Burn (Indigo) Page 19

  “That’s a good way of putting it,” Zae told her.

  “It’s not mine,” Natasha said. “I read it in a book. But the lesson applies here.”

  “Amen, sister,” Chip agreed.

  Gian narrowed his eyes at him. “Whose side are you on?”

  “I don’t know what the hell is going on,” Chip admitted. “One minute I’m scoopin’ the best lasagna in town into my paper hot box for our lunch, the next I’m in the middle of Mortal Kombat. I don’t know what to think, boss.”

  “You said my mother’s lasagna was the best,” Gian reminded him.

  “Your mom’s is the best ever,” Chip clarified. “Grogan’s is the best in the Groves.”

  “Are we seriously having a debate about lasagna right now?” Zae snapped.

  “Karl dressed up as a ninja on Halloween and stood outside Grogan’s, staring at Cinder while she and Natasha treated the kids,” Gian explained. “He had the black mask, the sword, the whole nine yards.”

  “If he was in a mask, how’d you know it was Karl?” Zae asked.

  “I told you that it could have been Karl,” Natasha argued. “It could have been anybody.”

  “Who else would be out there deliberately trying to scare Cinder? She’s been through so much. This is the last thing she needs, another crazy bastard torturing her.”

  Zae’s gaze flickered toward Natasha before she said, “Cinder told you? About . . . ?”

  Gian spread the fingers of his right hand wide, allowing Natasha to wrap bandages around each of his knuckles. “I got a lot of it from the internet, but she told me the rest.”

  “Have I missed something?” Chip asked. “I thought we were talking about Karl.”

  Natasha shared a look with Chip. Zae broke the silence. “Remember when I left town for a few days? It’s been almost two years now.”

  “You were gone ten days,” Chip recalled. “You upped and left without telling anybody.”

  Zae’s elegant eyebrows arched in surprise.

  “Those were the most peaceful ten days we ever had at Sheng Li,” Chip remarked, a sardonic grin aimed at Zae. “How could I forget them?”

  “I went up north, to Massachusetts. For Cinder. She was recovering from a serious . . . accident.”

  “Accident?” Gian blurted. “Her ex-husband deliberately tried to kill her.”

  Chip was taken aback. “Hold on . . . What?”

  Gian started to explain, but Zae stopped him with a raised hand. “Cinder married a man who knew how to charm. He was beautiful—”

  “So was Lucifer,” Gian interjected.

  “—and smart. But he was a fraud. After she married him, his true colors came out. He picked her clothes, picked her friends. Picked ’em off, is more like it. Every time I talked to her, more and more of her conversation centered around her life with Sumchai Wyatt. Work and Sumchai. She never talked about her parents or her friends. It got to the point where I didn’t hear from her unless I called her. She even stopped sending me Christmas cards. When she called me and told me that she left him, I was so happy, I did cartwheels. But when she told me why she’d left, I wanted to shoot Sumchai Wyatt in the head.”

  “I thought Cinder looked familiar when I met her,” Natasha said, pensive. “I think I saw her on a television news show a couple of years ago. That story broke my heart.”

  “Well, I didn’t see it, so I’m the only one in the dark here,” Chip broke in. “What did he do to her?”

  Gian answered. “He raped her, for starters.”

  Zae continued the tale. “That’s what finally forced her to see what that man really was. She left him after that, but it still took her about a year to decide to divorce him. She was moving out of their farmhouse when he came in. Cinder said she never even saw him, that one minute she was sealing a box, and the next, she was waking up in the hospital two weeks later.”

  “Jesus Harold,” Chip gasped.

  Gian closed his eyes and flexed his sore knuckles against the images conjured by Zae’s account.

  “He beat her. He stabbed her two dozen times. He cut off her hair. He would have killed her if one of the moving men hadn’t stopped him.”

  “What happened to her ex?”

  “He was arrested and got a domestic abuse assault charge instead of attempted murder or manslaughter because he and Cinder were still married when it happened. His attorney argued some horsecrap about extreme emotional distress contributing to his state of mind at the time of the attack. The prosecutor tacked on as many charges as he could—assault, battery, conspiracy to commit premeditated murder—”

  “How did they argue that last charge?” Natasha asked.

  “There was a policeman outside the house the day Cinder was moving,” Zae said. “According to the officer’s statement, Sumchai asked the officer’s permission to enter the house. The cop, who was there to protect her from him, told him he could go in as long as he made it quick. The prosecution tried to work that into conspiracy.”

  Natasha shook her head. “I don’t understand why he let the man go into the house.”

  “He said Sumchai looked like ‘a nice guy,’” Zae told her.

  “Don’t they all, until they break their wives in half or shoot them to death,” Chip speculated.

  “The defense convinced the judge that there was no premeditation, and so Sumchai pleaded out to the lesser charge,” Zae said. “He was convicted and sentenced to three years in prison.”

  “You gotta be kidding,” Chip said.

  “His attorney pulled some strings and got him a parole hearing six months into his sentence.” Zae moved to stand at the back of Chip’s chair. “Cinder spoke at it and he was denied. She knew she had to get out of Massachusetts before he was released. She called me and I went up there to help her settle things. A few months later, she moved down here. She’s finally starting her life over.”

  “I won’t have Karl giving her a second of fear or unhappiness,” Gian vowed.

  “Do you think she’ll be happy when she finds out you went over there and nearly caved in his face?” Natasha asked.

  Gian attempted to defend his actions. “The man needed a warning. He got it. It’s over, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “It better be, or we’ll have to form a line to whoop Karl’s ass,” Chip promised.

  “You can’t fight a phantom, Gian,” Zae pointed out. “You can’t triumph over a phantom.”

  Gian gathered the bandage wrappers and balled them up. “I don’t understand.”

  “Any man who scares or hurts Cinder will make you think of Sumchai Wyatt,” Zae started. “When you went after Karl, you were really going after Sumchai.”

  “I thought your degrees were in English and Literature,” Gian said. “Don’t assign amateur psychology to—”

  “Zae’s right, and no one needs a psych degree to know that you are in stupid love with Cinder,” Natasha put in. “You’d do anything to keep her safe. What wouldn’t you do to undo what happened to her?”

  “Nothing,” Gian exhaled.

  Zae went to Gian. She warmly clasped his shoulder, then sat on the edge of his desk, facing him. “You can’t fight the monsters of her past, Gian. You know that.”

  “You’re right. I can’t. But for now and the future, I can do my best to keep the rest of the monsters away from her.”

  Chapter 11

  His elbows resting on his desk, Gian laced his fingers at the crown of his head and closed his eyes. He relaxed his face—no easy task, considering he had been smiling for five straight hours.

  After Natasha had gone back to her store, Gian had tried to direct conversation in the office to Chip and Zae, and why they had been at Grogan’s together at lunch. Without answering, they had fled the dojo, each escaping in different directions. Hunger had begun to override his anger, and Gian had been deciding where to go for a late lunch when a man in a sharp business suit trotted across the street from Grogan’s.

  Great, Gian had thought, both di
smayed and amazed at how quickly Sean Grogan had gotten his attorney involved following the melée at his store.

  The well-dressed man with his severe side part was an attorney, but he hadn’t come to Sheng Li on behalf of Grogan’s, which Gian discovered when, hand outstretched, the man greeted him in the lobby. “Hi, my name is Michael Steele and I’d like to sign up for lessons. Are you taking new students?”

  Michael Steele looked like he’d be more comfortable on the back nine, brokering a deal between major corporations rather than punching and kicking barefoot in the dojo. But then Gian remembered all the coupons he’d given out the night before. He always had an influx of new students in the days after Halloween.

  “The coupon is only good for one free lesson,” Gian emphasized as he led Mr. Steele into the dojo. “But if you sign up for a full package, I’m sure we can work out a discount of some kind.”

  “I don’t have a coupon,” Mr. Steele said. Following Gian’s example, he removed his shoes and bowed before stepping onto the mat. “I was picking up lunch at Grogan’s a couple of hours ago, and, well, I got quite an eyeful.”

  Gian stopped halfway to his office. “I’m sorry, who did you say you were representing?”

  “I’m not here on business.” Mr. Steele laughed. “I want to learn to fight like you did. I just came from Grogan’s. I asked about you and they sent me here.” He boomed with laughter. “You should see the soda section. They’ve got it cordoned off like a hazmat site!”

  “That really wasn’t my proudest moment,” Gian said and grimaced. “What I did over there this afternoon goes completely against the philosophy of self-discipline I teach at Sheng Li. If you came here because you want me to teach you how to behave like a complete dumbass, then you’ve got the wrong dojo.”

  “I was told that you were fighting over a woman, ” Mr. Steele mentioned.

  “For. Not over.”

  “I’m not here to learn to be a bully. I travel overseas quite a lot for business,” Mr. Steele said. “I want to be able to handle myself, should something untoward occur. And of course, I want to know that I can protect my loved ones if the need should arise. Proud moment or not, you couldn’t ask for better exposure than your fight in Grogran’s.” Mr. Steele tipped his head toward the lobby. “See for yourself.”

  Gian looked back. Several men and women, one of whom he recognized as a Grogan’s cashier, stood reading his glossy, tri-fold brochures. A few more people were entering. Stunned, Gian took his cell phone from his back pocket. He ushered Mr. Steele into his office, then stepped into the corridor to call Chip.

  “Hey,” Gian said once Chip answered. “Do you think you could come down to the dojo?” He peered into the studio. The small lobby was quickly filling. “No, I haven’t beaten anyone else up . . . I’m the one who’ll take a beating if you don’t get here as soon as possible . . .”

  * * *

  Having skipped lunch, Gian was starved by the time he climbed up to Cinder’s apartment, taking the steep pine stairs two at a time. He knocked on her door, announcing himself as well to hasten the time-consuming process of dislodging her police bar, unfastening security chains at the sides and top of the door, and turning each of the deadbolts.

  As always, Cinder left the chains for last, peeking through the door gap before opening it. She greeted him in silence, but that wasn’t the thing that tipped him off.

  Cooking was perhaps her favorite pastime, and she went at it with a concentration and determination that baffled him. There had been times when he had arrived to see a half dozen pots and skillets bubbling, sizzling or steaming. Whenever he visited, he stuck his nose in the air to figure out what she had prepared. The heady perfume of oregano, basil, and garlic mixed with the succulent scent of ground veal, pork, and sirloin let him know that one of her Italian specialties was in the works. Cardamom, nutmeg, cumin, and cinnamon reminded him of the few good things about his military deployments to the Middle East. Her skill with Asian ingredients wasn’t limited to her expertise at balancing aromatics like five-spice, aniseed, and chili peppers. It also encompassed her fearlessness at working with atypical fare—live eels, octopus, squid, and even sea cucumber.

  Usually, the aromas from her kitchen started him drooling before he even knew what she was preparing. But instead of a gourmet meal, Gian smelled the faint citrus of furniture polish and the exotic floral spice of the scented candles she favored. She hadn’t cooked, and right then he knew that she had learned of his run-in with Karl.

  Small town living, he thought with a sigh, entering and securing the door.

  “I’m sorry I’m so late,” he told her. He kissed her temple. “I had a rush of new students sign up tonight.”

  She said nothing, only padded into the living room. Sitting in her favorite spot on her sofa, she tucked her legs beneath her.

  “So I guess you heard what happened today.” He paused at the kitchen, peeping in to make certain that no dinner awaited.

  “I heard.”

  Her eyes seemed darker, shinier. They followed him as he approached. He sat opposite her in an overstuffed library chair. “Did Zae tell you?”

  “It doesn’t matter who told me.”

  “No, I guess it doesn’t. If I’d known a public brawl would be so good for business, I’d have kicked Karl’s ass a long time ago.”

  “Do you think what you did this afternoon is funny?” “I’m not laughing.”

  “I’ve lived here in peace and quiet for over a year, and in one day, you’ve turned me into the subject of town gossip. That’s the one thing I’ve assiduously tried to avoid—having people talk about me!”

  “They don’t know your name.”

  “Don’t they?”

  “Do you really think this will get back to him? Come on . . .”

  “Everybody knows somebody who knows somebody who knows you! The world is a lot smaller than you think it is! It’s only a matter of time before he finds me, and comes here.” Her voice cracked.

  “And gets his ass kicked or killed,” Gian assured Cinder, moving to sit beside her.

  “You can’t protect me. I know you want to, and that means so much to me, but you’re not like him. You don’t fight to kill.”

  “No? I think my body count is higher than his.”

  “You never used deadly force against anyone because you wanted to. That’s the difference between you and Sumchai Wyatt.”

  “I’m not a five-and-a-half-foot-tall woman who tops the scale at 140. Your ex will have to go through me and all of Sheng Li to get to you.”

  “What are you going to do? Take him out back and beat him up?” She gave him an exasperated shake of her head.

  “No. You will. That’s why you came to me, isn’t it? So that your ex could never hurt you again?”

  “There are ways to hurt people other than hitting or stabbing them.” She articulated each word. “When he canceled our plans to go to a wedding at the last minute, when he accidentally—or so he claimed—erased the presentation I was going to give at work when I was in the running for a major account, each time he neglected to tell me that my mother had called . . .” She paused to catch her breath. “There are thousands of ways to wound someone without laying a hand on them, and Sumchai is a master at it.”

  “You have your own life now, sweetheart. What can he take from you?

  “You,” she answered quickly. “Or Zae, or Chip. He might go after my parents in Massachusetts, or—”

  Gian pulled her into his arms and held her close. “My God, you’re tense.” He rubbed her arms, hoping to soften her muscles and still the fluttering of her heart. “I’m sorry, doll. I’m so, so sorry. If I’d known—”

  She touched her fingertip to his lower lip. “Don’t be too sorry. A part of me is glad that you went after Karl.”

  “Well, which is it? Are you pissed or proud that I got into it with Karl?”

  “Both.” She rested her head on his chest, right under his chin. “I was so scared when I saw him
staring at me from Grogan’s. I froze. Sumchai used to do that. He would just stare at me, and I’d go nuts trying to figure out what was out of place, what was dirty, what I’d bought that I shouldn’t have. It was torture.

  “Even though Natasha was with me that night, I started to feel that old anxiety and nausea that would make my stomach and head hurt while I waited for Sumchai to finally say something insulting that would point out my ‘mistake’. The worst was when he’d grab me by the back of my neck and point me toward what I’d done wrong, as if I were a poorly trained dog. You did to Karl what I wanted to do to Sumchai. That sounds so awful.”

  “It sounds human. There’s only so much a person can take before they snap.”

  “Did you ever snap when you were in the service?”

  “No. The pressure was there, for sure, and sometimes it was hard to separate the business of a mission from the personal feelings it might evoke. But I never lost control.”

  “Karl brought out the beast in you?”

  “I guess so.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

  Gian’s stomach growled. The rumbling resonated through his torso and into Cinder’s ear. She laughed, finally relaxing in his embrace.

  “I haven’t eaten since breakfast,” he said.

  “I could rustle up something.” Cinder rolled off the sofa and went into the kitchen.

  Tired, Gian was slow to follow. By the time he pulled himself to his feet and went after her, she was returning, a foil-covered hump on a plate in one hand and a sweating bottle of beer in the other.

  “Leftovers?” Gian’s salivary glands reacted immediately to the promise of food, at long last.

  Cinder set the plate on the low table before the sofa. She removed the foil as she sat.

  Gian moaned. “That is the most beautiful thing I’ve seen all day.” He sat down and cracked open the beer. “Present company excepted, of course,” he added with a beer-bottle salute.

  Cinder curled up on the sofa. With her right knee pulled to her chest, she laced her fingers together over her right foot, propping her chin on her knee. She smiled, watching Gian dive into his meal.