The Warrior. Dinah McCall
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was glaring, she didn’t look happy to see him.
He shifted his attitude to all-business as he moved toward the counter.
“Uh…ma’am…I was wondering if you were working here yesterday?”
Daisy glared. “I work here every day. You buying gas?”
Dieter stuttered. “Uh…no, I was wondering if—”
“Cokes are on sale. Ninety-nine cents for a 16 ounce.”
“No thanks, I was just—”
“Goes good with the cinnamon rolls. Dollar apiece, but they’re homemade and worth every penny.”
Dieter was slow, but he finally caught on. Nothing came free, not even information. He grabbed a Coke and pointed toward the bakery case. “I’ll take two,” he said as he dug in his pocket for money to pay.
Daisy sacked up two cinnamon rolls, added a napkin and took his money. Only after she’d realized he wasn’t in the market for booze and had done some fair trading—money for goods received—was she ready to listen.
Dieter stood, waiting for her to nail him again while the condensation on his cold pop ran between his fingers and dripped on the floor. The smell of cinnamon was enticing. He wished he smelled as good, and thought about taking time to find a motel for a shower and shave. But dealing with body odor was going to have to come second to the task at hand.
“Uh…”
Daisy frowned. “Speak your piece, mister. I ain’t got all day.”
Dieter nodded. “Yesterday, I, uh…”
“Oh, I know all about yesterday. You passed out drunk in your car right out there at my pumps. I don’t take kindly to drunk drivers.”
Dieter didn’t intend to go into details. He just needed answers, and the way he figured it, an apology would get him further than an explanation.
“I’m real sorry about all that,” he said. “I hope you weren’t put out in any way.”
Daisy sniffed. “I might have missed a customer or two, seeing as how you were blocking one side of the pumps.”
Dieter nodded. “Yes, well…like I said. I’m sorry.”
Daisy frowned. “So what’s your problem today?”
“Yesterday, before I…uh, I mean…there was a man at the other pump when I arrived. I was wondering if you noticed who it was…or if you knew him?”
“I didn’t even see you until they came to haul you and your car away. Unless they come in, I don’t pay them much mind. Lots of people come and go here, and most pay at the pump with credit cards these days. Pumps won’t work unless they come in and pay me first, or use a credit card,” Daisy stated. “What did he look like?”
“He was a little above average height. Native American, with short dark hair and a silver earring in on ear.”
“Oh. That sounds like Big John,” Daisy said.
Dieter’s pulse kicked. She knew him. Maybe things were going to work out after all.
“John. Yes, yes, that’s the name he gave. Do you know where I can find him?”
Daisy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?”
“Uh, well…we were talking, and he mentioned he had a car for sale. I thought I’d drive by and take a look at it, since I’m still in the area.”
Daisy frowned. “I don’t know exactly where he lives. All I know is it’s that way.”
She pointed north.
“I seem to have forgotten his last name,” Dieter added.
“Nightwalker,” Daisy said. “His name is John Nightwalker.”
Dieter smiled. “Thanks so much,” he said, and headed out the door. He opened the Coke and took a big bite of a cinnamon roll before he put the car in gear and drove away. Things were already looking up.
Richard Ponte was alternating between panic and pure unadulterated rage. This was a nightmare. His carefully balanced empire was in danger of toppling, and all because of his own blood. A part of him knew it was his own fault. He’d been so confident of the power he wielded that he’d gotten careless, doing business at home. He knew better. But he hadn’t done better.
He glanced at his watch. It had only been an hour since he’d last talked to Dieter. He palmed his cell phone, resisting the urge to call Alicia again—to try to talk her into coming home on her own. After the fight they’d had, he knew that wasn’t going to happen. She hadn’t seemed to care about where the money came from that had afforded her the luxurious lifestyle she’d enjoyed. Who knew she could turn into a flag-waving bleeding heart? The truth was, he didn’t really know her at all, and this incident was proof of that. And learning she was no longer alone had been shocking. Where had the man Dieter described come from? How and when had she met him? It was all a mystery—and a mess.
The phone began to ring, jarring him out of his reverie. He glanced at the caller ID and then relaxed, shifted into business mode and answered with his usual voice of authority, and the morning continued.
Alicia was pouring herself a refill from the coffeepot when John came back into the kitchen. This time he was dressed, thank God. She didn’t think she could take another reality jolt like that without making a fool of herself.
“Did you find everything you needed?” John asked as he got a cup down from the cabinet and filled it.
Alicia lifted her cup. “Coffee was enough.”
John’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he raked her body with a slow, assessing gaze. Then he reached back in the cabinet, got down two bowls and pointed to a door behind her.
“There are a couple of kinds of dry cereal in the pantry. Pick one for yourself. I want Cocoa Puffs. Would you mind passing them over?”
“But coffee is—”
“You’re too thin.”
Alicia’s mouth dropped. In the world of high fashion, there was no such thing. She reached for the Cocoa Puffs and handed them to him, and as she did, she began to smile. The cartoonlike characters on the cereal box were such opposites of the persona this man projected. She eyed the other box of cereal, touting health and bran, then opted for Cocoa Puffs, as well.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had chocolate anything for breakfast before.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Why not?”
Alicia paused with the bowl in her hand, and even as the words were coming out of her mouth, she knew how ridiculous they were going to sound.
“I guess because no one ever offered it.”
John’s eyes widened as he turned, staring at her as if she were a curiosity.
“Haven’t you ever made a meal for yourself?”
She felt heat on her face and an odd sense of guilt, as if she’d been examined and found lacking.
“No.”
He thought of White Fawn, down on her knees scraping bits of flesh and tallow from the insides of skins, hanging slivers of deer meat over small fires to smoke and dry. Picking berries to add to his meals, the tips of her fingers stained blue from their juice.
Then he took a slow breath and nodded. Judging her wasn’t any of his business, although he couldn’t resist a small dig.
“Sounds to me like you should have run away from home a long time ago.”
“You’re probably right,” she shot back. “Pass me the cereal when you’re through, please.”
He