Nothing Sacred (FBI Agent Dan Hammer Series Book 1) (19 page)

Rose grabbed the remote control and raised the volume. Everybody at the bar turned toward the television, engrossed in the story unfolding only a few short blocks away.

“Chief Sallen, from Charleston’s Fire Marshall Office recently gave a Press Conference stating, and I quote, ‘the fire that mysteriously started on the fourth floor of the Medical University of South Carolina and killed the lives of thirteen year old Angie Kessler and her mother, Sarah Kessler is now suspected to be the work of an arsonist. There is no further information. Every effort is being made to apprehend the person or persons responsible. Chief Sallen gave no mention of the fact that Angie Kessler was recently found on Old Towne Road, or to the gruesome discovery of a second body found dead in the same vicinity of an unknown, unidentifiable teenage girl…’”

The once cozy bar took on a sub zero chill.

Customers whispered to one another and ordered more drinks.

“Thank you, Rose.” Dan turned back to Sydia. “Sorry.”

Sydia didn’t know how to respond.

Dan finished his drink, let out a short sigh and took Sydia’s hand in his. The frisson she felt was welcome. And exciting. He could’ve been a surgeon! His hands were soft and strong and amazingly un calloused. His nails were short and manicured. Clean. She fantasized sucking on his thumb. Damn, she must be getting drunk!

“I guess we’ll discuss your wife another time.”

Dan interrupted her. “Ex wife.”

“Testy, testy…”

“It’s a testy subject. Hungry? Want to grab something to eat?”

“I’ve realized something in my life…”

“What’s that?” Dan gently massaged her hands, her fingers, triggering pressure points she’d forgotten she had.

“… I’ve come to the realization that if I wait long enough, everything eventually comes full circle.”

Dan shook his head in confusion. “So, should I take that as a “yes” or a “no?””

“Actually… a yes.”

Sydia’s cell phone vibrated at precisely that moment. “Great!”

“What?” Dan withdrew his hands for fear of overstepping his boundaries.

“One of the disadvantages of being a Senior Resident at the Hospital.” She pulled out her cell and checked the number. “Excuse me for one minute.” She slid off the barstool, the effect of the wine in full swing. She smiled at herself, aware of her giddy mood and walked to the back of the restaurant. She went outside under the forested canopy of twinkling lights and answered the call. A patient of hers, transported to SICU was having respiratory failure and the Resident on duty, a dimwit, needed her immediate assistance. Of course, she agreed to be there as quickly as possible and ended the call.

Damn!

Sydia strolled leisurely back to Dan. She placed her hand upon his waist, straining her fingers through the cotton material of his shirt to feel the warmth of his body, the masculine outline of his burly physique.

“I guess I’ll have to take a rain check on that dinner.”

“Emergency?”

“Something like that.” She pulled her windbreaker from off the back of the barstool and with limited agility attempted to put it on. Dan stood up to assist her. “You Southern boys sure know how to spoil a girl!”

“Try, at least. When’s you’re next day off?” He was feeling confident suddenly, assertive.

Sydia left Dan standing at the bar and walked toward the entrance. Midway there, she turned and looked at Dan. She liked what she saw. “Next year.” She smiled. “Interested in making a date?”

Dan chuckled. “Too long for me to wait. For any man.”

“I’m worth it.” Her words slurred. Enough to notice.

“I’m sure you are. Want me to escort you back?” Dan wanted her, wanted to be with her, hang on to her for dear life, and never let her go.

“Nah, I’m okay. It’s only a couple of blocks, and I definitely could use the walk. I only hope I’m worth something once I get back.”

“You’ll be fine.”

She patted her chest. “Some fresh air will do me good. Oxygenate.”

Sydia pushed the entrance door open. A swell of cool night air assaulted her. Then, she did something cold and utterly heartless. She didn’t bother to look back.

8:17 PM

Friday

24

“Ohhhh, Ba-by,” Lisette cooed, as she greeted Janice at the door with open arms. “Get that scrawny ass of yours in here!” In the background, Marvin Gaye’s sensual voice sang about
Sexual Healing
.

Janice entered Lisette’s waiting embrace. “That’s the best offer I’ve had all day.” She kissed Lisette’s sweet full lips, investigating the kinky row of dreadlocks that fell heavy and twisted and thick down the middle of her back. A whiff of something wonderful simmering in the kitchen ambushed each one of her senses.

“I hope you’re in the mood for Mexican.” Lisette uttered, grabbing Janice’s hand and slamming the front door behind them. She pulled her into the kitchen, her agreeable hostage. “I’ve made the food, honey, but I’m leaving the beverages up to you.” On the black and white tiled countertop sat an unopened bottle of Don Julio Silver Tequila, some fresh limes, Cointreau and a blender.

Janice observed the details of Lisette’s kitchen, her reporter duties working overtime. Cookbooks from every country lined the top of the refrigerator, separated by old wooden wine crates. A round table sat positioned in the corner of the room. Pushed up against it were two chairs with rattan backs. The walls were painted an eccentric canary yellow. A funny rooster clock hung above the sink. A full sized poster of Martin Luther King hung mounted on a door, presumably leading to the bathroom. An inscription printed in large black letters read: I HAVE A DREAM. Written in bold red at the bottom of the placard was a large X.
Blood
red.

The smell wafting from the stove was wonderful, overpowering almost! Spicy and warm, it tickled Janice’s nose. Her stomach gave a little growl. Hopefully, Lisette couldn’t hear. They knew each other, but not
that
well. Not yet, anyway.

“There’s ice in the freezer.” Lisette pointed to the refrigerator as she continued her preparation. “I picked some up on the way home from school.”

“I get the hint.” Janice retired her reporter skills for the time being and relied on her past incarnation as a prize bartender. It came in handy while she was putting herself through college. All those forgettable Friday and Saturday nights, standing hours behind big corporate restaurant chains like TGIF’s or Houlihan’s, while other waspish, sorority gals were out on dates and conversing with “Mr. Right,” Janice was counting down the wee small hours of the morning with Gin and Tonics. Her favorite time of the evening was thirty minutes before closing when her happy bartender – thanks for the shitty tip -- face peeled away and she offered her oral revenge. “Last call.”

Last call for alcohol. Amazing the puzzled look on customer’s faces as she curtly, without apology, removed their favorite libation from in front of them.

Later, counting dollar bills and grouping them into twenty dollar bundles like a stripper, Janice would run back to her studio apartment before dawn and get just enough sleep to start the entire routine all over again. Not to mention, studying.  Oh, fond memories…

Like the corners of my mind. Right?

More like riding a bicycle, Janice thought. She poured the liquor into the blender with equal amounts of lime juice, Cointreau and ice. Pushing the Puree button, she listened as the grind went from clunky to smooth.

“Yummy, I can taste it already.” Lisette took a tablespoon of bubbling mole poblano sauce, a Mexican specialty dish combining sixteen different ingredients, including herbs, spices and chocolate. She blew on the spoon several times before offering the sample to Janice. The flavor was amazing. Lisette gathered warm chips from the oven, Mexican rice with grilled corn and black beans from the stove. From the refrigerator, a fresh green salad topped with avocado, tomatoes and slivers of red onions was placed on the table, next to an assortment of bottled salad dressings. A colorful ceramic bowl brimming with homemade guacamole completed the setting. “Nothing fancy,” Lisette said, discounting her achievements.

“Right. Just whipped it up.” Janice did her part by pouring the frozen mixture of Margaritas into large Martini glasses, ice cold from the freezer. Garnishing them with fresh lime wedges, she placed them on the table, glasses steaming. “This looks beautiful,” Janice said, admiringly. She took a seat and waited for the hostess to present the main dish. From the oven, Lisette pulled out a pan filled with chicken basting in the rich, dark mole sauce. She sat it down on the table onto colorful potholders.

“Here it is. Direct from Mexico. Hope you like it.”

Lisette sat down next to Janice. She could smell the sexy oil of musk on her skin. A light odor of sandalwood drifted from the living room. She took a match and lit the candle, and then held Janice’s hand. “Let us pray.” Lowering her head, she began. “Dear Lord, we are grateful for this food placed before us, thankful for good friends and company this evening. May this food, provided by You, nurture us and be blessed in Your name. Amen.”

Janice listened to Lisette’s prayer. The way she enunciated each word for added meaning. Out of respect, she kept her eyes closed and her head lowered. Somehow, she wanted to be a part of this Universal homage to the Lord. A Lord. She just didn’t know how to go about it, or how to do it. It was how she had lived her life up until now, driven solely by facts. Hard and fast and concrete.

Then again, the quests Janice had always embarked upon were outwardly directed, never inwardly motivated. A Spiritual quest, so to speak. Maybe Lisette was a teacher in many ways. Maybe Lisette was
her
teacher. Janice thought, sitting here, so closely beside her, listening to Lisette’s soothing voice, sensing her unwavering belief, that she so wanted to be taught. She so wanted to be a part of Lisette’s homage. So, Janice decided to change things up. In essence, Janice’s tiny breath of a prayer, her lowered head, her closed eyes, her sweaty, nervous palms of devotion were for Lisette. Only for her.

Amen.

Janice took her Margarita and inhaled a slurp of its splendid iciness. Lisette followed.

“This is scrumptious.” Lisette said, squeezing her lime of any remaining juice over the top. “Girl, you haven’t lost your flair!”

“Let’s hope not.” Janice took a forkful of chicken. It literally fell off the bone, dripping in brown, gooey sauce. “And neither have you!”

Quiet moments over candlelight as they dipped warm tortilla chips into the guacamole, passed more rice and beans and added dressing to their salads. Janice chose the Light Ranch, forever watching her weight.

“So tell me…” Lisette initiated the conversation, lightly tossing her salad with her fork. “You’ve been quite a busy lady since I last saw you.”

“I’m exhausted. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so tired.”

Another pause. “Would you like to stay the night?” Janice looked up. Lisette responded with eyes so tender. She cared. At least Janice prayed she did. “I can’t disconnect your cell phone,” she continued, “but I
can
disconnect mine. You look like you could use a good night’s sleep.”

Janice didn’t know why, but she suddenly felt like crying. Instead, she stared down at the mixture of colors bleeding together on her plate. “Yes.” She responded tentatively for the first time in her earthly existence.

She was learning.

They sat together at the kitchen table. They chatted superficially about the colorful Mexican tablecloth Lisette collected on a recent trip to Cancun. They finished their dinner and devoured their drinks, having another round with extra shots of tequila on the side. They lightly salted the top of their hands, seductively licking each other’s, before slugging back the clear chilled shots. They bit down on limes and let the warmth surround them.

They watched the crooked minute hand progress sleepily on the funny rooster clock. They witnessed the candle burn out before them. The music playing from the living room stopped. The only sound… the rhythmic rise and fall of each other’s separate breathing. Then Lisette, once again, took Janice’s hand and led her into the bedroom. There, she gently disrobed her and ushered her into bed. Janice felt the texture of freshly laundered sheets pulled tight beneath her. The light, clean smell of lavender and sunshine, the lingering essence of Lisette’s naked body hovering above her, close by her, and all around her. Then, with the heightened sensitivity of a thousand blind angels learning the exquisite finger workings of Braille, Lisette carefully read Janice’s body, discovered the center of her sacred beauty and proceeded to nurture it.

Janice’s tiny breath of a prayer… answered.             

Amen
.