Chapter Three
Offered anything in the kitchen, Maji asked for eggs. Rose whipped up an omelet, letting her guest play the sous-chef. It was relaxing, just chopping while Rose hummed from fridge to stove, in her element.
“Are you a chef?” Maji asked, admiring her efficiency and grace.
“No.” Rose kept with her task. “I teach cultural anthropology, with a focus on food. And you’re…let me guess…a superhero?”
“What?” Oh, she was flirting again. “No.”
“Hmm.” Rose sounded unconvinced, but kept her attention on the eggs.
While they ate, Maji ventured again. “You’re not from here. But you live here.”
“I visit family every summer. Swim, read by the pool, get in touch with my roots.”
“Ah, summer girl.”
“And what are you, detective? You don’t sound so Long Island yourself.”
“Brooklyn, actually. It’s a retreat for me out here, too.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. I was terrified earlier, and now I almost feel like nothing happened.”
Maji gave a small shrug. “Helps to get back to somewhere you feel safe.”
“I’m sure that’s part of it,” Rose agreed, meeting Maji’s eyes with a steady gaze.
Maji looked away and excused herself. She locked the door and splashed water on her face, looking in the mirror. Since waking up in the hospital, she’d been looked at with unwanted sympathy, with clinical interest and professional courtesy, with empathy a few times, and more recently, with desire. But not gratitude mixed with admiration. She didn’t deserve that, and she wasn’t about to dump a truckload of baggage on a stranger explaining why. Just eat, say thanks, and get out.
On her return trip from the bathroom down the hall, Maji noticed the mirror draped in black. She couldn’t bring herself to ask Rose about the family’s loss, to see the pain in her eyes. Not tonight, not with the trauma so fresh and the house nearly echoing with emptiness.
The night air was soft on the skin as they sat eating by the pool. Their plates cleaned and cups empty, Rose sat back, contented. The pool lights flickered in the water. If she wasn’t so drained, a swim would feel magnificent. Especially a skinny-dip, she thought, eyeing Maji’s well-defined arms and shoulders, speculating on the parts covered by the tank top and jeans. She felt herself flush. “Breakfast for supper,” she exclaimed. “Perfect comfort food.”
“Works every time,” Maji agreed, with a satisfied smile.
“Every time? Do you risk your life for strangers routinely?”
“It’s a bad habit. I keep trying to break it.”
“But you’re not a cop.”
Maji rose, reaching for her plate and glass. “I just teach self-defense. You could pick some up this summer, when you’re not in the pool.” She sounded tired.
The lights in the kitchen blinked out, leaving them in semi-darkness. Rose turned toward the dark house, pulse racing.
“Frank? Yo, Frank!” Maji called out.
The lights blinked back on, and Rose exhaled loudly. Frank’s head popped out the back door.
“Sorry! Didn’t know you was out here. You need me anymore?”
Rose responded for them. “We’re fine, Frank. Sleep well.”
“’Kay. G’night.”
Rose turned toward Maji. “He’s not a very competent bodyguard, is he?”
“Not so much,” Maji conceded.
“But he’s like one of the family.” Rose smiled ruefully, glad Frank had not been hurt earlier. “Maybe I should take your class.”
Back in the well-lit kitchen, Maji started rinsing dishes. She felt wide-awake again, and restless.
“You don’t need to do that,” Rose protested. “I’ll take care of them tomorrow.”
Maji continued, not turning. “S’all right.”
“Maji?” Rose asked, sounding tentative.
“Mm-hmm?”
“About tonight. There’s something you should know—”
Maji held up a hand to interrupt, and turned. She wiped her hands on her jeans, then spoke. “Let’s stick with a don’t ask, don’t tell policy on this one, okay?”
“But you don’t understand—”
“Sure I do.” Maji cut her off more decisively this time. “You’re connected to someone the Vory would squeeze with a kidnapping. Why is none of my business.”
“Vor v Zakone?” Rose seemed genuinely alarmed. “And you spoke to them in Russian!”
“Eh. Really rusty, basic Russian,” Maji admitted. “Not my best language.” In fact, if she’d been quicker on the uptake, she might have taken him down right there in the entry. But then the accomplice might have grabbed Rose…
Rose blew out a long breath. “Sorry. My imagination is in overdrive.”
“Too much adrenaline all around,” Maji replied. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Rose rewarded her with shy smile. “So which language is your best?”
“English and Spanish tie for first.” Maji ticked them off on her left hand. She skipped over her mother’s native tongue, Farsi. “Then Arabic. I’m decent in French, Italian, and Portuguese, when I can keep the Spanish out. But my Russian’s strictly colloquial.” Seeing the incredulous look on Rose’s face, she put her hands back down and added, “I’m a linguist. It’s what I do.”
Rose laughed her infectious laugh, and Maji felt like she’d won a prize.
“A linguist. I didn’t guess that one.” Rose moved close to Maji, nearly backing her into the counter. She put her hand under Maji’s chin, tilting it up to look into her eyes, and brushed Maji’s lips gently with her thumb. “Nothing beats a woman with a versatile tongue.”
Maji felt the pull of those soft brown eyes, and the thumping in her temple. She’s still a stranger, Rios. Leave her be. She blinked and stopped Rose’s hand, moving it aside but not away. “I should go. I have an early morning.”
“I promise to set you an alarm. And give you a great night’s sleep.” Rose leaned in and kissed Maji softly, an invitation rather than a demand.
Maji closed her eyes and let Rose nibble lightly around her ear. Abruptly, she stiffened and opened her eyes. “I should go. Unless you’re uneasy alone. I could take the couch.”
Rose backed off slightly, their faces inches apart. “I know I’d feel better if you stayed. I hope you would, too.”
Rose brushed Maji’s lips with hers, tantalizing.
For a long second, Maji felt frozen in place. Then with a small sound escaping her lips, she turned Rose and wedged her against the counter, one hip driven into the taller woman’s crotch. They kissed fiercely, Rose grinding into the pressure between her legs, until she arched back and gasped. Maji trailed her lips tenderly down the pulse in Rose’s neck.
“Upstairs,” Rose breathed.
Before the sun was fully up, birdsong reached Maji’s ears. Mourning doves. She yawned and tried to shift, but one arm was pinned under Rose. How long since she’d woken up tangled with someone else, dead to the world? Years. Rose had whispered, “Sweet dreams,” and the next thing, daylight. No dreams, good or bad, no hyperawareness, ready to spring up at the slightest sound. Even drugs had never knocked her out like that. Had she been drugged? No. She was oriented, clearheaded, and able to remember every moment before sleeping. Every touch, every taste, every sound, every…Damn. Another night like that, and she’d know what addiction felt like.
She should get up and slip out, catch a shower and change at home, have breakfast with Hannah. Instead, Maji carefully brushed the tangled mass of her own hair, long since freed from the french braid, off her face, and breathed in the mingled musk and clean scent at the nape of Rose’s neck. She wanted to brush the hair off Rose’s shoulder, to run her fingers over that silky olive skin again, but it might wake her. So she laid her free arm over Rose’s torso, slowly and carefully. Rose stirred, murmured, grasped for Maji’s hand and pulled it in to cup her breast. She snuggled back along the length of Maji’s front.
An hour later, Rose woke curled inside the spoon of Maji’s frame. She rolled and faced Maji, gazing into her already-open eyes. “What a silver lining you are.” She traced Maji’s cheek with her fingers. “You have beautiful eyes. Green, not brown.”
“Surprise.” Maji’s lips twitched slightly, too languorous still for a full smile. Staring back into the deep, warm brown of Rose’s eyes, close enough to notice the golden flecks in her irises, Maji felt oddly at home. Even without the telltale crinkles by the corners of the black-lashed lids, she could tell Rose was smiling. No fear, no anger, not even desire muddying the pleasure that radiated toward her. It reminded her of the easy laughter that had bubbled up from Rose at several points last night, a pool of sunshine she could bask in all day. All day? Damn. She’d better call Hannah.
Maji closed her eyes, breaking the hold of Rose’s gaze. “Could I borrow a phone?” She started to sit up, and Rose matched her movement, rising and leaning in to kiss her. Maji let the world beyond Rose’s mouth, her skin, her scent, slip away. She let her prop arm sink back onto the bed and felt Rose’s weight press into her, the silky length of one leg sliding up by her waist. She ran both hands down Rose’s back as Rose pulled back and sat up, arms holding her torso suspended over Maji, hips straddling her thighs. Maji opened her eyes.
“It’s downstairs,” Rose said, and smiled at Maji’s confused look. “The phone. You might want a shower first. There’s room for two.”
Maji shook her head. “Not yet.” She curled up from her center, meeting Rose in midair and turning her as they kissed, one hand sliding from Rose’s low back around the curve of her hip. She pressed it into the soft spot between hip bone and thigh, eliciting a gratifying hum from Rose, who pulled her close.
Just as Rose found Maji’s ear with her mouth, the door swung open.
“Rose, you up? Frank told me about last night.” Angelo stopped short, blushing, and spun around to face the hallway. Over his shoulder he said, “Well, clearly not about all of it. My bad. You come down in a few and see me, okay?”
“Angelo?” Maji pulled the sheet toward Rose and stood, naked and unaccountably furious.
“Rios!” He turned back around. “This is how you keep in touch? You don’t write, you don’t call—you just show up in my house? Points for style, babe.” He tilted his head toward Rose, one eyebrow arched. “You okay?”
Rose just stared back.
“This is the House that Death Built?” Maji glanced from Rose’s stunned face to Angelo’s, noting chagrin warring with his pleasure to see her. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He grabbed her jeans from the floor and handed them to her, answering in Arabic. “I’m working—flying solo till you finally got here. Sorry about last night—nice work, as usual.”
“That wasn’t work. I’m on leave, and great as it is to see you, I have other commitments here.” She answered in Arabic, aware of Rose and thinking they should step outside for this reunion. Where was her shirt, anyway? She started pulling her jeans on, not caring where her underwear had ended up.
“Seriously, that was your mission kickoff. You would have been off the clock until today, if you didn’t always grab trouble by the throat. Hell, if you’d kept your head down in Spain, I could have had you back months ago.” He plucked her shirt off the floor and handed it to her.
Maji swore, and pulled the T over her head. She spared a sideways glance at Rose. “You really telling me I have to deploy again?” His look was all the answer she needed. “Fuck. I haven’t even unpacked. And Hannah…” Having to leave again, just like that, hit her like a sucker punch in the ribs. She sank down onto the bed, eyes on the open doorway.
Angelo perched beside her, one hand on her shoulder. “The firewall is down, babe. You get to see your godmama, and I get you here where I need you. It’s a win-win.”
She turned her head enough to catch his eye. “Here, here?” She couldn’t work under a cover in this town. “Everybody knows me, Ang. Including Rose. Who is…?”
“My cousin. I knew you two would hit it off.”
Maji stared at him. Those eyes. How had she not seen the resemblance? A terrible idea occurred to her. “Was this a setup? If this was a setup, I will hurt you.”
“No. I would never put Rose in harm’s way. Hannah said you’d be at Mona’s, that’s all. I was just going to suprise you with a welcome home and introduce you two like normal people do.”
He sounded sincere enough. Maji relaxed, and glanced at Rose, who looked perplexed by the flow of Arabic in her bedroom. “Sorry,” she said in English. “You can kick us out anytime.”
“Speaking of which,” Angelo said in Arabic, standing, “Hannah will brief you.” He switched back to English at last, calling over his shoulder, “See ya at breakfast!”
The door clicked shut behind him. Rose and Maji looked at it, then at each other.
“What on earth was that?” Rose demanded.
In reply, Maji only asked, “You’re really a Benedetti?”