here,” he snarled. “Damn woman.”
Cezi’s father appeared unflappable. So it was with interest that John picked up his coffee mug and settled back into his chair. The kitchen door opened to the inside and shielded John’s view of the guest, but he could hear her voice.
“Nicholae.” The twitter made John place her at late thirties or early forties. No spring chick and yet her voice told him she was still capable of flirting. Nicholae hid his distress well. “I’ve been so worried about your family. I made some of my mushroom strudel you like so well.”
His smile managed to project both surprise and delight by the gesture, but John suspected from his earlier actions perhaps this was not an unusual occurrence. Cezi’s father was a good-looking man, widowed, successful. No matter where one lived that spelled hot catch to certain members of any society. John suspected one stood at the door now.
The woman continued talking, oblivious to the fact she hadn’t been invited inside. “The gaje is with you?”
John strained to hear even though she’d lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. The gaje had to be him.
“Do you wish me to talk to your daughter?”
“About?” Nicholae’s tone shifted from friendly to wary. His fingers gripped the door handle in a stranglehold.
“Well, you know… Outsiders. Men.” The unseen voice faltered.
“Cezi’s heart belongs to her blood.” The firmness of his tone brooked no argument. “I trust her judgment.”
“But… what about marimé? Gaje have different beliefs… particularly between men and women.”
John made a mental note. This was the second time the gypsies had used the word marimé . He needed to understand what it represented.
Nicholae made a flippant gesture with his hand, dismissing the woman’s concerns. But John had to give the woman points when she was not prepared to let the man ignore her concerns.
“Others say he’s dangerous. Scary. His face is….”
John suspected she gestured in lieu of saying the words aloud. His fingers traced the scar tissue.
“The girl,” the woman’s voice a shade more desperate, “is unmarried. She doesn’t know men. She must be protected.”
John imagined Cezi’s reaction to such a condemning statement. She was competent as hell. It was John who needed tips on how to deal the little powder keg, not the other way around.
Somehow, Nicholae managed to send the woman on her way and get the door shut. John raised his eyebrows but buried his smile when his host walked to the refrigerator to tuck the strudel inside.
“Why hide the cinnamon rolls?”
Unlike his brother, Nicholae rarely smiled, but his dark eyes sparkled with the same mischief as his daughter. “Are you kidding? I haven’t had to cook in several years. But if Nadya saw Lyuba’s cinnamon rolls, I’d have an all-out civil war on my hands.”
He opened the oven and had barely returned the roll to the table when another knock sounded on the door. As he reached for the roll to snatch it away again, John waved him off. “I’ll wrap it to-go.”
“Good. We’ll leave as soon as possible.”
Hoping to avoid another overheard conversation, John asked, “Do you want me to wake Czigany?”
Nicholae laughed softly. “My daughter doesn’t sleep. She left for the office hours ago.”
As John heard his words, he wondered again briefly if the gypsies weren’t running a three-card monte game on him. One kept the attention focused on him while the other fleeced the gullible chumps.
In the bedroom he texted Ciggy. “Check out the Romneys. Poppy, Nicholae, Luca and Czigany. C what u can find.”
Chapter Thirteen
Cezi stood with her back to the door. Agent Stillwater had arrived. His woody scent teased her nostrils and made her mouth water. What was it about him that made her want to take a bite of him?
Even though he hadn’t entered the room further than the doorway, she was sure she could feel the warmth of his body,
Cezi’s father appeared unflappable. So it was with interest that John picked up his coffee mug and settled back into his chair. The kitchen door opened to the inside and shielded John’s view of the guest, but he could hear her voice.
“Nicholae.” The twitter made John place her at late thirties or early forties. No spring chick and yet her voice told him she was still capable of flirting. Nicholae hid his distress well. “I’ve been so worried about your family. I made some of my mushroom strudel you like so well.”
His smile managed to project both surprise and delight by the gesture, but John suspected from his earlier actions perhaps this was not an unusual occurrence. Cezi’s father was a good-looking man, widowed, successful. No matter where one lived that spelled hot catch to certain members of any society. John suspected one stood at the door now.
The woman continued talking, oblivious to the fact she hadn’t been invited inside. “The gaje is with you?”
John strained to hear even though she’d lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. The gaje had to be him.
“Do you wish me to talk to your daughter?”
“About?” Nicholae’s tone shifted from friendly to wary. His fingers gripped the door handle in a stranglehold.
“Well, you know… Outsiders. Men.” The unseen voice faltered.
“Cezi’s heart belongs to her blood.” The firmness of his tone brooked no argument. “I trust her judgment.”
“But… what about marimé? Gaje have different beliefs… particularly between men and women.”
John made a mental note. This was the second time the gypsies had used the word marimé . He needed to understand what it represented.
Nicholae made a flippant gesture with his hand, dismissing the woman’s concerns. But John had to give the woman points when she was not prepared to let the man ignore her concerns.
“Others say he’s dangerous. Scary. His face is….”
John suspected she gestured in lieu of saying the words aloud. His fingers traced the scar tissue.
“The girl,” the woman’s voice a shade more desperate, “is unmarried. She doesn’t know men. She must be protected.”
John imagined Cezi’s reaction to such a condemning statement. She was competent as hell. It was John who needed tips on how to deal the little powder keg, not the other way around.
Somehow, Nicholae managed to send the woman on her way and get the door shut. John raised his eyebrows but buried his smile when his host walked to the refrigerator to tuck the strudel inside.
“Why hide the cinnamon rolls?”
Unlike his brother, Nicholae rarely smiled, but his dark eyes sparkled with the same mischief as his daughter. “Are you kidding? I haven’t had to cook in several years. But if Nadya saw Lyuba’s cinnamon rolls, I’d have an all-out civil war on my hands.”
He opened the oven and had barely returned the roll to the table when another knock sounded on the door. As he reached for the roll to snatch it away again, John waved him off. “I’ll wrap it to-go.”
“Good. We’ll leave as soon as possible.”
Hoping to avoid another overheard conversation, John asked, “Do you want me to wake Czigany?”
Nicholae laughed softly. “My daughter doesn’t sleep. She left for the office hours ago.”
As John heard his words, he wondered again briefly if the gypsies weren’t running a three-card monte game on him. One kept the attention focused on him while the other fleeced the gullible chumps.
In the bedroom he texted Ciggy. “Check out the Romneys. Poppy, Nicholae, Luca and Czigany. C what u can find.”
Chapter Thirteen
Cezi stood with her back to the door. Agent Stillwater had arrived. His woody scent teased her nostrils and made her mouth water. What was it about him that made her want to take a bite of him?
Even though he hadn’t entered the room further than the doorway, she was sure she could feel the warmth of his body,
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