Deep Midnight

“I am intensely curious.”



“Aren’t you going to ask if I’m a drug smuggler?”



“No.”



“All right. I have lots of that dreadful stuff known as family money.”



“Where was this family from, originally?”



It seemed he still hesitated, then he shrugged. “Norway.”



“Norway!”



He glanced at her, his head at a slight incline. “Yes. I shouldn’t have thought that would be a tremendous surprise. I’m definitely Teutonic looking. Then there’s my name?Ragnor. And my surname.”



“I told you before?I don’t know your surname.”



He turned to look at her. “Wulfsson.”



“Wulf-son?” she repeated. “like ... son of the wolf?”



“It’s a fairly common name where I come from,” he said dryly.



Wolf. Wolf’s son.



A tall man in wolf’s clothing, leaping from a balcony to a boat.



A wolf in the midst of the shadows.



A large dog. Right.



Jordan felt light-headed, uneasy.



They passed by a shop window. She glanced at it and started.



There was the mannequin again. The one she had passed earlier. An echo of Steven’s face remained.



“What’s wrong?” Ragnor asked. She hadn’t realized that she had paused and was staring at the mannequin. Steven’s face had passed through her mind’s eye once again.



She shook her head.



It was a dummy; a mannequin. Well dressed, made of rubber or plastic, or whatever they used to make dummies.



“Nothing,” she said.



She felt his hands on her shoulders, the intensity of his eyes on hers. “What did you see?” he demanded.



She shook her head. She wasn’t sharing any more about Steven with anyone. “Nothing, really. I’m just tired.”



He stared at the store window, then looked back at her. “I wish that you’d trust me,” he said.



She lifted her hand. “It’s a shop window, as you can see.” Jared and Cindy had paused ahead. Her cousin called back to them. “Hey, you two, are you coming?” Jordan then heard Cindy’s voice, though she hadn’t intended her words to carry. “Jared, leave her alone! She’s walking with a fascinating man after a year of mourning!” Jordan was staring at Ragnor as they both heard Cindy’s aggrieved whisper. She flushed.



“Let’s go.”



She turned; he followed. She walked briskly, passing Cindy and Jared. A moment later she turned back to the three who were a few feet behind her. “There’s the hotel. Excuse me, will you, I’m going to hurry on ahead. I’m suddenly really, really tired. Excuse me, please.” She quickened her pace, nearly swinging the revolving door into a bellman as she hurried into the hotel.



She apologized quickly and went to the concierge for her key. Before anyone could come up behind her, she raced up the stairs to her bedroom door.



Inside the room, she noted that the night maid had been in. Her bed was turned down. The shutters had been thrown open. The window was almost closed; the night was very cool.



She remembered the uneasy sensation she’d had in the room before she’d left. She shook her head, wanting to sleep, hoping to not be plagued by ridiculous fears. Methodically, she went through her room, checking the bathroom, the divisions of the room, under the bed, even the television cabinet. She secured the shutters and closed the window.



She discarded her heels and black cocktail dress and got into a flannel Winnie the Pooh nightgown.



There was a knock on her door. She hesitated, peered through the peephole, and saw that Ragnor was out there.



She opened the door, glaring at him.



“What?” she demanded, anger, exasperation, and even a plea in her voice.



“I just wanted to make sure you were up here, safe, sound, locked in, all that.”



“I was locked in?until you had me open the door.”



“Mind if I look around?”



“Yes! It’s the middle of the night.”



“Deep midnight,” he murmured.



“Well past midnight,” she told him.



“I’ll go away and stay away,” he promised.



“Come in, come in, walk around, look around. Then please .. .” He stepped past her and repeated the actions she had just taken. She watched him, arms crossed over her chest as she waited. She stood near the door. He would leave. He had to leave. She couldn’t believe it. She was tempted to ask him to stay. To just walk up to him and say I don’t know a damned thing about you. I still think you’re lying. You’re evasive if not entirely mysterious. You could be a mass murderer for all I know. But, okay, I admit it, I’m no better than Tiff, I feel this incredible urge to touch you, to check out what’s going on beneath the tailored clothing, lord, what a body, is it all that great? I’d really like to just hop into bed, turn out all the lights and have sex, the kind where you forget everything because you‘re so desperate for that moment. . .



“Looks good,” he said, stepping before her.



“Gee, thanks. I thought so myself. You’re not a drug smuggler. An antiques smuggler?”



“No.”



“A criminal of any kind?”



At that, he seemed to hesitate.



“You are a criminal!”



“No. Not now.”



“Oh, great! You’re warning me to be careful, you’re in my room?”



“I told you before?you seem to have created an ... an atmosphere of tension.”



“Get out,” she told him.



To her amazement, he did so. The second he stepped out of the doorway, she was sorry. This was absolutely crazy. She had the most insane temptation to throw herself against him.



“When you feel like explaining things to me?telling me the truth about, just about anything?give me a call,” she told him.



She closed the door, firmly locking it.



She leaned against the door for a moment, biting her lip. She didn’t hear him leave. A moment later, she threw open the door again. The hallway was empty. She closed the door again, locking it carefully.



It took her a long time to get to sleep.



When she did, the dreams came again.



Steven was there. He was dressed as the mannequin in the window, but he was the man she had known, passionate, level, caring, noble ... all the rest. He called her name, trying to reach her through a sea of fog, apologizing because he just couldn’t come close enough.



“It’s the wolf,” he told her. “You’ve got to get rid of that wolf.”



“There are no wolves in Venice,” she told him. “I talked to the waiter. They just have very big dogs.” But the wolf was there again. Silver, huge, it sat a few feet away, much closer than it had been before.



Steven, she saw, was beyond the window, walking in the fog.



The wolf was at the foot of the bed.



Steven kept coming. The wolf growled. She saw the great canine teeth.



“I’ve missed you so much,” Steven said.



She had to explain the wolf. “The waiter really assured me. No wolves. I think it’s just a malamute, Steven, see the eyes?”



The fog was rising all around her, swirling around the foot of the bed. There shouldn’t be fog in the room. It had to be the maid’s fault; she had left the window open.



“Jordan . ..”



It was Steven, calling her name.



“I miss you, too, so much, Steven.” Guilt assailed her. She did miss him. He had been everything good in a man. A cop. He’d cared for victims; he’d wanted reforms; he done everything, given the final sacrifice of his life.



I miss you, but I’m dying to go to bed with another man now, Steven, she thought.



She didn’t say the words aloud, but it was a dream. Could he read her mind in a dream? Was she speaking anyway? Even in the dream, she knew that a psychiatrist would have a heyday with her. This was all perfectly understandable. She’d been in love, deeply in love, engaged. She shouldn’t forget so quickly. A year. Steven was dead, and she was not.



There was an explanation, yes, surely . . .



“I miss you, Steven!” she repeated.



“Love me more than the wolf!” he called to her.



“I do love you!”



“Bring me back in your mind, Jordan.”



“You’re always in my mind.”



The wolf growled again.



The fog rose over the bed.



She awoke with a start.



Though the shutters were closed, little shafts of light streaked into the room. She could see the motes dancing in the air.



There was no fog in her room.



And there was no wolf.



And no sign of Steven, naturally.



Morning had come and dreams had broken.



CHAPTER 9



She awoke very late.



Despite the hour, Jordan went upstairs to the rooftop restaurant, desperately in search of coffee. One of the waiters, a pleasant man she was coming to know, greeted her with a smile, and the much needed cup of coffee.



“Buon giomo, Signorina Riley,” he told her. “It’s not morning, but then ... it is Carnevale. I can get you eggs, if you wish.”



“The coffee is wonderful, thank you so much. If it’s already lunch?”



“An omelette. Formaggio, eh?”



“That would be lovely, thank you. Have you seen my cousin or his wife?”



“Signora Riley left not long ago.”



“Thank you so much. Oh ... by the way, have you seen a very tall man, light haired?”



“No, signorina, I haven’t.”



“Well, thank you.”



At the next table, a woman was finishing a bowl of soup; her companion was reading an Italian paper.



“Even here in Venice,” the man said in English.



“What is it, dear?” the woman asked.



“A head?a severed head was found in a canal.”



“My God, how awful!” the woman said. Then she added “Just the head? No body?”



“Not yet?but I assume you’ve got to have a body to have a head.”