Steers served an appetizer called gyoza. “It is like a pot sticker or dumpling. This is yaki gyoza.”
Nash had watched her make the meal, after she had declined his offer to help. But it still seemed surreal, having a moment like this in the middle of everything they were facing.
Nash took a bite of the dish. The pork, cabbage, garlic, ginger, onion, and soy sauce flavors did not overwhelm one another, but rather complemented each other. “It’s delicious,” he said.
She smiled at his compliment. “It is a testament to Hiroko-san’s talents.”
They next had soba and udon noodles in a thick fish broth, and then, as their main dish, karagge, which she told him was deep-fried seasoned chicken.
They had both opted for sparkling water over alcohol.
As the two ate they talked about things that had nothing to do with their current plight. Nash had been to New Orleans before on business trips and once had traveled there with Judith and Maggie for a holiday. They had also attended a concert in the city.
The memory of the trip with his family evidently weighed so heavily on him that Steers said, “Are you all right, Walter?”
He glanced up at her. “I was. . .just thinking about some stuff.”
She nodded. “It is quite unusual that we sit here, diametrically opposed on so many issues, and share a meal and speak of trivial things.”
“Life doesn’t have to make sense. It just. . .is,” he replied.
“Have you had any communication with your wife?”
“No. I doubt that I ever will.”
“Once this is over, surely you will be reunited.”
“Once this is over, you and I will most likely be dead, Victoria,” he replied, more sharply than he probably intended. But then again, maybe not.
She bowed her head at this comment.
After that each then fully retreated into their own thoughts.
The rain fell heavily two nights later. Nash tossed and turned in his bed. Usually he slept well when it was raining. But the way the pellets of water were hitting the slate roof of Steers’s home sounded almost like the jarring impact of pistol shots.
At two in the morning he finally gave up, put on his pants, and padded barefoot out into the main living space. He sat in a chair in the dark, closed his eyes, and tried to make his mind shut off. However, with everything facing them, Nash found that impossible.
Then, during a lull in the storm, he thought he heard something. He sat very still and listened. There it was again. Like someone grunting or perhaps moaning.
He rushed back to his room and grabbed his Glock. Nash then came back out into the hall and eased over to Steers’s bedroom door, which was down the hall from his.
He put his ear to the wood but heard nothing. He tapped on the door and said quietly, “Victoria?” There was no answer. He slowly eased the door open, mindful that she was armed after having taken the gun he’d purchased on their way here. And if he surprised her from perhaps a nightmare?
He opened the door just enough to see that her bed was empty. The bathroom door was open, and he could see that it was dark inside.
He went downstairs, where he heard the noise again. He knew that homes in New Orleans did not have basements because of the high water tables. But then he recalled that the stairs up to the front door had been very high.
Because there’s an aboveground floor below this one.
He looked around for a passage leading down and finally found it in the small library. It was a pop-out door that looked like a wall, and it even had a large painting hanging on it to aid in this deception.
He eased the door open and encountered a set of carpeted spiral stairs. He skittered down them, reached the landing, and turned right, following the sounds that were now reverberating clearly.
The hall was lined with doors that were locked. He kept going and reached the end of the hall, where there was a door that had a glass panel above. A light was on inside. He peered through the glass.
And there was Steers. And in front of her was the same boxing dummy that he had seen back at her building in Hong Kong. Steers was clad in a white T-shirt and shorts, the damaged skin on her arms and part of her back revealed. Her feet were bare. She was holding a pair of knives, and he watched in fascination as she attacked the dummy. Steers wielded the blades with exceptional skill, he noted, and she drove home the knives on every critical area of her opponent.
Then she set the knives down and wiped off the sweat using a towel draped on a bench. She then assumed a martial arts fighting stance and once more went after the dummy. Her powerful kicks and hand strikes were first-rate, as good as if not better than the ones of which Nash was capable.
