Secrets of the Night Special Edition, page 67
Moloch reached inside the cabinet and fingered his latest treasure, a Faberge gilt-painted cup from the Victoria and Albert Museum, another addition to his objects d'art.
He grinned in sly anticipation. One of these nights, he intended to visit the Tower of London and add the crown jewels to his collection.
After one last affectionate look at his accumulation, he strode toward the outer ward, where the cat dozed in sleepy contentment, unaware he blocked Moloch's path.
Moloch aimed a vicious kick at the cat.” Get out of my way!”
Cringing with fear, the feline hissed and slunk away into the deepest recesses of the castle.
And that's how Galan should kick the mortal woman out of his life. Kick her until she screamed for mercy, kick her to death!
* * *
Shivers skimmed along Stevie's arms and legs as she stepped off the bus in downtown Miami. Brr. Sweater weather. Early for work today, she strode toward the New World Tower, a sleek, modern office building with a brown marble facade and wide gleaming glass doors. She wanted to check on Nick, one of her "adopted" homeless, who always slept near the building's entrance until she woke him each weekday morning before the police could chase him away.
Sound asleep, Nick lay curled on his side, his head on his knapsack. Stevie knelt beside him and shook his shoulder, aware from past experience that often these desolate people slept like the dead. A spurt of alarm stopped her for a moment, the sight of the dead homeless man still horribly fresh in her mind. It took several minutes of patient shaking, but finally Nick roused, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He stared at her in dozy recognition.
"Nick, I brought you something for breakfast--two big poppy seed muffins,” she said, handing him a plastic bag that held the treats.” Oh, and another thing.” She reached into her purse to give him a couple of dollars.” Remember that refreshment stand on Flagler Street I showed you? Why don't you get orange juice and coffee.”
"Thanks, ma'am. Sounds like a good idea.”
"Happy to do it, Nick.” She had considered job possibilities for him, too, some she would mention later after she had more facts.
She looked toward the east, where the rising sun peeked up over Biscayne Bay and sent the water sparkling like crystal. She rose to her feet, smoothing the wrinkles in her cotton slacks.” Don't forget about your juice and coffee. 'Bye for now.”
"'Bye, ma'am, and thanks for everything.”
With a smile and a wave, Stevie left him then, on her way to the bookstore.
* * *
Should have known things never go as planned, Stevie fretted as she hustled to the bus stop in the late afternoon, when dark clouds hid the sun, and a fierce wind whipped across the streets. Since she had her date with Galan this evening, she'd decided to leave the bookstore fifteen minutes early, but several picky customers had detained her, making her fifteen minutes late, darn it!
The bus arrived ten minutes late and was already crowded, but at least she got the last empty seat. As usual, cars, buses, and trucks crawled along Biscayne Boulevard, slower than a snail on Valium. Stevie closed her eyes and tried to relax while countless conversations buzzed around her, most of them in Spanish and a few in Creole, but none in English.
She dashed home from the bus stop and started to throw off her clothes once she stepped inside her apartment.
Foregoing her supper, she took a quick shower. She dressed carefully for her date, selecting her only good dress, a light blue short-sleeved silk. She slipped the whisper-soft material over her head, loving its slinky, luxurious feel. She stepped into her black three-inch slingbacks, completing her ensemble with a pearl necklace and gold earrings, legacies from her mother. With a touch of rose lipstick on her mouth and a dab of powder on her nose, she hoped Galan would like the effect.
And speaking of liking--she wondered if Galan would like to go to the beach with her, maybe her next Sunday off, if it was a warm, sunny day. She sure would enjoy a day at the beach, and Galan could definitely use a tan. Possibly she'd ask him sometime soon, she decided, checking in the mirror to make sure her slip didn't show.
Galan arrived on time, elegant in a black suit, white shirt, and burgundy tie, the dim light adding color to his face. He looked as if he'd just stepped off the runway of a Milan fashion show. Her heart revved up like a Dodge engine at a NASCAR race. His eyes were dark and mysterious, like the night . . . full of secrets. Catching a scent of sandalwood, she sighed. Sexy!
His dark eyes assessed her.” You look lovely,” he said with a warm smile, his deep, sensual voice washing over her.” That shade of blue is your color. Matches your eyes.”
"Thanks, you look nice yourself.” She reached for her white linen jacket.” Shall we go?”
"Indeed.” He helped her into the jacket, his hands resting on her shoulders a bit longer than necessary. Tempted to lean back against him, she gathered her wits and told herself he was only a date. Besides, she didn't want to get close to him . . . or any man. Each minute with him made it more difficult to resist his considerable charm. She wondered how she'd last throughout the evening, concealing her feelings from him.
They arrived at Gusman Theater downtown with time to spare and the best seats, ten rows from the stage. There wasn't an empty place in the theater, and most of the audience was middle-aged and well-dressed, sophisticated people who talked quietly among themselves. What a difference from the rock concerts she used to attend, Stevie mused as she settled herself.
While the quartet played Mozart's whimsical Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, she occasionally slanted a look Galan's way, feeling a rush of warmth as she observed his straight nose, the firm set of his jaw. She studied his hands in his lap, those expressive fingers, like the violinist in the quartet. What would it be like to have his hands on her, touching her, caressing her? Despite the air conditioning, the prospect sent her temperature soaring about twenty degrees.
Once, their gazes met and held, and he smiled at her, an expression that added another twenty degrees to her overheated body. When he turned away, her gaze strayed downward to his thighs and the trim fit of his black trousers, as if they'd been tailored especially for him. He reminded her of a tiger she'd seen on a National Geographic program, poised to pounce on its prey. She'd bet no one ever got the best of him, either. Master of the universe. She smiled to herself. There went her crazy imagination again.
At the end of the performance, they filed out of the theater with the other patrons, a neat, orderly exit, no pushing or shoving, reminding her again of the contrast with a rock concert.
Outside on Flagler Street, Galan peered down at her.” Please wait here whilst I get the car from the parking lot. Only be a few minutes.”
"Hey, I'll walk with you.”
"Very well, then.” Tucking her arm through his, Galan strolled with her in companionable silence toward his green Mercedes, less than a block away. A cool wind lifted her long hair from her shoulders and fluttered her dress around her knees, prompting her to button her jacket. Her stomach growled, a reminder she'd missed her supper. . . .
"Do you attend these concerts often?” she asked on the way home, searching for a way to fill the silent void between them.
He grinned her way.” Not as often as I'd like to . . . with you.”
Would their friendship end with this night? Or would they have more times together? His words sounded promising.
They stopped at a red light, and her stomach growled again, her face warming with embarrassment.
He smiled his toothpaste bright smile.” Stevie, it would please me very much to offer you dinner. There's a fine restaurant a short distance away, La Paloma.” Another smile in her direction.” Does that suit you?”
"Sounds great.”
Once there, a protest formed on her lips.” This restaurant looks awfully--"She started to say "expensive" but caught herself, reluctant to question his ability to pay "--nice.”
"So I've heard. I've never eaten here, but this gives me an opportunity to spend more time with you,” he said as the valet came around to open her door.
Although they had no reservations, the maitre 'd quickly led them to a small table in a corner of the dimly-lit dining room with turquoise walls and glistening crystal chandeliers. Every linen-topped table was full, she noticed, with lots of well-dressed older people, but a few young people, too.
She studied the meat, fish, and poultry selections on the menu, hoping they wouldn't have a long wait for the entree. She was dying of hunger! Fingering a pink carnation in a crystal vase, she saw that Galan had already set his menu aside.
"What will you have?” he asked after she placed her menu on the table.
"Chablis for now. The chicken a la Kiev sounds good.”
Galan ordered her Chablis and red wine for himself, and when the drinks came, he gave the waiter her dinner order.
She looked at him in surprise.” You're not eating?”
He raised his glass.” Only the wine. I'm not hungry now. But please, don't let that keep you from enjoyment of your meal.” The pale overhead light softened his features, moderating its harsh lines and muting the pearlescent quality of his skin. It was an arresting face, but one that never betrayed his thoughts.
There was so much about him she wanted to know. Unsure where to start, she reached for her glass, her gaze on him.” I remember you told me you don't work downtown,” she said.
He sipped his wine, then set the goblet down.” I work at home. I'm a writer.”
"A writer! Science fiction, mystery, or--"
"Non-fiction. History. I'm writing an account of the Battle of Hastings.”
"Ten sixty-six,” she interjected.” History was my favorite subject in high school.”
He nodded.” I feel that I know so much about the battle, it seems as if I actually fought in it.”
"I've often felt it was a shame the Normans won,” she said, “when right was on the side of the English.”
"King Harold should have prevailed! We--uh, the English held the high ground.” He studied his wine glass, his face creased in misery.” But the English lost the battle to the deceitful Normans, and thus, lost England.”
He sure sounds as if he fought the battle, she thought as she selected a roll from the bread basket and buttered it.” You almost finished? With your book, I mean.”
"I've several more Chapters to go, but it's coming along quite well. There's a publisher in New York who's already expressed an interest.”
"Wow! That's great! I'll want an autographed copy when it's published,” she said with a smile.
"It would be my pleasure. I shall make certain you get a copy.”
She bit into her roll, puzzled as ever by Galan's speech. She couldn't put her finger on it, but certain words and phrases he used sounded stilted. And the more she heard him speak, the more she caught a trace of an English accent.
"Did you ever live in England?” She sipped her Chablis, keeping her eyes on him.
"A long time ago. Enough about me. Tell me, will you go home for the holidays?”
"Can't take time off from my job.”
"Then your loss is my gain. I wondered if you'd enjoy seeing The Nutcracker.”
"I'd love it! I've never been to a ballet.” She thought for a moment.” Can you get tickets this late?”
"I've already bought two tickets.”
"Oh.” She didn't know what else to say. Was he so sure of himself?
He seemed to be able to read her mind.” If you hadn't been able to go, I intended to go by myself.”
She finished her roll and wiped her hands on her napkin.” You wouldn't want to waste a ticket.”
He gave her a steady look.” Indeed, it is my good fortune.”
Her salad arrived, rendering her momentarily silent while she dipped her fork into the most luscious combination she'd ever tasted, a vegetable melange with a light dressing, topped with watercress. Boy, did that taste good!
He rested his arms on the table, fingers entwined, silver cufflinks gleaming. His eyes seemed to probe her, as if he could see into her soul, discern every secret.” Tell me about yourself. I know you work at the bookstore, but have you any special interests?”
"I help the homeless and--"
"The homeless--why?”
"Because I want to. Well, I help them as much as possible, and I try to get them jobs.” She sighed.” Not always successful there. Whenever I get a chance, I spend a little time talking with them, even after I work late in the evening.”
He frowned.” Miami's a dangerous place at night, as you should well know.”
She knew he was thinking of her mugging the night they'd first met.” I'm more careful now.”
"'Careful' doesn't count for much. Miami is full of criminals. I see so many. . .” He paused, as if he'd said too much.
"So many--what?”
"Crimes!” His face darkened.” Criminals everywhere!”
"How do you see all these so-called crimes?”
"I see them,” he replied in a voice that brooked no contradiction.
"Maybe you don't realize it, but in this country, a man is innocent until proven guilty.”
He shook his head.” I see all the proof I need.”
"Well, I don't want to argue about that now. . . .” She thought quickly.” My father . . .”
"Yes?”
She twisted her napkin in her lap.” He's a lawyer, and he once made a deal--took a bribe, in other words--that kept many poor people from having adequate housing. Helping the homeless is my way of making up for it.”
"You are not responsible for your father's sins.”
She shrugged.” I do what I can.” She sipped her Chablis, looking up as the waiter brought her entree.
"Let's talk about something else,” he said.” Do you like poetry?”
"I don't like--"She made a fluttery movement with her hands"--poetry that doesn't rhyme.”
"Well, I think you'll like this one.”
"It was many and many a year ago
In a kingdom by the sea--
"Edgar Allen Poe!”
Smiling, he nodded.
"That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee. . . .”
She concentrated on every word, fascinated by his deep, rich voice, as smooth as a butterscotch sundae. His voice, like his eyes, had a mesmerizing quality. Hearing him heightened all her senses, as if she'd never really lived until now. If only his voice had that effect on her, what might a kiss do?
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride
In the sepulcher there by the sea
In her tomb by the sounding sea
"That was very impressive!” She returned to her dinner, unaware until this moment that she'd forgotten her meal, forgotten everything except his voice and the poem. It seemed as if they had the restaurant to themselves, just Galan and she.
"Perhaps I should go on the stage,” he said with a self-deprecating smile.
"You'd be a hit!”
Galan studied her while she ate, every gesture, every facial expression. He liked the way her eyes lit up when she talked, no matter her mood. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a simple gesture but exquisitely enchanting. Even by the dim light, her skin glowed with life, and the sweep of her eyelashes, the gleam of her blonde hair by candlelight captivated him. Inhaling her lilac scent, so many memories burst in his mind, of meandering streams and grassy meadows, of the white chalk cliffs of Dover.
In spite of himself, he observed the pulse at the base of her throat, the pumping of her blood that tempted him almost beyond endurance. He wanted to reach across the table and touch her warm, delicate skin, but if he did, he'd be lost, helpless to deny the hunger that clawed at his insides. No, he could never hurt Stevie, an enchanting woman who meant so much to him. Willingly, he would give his life--such as it was--before he'd let any harm come to her.
As he drained his glass of wine, he struggled to constrain his appetite. He'd have his own dinner later, after he drove her home. Hunger tortured him, a deep, urgent desire for food. Yet he longed for some nebulous attribute that went beyond mere sustenance, a goal forever out of reach. He gazed at her while she ate, seeing all he'd never have, everything denied him, from now until eternity.
After Galan paid the waiter, they left the dining room, descending a few steps to the entrance, where a crowd of patrons waited to be seated. There, glass cabinets lined the walls, each filled with porcelain dishes and figurines, a pleasant attraction she'd missed when they first arrived.
"Oh, look at the pretty porcelain!” Stevie headed for one of the cabinets, catching her reflection in the glass.
He came to stand beside her.” Quite an interesting collection.”
She saw him next to her but she didn't see his reflection in the glass. What? She looked at the glass again. Strange.
With a muttered exclamation, he lurched back, away from the cabinet.
She turned in his direction.” You okay?”
"Yes, of course. Why shouldn't I be?”
"I don't know. . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she, too, stepped away from the cabinet, wondering why she hadn't seen his reflection. A trick of the light, she supposed.
What else could it be?
Chapter Five
The last faint stars disappeared from a slate blue sky as Stevie stepped off the bus in downtown Miami, the Miami Herald clutched in her hand, her leather purse slung over her shoulder, and a lot of worries plaguing her mind. What made her so tired? she agonized, trudging along Biscayne Boulevard, thinking how worn out she'd felt for weeks. Adjusting her purse strap, she sighed. She supposed she'd have to see a doctor, but she sure didn't want to, especially since she had no medical insurance.
