Hardbingers

8

"Gin," Diana said as she slapped three eights and an eight-high straight of clubs onto the table.

Dressed in an NYU sweatshirt, jeans, and her shades, she said it with little enthusiasm. Cal hadn't expected her killing time with him to relieve the pain of her loss, but hoped the distraction would dull it.

He smiled for her and shook his head. She'd just learned the game—apparently her father hadn't believed in card games—and already had beaten him five out of the last eight hands.

"Luck. Pure luck. Okay, total up your points."

He was getting creamed in the point tally. He fancied himself a fairly decent card player, but his strength had always been in reading his opponent. That wasn't possible with Diana—even if she had her shades off he doubted he'd be able to suss out anything in those black eyes.

She leaned back. "I'm hungry."

Only five-thirty. Kind of early, but he took her hunger as a good sign. She hadn't eaten much the past couple of days.

He craned his neck to find Grell and spotted him in front of the TV.

"Yo, Grell. What's dinner?"

"Chicken/ranfaise. Hungry?"

Cal glanced at Diana. "Yeah."

Grell rose from his seat. "It's all set to go. Gimme half an hour. In the meantime, take a look at this storm. It's big."

Diana rose from her seat. "I think I'll take a shower before dinner. I'm kind of rank."

He smiled. "Could've fooled me."

She turned away, then turned back. "Thanks for staying with me last night. It was… nice."

He shrugged. "You needed a friend."

"Do I have to call you 'Davis' all the time? What's your first name?"

"Yeniceri never use first names."

"Couldn't you make an exception for me?"

He shook his head. "Not even for you."

He saw her lips tighten, then she turned and strode to her room.

Cal closed his eyes and let out a breath. I'm not cut out for this.

Maybe Grell was right. Maybe she'd be better off without them.

He wandered over to the TV where the Weather Channel was showing satellite images of the storm. The reception kept breaking up as gusts of snow peppered the dish on the roof. But the feed held together enough to display a swirling mass of white running north along the coast. Accumulation predictions ran from two to four feet, depending on location.

He gave a mental shrug. Long as the ocean didn't act up too much, a blizzard was a good thing for them. Not much chance of anyone making a move on the place during weather like this.

On the other hand, someone might think they'd lower their guard because of the storm. He had to warn the men not to slack off.

He crossed to the big picture window and stared out at where the harbor was supposed to be. He heard the wind pelting the glass with snow. He could see nothing but swirling white. The bright security lights made the whiteout even worse. The house could have been moved to Siberia or Antarctica or Jupiter for all he knew. He had to trust that the rest of Nantucket was still out there.

And hope that no one was foolish enough to be heading their way.