Page 32 of Dark Soul

Dark could almost classify the stages of his life by the apple pie he’d been served. In all family gatherings when he was young, his aunt always showed up with fresh apple pie and a gallon of vanilla ice cream. Later, when he was deployed, he’d get those little over-baked, brittle apple pie pockets. In recent years, it’d been those cold squares of mush, served on Sundays in the prison cafeteria. A testament to the mess he’d made of his life.

“Something I said made you sad,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

He shook himself. “How about the tiramisu?”

Her expression brightened. “It’s my favorite.”

Dark watched her savor the dessert, only pretending to dig his spoon into it a couple of times, pretty sure he’d never derived this much pleasure from watching another person eat.

“Let me take you home,” he said, signaling the waiter for the check.

“I should get this,” she replied, “to say thank you. For helping Nikolai yesterday.” He detected a touch of sadness in her voice.

“No,” he said firmly. “I wanted to take you out to dinner. I’m sorry I’ve … made a mess of things. One of my friends is going through a rough time, and it’s affecting me as well,” he said. “Please, allow me.”

Lie upon lie.

But he couldn’t bear for her to think that his behavior had anything to do with her.

He paid the bill, and they walked outside together.

“I’d like to walk you home.”

“We can walk together until the telecabine,” she said, making it clear that she wasn’t going to tell him where she lived.

He respected that.

At the telecabine, where they said goodbye, she stopped and looked up at him. Her cream-colored hat made the green in her eyes pop. The pupils widened as she looked into his eyes, until the green was only a ring around the dark pupil.

She feels this, too.

Dark had never wanted to kiss anyone as much as he wanted to kiss her. And it would have been so natural to kiss her. Not just in character, though that too, but just … so right … which was why he held back.

“Let me take you out again,” he said. He would do his job, no matter what it did to him, but he didn’t want to hurt her.

12

* * *

Dark

“What the fuck is this? Is this your idea of bonding, Dark?” Griffin asked ironically. “You think we’ll eat from a common pot and magically all become best friends?”

The man had first raised an eyebrow as they’d sat down. Now, twenty minutes later, Dark was just about ready to turn that eye black if he didn’t stop.

“You do realize these things are weapons in our hands, right?” Ash said, calmly stabbing a piece of bread with his fondue stick and dipping it into the bubbling cheese. It was the first time he’d spoken. “Between us, I’ll bet we could find a dozen ways to kill a man with one of these.”

“Nobody’s killing anyone tonight,” Dark said.

Unless that someone is me.

“Relax, Dark. You look like you’re going to have an apoplexy,” Slate said. “The idea is good,” he added, looking around. “This is what I imagine a group of television writers would do when on a ski holiday. I just hope you have the budget, Dark. It takes a lot of cheese to keep this body in perfect working order,” he said, flexing his biceps.

Dark sighed, his appetite completely gone.

He’d reserved one of the private rooms in a local fondue hot spot that Carrie and Pascale had suggested a few days earlier. Partly to maintain their cover, as Slate had correctly identified, but also, yes, because becoming best friends wasn’t necessary, but getting to know each other enough to be able to work together, was.

And while yes, anybody looking at them too closely might have noticed they were too big, too rough, that there was something that simply didn’t fit right with them … the fact was, people didn’t look that closely at other people.