by Trueax, Rain
S.T. raised his eyebrows with disbelief. "The word is present tense, not past. If Schmidt heads south before he finishes the work he's contracted for up here, he'll be bankrupted."
"I wouldn't want that. I'm sure we can work something out."
"That will be his problem, not mine," S.T. said. "If he does otherwise, he’ll end up financing my next project."
Soul laughed. "I think we can avoid that unpleasant eventuality. What about my offer? Are you angry with me for luring away your man or willing to consider my proposition on a serious basis?"
S.T. studied the blond man's face a moment. He wouldn't have picked this man for a pastor. An insurance salesman, realtor maybe, but not a pastor. Even if he hadn't already been warned about him, he'd have approached any business dealings carefully. "My schedule is pretty tight," he said finally.
"A man like you can take on whatever projects he chooses."
S.T. knew his smile wouldn’t be reflecting humor. "And what do you know about a man like me?"
"I don't hire builders I haven't investigated," Soul said. "Mind if I sit down?" He sat in the chair beside Christine without waiting for permission. "I can pay well," he said, "if that's what's concerning you. We wouldn't expect you to donate your efforts."
"I never dreamed you would," S.T. said, sitting in his own chair, leaning back a little as he studied Soul's face. Whatever was behind the public mask was well hidden.
Soul chuckled. He looked at Christine again. "Will I be permitted to view the proofs from the pictures you took of my people and me?"
"If you would like," she said without enthusiasm. She hadn't been eager to even develop the film, unsure of what she might see in the prints. Although she knew it wasn't true that the camera never lied, she'd often found taking photographs of a subject solidified her first impressions even though sometimes revealing surprises. This wasn’t a man she wanted to see into.
Soul looked back at S.T. "What will it take to convince you to take on my project?"
S.T. looked down at his desk, picked up his day-timer and flipped through it. "Maybe I can send one of my people down to gather--"
"That would not do," Soul interrupted. "I don't want the opinion of an employee. I want your impressions of the land, the setting. I know what I want. I'll wait until you have time."
S.T. looked levelly at him as though considering. "I can’t promise anything about taking it on but might be able to work a look in at the end of the week. Or early next week." Christine didn’t doubt he had known he would do it; but for some reason, perhaps his own instincts, was playing hard to get. She wished he had said no.
"Either works for me," Soul said, rising. He looked back down at Christine. "May I drop you someplace, fair lady?"
She hated that name. She didn't hearing it from him, didn't like the speculative look that came back into S.T.'s eyes as he watched them. "I have a rental car, but thanks anyway," she said, not moving. If he wanted her to leave with him, he was in for a disappointment.
Soul looked from her back to S.T. "You will call when you know when you can come?" he asked, holding out a card.
S.T. hesitated a moment before taking the card. "Sure.”
When Soul was gone, S.T. sat back down. "You don’t like him much.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” She shuddered. “I have worked with a lot of people and rarely found someone I disliked so much. I really think you ought to say no. Of course, it's none of my business, but I don’t think he’s someone you want to be involved with—not on any level."
Being the youngest in a family and having had a full helping of being told what to do, she didn't normally try to influence people as to their decisions, but she couldn't stop her words. "He's... There's something under the surface, something...” She stopped unwilling to say the word that described what she was thinking.
“I have a reason to go," he said finally.
"Rethink the reason."
"Sometimes a man can’t."
When he looked at her again, the expression in his eyes told her the subject had changed from Soul’s project to the two of them. It meant he intended to do nothing about the attraction that she knew was mutual. It was the wisest course for them both, but she wasn’t going to leave it at that.
"How about dinner tonight?" she asked surprising them both.
He gave a laugh. "You asking me on a date?”
"It could be repaying you for letting me do the photo shoot.”
"It could?"
"Or it could be a date."
He seemed to consider. "It's a dumb thing-- for both of us. You know?"
"Do I?"
"Anything between us could only lead to trouble."
"Maybe I like trouble... or maybe I don't agree with your abilities as a fortune teller. So how about it?"
The smile was now in his eyes, but behind it she saw a troubled expression. She was unsure of his answer until he nodded. "What time works for you?" he asked.
"What time are you done here?"
"I'm never done here."
"Okay, then, how about I pick you up at six thirty?"
His expression was still indecisive. "It's a mistake."
"Possibly but live dangerously and find out, Sandy." She smiled more broadly.
"I might have to tell you my name if only in self-defense."
"It couldn't be worse than those my imagination has conjured up."
"Could be it’s just those initials.”
"Maybe, but it’s not. So, six thirty, Siegfried.” She slid her photographs back into the portfolio. He might have been right about the lack of wisdom in them getting to know each other better. Maybe, but she didn’t care.
Chapter Four
When Christine returned to S.T.'s office, she was surprised to see he'd changed into a sports jacket, slacks, white shirt, tie, shaved, and, if the drops of moisture in his hair meant anything, recently showered. "Very nice. How did you manage all that?" she asked, watching as he closed up a computer.
“I frequently need to clean up here after work. Saves time, and as for the jacket--” He grinned as he rose. "Didn't you think I owned one?"
"I'm just surprised you changed. I approve, of course."
"You look impressive yourself." His eyes ran approvingly over the white knit dress, sandaled heels, hair pulled back by a colorful scarf.
He left the desk and walked to her. "Where did you have in mind for dinner?" he asked, his body only inches from hers when he stopped. She felt his energy and sucked in a breath to get control of her reaction.
"If you approve, I made reservations at Burger King," she said, moving back a step. She had instigated this evening, but she had no intention of letting it move too fast.
He laughed. "I eat there all the time."
"Oh, well, then we wouldn't want to do that. In case of a disaster like that, I made dual reservations. How about Bernardo's?"
"Italian food. How did you dig up that place only being in town a few days?”
"Food's my hobby," she said, allowing him to rest his hand on her hip and guide her out the backdoor.
"And you keep a figure like yours," he said with disbelief.
"I don't eat a lot of anything, but I love tasting different foods. At home I cook. On assignment, I look up restaurants, ask people questions. Do you know Bernardo's?"
"If I say I do, will we have to go someplace else?" he asked, looking from his Silverado to her hybrid rental car. “Want to ride with me?"
"I guess economy models don’t offer a lot of leg room." She glanced pointedly at his long legs.
"I could probably get in it... but getting out would be the trick.”
“You aren’t a believer in carbon credits?” she teased climbing up into the truck.
“In my business, I need to carry tools. The truck makes sense. It’s a diesel. Does that count in my favor?”
“Maybe.” As he turned out onto the freeway without asking instructions, she asked, “So you have been there before?"
"I'm a man of many tastes," he said, giving her a quick glance before traffic demanded his attention.
"I suspected as much."
"I didn't figure you for a cook or was that the kind of thing women say?"
She laughed. “Perhaps sometime I’ll prove it when I have a kitchen handy.”
"Where is home?"
"An apartment in Palo Alto."
"Well that fits. You look like you come from money."
"Not really. My father's a professor at Stanford.”
"You still live with family?"
"Of course...” She laughed. “Not. They live nearby in Los Altos. I've the best of all worlds where I am, near bookstores, delis, the university, close enough to see my parents now and then, and just down the freeway from the airport."
"You travel a lot?"
"My work is out there." She gestured out the window. "It takes me a lot of places."
"So is that why you're not tied to some man? And since we’re having dinner, I am assuming you are not."
"You have a lot of questions for a man who doesn't answer any himself."
"I’ll answer that one before you ask. I have nobody... at the moment.”
“I don’t either. A few friends but nothing special.”
“You looking for something special?”
She smiled. “Now supposing I was. Would I tell you?”
“Not likely.”
“But no, I don’t want a serious relationship right now. It’d only get in my way. Not many men understand a woman taking off on a phone call.”
“Nor women.”
“People generally want a partner to stay put and be there at their beck and call. It seems to go with the territory of serious relationships.”
“Well, we are at least equal there—not wanting anything serious.”
“In other areas though, we are not. You are distrustful.”
“And you’re not?”
“Occasionally with someone like Soul but generally I trust people. I pay a lot of attention to my intuition though where it comes to strangers.”
“What did it tell you about me?”
“You really want to know?”
“Sure.”
“Well I barely know you, of course, but... my instincts would tell me that you have been hurt by life and are taking no chances on it happening to you again.”
“Sounds like you took one too many psychology classes.” He used the distraction of the off ramp to avoid continuing that train of conversation. In moments they were parked in the restaurant lot. He shifted in the seat to look at her as she unfastened her seat belt. "What are we doing?" he asked.
"I would say we are having dinner”
"Just that?”
“It’s all either of us want, isn’t it?”
He leaned toward her and she knew he was going to kiss her. All it would have taken was turning her head, and it wouldn't happen. Maybe nothing would then ever happen between them. It would have been the smart thing to do, but she looked up into his dark eyes and knew she wasn’t going to do the smart thing when it came to this man. Something deep inside her spoke to him on a level she couldn’t access.
His lips lightly touched hers, the touch soft and tender. She felt hers soften under his touch. He brought his hand to the back of her head. She felt it entangled in her hair. She reached up then touching his hair. She wanted it loosened but she resisted the temptation to free the tie on it.
Long moments seemed to pass as the kiss went on, his tongue delving into her open mouth, igniting fires that had nothing to do with dinner, then he pulled back, his eyes ebony. "I'm a fool," he whispered.
"A kiss is just a kiss.”
"Sometimes it’s not.”
“Sometimes it is.” She knew it wasn’t with them.
“I can't afford a woman like you."
She knew he didn't mean money. "Why don't we take this slow," she said, sitting back in her own seat, but longing to reach out again. “See where this goes.”
The muscle in his jaw quivered. “That could be the most dangerous thing of all."
"Can we just enjoy tonight then? We can talk, eat dinner, find out if we hate the same things. You know, I don’t need complications in my life anymore than you.” She wondered though if it was already too late to avoid complications. Maybe it had been from the moment she walked into his office that first day.
Good Lord, what was she thinking? She didn’t believe in love at first sight. Ridiculous. Worse, she didn’t want a relationship that got in her career’s way. Freedom, she needed to be able to take off on a moment’s notice. Go where she chose. This whole train of thought endangered all she had.
His faint smile made her wonder if he was reading her mind, but he didn’t say anything as he got out of the car, coming around to get her door. She had waited, sure he was the type of man who would want to open doors.
When she was standing beside him, she looked up into his eyes but for once in her life, she didn’t have any words either. He put his hand on her back, and turned them toward the restaurant.
#
Christine knew the meal had been delicious, but she barely remembered what it had been. She sat with a cup of coffee in front of her, S.T. across from her, and a hundred questions on her mind.
"Go ahead," he said, sipping his own black brew.
She looked up and smiled, getting used to the way they communicated without words. "Tell me about your mother," she said. "Did your feeling of undependable women start there."
"You did major in psychology,” he teased.
"Actually it was anthropology, but all photographers read human nature if they want to take the kind of photographs printed in places other than catalogs."
"You sure don’t like catalogs much.”
“I did my stint with those kind of pictures, but I always wanted more.”
“You the kind of woman who always wants more?”
“Now who’s the psych major?”
He ignored that. “Back to my mother, does anybody like talking about their mothers?”
“I can sometimes.”
“I barely know mine.”
"You weren’t with her much. I don’t suppose that’s easy for a child to understand.”
"She tried to explain it later. Said she had to go. Said the Dinè can’t live apart from that red soil. My father had no place there, no interest in being in the middle of nowhere. She thought I had a chance for a better life if I stayed with him. I have seen where she lives, seen the land, the people, but she should have understood there are many forms of poverty."
"For some cultures, the land is their identity."
"She should have thought of that before she had kids, don’t you think?”
“Would you have rathered never having been born?”
“Life has treated me well overall; so definitely not; but if she’d wanted her son to care what happens to her, she might’ve made more effort to be with him. I've seen her maybe four or five times that I can remember. She lives outside Tuba City, a shack really. When I offered her money to get a better place, she turned me down flat. She said she'd found... hozho and it was there on that piece of dirt and rock."
"Hozho?"
"The Dinè believe people get sick because they're out of harmony from some violation of a taboo, witchcraft, out of control living, and it puts a man out of balance. Many of their rituals are aimed at restoring that balance. The word is hozho."
"Have you gone through any of those rituals?"
"Why would I? I don’t believe in any of it. Oh my mother wanted me to. She thought that I had a hole inside, said I had to get right with the Holy Ones, like I believe in holy ones."
"You don’t believe in God or gods?"
“I believe in what I can see, feel, touch and some of that is suspect." He grinned. "You probably still believe in the tooth fairy.”
She smiled too. “And that would be bad, I suppose?”
“Let me think about the answer to
that one.”
"I do believe in god."
His sexy smile widened. "Which one?"
“I am working that out.”
"Peter Soul’s kind?"
She shuddered. “Definitely not that. Are you seriously thinking about building that church for him?”
“Not a chance. I don’t believe in any kind of church, consider them frankly to be damaging to human commonsense, but I will go to find out if Shonna was there and if anybody knows what happened to her.”
“They won’t tell you if they do. Do you know what they’re like down there?”
The waiter interrupted their conversation by refilling their coffee cups. “I can make an educated guess,” he answered when they were again alone.
"It was like zombies without the eating people part—at least I hope without that part. They don’t think for themselves. They will only tell you what he wants you to know.”
“Shonna was one of those. Maybe she left or...” He let his voice trail off. The other possibility is he’d be looking for a burial ground up there.
“Did you try the police?”
He nodded. “Shonna didn’t lead the kind of life that would make them care what happened to her. They would just assume she drifted on which is, of course, possible. The only place I might find answers is out at Soul’s compound.”
“Unless he wants you to know something, you will get nothing there.”
“You seem pretty definite on that.”
“I am.”
“Well he has covered his trail pretty well, I give you that. Research online about him gave nothing. There is website, books for sale, nothing contradictory or questioning and if anybody put up anything like that, he got rid of it. He flies under the radar.”
“Do you remember the Jim Jones story?”
“Sure, the people who drank poisoned kool-aid because he said to do it.”
“Well, that’s what it seems to me that you will find at his compound." She debated a moment. “I know this won’t make sense to you but sometimes I feel things. Take this for what you will, but Soul is dangerous especially to you. Didn’t you feel it today?"
“What?”
“He’s an energy vampire.”