Secret Soldier by Dana Marton Page B

question. It certainly would have been the sensible thing to do. “I almost did. Once you’re in the system, it’s easy just to progress from one thing to the next. After the Ph.D., I went into teaching. I would have probably gotten tenure eventually. House in the suburbs, the works.”
    “What’s wrong with that?”
    A waiter walked by them with a tray of sizzling delicacies, the aroma of honey sauce seducing her senses and distracting her for a moment. The restaurant and the gourmet food it offered were a far cry from Tukatar. It was hard to believe this place was in the same country as her little village. Everything-the furniture, the food, even the table linens-was first-rate. Not a single reminder of the poverty with which most of Beharrain still struggled.
    “Dr. DiMatteo, you are a glutton.” Gerald was grinning at her.
    He was right. She glanced at the plates in front of her. Two were empty and she was working her way through the juicy leg of lamb on the last. When she hadn’t been able to decide among three entrees, Gerald had ordered all three for her. She cringed at the terrible excess. Back in Tukatar, she didn’t eat this much in a week. But, good Lord, the food was good. She was a glutton, no help for it.
    “Teaching is wonderful,” she said, hoping to turn the attention from her sudden lack of self-control over food. “Nothing wrong with that at all if that’s what you want. I just…” She looked at him, wondering if he would understand. Anthony certainly never had. Neither had her parents. “In college I was passionate about issues like war.” She looked down at her hands. “Most people know little about what’s going on in the world, so they can’t do anything about it. Some people are aware, but the situation seems so hopeless. What could one person accomplish? They think it’s laughable or incredibly naive even to try. I almost ended up like that.”
    “But you didn’t,” he said, holding her gaze. “You’re one of the few who’s seen reality and given up everything to change it.”
    “It’s not as heroic as that.”
    “Don’t sell yourself short, Abigail.”
    His approval felt good, even if maybe he just wanted to make her into something bigger than she was because it would look more interesting in his documentary. But maybe he did understand her a little. After all, here he was with her, at the other end of the world. Something had pulled him, as it had pulled her, and, like her, he had answered the call. It seemed insane, but in a sense, she felt closer to him than she had to anyone in a long time. And he was practically a stranger. Well, except for the husband part. That was going to take some getting used to.
    A European-looking couple walked by them—German; she recognized the language they spoke. The woman’s tongue was just about hanging out as she looked at Gerald.
    Abigail rolled her eyes after they passed, then shook her head as Gerald grinned from ear to ear at her reaction. “You know, you’re not God’s gift to women.” The man was cocky beyond belief.
    He tugged up his impressive shoulders, looking pretty pleased with himself.
    “Don’t you want to be liked for more than your muscles and your good looks?”
    He went still, his gaze steady on her face, his voice serious when he spoke. “What if there isn’t more?”
    She narrowed her eyes. Was he fishing for compli-, ments? Of course there was more. He was funny and strong and brave and a million other things she had come to appreciate in the few days they’d spent together.
    His self-examination didn’t seem to take long. The ever-present grin was back on his face the next minute.
    “I think you have an admirer, too. That guy over there keeps looking at you,” he said, then added in a voice a notch lower, “He can’t have you. You’re all mine.”
    She swallowed, blinked and turned her head in the direction he was looking. The restaurant was filled, only a handful of women among the men. Tihrin