I was more than annoyed that he still thought of me as a spoiled brat or something. Well, he was no picnic either.
He was still smiling, but for a moment I thought I saw a flash of thunder in the recess of his eyes. Bruised ego perhaps?
“And what type might that be?” he asked, defiance affecting his tone while he lifted one eyebrow and puffed his chest, challenging me to explain myself.
“The type of man who prides himself in playing the hero for everyone. The type of man who gets off on danger and who will not commit to anything except his job, for the good of all, no matter who gets hurt or left behind,” I blurted out surprised at my audacity.
“I can see you’ve made quite a specific opinion of me,” he said with a curt tone.
Remorse hit me almost immediately, and frankly, I didn’t know what came over me to be such a bitch with him. What was wrong with me tonight? I was not in the habit of being harsh with people. Maybe it was just the stress.
“I’m sorry; that was out of line. I meant to ask you if your parents were alive and if you had any brothers and sisters,” I corrected, hoping my voice expressed my contrition.
At that moment, the waiter came to offer coffee. I wanted Drake to answer me since I knew so little about him and he was at the advantage here.
“Yes, please, I’d love some.”
His sigh me made me wonder if he would have preferred me to answer with a negative. Was there something about his family he didn’t want to share? If he thought he had the right to question me all he wanted without allowing me to reciprocate, he was in for a surprise. Besides, did he think he was breaking a professional code of ethics by answering my personal questions?
After his double espresso and my cappuccino arrived, he took a sip and relented.
“My mother lives in New York, where I was born. So, we have something in common after all,” he joked humorless.
I didn’t intend to let him off the hook so fast, and he must have gathered this by my expectant expression.
He downed the rest of his expresso and continued. “My father was a police officer. He passed away in the line of duty.”
I was about to tell him I was sorry for his loss but then he added, “I also had two older brothers. Steven was a junior accountant, and Brian was a fire fighter. They also died,” he finished in a clipped tone.
Horror struck me. What a cursed and plagued family. The sour taste of tragedy brought an acid aftertaste to my coffee. There could only be one logical theory in my mind, but I hesitated to voice it out loud, in case I was wrong.
“I’m so sorry, but how is that possible? You said one of your brothers was an accountant. Did he die in an accident or was he sick?” I pushed. I didn’t want to seem nosy, but one had to admit that this situation was quite uncommon in families unless they were a victim of a natural disaster or—
“Accident. Yeah, you could call it like that,” he spat with a brutal tone, full of cynicism.
His face contracted in a mask of contempt with lips twisted into a cruel rictus. He was looking at the far corner of the room, deep in thought as if remembering something. Hatred mixed on his features with something fierce I couldn’t figure out because I didn’t know him well enough. But my instincts shouted he was hurting. Badly.
Perhaps it was selfish and impolite to ask for more explanations, but I wanted to know. The more I was considering what he confided, the more an unstoppable feeling of dread crept in my throat. Tightening. Deep down I think I knew but was not willing to commit to the awful explanation until I’d heard it from his lips. The seconds passed with an unbelievable sluggishness, resonating with a loud tic like an old grandfather’s pendulum clock, torturing me further. As the seconds ticked by with uncommon leisure, my determination solidified.
“Please? I’d like you to tell me.” The breaking point was imminent. The truth about his family’s tragedy would be revealed, like a death toll. Loud and clear.
“9/11. 2001,” he said taking me out of my misery and plunging me headfirst into another.
I let the news crash on me like a fifty pound weight on my heart. I avoided looking at his face. Didn’t want to see the scars that would still be there, behind the dark forest of his eyes. Deep in their recess, the golden specs, attractive earlier, now seemed to slash the leafy greens with sharp edge spears. It would take an ocean of time to erode them.
When the waiter brought the Amaretto soufflé I had pre-ordered at the beginning of the meal, I felt totally deflated. I should have returned it, having forgotten about it. However, Steinfield was already sniffing in its direction. His expression turned softer, thanks to the sweet promise of the restaurant’s trademark dessert. His expectant eyes and mischievousness were back, and I appreciated they never were too far beneath the surface. He was waiting for me to turn it over to him, no question about it.
Somewhat baffled by his ability to change his mood so fast, I realized that the suddenness of the raw news was only one sided. For him, time had run over the jagged edge of this painful family souvenir, leaving an altered version of the initial ordeal.
I calculated. He looked to be in his mid thirties. So, he must have been a young teenager in 2001. How can a child live through such a tragic event? I could not imagine what his poor mother must have gone through. So many police officers and firefighters had perished along with countless of other victims who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time.
I couldn’t bear it any longer and broke the awkward silence. “I was still a kid when it happened. Both of my parents had been home, which was so rare in those days, because the Federal Aviation Administration had grounded their flights. I secretly rejoiced at the unusual quiet family day we spent together. My parents had forbidden Sylvia to go out of the house, and she ranted nonstop about it. She was mad at them because she wanted to go take photos of the wreckage with her brand new camera. It was so rare that we get to spend time as a family even if it was under terrible circumstances.”
Oh God. What must he be thinking about my insignificant tale compared to his worst memory? What was wrong with me? How could I speak so casually about this event when it must have been a living hell for him? I guess that nervousness is at fault here even though it must have been only my deep desire to connect with him about this unforgettable event. I was about to apologize for my insensitive monologue, knowing too well that being a loner by nature, my people skills and social graces had never been my forte. When I lifted my eyes to explain my rash comment, he had redeemed his usual composure, dividing his attention between me and the waiting soufflé. Taking his fork, he gave a little nudge toward the pewter ramekin although I think I deserved to be forked for my lack of tact and filter.
“Aren’t you going to eat that?” he asked, passing his tongue over his lips with an expectant look in my direction.
I had so many questions, but I didn’t know if I should push him further. I didn’t want to make him remember this sad period of his life. But now he looked more like the carefree adolescent he must have been before 9/11. One thing was sure—he wanted that soufflé, and more questions would have just spoiled his enjoyment of the dessert. I hoped I would have the occasion to ask him more later.
In the meantime we were dealing with a current terrorist threat, and I was caught right in the middle of it.
I pushed the fuming concoction toward him, signaling for him to dig in. However, upon seeing the utter bliss on his face and his purr of pleasure, I almost regretted giving it away. How could I eat at a time like this? I had no idea, but despite my misfortune, I was positive I was sitting with the best man to help me with this maddening situation. My eyes kept darting to his mouth on their own accord as he licked his lips with the tip of his tongue. The little comical gesture mesmerized me, and I was aware it had nothing to do with the delicious aroma of the dessert.
“Close your eyes and open your mouth,” he ordered.
I relented, not wanting to spoil his fun. The suave
aroma of Amaretto Di Serrano, exuding from the still warm spongy concoction perfumed my nose as he fed me a forkful. The delightful sweet mix of textures melted on my tongue before the creamy buttery almond sauce slid down my throat.
When I opened my eyes, the fire in his had taken a feral gleam. His cocky smile of satisfaction at my surrender to the delectable dessert was infectious. Just like that, we shared in silent communion one of the simple pleasures of life like two kids having pure, unadulterated fun. However, once the bowl was empty, his eyes still spoke of hunger.
The heat of the room was becoming overwhelming since the restaurant was full and I might have had a bit more to drink than I was used to. When the waiter brought the tab, I reached to grab it, but Steinfield’s reflex beat me to it.
“Hey. Give me that. This wasn’t a date, so I’d like to pay my share. Besides, I owe you for the teddy bear rescue.”
“Who said it wasn’t a date?” He grinned his signature smirk.
“I said.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“You … you.” Defeated, I was stuck without a smart repartee.
“Too late, Princess; time’s up. You lost this joust ,” he stated, closing the subject and opening his wallet.
I opened my mouth, not willing to give up so soon but shut it. My eyes fell on the faded worn picture he kept in a clear plastic pouch inside his wallet. I didn’t want to stretch my neck too much as it would have attracted his attention to my indiscretion. A man, a woman and three boys of different heights posed standing in a humble backyard. The youngest boy held an orange cat in his arms.
The transaction finished, he got up and guided me toward the exit, his hand resting on its now familiar spot, the small of my back. I didn’t swat it off this time.
As we opened the door leading outside, I breathed in the moist drizzling evening air. We were headed off to the hotel when the silence was broken by… gunshots? Before I had time to turn around to check where the shot came from, Steinfield threw me down and covered me with his body. An errant motorcycle practically rammed into us at full speed before disappearing down the street. It turned the next corner with screeching tires. It was too late for Steinfield to chase it, and soon he got up and helped me off the wet pavement. I thought motorcyclists were not allowed in Venice.
Did I dare to ask what was that all about? Taking my hand, we rushed back to the safety of our hotel.
Once in my room he took out his phone and isolated himself in the bathroom.
Again? Did he take me for a child that I shouldn’t be privy of his conversation, no matter who he was speaking to? If he wants to have secrets, he can get his own bloody room.
What a way to end a perfect not-a-date-dinner. The motorcyclist had almost run us down, but I doubted that he aimed at us because the whiz of the gunshot had not resonated close enough to hit us. Nevertheless, I was glad for Steinfield’s quick reflexes. We didn’t stick around to see if the driver would make another go at running us down.
Was there any chance that we just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time? With my luck, it wouldn’t surprise me. Doubtful. I bet Steinfield was discussing the situation over the phone now. I didn’t have time to see the license plate, but maybe he did.
I paced down the length of the suite while he was in there, conversing in a hushed voice. He royally annoyed me with his not-your-business attitude, although I was grateful that for the second time since this fateful trip he had saved my hide. But still, maybe he thought better alone.
I was about to march to the door and demand an explanation when I caught my reflection on the gilded mirror by the dresser. My white silk shirt was plastered on my bra, soaking wet with mud stains from the street. I’d ripped the right sleeve after my crash landing on the rough pavement. My scrapped elbow had bled and left cherry size bright red stains on the garment. So the blouse was now irrecoverably ruined. I removed it and placed it on the back of a chair and was about to look for another top to wear when I heard the bathroom door open. Startled, I turned around.
His mouth slacked, and he halted in his tracks, seeing my state of undress. He diverted his eyes for only a brief moment, darting a look at the discarded shirt before ogling my breast. There was no trace of shame in his brazen stare. He sauntered, with measured steps, as if afraid I’d take off, and stopped a foot away from me. As if in a trance, I remained in my spot by the bed, frozen in place by the intensity of the lust I saw sparkling in his dilated pupils. No. There was more than lust in there.
There was no point in pretending we both didn’t want to succumb to the mutual attraction we shared, no matter how senseless it was. I was too vulnerable now to make any intelligent decision or be rational. Not only that, but I’d been through so much today that I’d reached my quota of self-control and just wanted to do something reckless of my own free will. But most of all, I wanted him to hold me. Additionally, I was shaking from being cold and wet.
With a slow, deliberate movement, I unclasped the hooks of my bra. Reaching for my straps, I was about to slide them down, but in one step he stepped over and covered my hands with his, stopping the descent of the straps. He blinked and sighed, devouring me with a feral gleam.
“Sit,” he ordered.
For once, I obeyed and sat at the foot of the bed, eager for his next move. There was passion in the recess of his golden specks, like rays of sun piercing the darkness of his emeralds. With anticipation, I waited for the ravishing kiss I expected when he lowered his head. But to my surprise, all I got was a quick peck on the tip of my nose while he reached behind me and hooked back my bra into place. Next, he turned around and headed once more to the bathroom.
What? He was back a moment later with a wet and soapy face cloth. I rolled my eyes when he took my scrapped elbow and cleaned the two inches of abrasion as if I were a child. But the tenderness and care he put to execute this task was more than endearing. I suspected it was also a method of diplomatic diversion to stop me from making a fool of myself. However, while he was busy with my arm, I noticed that the diversion was also useful to him, judging by his still visible reaction at the front of his pants.
Again, in case of doubt or awkwardness, one can always count on me to utter a platitude.
“I’ve got Band-Aids in my bag. I’ll get them.” He insisted on applying them on the two small skin tears on my right elbow. The atmosphere had tilted, ruining the mood. I freshened up in the bathroom, and when I came out, he had removed his shoes and jacket and was adjusting the decorative cushions on the love seat.
“Hmm, why don’t you use the bed tonight?” My eyes darted to the flat, even surface of the queen size bed. “You already did last night, I suspect.”
I pretended to be a sour puss about it because I knew well enough what he’d been up to.
The Cheshire grin was back, and after a fraction of a second of hesitation, he made a big show of jumping on the bed with glee. However, he settled on top of the covers. He remained dressed except for his shoes. I didn’t ask, guessing it must be out of habit while he’s on missions, in case he needed to quickly jump into action.
I pulled on one of my favorite extra large T-shirts and slipped under the sheets, comforted by his nearness.
Chapter 14
August 28th, Venice, Hotel Flora, Mara’s Room, Early Morning Hours
The following morning, at 6:00 AM, a grumpy Steinfield woke me up with a black expression on his face. He was standing a few feet from the bed with arms crossed, fully dress with his rumpled hair flat on one side.
Last night’s event came into focus. I expected him to be in a better mood, considering I allowed him to sleep on my bed. So why the grim mug? I sat up and prepared myself for yet more bad news.
“Looks like the US FBI Head Office and The Italian Home Security are now aware of Rachid’s demands. His faction announced a string of massive explosions scheduled to go off if Europe and USA don’t meet their requests,” he said.
; “And you think this has something to do with the anonymous text I received?” I said with a pasty tongue while rubbing my dry stinging eyes.
“Affirmative.”
“What about that motorcyclist last night?”
“Under investigation.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“I’m taking you to the Venetian Head Quarter of Security. This is no longer just a transportation safety issue.” Checking his watch he added “I’ll give you thirty minutes to pack, check out and meet me downstairs at the reception desk. I’ll go get a coffee. Want something?”
“No, thanks, but I had planned to visit the city today because my next train is late tonight. Can’t this wait till later?”
“You’ve got twenty-nine minutes left.”
We took a private water taxi to reach our destination, a most efficient way to travel in a city with waterways and where streets were mostly pedestrian. I had even noticed with amusement yesterday an actual traffic light in one of the popular tourist canals. The grand canal was no better with every type of floating craft battling for the space between cruise ships, vaporettos, gondolas and water taxis. They should think about getting a canal traffic system just like in airports. How many accidents are there on that chaotic waterway anyway?
Once thru the larger canal, we continued on the wider Venetian Lagoon. We stood in the back of the half cabin, but conversation was difficult because of the constant bouncing and the loud motor of the speed boat. Also, the chopping motion and the cool sea breeze made me shiver as they added to the frigid spray of water that kept slapping me during the ride. It didn’t improve my foul mood. I’d rushed to pack in record time, anxious upon learning of this new explosion threat. I was dreading to face yet another round of interrogation. On the bright side, the noise would act as a discrete sound barrier, ensuring that the driver would not hear our conversation. Steinfield owed me some answers, and I wouldn’t put up with any more delays to get them. We sat inside the half cabin, which offered poor protection against the wind and the spraying droplets.
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