Blood Ties (15 page)

“
Shall I order for you? Something light?”

“Sure,” I shrugged. I’d have to be psychic to read the menu.
“As long as it’s not squeaking, moving, or Mexican, I’m good.”

He flashed me one of those drop dead gorgeous smiles of his and
called out the order to Amaury and Bruno who were now making busy behind the bar. Bruno leaned back and bellowed the order in the direction of the kitchen doors.

A tired voice responded, almost sarcastically, “Yeah,
yeah, I got it.”

I snorted
a laugh.

“What do you think?”

“It’s lovely, very quaint. This is my first time in a French café.” Back in Iowa, the cafés I had gone to where the kind my dad liked, next to the stockyards at the edge of town. It served up what wasn’t roaming out back in the pen – and pie. The pie was actually good, homemade good. I really like pie, although it’s a close second behind cheesecake.

“I come here frequently. In some respects it reminds me of home.” He flashed a mischievous grin. “Wait and see what I’ve ordered for you.” It was obvious. He had ordered something weird, probably gross.
I prepared myself for the sight of something nasty as we talked about the exhibit and other places he frequently visited.

It wasn’t long before
Amaury returned and placed a plate of giant slugs in front of me. They peeked out of their perfectly coiled shells, little gooey blobs swimming in pools of green stuff. A small plate was set in front of Michael. It looked like sliced up mystery meat baby food. Despite its grayish brown color, it didn’t look anything near as revolting as mine. Amaury had a broad smile across his chubby face as he poured us glasses of wine.

I stared at the overgrown
slugs wondering which one of us was going to make the first move. Michael chuckled, reaching across the table. “Here, let me help you.” He proceeded to show me how to use the miniature utensil next to my plate, explaining they were the specialties of the house. Ew. Snails. I called his bluff. I skewered one and slowly put it in my mouth. Chicken in shells, I told myself, MickyD’s new Happy Meal. I tried two more, taking sips of wine between each, keeping that focus going so I wouldn’t yak them up. His gaze didn’t leave my face. I gave him innocent and thoughtful eyes as I chewed. He laughed. He wasn’t fooled.

When I had choked back
five of them, Bruno brought out a small plate with different cheeses and a loaf of crusty white bread. Michael named each cheese as he cut off pieces and handed them to me attached to a piece of bread. I tried a sample of each. It was definitely an improvement from my previous course. He picked at his food, rearranging it on his plate in patterns, not drinking any of his wine.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

He smiled. “No. I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”

A small fluted glass came next. It contained berries and a lemony cream sauce. It was delicious. He watched me eat, watching my spoon dip down into the glass, then
back up to my mouth. He stared at my lips as I chewed, as if fascinated. Once he realized I had noticed he looked away.

I played with the cream at the bottom of the glass and watched him gaze out the window in deep thought. He suddenly narrowed his eyes. Out on the street was a figure half hidden in shadows. The man cupped his hand around a small flame, lighting a cigarette,
then was swallowed up by darkness.

Something ran across the street in a blur.

“What the f … shit, did you see that?” I peered closer, shading the glass from the glare of lights from behind me. The hair on the back of my neck was at full attention.

I looked at Michael and he quickly
smoothed his expression. “Please excuse me. I need to make a quick call.”

He
pulled out his cell phone and spoke in French, watching the same corner of the building. He didn’t talk long. He turned to me. “I apologize. I just remembered I had forgotten to call my sister and let her know I would be home late.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, of course, she’s just a worrier. It’s no problem.” He opened the vinyl billfold on the table and slipped in several notes.

“
Did you see it? Something ran across the street. It was going really fast.” I looked back out onto the street again and saw nothing but darkness and the faint light from the gas lamps.

“What
do you think you saw?”

“Right after the man disa
ppeared there was this … thing that ran across the street. I almost didn’t see it. You know, kind of like seeing something out of the corner of your eye, but if you looked at it head-on you wouldn’t see it.”

He took a deep breath as he sat back in his chair, idly playing with his fork
on the table. “No I didn’t see anything. I’m sure it was nothing, maybe just a stray cat or dog, the light just playing tricks.”

“
They don’t have like … bears running around town do they? I heard there’re some running amuck or something in campsites north of St. Germaine.”

He flashed an amused smile.
“Bears.”

I blushed.
“Well it was big, you know, maybe Bruno-sized. I haven’t actually seen a real one, I mean one that was alive. The thing was like cheeta-fast …” I suddenly felt like an idiot.

“
Has anyone told you that you have a wonderful imagination?”

A
screech ricocheted across my mind and I felt my expression go dull.

“No.”

He tried to hold back a smile.
“I’m sorry, I meant no insult. If one can imagine, one can dream
,
n'est-ce pas
?”

Yeah, that wasn’t helping.

“There is just so much in this world. One should treasure imagination. Imagination makes all things possible.”

He was leading me into a deep hole
where I didn’t want to go. I wasn’t about to have ribbons unravel and weave their way into the Dr. Marcheon box.

“Well,” I said with a burst of air
, “I’ve never been accused of having much of that.”

“
I would lay odds it was a dog or cat, don’t you agree.”

I shrugged my shoulders.
“The odds are in your favor.”

He stood up
and held out his hand. “Shall we?”

He
called to the back of the restaurant thanking Bruno and Amaury. Once we were out of the café, he urged me on, his hand at my back, walking quickly. He searched the darkness, almost warily.

“Bear
watching?”

He gave me an incredulous
look and laughed, a deep throated laugh. The kind of sensual laugh that would have you ripping off your panties. I let out a whoosh of air and thought of dead puppies. A definite damper on the pantie-rippin’.

Then h
e was quiet, except for the occasional chuckle as we walked back to the car.

His phone beeped with the sound of a text
message. He read it as he unlocked the car with the remote and brought me around and opened the door for me. The smile left his face.

“Everything ok?”

He gave me a quick, almost forced smile. “Absolutely.”

He periodically glanced at his rear
view mirror as we sped out. It was quiet except for the hum of the engine. Our speed increased until we were flying. His Mercedes hummed along as if it were no effort at all.

I thought back over the events of the night and shivered, remembering how he had held me in the gallery. It was positively addictive. I may have to suggest a few more excursions to art exhibits
. Maybe there was a gallery in St. Germaine. The café was fun, even the bugs-in-shells. The more I tried to think of our conversations in the café, the more disoriented I felt. A headache was doing its best to settle in between my eyes. I finally gave up and stared at the highway.

His cell phone buzzed. He
pulled it out from the front pocket of his jeans.

“Ouí.”

He listened for a few moments then a stream of perfectly articulated German flew out of his mouth. I caught a few words. I’d picked up some from my grandma Ione. It was apparent he wasn’t too happy. Suddenly his whole demeanor changed. Chills ran down my spine. He switched to something like Russian and the stream of words that came out of him had a deadly tone. His expression was, well, it could have struck anyone down with just a glance.

“Jesus …
,” I whispered, wide-eyed. One minute he was the most beautiful man I had ever met outside of Michel, then frightening as hell, like the Hyde to a Jekyll.

He apparently heard me and he said a few short words
then hung up. He gazed out onto the road in front of us and I watched as his face lost all expression, as if it transformed into a mask, so beautiful, distant. It was unworldly. He was almost statue-still, holding on to the driving wheel. It didn’t look as if he was breathing.

I stared at him for a few moments
, then swallowed nervously, uncomfortable in the silence. It was obvious the conversation was still going on in his head. “So, how many languages do you know ... and who do you need to find?” I thought it wise not to repeat back the colorful epithets he had spewed in German to describe the guy that he, in no uncertain terms, told the person on the other end of the phone to find or something like a body part would go missing. Of course, I knew my swear words – they were the first to learn in any language.

The mask
suddenly disappeared and he was back. It looked as if he was trying to hold back a smile. “Many. I see you have a few German words in your vocabulary.”

“Yeah, my grandmother is fluent. She taught me a few.”

I shifted in my seat and he glanced at me. “Are you cold?”

“Nope. I’m fine.”

“Too warm?”

I quirked an eyebrow. I wouldn’t call the temperature in the car toasty; it was on the cool side. Maybe his
body temperature gauge was a bit off.

“No, just right.”

He let out a long breath.

“I really enjoyed this evening, the
gallery … you know, dessert ...” I trailed off, hoping he’d fill in the blanks and I could forget whatever it was that just happened.

He gave me an odd look
.

“Liz, you remember how we talked about your family.”

I blinked. “Ummm … yeah, sure. I hope I wasn’t too boring.” I sighed. “I’m sorry, the wine must have gone to my head. I’m missing a few cells.”

I didn’t
remember the conversation nor remember having more than one glass. He didn’t seem to be the drugging type. Besides, he wouldn’t have to resort to it in order to get laid. Any invitation and they’d be all over him in a clothes rippin’ parade.

I watched
for his reaction. “I hope I wasn’t too embarrassing.”

“You would never embarrass
me Liz. I enjoy your company immensely. And no, you didn’t have too much to drink. Tomorrow when you wake up, you’ll only remember what you enjoyed.”

“Good
. That would pretty much be everything.”

He
smiled and reached over to place his hand over mine.

Intimate.

There was no mistaking this.

I had been on a date with Dr. Marcheon.

Chapter 11

Hard-core punk music blasted through the ceiling. How nice.
Goth Chick was up early today. I shoved the pillow off my head and stumbled to the kitchen. I yanked open the fridge and its door bounced off the wall next to it, glass rattling. Behind two cases of beer, I found the orange juice. I squeezed the top open and peered inside. It had separated, a sure sign it was turning. Orange juice and milk were like ink cartridges. A couple shakes and you could get a few more miles out of them.

I shook it hard then took a couple pulls straight from the carton. I set it down, rolled the sour taste of it in my mouth then spit into the sink. It had turned a bit too many corners. I lifted the carton to tip it into the sink then caught a whiff of the nose wrinkling smell of dirty socks. I looked at the bowl of Doritos on the counter then flicked my eyes back to the carton. I pulled the bowl towards me, fished out a handful and shoved it in my mouth, washing it down with another pull from the carton. A classic college breakfast.

I shoved in another handful and chewed, examining last night from every angle.

Nope, not a dream.

We were on a first name basis and I had had my first date. My psyche must be having a field day, crushing on someone who could be Michel’s twin. I shivered, my body remembering the feel of him pressed up against me, his soft words, then the romantic dinner and the touch of his hand on the way home. Hmmm, would my next dream be of an unhappy Michel. From what I’d seen, he wasn’t very good at sharing. He didn’t share when it came to Alisé. Not at all.

The music went up a notch. I grabbed a textbook from the table in my living room and stepped on a chair to slam the edge of it against the ceiling – twice. Flakes of popcorn rained down.