gone back to studying the rain-slicked streets, shiny hair belling around her shoulders.
“Captain Gabriel!” Her face turned rosy with pleasure, which was a lot better than seeing it white with tension. “Oh my gosh, how is he doing?”
“Fine. Retired to Florida. Fishes and runs marathons. In the one-hundred-degree heat.” Mike shook his head. “He was a fine commanding officer, but he’s also nuts. When this is all over, I think he’d appreciate a call from you. He never forgot you.”
She had opened her mouth to answer, when suddenly the driver swerved onto a leafy street. His tinny voice came over the intercom.
“Captain Shafer, Dr. Merritt. We’re here.”
LUCY studied the captain’s reaction to her apartment. Her parents had left her relatively well off, so she’d been able to buy it after college with part of her trust fund. The mortgage had been so reasonable she’d already paid it off. Uncle Edwin had found her the apartment, which had been miraculously cheap for the size and location. It was nice and she loved it. It was her bolt-hole, her refuge, her safe place. Nothing bad could happen to her in her home.
The captain looked in, winced, froze.
Lucy had spent a lot of her childhood in windowless huts, where the only light came from the door. She craved light, in all senses. Though the day was dark, a flip of the switch lit the place up. Lights everywhere, casting out the darkness.
And she liked light colors, too. Pale birch hardwood flooring, pale Kerman rugs, white couches, white lace curtains.
The captain looked down at himself, crumpled and filthy, boots mud-caked. He stopped at the threshold, afraid to enter.
“Shower,” he said.
Lucy touched his arm, letting her hand drop immediately. His arm felt like steel under the grungy material.
“Right away,” she said gently. The man had obviously been pulled from either a mission or field training. It wasn’t his fault he was filthy. “Don’t worry. Everything’s washable. Apparently people are coming later with your new things. Here, let me show you the way.”
She led him to the guest bathroom, peach and cream, with a large array of body lotions, which she guessed he wouldn’t be using anytime soon.
He stood in the doorway, nearly filling it, looking utterly out of place. Lucy took pity on him. “Here.” She pulled out clean white towels and slapped a rose-scented bar of soap in his hand. He just stood there, and she realized that after the shower he couldn’t just put his filthy uniform back on.
She had absolutely nothing that could possibly fit him. Okay. She disappeared into her bedroom closet, pulling out a bathrobe from the back.
“Here.” Her voice was froggy and she cleared it as she thrust the bathrobe in his arms. “It was—it was my father’s. You’re welcome to use it.”
He understood. He was filthy, exhausted, probably starving, no doubt dying to step into the shower, but he didn’t move. He simply stood there, with her father’s ancient dark blue terry-cloth robe in his arms. Those dark eyes held some kind of emotion. She couldn’t read him, she didn’t know him, but there was something there.
He reached out and ran a long finger down her cheek. Just a touch, but it tingled. She barely stopped herself from stepping back. She wasn’t used to being touched.
“Thanks,” he said softly. “I appreciate it.”
She made a strangled noise and fled the bathroom, closing the door behind her. He’d flustered her.
Lucy didn’t do flustered. She could only think that the shocks of the day—discovering that she had to return to the Palace in Chilongo, go back to where she’d lost her parents in a hail of gunshots and a raging fire had made her vulnerable to emotions she’d long since repressed.
The doorbell rang. The intercom video showed a small group of people on her doorstep.
A woman—girl, really—stepped up to the camera, artificially bright red hair sticking out in spikes, bold features
“Captain Gabriel!” Her face turned rosy with pleasure, which was a lot better than seeing it white with tension. “Oh my gosh, how is he doing?”
“Fine. Retired to Florida. Fishes and runs marathons. In the one-hundred-degree heat.” Mike shook his head. “He was a fine commanding officer, but he’s also nuts. When this is all over, I think he’d appreciate a call from you. He never forgot you.”
She had opened her mouth to answer, when suddenly the driver swerved onto a leafy street. His tinny voice came over the intercom.
“Captain Shafer, Dr. Merritt. We’re here.”
LUCY studied the captain’s reaction to her apartment. Her parents had left her relatively well off, so she’d been able to buy it after college with part of her trust fund. The mortgage had been so reasonable she’d already paid it off. Uncle Edwin had found her the apartment, which had been miraculously cheap for the size and location. It was nice and she loved it. It was her bolt-hole, her refuge, her safe place. Nothing bad could happen to her in her home.
The captain looked in, winced, froze.
Lucy had spent a lot of her childhood in windowless huts, where the only light came from the door. She craved light, in all senses. Though the day was dark, a flip of the switch lit the place up. Lights everywhere, casting out the darkness.
And she liked light colors, too. Pale birch hardwood flooring, pale Kerman rugs, white couches, white lace curtains.
The captain looked down at himself, crumpled and filthy, boots mud-caked. He stopped at the threshold, afraid to enter.
“Shower,” he said.
Lucy touched his arm, letting her hand drop immediately. His arm felt like steel under the grungy material.
“Right away,” she said gently. The man had obviously been pulled from either a mission or field training. It wasn’t his fault he was filthy. “Don’t worry. Everything’s washable. Apparently people are coming later with your new things. Here, let me show you the way.”
She led him to the guest bathroom, peach and cream, with a large array of body lotions, which she guessed he wouldn’t be using anytime soon.
He stood in the doorway, nearly filling it, looking utterly out of place. Lucy took pity on him. “Here.” She pulled out clean white towels and slapped a rose-scented bar of soap in his hand. He just stood there, and she realized that after the shower he couldn’t just put his filthy uniform back on.
She had absolutely nothing that could possibly fit him. Okay. She disappeared into her bedroom closet, pulling out a bathrobe from the back.
“Here.” Her voice was froggy and she cleared it as she thrust the bathrobe in his arms. “It was—it was my father’s. You’re welcome to use it.”
He understood. He was filthy, exhausted, probably starving, no doubt dying to step into the shower, but he didn’t move. He simply stood there, with her father’s ancient dark blue terry-cloth robe in his arms. Those dark eyes held some kind of emotion. She couldn’t read him, she didn’t know him, but there was something there.
He reached out and ran a long finger down her cheek. Just a touch, but it tingled. She barely stopped herself from stepping back. She wasn’t used to being touched.
“Thanks,” he said softly. “I appreciate it.”
She made a strangled noise and fled the bathroom, closing the door behind her. He’d flustered her.
Lucy didn’t do flustered. She could only think that the shocks of the day—discovering that she had to return to the Palace in Chilongo, go back to where she’d lost her parents in a hail of gunshots and a raging fire had made her vulnerable to emotions she’d long since repressed.
The doorbell rang. The intercom video showed a small group of people on her doorstep.
A woman—girl, really—stepped up to the camera, artificially bright red hair sticking out in spikes, bold features
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