The Second Life of the Malicious Colonel's Daughter novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Colonel's Courtesy

The colonel offers her the base housing contract with a smile, and Isaiah's answer in her truck turns into a kiss.

"I've been meaning to have a word with the locksmith who works my housing," Colonel Redfern said.

He said it to me, but he said it loud enough for the two men behind him.

"That's Bettis Lock and Key," I said. "I work for Marva Bettis."

"And you do the work."

"I do the work."

"Then here's what I'd like."

He put his hands behind his back.

He stood, used to people listening.

"Every family unit on this post is rekeyed by a different contractor each year, and every year somebody loses a set."

"That's common."

"I'd like one name on all sixty units. Yours."

I did not say anything.

A truck rolled past on the lot behind him, and a soldier in a reflective belt saluted without breaking stride.

"It's a three-year contract," the colonel said. "Steady money for the shop. I'd want you to have it."

"Why?"

"Because you've been through a hard thing, and this post ought to be the place that does right by you."

The two men behind him nodded.

He waited, smiling.

I understood what he was doing.

He was making an offer in front of witnesses so I couldn't refuse it without looking cruel.

"I'll think about it, sir," I said.

"Come to my office Thursday at ten. I'll have it drawn."

"I'll think about it."

"Of course." He turned his smile to Isaiah. "Mr. Doran, you'll see Ms. Burris to the gate."

"Sir," Isaiah said.

The colonel walked off with his men, and the whole lot seemed to breathe out.

I had my fingers locked around the strap of my tool bag so hard that the buckle left a mark.

"Get in," I said to Isaiah.

"I have my own vehicle."

"Get in the truck. I'm not driving to the gate alone with that man's eyes on my back."

He got in.

I started the engine and drove slowly past the commissary and the motor pool.

Neither of us said anything until we passed the last building.

"Should I take it?" I said.

"Is that your question for today?"

"No. Today's was who your commander is. I already used it."

His mouth twitched.

"This one's free," I said. "Should I take the contract?"

He looked straight out the windshield.

"No," he said.

"Why not?"

"Because you'd owe him."

"He's your commander."

"That's why I said it."

I pulled onto the shoulder at the far end of the lot.

A line of dead cottonwoods stood between the road and the fence.

I turned the engine off.

My hands were still shaking.

I put them flat on the wheel and waited for them to stop.

They did not stop.

"You said that fast," I said.

"I'd have said it if you'd given me a week."

"You'd say it against your own colonel."

"I'm saying it about a contract, Ms. Burris. I haven't said anything about the case."

"Don't call me that."

"What should I call you?"

"Jessamine."

He said it quietly.

The cab was small and the afternoon sun came through the dusty glass.

I could smell soap and canvas and gun oil on him.

I looked at his hands on his knees.

They were square, with scarred knuckles, and they were very still.

I do not know which of us moved.

I only know that I had hold of the front of his field jacket and my mouth was on his.

He made a low sound against my lips, and his hand came up and cupped the back of my head.

His glasses bumped my cheekbone and he took them off with one hand, never letting go of me with the other.

It was not a gentle kiss.

It was four years of being looked through, and he kissed me back as if he could see me.

When I pulled away we were both breathing hard.

His eyes were dark and unfocused without the glasses, and his hand was still in my hair.

"Don't mistake that for a yes," I said.

"I don't know what it's a yes to."

"Neither do I."

"Then I won't call it a mistake."

"I didn't say it was a mistake."

"I did," he said. "I'm saying it wasn't."

I let go of his jacket.

I put both hands back on the wheel and looked out at the dead cottonwoods.

"Out," I said. "You've got a base to walk back to."

He put his glasses on.

He opened the door and stood in the gravel with one hand on the roof.

"Question two tomorrow," he said.

"Maybe."

"I'll be at your door at eight."

"It's a business. I open at eight."

"Then I'll be your first customer."

He shut the door.

I watched him walk back toward the gate, small and square against the dry grass.

My mouth was still warm.

I started the truck and sat there another full minute before I put it in gear.

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