The Thieves of Darkness Read Free Page A

sometimes just sit quietly, comfortable in each other’s presence. He felt a sense of calm with her yet at the same time found her alluring, sexy. She had a sense of humor that was self-mocking and sharp, as if in direct response to a discomfort with her own beauty. Even his wary dogs liked her.
    It had been almost a month since they met, one month since he barely beat her in basketball. They had yet to consummate their relationship. She respected his heart, his loss. She knew that some things couldn’t be rushed; that intimacy occurred only with comfortable, guilt-free minds.
    Michael had made dinner, the marinated steak already on the grill, the table set with fresh flowers, the wine open and airing. As KC walked in, she saw the small box on her plate. It was square, pale blue: Tiffany’s. They simply smiled at each other as she opened it.
    She withdrew a small silver locket and chain and turned it over, reading the inscription:
    There’s always tomorrow
.
    She held it in her hand and felt it touch her heart. It was better than a Christmas or birthday gift, for it was given unselfishly, not because of ritual or expectation; it was given from his heart. As she looked up, she could see behind his eyes: he was giving her far more than a locket.
    They never made it to dinner. The steak burned, charred to a blackened crisp.
    Michael took KC in his arms. He moved slowly. It was like his first kiss, his first time. It had been so long. But he lost himself in the intimacy, his head swirling, his heart pounding. She held tight to him. Neither could tell where one ended and the other began. Their breathing came in fits and starts. They focused on each other, losing themselves to time, each selflessly forgoing his or her own pleasure to ensure the other’s. Michael’s hands moved gently along her skin, feeling her goose bumps rise despite their heat. There was a passion to the moment. And Michael realized that they weren’t having sex—they were making love.
    And as they lay there in the afterglow, they took pleasure in the silence, in knowing that they were safe with each other, that no harm could come to them as long as they were in each other’s arms.
    The following day the call came: KC had to return to work, a business trip to Paris, the City of Lights, to help mollify the egos and temperaments of the German, French, and Spanish representatives to the Union, who constantly bickered over policy. She would be back in a week’s time. She asked for a second chance with his steak, yearning for a home-cooked meal. Michael said it would be marinating and ready. The good-bye was quick, as if it was a common practice, both preferring to look forward to long hellos. And as Michael watched her pull out of the driveway, he smiled. He had found something he thought he had lost forever.
    Now, as Michael stared at the dining room table, at the unopened wine and fresh flowers, he wondered how he could have been so foolish. It had been four days since KC said she would be back; there had been no call, no note. He had left her countless messages without response. He felt the fool, opening his heart, sharing his soul, naively thinking he would find love again, so quickly, so easily.
    He took solace in the fact that he had loved once and married, that he had been allowed to experience something most never truly feel. So Michael counted his blessings, buried his heart, and erased Katherine Colleen Ryan from his mind.
    Michael patted Hawk on the head and had begun to clear the unused plates from the table when there was a knock at the door, stirring him out of the moment. The three dogs spun into a barking frenzy.
    Michael walked through the great room, hushing his dogs, and opened the front door. A tall man, trim and fit, stood on the front porch, his eyes sharp and alive, belying his age, his salt-and-pepper hair perfectly groomed. He wore a blue Zegna sport coat and tan slacks with razor-sharp creases; everything about the man was exact