The woman had pulled her sheer black pant legs up over her knees to expose long clean calves and thighs to the sun-before leaning back, letting her sharp profile cut the fresh air.
The woman was very pretty in a bitchy sort of way. She had lovely loose features that hormones or disappointment could easily tighten to petty, mean and selfish.
Borland remembered her.
As she approached the table, he appreciated her long legs again-and he especially liked the way she pressed the bright blue ice pack over her abdomen, accentuating the flare of her hips.
She shot a hesitant smile at Borland, quickly looked away, and took the empty seat between him and Rough-trade.
'What are they serving?' the woman whispered.
'Chicken,' Rough-trade reassured brusquely. 'And you can't eat chicken can you?'
The strange woman dipped her head and glanced at Borland as he almost cracked a tooth on a whole- wheat roll.
She can't eat chicken. So what?
A young black man, one of a group of kids doing the serving, hurtled near and the strange woman stopped him.
'I can't eat chicken,' she stated, both hands raised.
The young man stared. He had a tray of dinners balanced over his shoulder.
'So I need the vegetarian menu.' The woman pushed her explanation forward.
'I got to ask them in the kitchen,' the young man said, delivering his tray of orders to the next table before spinning back through the kitchen door.
'She can't eat chicken,' Rough-trade repeated.
'Is she vegetarian?' asked Hockey Dad, like the strange woman wasn't sitting just the other side of Borland.
The woman piped up, 'Not a vegetarian…but I can eat fish.'
'Fish isn't good for vegetarians is it?' Hockey Dad pressed her.
'It's the only thing they serve that's worth eating,' Rough-trade clarified as the strange woman nodded, sharing a silent smile.
Suddenly the woman looked around the table-panic in her eyes, before she noticed her water glass and Borland's were upside down and unused.
She flipped her own and filled it from the pitcher and then smiling, looked at Borland's and gestured with trembling fingers. 'Would you like some water?'
There was something in her eyes, some spark in the dark brown setting that dried out Borland's throat, really made him thirsty, so he said: 'No thanks, I'm having coffee.'
The pitcher hit the table with a thump.
There was a pause.
The strange woman's features fell, registering a rejection. A wounded look softened her eyes as they shifted off the table and over to Borland's belly. Then a tear rolled down her cheek, and she nodded, mouthing a silent word of comfort to herself.
She glanced at Borland's belly again and blushed. He knew he didn't have a chance with her so he let it hang out.
She smirked and shook her head, then squeezed the ice pack over her injury.
The young black man whirled out of the kitchen and deposited a rigatoni dinner in front of her.
'No meat!' he announced. 'Only cheese.'
'She can't eat chicken,' Rough-trade said, for some reason, as the strange woman popped a few pieces of rigatoni into her mouth and chewed.
There was another pause. More tears?
She glanced a final time at Borland and then stood, left her meal and hurried across the dining room and out without a word.
Borland watched her go-a strange sensation-an instinct ignored rose in his gut again-but it flickered and disappeared when Rough-trade said: 'She can't eat chicken.'
CHAPTER 7
Turned out to be lunch after all. Borland blamed the small portions for the fact he managed supper two hours later. After entering the dining room a second time, he grabbed a chair at the closest table-a group of middle-aged men. Hockey Dad and Rough-trade waved from another table across the way.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
There was no sign of the strange woman.
Mind your business.
Rough-trade said: She used to be a cop.
So she can take care of herself.
Borland knew from his days on the Metro police force that the ranks were full of burnouts and nut-jobs. Couldn't hold a candle to the Variant Squads back in the day, but law enforcement took its toll on everyone, even the enforcers. Thinking back, he decided that the squads inherited wild characters from all the services. Where else could you get drunk and hunt people?
Ssskin.
Strange idea coming from a captain. Borland kept his eyes on his lap.
He shouldn't have thought that. He was already a marked man if the truth got out and irresponsible thinking led to stupid actions. Internal investigations were usually close behind, and that was out of the question.
The inner debate kept him out of the table talk. He tried to appear withdrawn, possibly dangerous or crazy. He handled any niceties with a scowl.
Borland downed his meal and hurried out of the dining room. Tall windows opened onto the contemplation pond. Long orange bands of sunlight were growing but he had a couple of hours to kill.
The orientation meeting had described the evening for new arrivals. After dinner they were free to wander, but had to be in their rooms by eight-thirty where they would be given sleeping pills and sent to bed. Some would be showering that night and others with operations later in the day would shower in the morning.
Easy as pie.
Borland had to shower before bed.
Perfect.
As he hurried past chairs and a piano in another recreation area, he tapped the flask of whiskey in his coat pocket. He planned to take a couple blasts, watch the setting sun and then toothbrush and shower away all evidence.
Borland rammed through a set of glass patio doors and stalked quickly across the flat stones around the contemplation pond. His shoes scraped on the asphalt path as he passed under pine trees.
He had to reach the acres of grass and trees where the grounds butted up against the rear of the Shomberg complex. He followed the path as it wound in and around groups of trees and manicured lawns that grew beside the buildings.
If he could find a bit of shadow, he could enjoy a drink.
His hand instinctively hovered over his flask but it dropped when a silhouette appeared against a golden sky where the path rose. Patients were wandering all over the grounds some new, without a limp, others hunched and mysterious-most were in the dining room eating, but they'd finish soon, and start walking. What else was there to do?
Goddamn it.
He didn't have a lot of time.
There was a huge patio on the back of the complex-a thousand square yards of concrete surrounded by wrought iron. Borland gave it a grunt but pushed on past, followed the path where it crossed a staff parking area
