Operation: Reunited. Linda O. Johnston
Her husband was clearly displeased when he jumped into the conversation. “We are learning here to speak good,” he said, sounding defensive.
“I know how hard that can be,” John said. “Learning different languages is not something I’m good at. And believe me, I’ve tried.” His amiable grin encompassed both his companions. Ed Fuller’s glare eased a little.
“How did you try?”
Jill’s distinct and deliberate speech would have driven Alexa crazy if she’d been sitting with them. She gathered dirty soup bowls from a neighboring table, taking her time to prevent being obvious in her listening.
“I was a foreign exchange student in high school. I went to Switzerland, the French-speaking part. In return, my family had three different exchange students stay in our house for a few months at a time. I did a lot better helping them with their English than my host family did teaching me French.” Again he grinned, this time with an embarrassed shrug of his very broad shoulders—shoulders Jill apparently noticed, for her admiring smile was more feline than friendly.
Alexa refrained from slinging a bowl at the woman. It wasn’t her business if the guests chose to make fools of themselves. And a woman’s flirting with a man, no matter how great-looking and sexy he was, right in front of her husband—well, that was definitely foolish.
Unless they weren’t really married….
John took some taco chips that Alexa had baked from scratch, from a basket on the table. He barely looked at them as he dipped them in homemade salsa. That annoyed Alexa. She scooped up her handful of dishes and hurried into the kitchen. There, she ladled bowls of tortilla soup for John’s table. She had made it spicy. Now, she considered adding even more chili pepper to John’s. That would divert his attention from Jill Fuller.
Phantom was watching. In deference to keeping the food preparation sanitary, she blocked him into an adjoining room with a removable gate. As always, she spoke softly to him, and he greeted her in return by chuffing and dancing and wagging his tail.
“I’ll give you a big hug later,” she promised.
“Do you need any help, Alexa?” Vane stood in the doorway, his arms crossed. He appeared irritated.
She realized he wasn’t really offering help, just criticism. She was too slow tonight.
She had to stop allowing John O’Rourke to distract her.
“No, thanks, Vane,” she said. She picked up the tray with three soup bowls on it and hurried toward him. “I’m fine. Go ahead and entertain our guests.”
But he didn’t budge. As she approached him, he said through gritted teeth, “It appears that your friend O’Rourke is doing a good job of entertaining all by himself.”
Waves of panic shot up Alexa’s spine, but she stood still, balancing the awkward tray. “Yes,” she said with a forced smile. “He’s a salesman, and I guess salesmen like to talk.”
“This one likes to ask questions. Too many questions. I think we’d better suggest that he find someplace else to stay.”
In other words, she was to urge John to leave. Quickly.
“I don’t think he intends to stay long, anyway.” A little continued prevarication wouldn’t hurt, she hoped. She could tell Vane later that she hadn’t understood John’s intentions.
But she liked having someone around who was here just because he wanted to be. As if this place were still an innocent inn.
As long as she was the only one Vane threatened, she wouldn’t insist that John leave. But if the threats were ever leveled at the man she had encouraged to come here, she would get him out. Fast.
“I’ll hold you responsible if any of the other guests feel uncomfortable with your friend, Alexa.”
Vane’s icy frown made her want to cringe, and she was relieved when he pivoted and left the kitchen.
Alexa put down the tray for a moment and sagged against the center island. Her legs were shaking. Damn! This was no way to live.
She wouldn’t live this way much longer, she promised herself. As soon as she had what she needed to protect her parents and herself, she would escape.
Alexa would have sacrificed herself, and even her parents, if it would have done a damn bit of good. But it wouldn’t. Vane had made that clear.
She picked up the tray once more and entered the dining room. Vane had joined some guests across the room and didn’t even glance her way. Alexa served Jill Fuller a bowl of steaming soup first, Ed second and John last.
“This smells great,” John said. “What kind is it?” She told him. He turned to his dinner companions. “Have you ever eaten tortilla soup before? I’m not sure what Bolivian cuisine is like.”
Ed Fuller appeared confused by John’s question. Patiently, John rephrased it. Jill was the one to reply, but Alexa didn’t hear her answer.
“Ms. Kenner?” called a less heavily accented voice. Another guest, a few tables away, was holding up an empty wineglass. It was obvious what the man with the wrinkled face and demanding voice wanted, but Vane, seated at an adjoining table, just nodded curtly toward Alexa. Hiding her annoyance, she hurried to refill the customer’s glass.
Alexa was too busy after that to do more than catch snatches of the conversation at John’s table.
“This is a soup spoon,” John said once, holding up the utensil. “This is a teaspoon.” The others at his table repeated the names.
He was teaching them English!
What did Alexa expect from a personable salesman? A former exchange student who could empathize with people who didn’t understand the language in a strange country.
Several of Vane’s guests spoke English well. Many didn’t. Alexa suspected they all were terrorists, just like the last time. She had learned that after the fact, during the horror following Cole’s death.
She had recognized the possibility this time, as soon as Vane started bringing in his own guests—all together, all foreign, all with identification that didn’t seem to fit. But for the moment, there wasn’t anything she could do about it—not without wrecking her parents’ lives. What was left of her own, too.
She needed Vane’s damn file.
She would find it. And more… Soon.
A short while later, Alexa prepared to bring a serving of chile rellenos to John and his companions. She glanced down at the plates. The filled chile peppers were mounded with spicy Mexican-style rice and covered with sizzling cheese.
John had claimed he liked spicy foods. If he didn’t, that fact would come out now.
When she brought out the steaming dish, John was leaning over, conversing with two older men at the next table. It wasn’t enough for him to make friends with the Fullers. He was branching out.
“And what brings you to Skytop Lake?” he asked the closer of the two.
“Ah…pleasure.” The white-haired man with an underslung jaw had almost no accent. “I am here on holiday.”
“And you’re on vacation, too?” John said to the other man. “Where are you from?”
“New York” was the curt, precise reply that belied the answer. “Here comes your meal,” the thin, wrinkled man added, looking toward Alexa.
John turned toward her, as she put the plate in front of him. “This looks wonderful,” he told her. He inhaled deeply. “Smells wonderful, too.”
“It is wonderful,” she replied. “You’d better enjoy it.”
He grinned and used his fork to cut off a hefty piece. He took a bite. She expected his eyes to water, but they didn’t. She felt