Burn (Indigo) Read online

  “That man across the street,” Cinder blurted, pressing close to him. “He’s been staring over here for a long time.”

  Gian had to wait for a rowdy group of young adults, likely students from nearby Webster University, to pass before he could see anyone past the traffic. Once the street cleared, Gian looked about. “I don’t see anybody.”

  “He was right there!” Cinder moved closer to the curb and scoured the street in each direction. “He was dressed as a ninja. Natasha saw him, too.”

  “I believe you.” Gian joined her, stepping into the street to better see. “He’s gone now, whoever he was.” Pulling her close, he wrapped her in his cape. “You had yourself a real Halloween spook, didn’t you?”

  “He was watching me. I know he was.”

  Rubbing her back, Gian gave the street one more look. Halloween was a night for fun and sweets, a time for pretend monsters to roam the night. Someone had scared Cinder, and that was enough to make that monster real. “Whoever it was—”

  “Natasha thought he might have been Karl.”

  “That wouldn’t surprise me,” Gian said. “Let’s close up the dojo and I’ll take you home. There’s probably some gut-slashing, blood-splattering movie on cable we can watch.”

  “I thought you wanted to get out of that costume,” Cinder reminded him. Within the safety of Gian’s cape, her adoration and affection for her super man overrode the creepy feeling the ninja had given her.

  “I do. The sooner the better.” His hands roamed down to her buttocks, and for an instant, he wondered how far he could go with his voluminous cape concealing his actions.

  “Cory invited Natasha and her girls over for cake. You still have a little bit of entertaining to do before we can leave.”

  “I’ll make them a to-go platter,” Gian said. “I can’t wait to climb into bed with the most beautiful woman in history.”

  “In your history, at any rate.” Cinder winked.

  * * *

  Gian moved through the darkness.

  So familiar with Cinder’s apartment, he disturbed nothing and made no sound as he looked for her. The bathroom was empty, but for the blue-grey moonlight flooding through the skylight. She wasn’t in the kitchen as Gian had first suspected. The spacious living and dining room area initially appeared empty, and Gian quickened his step to return to the bedroom to put clothes on and see if she had gone outside for some reason.

  But then he caught sight of a pretty brown foot poking from behind Cinder’s sectional sofa. Rounding it, he found her lying on the plush bench positioned behind the sofa to face her wide, slanted living room windows.

  Aware of his presence, she sat up, curling a small piece of paper in her hand. Gian sank beside her.

  “Did I wake you?” Her voice was raspy.

  “Not at all. How long have you been out here?” Staring at her hands in her lap, she shrugged a shoulder.

  Gian raised an arm to embrace her. Before he could, she swung her legs back onto the bench and laid her head in his lap, her hands tucked under her chin.

  “Are you still creeped out by the ninja?”

  “No.”

  He stroked her hip through her thin cotton shift. She wore nothing under it, Gian discovered, his hand roaming freely over her abdomen and backside. “Did you have fun tonight?”

  She nodded.

  Gian forced himself to ignore the effect the movement had on the sleeping creature at the back of her head. “Are you going to tell me what pulled you out of bed, or are we going to keep playing twenty questions?”

  “I keep thinking about Danielle.”

  Gian chuckled. “About the frosting she got all over her cheeks when Sionne challenged her to a cake eating contest, or how she laughed her head off when she flattened Chip?”

  Danielle, Natasha’s youngest, had been little more than a baby when Gian founded Sheng Li. The little girl had taken her first steps in the cushioned safety of the dojo, and she seemed to believe that the entire world was safe for her explorations, with cushions to soften her landings and a handful of strapping surrogate uncles who would protect her. Danielle had everyone at Sheng Li wrapped around her pinky so tightly, Chip hadn’t hesitated—and no one had stopped her—when she decided to demonstrate the GEFS defense technique Gian had created specifically for his youngest students.

  “She’s nine years old, and she can already defend herself better than I ever could,” Cinder said quietly.

  “Is that what’s bothering you?”

  “No.”

  “This is frustrating.” Gian took her by her shoulders and sat her up. The paper scroll in her hand jostled to the floor. Cinder made a dash for it, but Gian got to it first. Without thinking, he unfurled it. “What is this?” The murky black and white image made no sense to him. “Is it a constellation?”

  Her face drawn, her eyes wide and melancholy, Cinder shook her head.

  “Damn it, Cinder, tell me what’s wrong,” Gian insisted. Sitting naked in the moonlight, he had never felt more helpless. He could fight almost anything with a better than good chance of coming out the victor, but he was powerless against the haunts in her head.

  “I always wanted a daughter.”

  Her voice, quiet as a sigh, combined with her words and the photo to hit Gian hard in a place a punch would never reach. He took the photo from her and studied it more closely. “This is a sonogram.”

  “I should have told you when you proposed to me,” she nearly whispered. “But I can’t be a mother.”

  Her eyes searched his. The tension in her neck and hands, the tremble in her lower lip, and the sadness emanating from her served as warning. He had to choose his next words with great care.

  “Sure you can.”

  She chuckled sadly, wiping away the tears that had escaped the trap of her lower lashes. “Two very good OB/GYNs would disagree with you.”

  “You don’t have to get pregnant to be a mother. There are a million kids who need parents like us.”

  Cinder covered her face with her hands and wept, her shoulders shaking with the release.

  “I can’t promise that we’ll take the whole million, but I’m good for two or three. Five, tops.”

  Cinder climbed into his lap, tightly hugging his neck to smear his face with tears and kisses.

  “Sometimes the family you pick is even better than the family born to you,” he went on, fastening her in his embrace. “I’m a lucky man, Cinder. I got to pick you. Our kids will be the luckiest kids in the world because they’re going to have you for a mom.”

  * * *

  Gian entered Grogan’s Superette with the sole intention of picking up lunch. Or so he kept telling himself as he walked the convoluted path to the salad buffet in the middle of the store.

  Founded in 1952 as a tiny neighborhood grocery store, Grogan’s had since tripled its floor space and evolved into a landmark specializing in whole and organic foods. Though it had kept the unassuming label of “superette” in its name, Grogan’s was the only place for miles where one could find canned snails imported from France, pancetta flown in from Italy twice a month, and fresh panko straight from Japan shelved alongside Missouri staples such as Vess soda, C&H sugar, and Mama Toscana’s toasted ravioli. The current owner, Sean Grogan III, had brought the store into the twenty-first Century by giving it an online presence with a website from which patrons could order home deliveries.

  The long line at the salad buffet, the best in St. Louis County, gave Gian a chance to look around. Not for a beverage to accompany his meal, but for a Grogan’s employee. Specifically, former karate instructor Karl Lange.

  Gian’s stomach rumbled. The scents of the day’s hot entrees—lasagna, chicken parmesan, fried eggplant, and grilled chicken breast—tickled Gian’s nose. Hunger could wait. Gian wanted immediate satisfaction of a different kind once he spotted Karl in the soda aisle chatting with Jalesa Usher, Natasha’s oldest daughter.

  Jalesa, a freshman at Webster University, was exactly the so
rt of target Karl preferred. She was young, and with her sparkling brown eyes and pretty smile, she was too attractive for Karl to ignore. Gian had trained Jalesa for eight years and he knew that she was no fool. But he left his place in line at the buffet to let Karl know that Jalesa was off limits.

  Or so he told himself.

  “I loved your costume last night,” Karl was saying as Gian approached. “I saw a lot of diva princesses last night, but you were definitely the cutest one.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Lange,” Jalesa said without looking at Karl, who had rolled up the sleeves of his T-shirt to display his big deltoids.

  “You’re eighteen now, right?” Karl folded his arms over his chest and stepped closer to her.

  Studying the label of a grapefruit soda from Italy, Jalesa offered no more than a disinterested grunt of affirmation.

  “Hey, kid,” Gian greeted.

  Jalesa looked up and smiled. “Mr. Piasanti, hi,” she said brightly.

  Karl scowled.

  “Danielle and I had such a good time at Sheng Li last night,” Jalesa went on. “My mother told me to thank you for inviting us over.”

  “No problem, kiddo,” Gian told her, although he was staring at Karl. “I’m hosting a mini-tournament on Thanksgiving Day. You and your sister should come by and watch the fights. It’s in the morning.”

  “Good,” Jalesa said and laughed. “Because my dad won’t want to miss any of his football games.”

  “Then I’ll count on seeing you.”

  “Great. See you, Mr. Piasanti.”

  Grapefruit soda in hand, Jalesa started away. Karl leaned to his right to peer past Gian, watching the young woman go. “Natasha sure makes beautiful girls,” he said, leering at her. “Where does the time go? I remember when she was in braids, bouncing around Sheng Li in the Beginners class. She was a long way from braids in that leather skirt and tiara last night.”

  “You saw her last night?” Gian asked.

  Karl straightened and fixed his stare on Gian. “So what if I did?”

  “Who else did you see?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “I don’t answer to you. Not anymore.”

  “Stay away from Cinder.”

  A deep laugh stuttered from Karl. “What?”

  “If I ever catch you trying to scare or intimidate her again, I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” Karl sneered.

  “If you have a beef with me, take it up with me. Don’t take your petty grudges out on Cinder.”

  “Kiss my ass,” Karl spat. “I got better things to do than fool around with Cinder White.” He cracked his knuckles and played with the tiny knot fastening his long white stockboy’s apron around his hips. “Although I hear you don’t. I hear that little fox has you so whipped, you can’t walk straight unless she’s leading you by the nose.”

  Gian grinned. “Still jealous that I got the girl, huh?”

  “It’s not like anyone else had a chance. We all thought you were teaching her karate in the private studio, when all along you were getting paid gigolo-style to dip your stick in her—”

  Gian cut the insult off with a quick jab to Karl’s mouth, sending the big stock boy reeling into a display of sugar-free two-liter sodas. He charged forward, clashing with Karl, who had lost none of his agility in his weeks away from the dojo. Shoppers stood frozen in shock, watching a very real battle between former sparring partners. Grunts and sweat flew in every direction, plastic bottles of soda bounced onto the gray and white floor tiles, six-packs of canned beverages clattered from shelves. A few cans landed on their rims, popping their tops to send fruity, carbonated sprays of purple, orange, and brown into the air.

  Gian and Karl battled on, slipping and sliding on the remains of hissing cans bleeding their contents. In a white button-down, jeans, and athletic shoes, Gian had a little less of the mobility his gi allowed, but he moved well enough to counter Karl’s ferocious strikes.

  In their sparring matches, Karl had always let frustration and temper get the better of him, and this contest was no different. He picked himself up from the collapsed pyramid of ginger ale cases Gian had thrown him into and took a running start to launch himself into a whirling crescent kick. Underestimating the width of the aisle, he cleared a dozen eight-packs of flavored water from their home on an eye-level shelf before he crashed to the floor.

  Gian straddled him, using his legs to render Karl’s useless. His right fist poised to strike, he clenched his teeth and drew his right elbow back farther, to get as much power as possible behind the impending blow.

  “That’s enough!”

  Chip’s bellowing voice couldn’t stop the descent of Gian’s fist, but Chip’s hand did. He caught Gian’s wrist and, with a neat twist, deflected the shattering blow meant for Karl’s face.

  “What the hell is the matter with you two?” Chip positioned himself to back Gian away from Karl. “If you want to brawl, do it in the dojo or in the alley. You don’t bring it out in the open. You’re scaring folks.”

  “And embarrassing others.” Zae spoke low between her teeth, glaring from Gian to Karl. “Idiots.”

  “Oh, my God,” moaned the day manager, who had emerged from the safety of an endcap loaded with the week’s special, 3 for $11 cases of generic diet cola. He clutched his balding head as he entered the soda aisle, the soles of his leather uppers giving him no purchase on the wet and sticky floor. “Who’s going to pay for this? Lange, what the hell happened? Mr. Grogan isn’t going to like this, not at all!”

  “Just a disagreement between old friends,” Chip said and smiled. “Gian and Karl had some things to work out, and, well . . .” Chip tightened his grip on Gian, who continued to glower at Karl. “They’re all out now. Right, boss?”

  “This isn’t over by a long shot!” Karl swore. Like the biggest bull in Pamplona, Karl got to his feet and snorted, squaring his shoulders. His head down, he sneered and charged toward Gian.

  “Yes, it is, Karl.” The manager, hands raised, stepped into Karl’s path.

  Karl clipped the manager’s shoulder as he lunged at Gian, spinning the man in a complete circle. His feet twisted, and he hit the floor. A rainbow of soda instantly tie-dyed his white shirt. He landed on his big belly, instantly flipping onto his back like a beetle. His skinny arms and legs flailed until he rocked himself onto his side and struggled to his feet in a puddle of soda.

  “It’s time to cool it, Karl.” Zae caught him, easily stopping him with an arm hold. “You can’t take on all three of us.”

  Despite her high-heeled T-straps, tight tweed skirt, pale silk blouse, and heavy tortoiseshell-framed glasses, Zae looked perfectly capable of throwing down if Karl forced her. Gian enjoyed a fleeting second of pride knowing that the sexy schoolmarm had his back.

  One last angry snort, and Karl jerked out of Zae’s grip. “This ain’t the last, Gian. Not by a stretch.”

  “Get your things and go home, Karl,” the manager panted. “You’ll be lucky if Mr. Grogan doesn’t fire you.” He shook soda from his hands. “Dear God, this mess is gonna cost a fortune to clean up, never mind what this will do to my waste account for the day . . .”

  “Mr. Piasanti will pay for the damages and your losses,” Zae assured the manager. “He’s a business owner right across the street. Sean Grogan knows where to find him.”

  The manager, his saturated polyester trousers hanging off him, worked his mouth, capable of no sound other than a soft whimper. Chip helpfully used the toe of his sneaker to push a spinning, spraying two-liter to one side of the aisle.

  “We’re gonna get Mr. Piasanti back across the street,” Chip said, offering an awkward smile.

  “And back on his meds,” Zae snapped. Her voice cleared a path through the stunned gawkers. “Don’t you people have jobs to get back to? The matinee is over. Get on with your business. Folks act like they’ve never seen a throw down in a grocery store before.” She turned back to the manager,
who had been following them. “This is what happens when you overprice your boneless chicken breast. It’s a dollar and a half cheaper everywhere else in town. ”

  Chip grabbed Zae by her arm and pulled her out of the store. “I’ve got my hands full with Gian,” he chided her. “Can you save your comparison shoppin’ for later?”

  * * *

  “If I’d heard it from anyone other than Jalesa, I never would have believed it,” Natasha said. She met Gian and his entourage outside Sheng Li and followed them into the office. Gian kicked out his chair and dropped into it, giving his desk an extra kick out of frustration.

  “Look at your hands,” Natasha admonished. “You tore the skin right off your knuckles.”

  “More like scraped it off against Karl’s face,” Chip noted. He offered Karl’s old swivel chair to Zae, who refused it.

  More prepared than any Boy Scout, Natasha whipped her keys from the pocket of her full peasant skirt. She rounded the desk and took Gian’s right hand. She sorted through the policeman’s whistle, store cards, and mini Swiss Army knife attached to her keychain and selected a tiny yellow and green canister of antibacterial spray. Each of Gian’s knuckles got a blast while Chip retrieved the first aid kit from the top of a tall filing cabinet.

  “Jesus!” Gian exclaimed. “That stuff stings.”

  Natasha pursed her lips with an impatient sigh. “You just finished tearing up a man’s head with your bare hands, and you’re going to bellyache about a squirt of antiseptic?” She gave his knuckles another spray and grinned when he winced.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself, Gian,” Natasha said. She ripped open a half dozen bandages. “What will Cinder think when she finds out that you went over there to beat up Karl?”

  “I did it for her. I don’t want Karl thinking he can scare her and get away with it.”

  “Women don’t need to be saved,” Natasha insisted. “Men just want to be heroes.”

  “That sounds familiar,” Gian said, remembering something Cinder had once told him.