“I walk fast,” he said, keeping his stride. Constantine noticed, walking next to her, that the woman was nearly his height.
“I’ve got to get something out of my car.”
Constantine said, “I’ll meet you at the Dodge.”
He dropped into the driver’s side of the bench, moved the seat back, and cooked the ignition. Through the windshield he watched Delia reach into the Mercedes and pull a gadget from the visor. She walked to the Super Bee and slid in on the passenger side.
“Nice car,” she said dryly.
“You could take yours.” He motioned towards the Mercedes. “It is yours, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But I don’t want to take it. When I finish my ride, I always walk back to the house, through the woods. It’s my routine.”
“Some routine. Like working, I guess, only different” Constantine swung the Dodge around and headed down the driveway toward the gate. He looked at the beeper-sized gadget in Delia’s hand. “That open everything around here?”
Delia said, “I suppose it does,” and she rolled down the window to take some air. The rain had stopped, and with the window open a damp green smell settled around them.
Delia pointed the gadget at the gate. It swung in and Constantine edged through, turning left onto the two- lane. He punched the gas and felt the surge of the 383.
She looked at him, across the seat. “You’re some sort of driver, aren’t you?”
“They think I am.”
Delia looked out at the road as it disappeared beneath the hood. “You’re here for this new project.”
“You don’t know the particulars, huh?”
“He spares me the details.”
“But you know something about it, don’t you? It bothers you enough to pretend you’re outside of it all. But not enough to walk.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talkin’ about Grimes’s business. It keeps you in designer scarves, and it keeps you in horses.”
“I’m not interested in what you think.”
“You’re interested,” Constantine said. “I felt it in your touch.”
Delia said, “Just drive.”
The woods ended, the split rail continuing to border the field where the stable stood. Delia pointed to an open gate. Constantine slowed the Dodge, turning in and driving slowly down the gravel road that ran a path to the stable. He cut the engine.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said, not looking at him now.
Constantine made a head movement toward the stable. “Can I see it?”
Delia pushed some blond off her face. “If you’d like.” She started out of the car. Constantine stopped her with his hand. Her arm felt soft beneath the chambray of her shirt.
“Listen,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything.”
“You don’t know me,” she said, and moved out of the seat.
Constantine exited the Dodge and followed her through a gate, into a paddock, and then through the dutch- doored entrance to the stable. Two stalls stood inside the stable, with the head of a horse visible over the gate of one stall. The opposite stall was open and unoccupied. The stable appeared neatly arranged, clean, with the pleasant smell of damp hay. Hooves clomped the dirt as they entered.
“Hello, Mister,” Delia said musically, opening the stall gate out and to the left. She stood protectively against the gate as the horse moved halfway out into the stable.
The stallion stood still as Delia patted his neck and forequarters. He was black and full and muscled, with a blue-black mane and tail, and a diamond of white between his eyes, covering the area from his forehead down close to his muzzle. Constantine looked at the horse’s deep, intelligent eyes, and then at Delia’s, crinkled at the corners as she traced her fingers down his face as she might the face of a lover.
“A thoroughbred,” Constantine said, knowing nothing of horses, though this was something anyone could see.
“Yes,” Delia said. “The son of an Arabian stallion and an English mare.”
“Beautiful,” he said, looking at Delia.
Delia walked to the back of the stable, took a leather halter and rope off a nail, and returned. She held the horse by the mane with her right hand, brought the nose band up, pushed the loose end of the crown piece over the head, and buckled it. She patted the black stallion on his hindquarters and watched him walk slowly from the stable out into the paddock.
“What now?” Constantine said.
“Nothing too exciting. I clean his stall-shovel it out, and lime it-and then I ride. When I get back, I feed him.”
Constantine looked into the empty stall, the dirt damp with urine. A wooden manger sat half filled with hay, a bucket of water by its side. His eyes moved above and to the left of the stall, in a corner of the stable. A video camera hung there, pointed down, an indicator light burning red below the lens, a green button below the light. Constantine looked into the lens, chuckled, then looked at Delia.
“We being watched?” he said.
“Not necessarily. It’s always on. They’re not always monitoring it.” Delia put a strand of blond behind her ear. “I can call them, though. That’s what the button’s for, below the light.”
“It’s a lot of security for an animal. Grimes got a thing about the horse?”
“He’s got a thing about protecting his investment.”
“When you’ve got something that sweet, I guess… you don’t want to lose it.”
“That’s right.”
“It is sweet,” Constantine said. “Isn’t it? I’m thinking right now how sweet it must be-”
“Don’t,” Delia said sadly. “Don’t think about it.”
She made a move to go around him, but Constantine stepped in front of her, blocking her way. Her blue eyes bore into his with determination, but there was something else there, something like an opening; Constantine took it, holding her chin in his hand just as she tried to jerk it away. He put his mouth on hers. Her lips were warm and almost at once there was no resistance, and Constantine took his hand off her chin, feeling her mouth open as she relaxed against him. He put his hands on her shoulders and smelled the clean scent of her hair, and the smell aroused him as much as the smoothness of her tongue and the pressure and warmth of her groin against his.
They broke apart. Delia stepped back, ran the back of her hand across her mouth, slowly looked him up and down.
“Why did you do that?” she asked quietly.
“You wanted me to.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I suppose I did.”
“You can’t be happy.”
She studied his face. “You’re not going to make trouble, are you?”
“I might,” he said.
She came forward, closing her eyes this time before they kissed. He felt her around him, felt her tongue slide over his. She took his fingers and put them to her breast, her teeth pressing into his lips as he touched her. They walked to the far corner of the stable, where they undressed.
Delia dropped Constantine’s denim shirt into the damp dirt. He watched the muscles of her back wash over her rib cage as she carefully spread the shirt. She sat on it and reached for his hand. He came to her as barn swallows fluttered in the rafters.
Afterward, they did not speak. Constantine held her, her tears hot on his neck. The feeling of her in his arms frightened him, the same fear that had gripped him when he had held the boy in the park, in Greece. He could just move on-there would be other children to hold, and there would be other women-but he was tired.
Delia looked up at him and smiled, wiping the tears off her face. She put her head back down and buried her face into his shoulder. After a while the fear that he was feeling went away.
