Spain was alone in his office when Nathan was shown in. He nodded to Nathan’s police escort, who backed out, shutting the door behind them.
“Sit down,” Spain said, and Nathan took a chair across from the orderly desk. Spain looked crisp and clean-shaven in a navy suit. The wedding band on his left hand shone brightly.
“Coffee?” Spain asked politely. “Smoke?”
Spain poured him a cup of coffee from a flask. Nathan sipped, and the coffee, cut with chicory, wasn’t bad, though nothing as good as pre-rationing coffee. The lieutenant had a nice set-up here. Nathan’s eyes were drawn to the photograph of a dark-haired woman on the bookshelf behind the desk. She looked pretty. She looked like the kind of wife someone like Lt. Mathew Spain would have. The bookshelf was full of books on the law and police procedure.
Spain proffered a pack of Camels. Nathan took one, and Spain leaned forward to light it for him. Spain’s hands were large and well shaped. His lashes made dark crescents against his cheekbones. As though he felt Nathan’s stare, he raised his eyes—and Nathan couldn’t look away.
He stared into Mathew Spain’s long-lashed hazel eyes, and he realized with sudden terrible clarity that Spain knew all about him. Knew exactly what he was. Knew it as surely as though Nathan’s ugly history were an open file on Spain’s tidy desk. In fact…Nathan glanced at Spain’s desktop as though somehow the explanation could be found there, because how did Spain know? How? Had it become that obvious? Like a scarlet letter branded into his skin—or the mark of Cain?
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish