The Winter Man (6 page)

“Thirty minutes,” he said when he hung up.

“I've never stayed in a hotel and had room service,” she confided. “I went on a trip for the library one time, to a conference up in Dallas and stayed in a hotel. It was small, though, and I ate at a McDonald's nearby.”

He chuckled. “I couldn't live without room service. I flew in from Iraq late one night, starving to death. I ordered a steak and salad and this huge ice cream split at two o'clock in the morning.”

“There's room service then?” she exclaimed.

He didn't mention that he paid a big price for having those items sent up, because room service didn't operate in the wee hours of the morning. He was also friends with the general manager of that particular hotel. “There is in New York City,” he told her.

She sat down in one of the big armchairs and he took off his jacket and sprawled over the sofa.

“I guess you've been a lot of places,” she said.

He closed his eyes, put his hands under his head and smiled. “A lot.”

“I'd like to go to Japan,” she said dreamily. “We have this nice old couple who came from Osaka. I love to hear them talk about their home country.”

“Japan is beautiful.” He rolled over, facing her, tugging a pillow under his head. “I spent a few days in Osaka on a case, and made time to take the bullet train over to Kyoto. There's a samurai fortress there with huge wooden gates. It was built in 1600 and something. They had nightingale floors…”

“What?”

“Nightingale floors. They put nails under the flooring and pieces of metal that would come in contact with the nails if anyone walked on the floor. It made a sound like a nightingale, a pretty sound, but it alerted the samurai inside instantly if ninja assassins were about to attack them. Ninjas were known for their stealth abilities, but the nightingale floors defeated them.”

“That's so cool!” she exclaimed.

He studied her with new interest. When she was excited, her face flushed and her eyes shimmered. She looked radiant.

“I've read about Japan for years,” he continued. “But little details like that don't usually get into travel books. You have to actually go to a place to learn about it.”

“I watch those travel documentaries on TV,” she confessed. “I especially like the ones where just plain people go traipsing into the back country of exotic places. I saw one where this guy lived with the Mongols and ate roasted rat.”

He chuckled. “I've had my share of those. Not to mention snake and, once, a very old and tough cat.”

“A cat?” she asked, horrified. “You
ate
a cat?”

He scowled. “Now, listen, when you're starving to death, you can't be selective! We were in a jungle, hiding from insurgents, and we'd already eaten all the snakes and bugs we could find!”

“But, a cat!” she wailed.

He grimaced. “It was an old cat. It was on its last legs, honest. We used it for stew.” He brightened. “We threw up because it tasted so bad!”

“Good!” she exclaimed, outraged.

He rolled onto his back. “Well, the only other thing on offer was a monkey that kept pelting us with coconuts, and I'm not eating any monkeys! Even if they do taste like chicken.” He thought about that and laughed out loud.

“What's funny?” she wanted to know.

He glanced at her. “Every time somebody eats something exotic, they always say, ‘It tastes just like chicken!'”

She made a face. “I'll bet the cat didn't.”

“You got that right. It tasted like…” He got half the word out, flushed and backtracked. “I'd rather have had pemmican, but it's in short supply in the rest of the
world. My great-grandmother used to make it. We visited her a couple of times when my stepfather was working in Atlanta and we lived with him. She lived in North Carolina, near the reservation,” he recalled thoughtfully. “She was amazing. She knew how to treat all sorts of physical complaints with herbs. She went out every morning, gathering leaves and roots. I wish I'd paid more attention.”

“She was Cherokee?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.

He nodded. “Full blooded,” he added. His expression grew dark. “Like me. My mother married an Italian contractor. They didn't like it. He was an outsider. They disowned her, everyone except my great-grandmother. She died when I was a kid, and I haven't been back since.”

“That's sad. You still have family there, don't you?”

“Yes. An uncle and a few cousins. I heard from my uncle a couple of years ago. He said I should come home and make peace with them.”

“But you didn't.”

“My mother had a hard life,” he said. “When my sister and I went into foster care, it was like the end of the world. Especially when they separated us.” His face went taut. “She killed herself.”

“Your sister?” she asked, sad for him.

“Yes.” He glanced at her. “Didn't my foster mother tell you any of this?”

Millie flushed. The woman had told her quite a lot about Tony, but nothing really personal. She wasn't going to admit that she'd tried to worm things out of her. She averted her eyes. “It must have been hard on you, losing your sister.”

“Yeah.” He stared at the ceiling. “Some boy in foster care got her pregnant and tried to force her to have an abortion. She wouldn't. She was deeply religious and she saw it as a sin if she went for a termination. She told the boy. So he made threats and she felt that she had nowhere to turn.” He sighed, his eyes sad. “She would never have done that if she hadn't been half out of her mind. She thought of suicide as a sin, too. But in the end, she took the only way out she could find.”

“I hope he ended up in prison,” she muttered. “That boy, I mean.”

He made a deep sound. “He did. And shortly afterward, he died mysteriously. Strange things happen to bad people.”

She wondered if Tony had any hand in the boy's demise, but she didn't want to ask.

There was a knock at the door. Tony sprang to his feet, grinning. “Food,” he guessed.

He peered out the keyhole and saw the trolley, and the waiter. He opened the door and let him in.

* * *

Lunch was delicious. Millie had never had food served on a white linen cloth, with heavy utensils and dishes
under metal covers. It was a revelation. She munched her salad with obvious enjoyment and went into ecstasies about the tenderness of the steak and the delicious baked potato. Even the coffee was wonderful.

Tony found her obvious delight in the meal humbling. He took fancy food and fancy hotels for granted. He'd long since become blasé about such things. But Millie came from a poor background, and lived on a meager budget. He imagined she'd never stepped into the lobby of a luxury hotel, much less been a guest in one. He pictured taking her out for a spin in his convertible, or taking her sailing on his yacht down in the Bahamas and lying with her in the sun. She had a delightful body. He wondered how it would feel to make love to her on a sandy tropical beach. Then he wondered what the hell he was thinking of. She wasn't his sort of woman. Millie would never go to bed with a man she hadn't married, no matter what her feelings for him were.

That brought back a comment of Frank's, that Millie had once been in love with Tony. He recalled her shy presence at his foster mother's house from time to time as an invited guest, her radiance when he dropped in at the library to see his parent and Millie happened to be around. He must have been blind, he decided, not to have noticed how his presence illuminated the quiet, introverted woman across from him at the table.

Millie stopped eating and stared at him, disconcerted by
his unsmiling, level stare. “Am I…doing something wrong?” she asked at once, her attention diverted to the silverware. “I don't know about fancy place settings—”

“It's just lunch, Millie,” he interrupted. “I wasn't studying your eating habits. I was thinking about something, in the past.”

“Oh.” She was watchful, unconvinced.

He sipped coffee. “Why didn't you tell me what John was doing to you when I came home two years ago?” he asked.

She felt the question keenly. “I knew you wouldn't believe me. You've never liked me.”

He frowned. “I didn't know you.”

“And didn't want to, either.” She laughed hollowly. “I was the invisible woman whenever you came home to visit your foster mother. She'd invite me over sometimes, because she knew I had no life to speak of. You never even noticed that I was around. You only stayed long enough to say a few words and then you were off on some hot date that Frank had fixed up for you, from the bar where he was a bouncer.”

That made him feel worse. “I didn't want to get serious about anyone,” he said after a minute. “Those glittery women are fine for a good time. You don't plan a future around them.”

He was insinuating that they were fine for a one-night stand. The thought embarrassed her, made her uncomfortable. It was one more reminder of the distance between
her world and his. She picked at her baked potato and lifted a forkful to her mouth. She wasn't really tasting it now. It was something to do.

“Why didn't you tell John to get a life and get off your back?” he asked suddenly.

She seemed to draw into herself. “It wouldn't have done any good,” she told him. “I did try that, repeatedly. It just made him mad.”

“Maybe it would have helped drive the point home if you'd stopped forgiving him,” he continued doggedly. “Especially after he beat you up. No self-respecting woman would take that sort of behavior from a man.”

Her face flushed. She put down her fork and glared at him across the table. “That's so easy for a man to say,” she began in a low, angry tone. “You've never been beaten to your knees by an enraged man bent on making you pay for not loving him. I had bruises all over my body and I was terrified that he was actually going to kill me! He yelled at me and called me names and said he'd beat me to death if I didn't give in and agree to marry him.” She wrapped her arms around her body, as if she felt a sudden chill. Her eyes went blank. “I believed him. I was sure that he was going to kill me. In the end, I just screamed and screamed. I expected to die. It was a miracle that I got a locked bedroom door between us in time to call for help. The sound of police car sirens was the most beautiful music I'd ever heard,” she added in a soft undertone that
made Tony feel even worse. “The policewoman who came in first gave John a furious look and when he started toward her, she drew her service pistol and pointed it right at his nose. I knew she'd shoot if he came any closer, and I guess he knew it, too, because he stopped. He sat down on the sofa and started crying. He said it was all my fault because I wouldn't marry him.”

“Had he been drinking?”

“Yes. But not enough to make him out of control,” she said bitterly. “The policewoman told me that. She asked me to press charges, but John came on his knees to beg me to forgive him. He was sobbing. I felt embarrassed and guilty and I agreed not to have him arrested. It didn't win me any points with the police,” she added. “But I don't know that having him arrested again would have done any good. It certainly hadn't stopped him from stalking me, or spreading lies about me. He'd been arrested before, but he was always out in a few days, starting all over again. I got over the beating, but I would never go to his apartment again or let him in if he came to mine. I made sure there were always people around when he came to the library.”

Tony felt very small. “Frank said he spread lies about you to your boss.”

“Yes. And to the patrons.” Her eyes closed in bitter memory. “I thought I'd lose my job forever. I would have, if Frank hadn't talked to a few people. He's been the best
friend to me through all this. I don't know what I would have done without him.”

“He's sweet on you,” he said deliberately. “But he thinks you wouldn't give him the time of day because he works in a low class of job.”

“The job wouldn't matter if I could feel that way about him. I wish I could,” she added quietly. “But I can't.”

The confession made him feel good. He didn't want to know why. He finished his coffee. “Want dessert?” he asked.

She laughed. “I'd have to put it in my pocket,” she said. “I'm stuffed.”

“So am I. They have a good kitchen staff here.”

“I'll say.” She finished her own coffee. “Do we push the trolley back down to the kitchen?” she asked.

“Good heavens, no,” he exclaimed. “They come and get it.”

She flushed. He made her feel like an idiot.

He noticed that and grimaced. “Millie, I wasn't always rich,” he said gently. “I had to learn about things like proper table settings and etiquette, too.”

She shrugged. “I'm just a country hick, you know,” she said with a faint smile. “I live frugally. This—” she waved her hand around “—is like another planet to me.”

“Learning new things doesn't hurt,” he said. He chuckled. “The first time Jared and I ate in a five-star restaurant, we had to ask the waiter about the utensils and
all the courses. Fortunately he was a nice person. He could have made us feel small, but he didn't. Jared tipped him a hundred dollars.”

She gasped. That was almost a week's salary for her.

“I know. It was a lot of money to me, at the time,” he said. “I'd been a soldier, and before that, a common laborer, working in a construction crew.”

“How did you make so much money?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“Hiring out to governments as an independent contractor,” he said simply. “Including our own. Jared and I learned counterterrorism skills and for a while, he ran a security company that I worked for. Counterterrorism skills are a valuable commodity in some circles. It's a specialized job and it pays very well.”