Final Masquerade by Cindy Davis Read Free Book Online Page A

drag from a filtered cigarette and held it, not between the first and second fingers as most people did, but between the second and third. “Tell me who you thought I was.” His voice was deep, pleasant, and cultured, with a touch of an accent, possibly Canadian, from the way he said the word ‘down'. It sent renewed ripples of energy all the way to her fingers and toes.
    Paige remained standing, clenching and unclenching the toes in her sneakers. It was wasted motion though, the sensations wouldn't go away. “Just someone I went to school with."
    He threw his head back and laughed, a deep resonating sound that began deep in his gut.
    She frowned. “What's so funny about that?"
    "Excuse me for saying so, but school must have been quite a while back."
    "Well!” She feigned shock.
    "No offense, no offense intended."
    "I'll have you know that I'm a school teacher and I'm in school all the time."
    "Is that right?” He closed the magazine, pushed it aside, leaned back in the booth and took another pull on the cigarette. “Are you hungry?"
    "I ate a while ago, but I was thinking a cup of fruit salad might taste good."
    "I was contemplating dessert myself. How about joining me?"
    "Thank you, I'd like that. Do you come this way often?"
    "About twice a month. I haul appliances, stoves, refrigerators, and the like. What's your name?"
    "Tracy Wilson."
    "Where you from?"
    He waved the folded magazine in the air to catch the waitress’ attention and she wound her way between the tables, arriving slightly out of breath. She leaned forward, setting her order book on the table. She had bright green eyes and might have been pretty if it weren't for the red expanse of acne across her pink face. “Chris honey, don't tell me yore still hungry?” She poked him in the bicep with an index finger. “I was shore that meat loaf plate was gonna fill you right up."
    She said all this eyeing Paige with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.
    "Give us a slice of that chocolate cream pie and a fruit cup, would you?” He turned to Paige. “Something to wash it down?"
    "No, thanks.” She positioned her bags on the seat and made herself comfortable.
    Once the waitress had gone, he continued his original thought. “I'd guess you're from the west coast, around L.A.” Seeing her noncommittal gaze, he asked, “Am I right or wrong?"
    She forced a smile. “A little of both. I was brought up in Michigan. I went to Berkeley in ‘80."
    "Really? So did I. What was your major?"
    Shit. Choosing something she deemed obtuse, she said, “Liberal Arts."
    "Holy cow, that was mine too. Why don't I remember you?"
    Paige wrung her hands under the table. “I ... er ... look a little different than I did back then."
    "How so?"
    "I've lost seventy-five pounds, for one thing. And I was a redhead. I belonged to the Delta Gamma Sorority. You might recognize that."
    "No, can't say as I do. So, what's your story?"
    "Story?"
    "Yeah, story. What is it? If I'm going to haul you cross country, I want to know your story."
    "Wha—"
    He stretched his arms across the table so his fingers were almost touching her arms. The little hairs all stood at attention. Paige realized she was rubbing her hands up and down her arms.
    He chuckled. “I don't look like someone you went to school with. You're not a schoolteacher, any more than I'm a pirate. That expensive manicure is a dead giveaway. Look, I'm not an idiot. You're wanting a ride somewhere, and before I offer you one, I want to know what's going on."
    "You don't pull any punches, do you?"
    "I just like things out in the open."
    The waitress arrived and plopped the two dishes on the table. “Let me guess which one is yours.” Her gaze pierced Paige, who returned the glare in triplicate. The waitress shoved the fruit cup toward her.
    Paige ate several forkfuls before speaking. “What's your whole name?
    "Christian Charles Beauchamps hailing from Tallahassee, San Francisco, Minneapolis, and Dallas. I'm originally from