The Second Life of the Malicious Colonel's Daughter novel · Chapter 6 of 24

Chapter 6: Upstairs

He came back at nine that night with two paper bags and a six-pack of ginger ale.

"I didn't know what you drink," he said.

"Water."

"Then the ginger ale is mine."

I let him in through the back and locked the door behind him.

We ate at the workbench, where I had put a clean towel down without looking at it.

The bags held burgers from the diner.

He had asked them to hold the onions on mine, and I had never told him I hated onions.

"Question three," he said.

"It's your turn to ask something."

"It's not my turn."

"Tonight it is."

I put down my burger.

"All right. Ask."

"What was missing from the file?"

"The custody strip. Somebody cut off the bottom of the page after the trial."

"I know."

"You knew."

"I wanted to see if you'd find it yourself."

"It was the first place I looked," I said.

"I figured."

"Then why ask?"

"Because the people who cut it will wonder if anyone noticed."

I took a long swallow of water and let that sit.

"What did the colonel say at eight?" I asked.

"That I should go home and think about whether I want to keep my warrant."

"And?"

"I went home and thought about it."

"And?"

"I'm here."

I stood up and began to clean the bench.

I folded the wrappers, wiped the counter, and put the bags in the trash.

My hands needed work, and he let them have it.

When I finished he was standing by the stairs that led to my apartment.

"You live up there," he said.

"I do."

"I've been in this shop twice and I've never seen it."

"It's not much."

"Show me."

I took his hand.

The stairs were steep and narrow and creaked at the fourth step, and he followed me up without a sound.

My apartment was one long room with a slanted roof, a kitchen in the corner, and a double bed under the window.

There was nothing on the walls except a keyboard of old brass keys that Marva had given me.

He looked at the bed.

Then he looked at me.

"Take your clothes off," I said. "And take your time."

He set his glasses on the dresser and reached for my vest.

He undressed me piece by piece, his rough hands steady on every button, every seam, every strap.

I stood bare in the cool draft from the window.

He knelt to pull my boots and jeans clear of my ankles.

On the way back up he pressed his open mouth to the inside of my thigh, right where my pulse was jumping.

My hands went into his short copper hair as his tongue dragged a hot, slow line up to my hipbone.

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