Soldier of Fortune: Gideon Quinn Adventures Book One

Chapter 9

This, Gideon decided, could well be the ultimate dining experience.

At present, he was lounging in a tub filled with steaming water, a plate in one hand and the last bit of naan in the other, using the second to mop up every drop of sauce in the first.

He'd already done justice to one of the skewers of aurochs (Elvis devoured the second), and the soup (foregoing the spoon and drinking it straight from the bowl), setting each empty dish back on the tray, which he'd set on the floor, in easy reach, and on which only the bowl holding the traditional piece of laden honeycomb remained.

A cup of tea, poured from a squat clay teapot, also on the tray, sat on the tub's ledge, adding its own modest trail of steam to that of the bathwater.

On the edge of the sink, Elvis, still uncertain about this whole "water" thing, was grooming himself after neatly dispatching his share of the aurochs.

Gideon had been worried the draco would prove resistant to food that didn't squeak just prior to being devoured, but so far he seemed to be adapting nicely.

And if the warm, sleepy glow infusing his body was any indication, so was Gideon.

With a satisfied sigh, he set the all-but-licked-clean (okay, fine, completely licked clean) plate alongside the rest of the empty dishes, contemplated the honey and decided to hold off, content for the moment with the tea, of which he managed one or two sips before his muscles began to melt into the warm water.

Going with it, Gideon set the cup aside, let his head rest against the back of the tub, and soaked in the tangible proof of his freedom: food (not a dehydrated, rehydrated food-like substance but actual food); unlimited amounts of (clean) water; and a door that closed (with—and this could not be overstated—a lock on the inside).

It was close to perfect.

Certainly closer than he'd any right to expect.

Lounging, eyes closed, in water up past his chest, he could only assume events of an unpleasant nature would soon infringe on the near perfection, and then everything would once again be unpleasantly normal.

Cynic, a voice from his past chided him.

Realist, he corrected the memory, before sliding easily into the dream.

* * *

"Of course. Forgive me, how could I forget your motto?" the memory said, standing at the side of the tub, studying him. "How did it go? 'Don't get comfortable, don't even make dinner plans because if you do, life will just serve you up a dish of pain.'" She leaned over and let her fingers trace the scar over his collarbone. "You've tasted more than your share."

"Dani..." Her name came out as little more than a breath, stirring the water.

"Who else?" She sat on the edge of the tub, seemingly unconcerned that her uniform was getting wet.

She brushed her fingers over the water, head tilting as she met his gaze. "Why are you looking at me that way?"

"Because you're not real."

"True," she said with a smile.

* * *

Mia had just come even with her target's window when a motion below prompted her to flatten herself against the granite.

Peering down, she saw the man in the garish green coat and yellow pagri making a beeline out of the hotel.

Did that mean he'd already gotten to the draco?