. And she’d kill them all.
The thought of work almost spoiled her date.

But she’d already chosen her target. In the T & T supermarket, where
her senses were overwhelmed with the abrasive shouting of Cantonese
and the briny odor of live seafood, she placed her ammonium nitrate
surprise. Feigning a strap adjustment on her sandal, she’d been sure to
tuck it below a busy sushi counter, knowing it wouldn’t be discovered
before noon tomorrow.

“Are you alright, Sarah?”
Strife almost didn’t respond to the name. It took a moment to register
that Ranjan addressed her.
“Me?” She focused on his warm mahogany eyes. “I’m fine. Maybe
just a little tired.”

“How about we take a break?” he asked, lightly rubbing her back.
“We’ve been walking around all day. Have you ever heard of Marble
Slab?”
Her brow furrowing in curiosity. “No. What is it?”

“Only the best ice cream in the entire city,” Ranjan said, grasping her
hand. “And you can have any topping you could ever imagine. Cookies,
candy, fruit. Trust me, you’ll love it.”

Despite her depressing bone weariness, Strife relented. Finally, a
delight she could enjoy. There were no tactical strategies to be had from
frozen treats.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Aphrodite smiled at the sleeping pair on the rooftop. Cold lager on a
hot day and a satisfying meal invited a siesta in the sunshine.

It pleased her how relaxed they were with each other, discussing the
mundane such as contracts and veterinary bills along with hopes and
current events. Like friends.

At rest, they resembled little ones caught counting clouds when
Morpheus closed their eyes and made them dream.

The bottles were warm to the touch. Traces of hummus and gnawed
chicken bones attracted flies but the low, buzzing hum could not disturb
their slumber.

Poetry and Adrian lay side by side, not touching, but not at an
uncomfortable distance. Adrian’s nose wrinkled like that of a dog even as
he dozed, and Aphrodite stifled laughter.

But sleep would not bring them together. How fortunate the weather
in this land changed so abruptly.

Aphrodite stirred billowing moisture from the azure expanse overhead
and gathered them in a cottony mass. It grew heavy and dark in the
circumference of her immortal hands. Winds changed direction at her
command until a whining gale whipped dust and paper in cyclones
around her feet. She smelled the ozone, almost tasted oncoming rain.

“Come alive, my beauties,” she said to the howling elements. “It is
time to play.”
Aphrodite clapped her hands.
# # #
A thunderous boom startled Poetry awake. Cold rain needled her skin,
drenching her.

“Oh, shit!” She hustled to her feet, noting that Adrian shoved garbage
and leftovers into her Kokanee tote while the deluge weighted the clothes
to his body. He grabbed the sound dock.

“I got the stuff!” He yelled to be heard over the storm. “You get the
door!”
Easier said than done.
Her flip-flops slid on the slick surface and she floundered in the effort
to keep her footing.

“I gotcha…” Adrian appeared next to her, lunch bag slung over his
shoulder, sound dock in hand. He grabbed her elbow, but they fell to the
cement in a heap of laughter.

“No, here.” Poetry got to one knee and pushed his arm upward. A gust
shoved them toward the door. Once on their feet, they shuffled with
heads ducked low, giggling and huddling.

“I got it,” Poetry said. She turned the knob and the metal slab caught
the wind and slammed against the opposite wall.
“Get inside,” Adrian said.

Poetry ran down a small set of stairs and waited while he juggled his
burden and dragged the exit shut. The snarling weather continued to
demand entrance, but it no longer hurt Poetry’s ears or tugged at her
dress. Shivering, she endured the frigid bite of soaked skin and clothing.

“Shit, it’s cold,” Adrian said, echoing her sentiments.
“We need towels.”
He shook droplets from his hair. “Right. The elevator’s this way.” He
marched toward the inside door. Poetry followed.

“I can’t believe it got so chilly so fast. How long were we out?”
“No idea.” Adrian glanced her way. “You have goose bumps.”
“So do you.”

The elevator bell dinged and they hurried in. Adrian pressed number
fourteen.
“Here,” Poetry said through clattering teeth. “I’ll do you if you do
me.” She placed her hands on Adrian’s bare arms and rubbed vigorously.
“Oh yeah, that feels so good.” He dumped the cooler bag and sound
dock on the floor and returned the favor.
She jogged in place while the elevator descended. It made her
stomach lurch in a butterfly kind of way, causing her to crack up.

“What?”
“I’m freezing! Brrrr!” She said, burrowing into his arms.

To her amazement, he folded her into an embrace and stroked her
back. She got a whiff of his cologne; one of the new Old Spice blends if
she wasn’t mistaken. Romantic puppy surprise?

“Me too.”
The delicate moment brought Poetry back to reality and she backed
away.
I’d best keep my hands to myself. Can’t believe I just snuggled a
‘suit’. Poetry eyed his lean physique. But he’s not wearing a suit…

Adrian cleared his throat and concentrated on the descending numbers
on the digital display. Poetry quit gawking and shifted her gaze to the
carpet. Fourteen couldn’t show up fast enough. At least she felt warmer.
“It was a great lunch. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Poetry said, bewildered that she meant it.

And why not? He’d taken care of her cat even though she’d been sure
he didn’t even like her. He’d agreed to let her pay him back in small
amounts for the vet. He’d driven her home after the ‘Kevin Incident’ and
checked her apartment over. Dinner at Louisiana Purchase. She
shrugged. Lunch was the least she could do.

Another bell. Wordlessly, they departed the elevator. Adrian grabbed
his sound dock and Poetry carried the cooler bag.
They strolled to his apartment in mute respect for each other. Or so it
seemed to Poetry.

As the rasp of Adrian’s key in the lock reverberated down the hall she
remembered how shivery she felt. And how dripping, sopping drenched
she was.

She allowed her chin and voice to rattle in the universal song of those
in need of heat.

“Yes, I’m hurrying,” Adrian said. The door swept open, creating a
breeze that raised new prickles on Poetry’s arms and legs. “I’ll get you
that towel.” He disappeared around the corner.

Poetry huffed in relief, making herself at home in the kitchen. She’d
be dry soon. “Thanks.”
She busied herself tossing rain-soaked bits of cellophane and squishy
pita bread into the garbage.
Poetry emptied the rest of the bag’s contents into the sink, including
the beer bottles.

A Ziploc bag at the very bottom of her insulated carry case caught her
eye. How could she forget about that? Her entire reason for seeing
Adrian lay neglected in a pool of rainwater and melted ice cubes.

She fished it out, tossing the cooler aside.
“Here we are,” Adrian said from behind her. She accepted a large
charcoal-colored towel from him, still staring at the shiny object encased
in plastic.

“I forgot to give you this,” Poetry said, drying her head with the terry
cloth. She left it there like a shroud so she could use both hands. “I
worked so hard on it too.”

“Give me what?” He peered forward as she popped open the seal.
“This…” Poetry held it aloft, allowing the amber to sparkle in the
light of the ceiling fan.
“What is it?”

“It’s a Viking torque. This isn’t something I normally do. I prefer
more feminine designs, bracelets and necklaces. Stuff like that.” She
tested the flex of the braid, pulling it apart gently to see how far it would
stretch before she risked breakage.

“I wanted to give you something that would tell you how much I
appreciate what you’ve done for me.” Satisfied with of the strength of
her work, Poetry faced Adrian. The rippling spasms of her body no
longer had a connection with her damp clothing. The metal tingled in her
hands as though it had life of its own. For reasons she couldn’t explain,
she need to do this. It was too important. Everything faded from her
vision. She saw only Adrian.

Poetry tiptoed to encircle his neck. He obliged by bending so she
could place the jewelry around his Adam’s apple, spinning it so the
amber came to rest on his collarbone. The stones seemed to wink at her,
like they knew something she didn’t. She dismissed it as silly, all in her
head. Maybe if she chanted that to herself, she’d believe it.

“Do you like it?” Adrian hadn’t said a word. It made her nervous.

Poetry became acutely aware of her appearance. She shed the towel,
conscious of the streaks of blue bingo dauber staining her face and
clothes. She mustered the courage to meet his gaze.
And found fire. His azure-gold eyes immobilized her.

“Adrian?” The tremor in her voice made her cringe.
This whole thing, practice dating, eating together, giving gifts, was
trouble. What had she been thinking?
He advanced. She couldn’t move. To her left, the exit seemed too far.
Poetry cowered under his scrutiny. She wouldn’t resist. No, she saw
the reflection of her eagerness. Excitement, not fear.
This wasn’t like her.
She chanced a pace back, and her spine bumped the granite
countertop. Adrian closed in, one hand cupping her cheek.
“Adrian, I don’t think…” Thunder drowned out her protests.

His lips were silky, his tongue teasing. He kissed her reluctance away
until she responded. Her knees went weak and he lifted her onto the
smooth surface.

“Adrian, we haven’t…” She meant to remind him they hadn’t signed
anything. After all, he did everything by legal standards, right? But the
words wouldn’t come.

Adrian’s touch created unexpected desires. He caressed her chin,
squeezed her breasts, and fondled the curves beneath her panties. He
waited, poised with calloused thumbs tracing her hips. Her thighs
quivered beneath his fingers, the heat of his lust hot between her legs.

Her hands traveled the taut muscles of his chest of their own accord,
much to her embarrassment. She gazed at the neckpiece she’d given him.
It seemed to glow in the pulses of lightning like a living entity.