layover on his way through that city.
Gerrit e-mailed a copy of the credit-card information to Willy. “Alena and I are going to check in to a hotel. Give me a call as soon as you come up with any leads, okay?”
“You got it, Mr. G.”
Gerrit hung up and climbed back into the car. “Let’s find a nice hotel with an ocean view and a nice seafood dinner. Sound like a plan?”
“I am sure Gloria would love to help you with those arrangements, Detective.” Alena batted her eyes at him. “She does have your number.”
Gerrit laughed. “You know, that might be a good idea.”
“Have you lost your wits?” Her false demure look turned to a glare. “We are not going anywhere near that hotel. For all we know, Devon McAllister might be heading back for another stay since Gloria is so
accommodating
to all the men who cross her path
.
”
“Then we would be there to snatch him up.”
She shook her head. “Let us pick somewhere else to stay. After dinner, we will check in with Willy.”
Gerrit stepped on the gas and headed south along the waterfront. They found another hotel about a mile farther and checked in for the night. By the time they sat down for dinner, both were tired and ready to call it a day.
It was the first time they’d been out together since San Francisco, and a lot had happened since then. His internal alarm system told him more was about to happen. What did the future hold for them? Whatever it was, he doubted it would be a house with a white picket fence. More likely a graveyard with a tombstone.
Until then—he wanted to live every day as if it was his last.
As he watched Alena pick at her dinner, he wondered if she shared the same thoughts. Outside, a despondent dusk hovered outside as the remnants of daylight danced toward the west. For just a moment, he conjured up what part he might play in this woman’s life. Until now, in these waning years of midlife, he seemed to resist any complications, any relationship that might divert him off course. But Alena seemed different. If he had any chance of changing, of making that commitment—here was that opportunity. Sitting before him, front and center.
Listen to me! Complication
.
Off course
. Words he used to ward off anyone getting too close. What was he afraid of? Was he able to have a relationship?
Alena took a bite and placed her fork on the plate. She used her napkin as she watched others in the restaurant. A small smudge remained on her lip. He fought the urge to reach over and wipe it for her. Instead, he followed her gaze to another couple who seemed very comfortable with each other.
He envied them. Alena and he were so different, and yet in some ways, they were very much alike. Both parents died violently—his in a Seattle bombing; hers in devastating blast in Argentina. He fought throughout the Middle East and Afghanistan with the U.S. Marines; she wound up with Israeli’s IDF after her family emigrated from Russia, with a later reassignment to Mossad before coming to the United States. Violence and death had always played a part in their lives.
There loomed one really significant difference—religion. Alena found faith in a God who seemed to meet her needs, to make life more tolerable. He, on the other hand, had no use for the Big Guy in the sky. There seemed to be more evidence of a superior being that created this world rather than the Big Bang theory. To think that his ancestors somehow slithered up from organic ooze and developed into human beings over a million years seemed a bigger leap of faith than to believe in divine intervention.
It was the practical application of this God-thing that became the Great Wall of China between Alena and him. She believed God was interested in her day-to-day troubles, that this divine being watched from above to guide and protect her. Gerrit thought this superior being sat up in the heavens, benignly watching people go at it in this messed-up world as they slowly destroyed themselves.
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