Red Midnight by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online

bag hung in the small open closet, and an array of toiletries was neatly set above the sink, very masculine toiletries, Erin noticed quickly as she assessed the shaving cream, deodorant, and after-shave. Masculine and expensive, she thought wryly. The after-shave was one she knew; Ted loved it and she often gave it to him as his Christmas gift, since neither he nor Mary would think to endanger their household budget by such a purchase. She seemed to remember someone else wearing it too … recently …
    So my next-door neighbor is a finicky male, she thought, withdrawing from the compartment with a shade of guilt as she realized she had actually been prying. Not really, not if the dummy had left his door standing wide open.
    Erin moved on into her own couchette and curled comfortably onto her bunk with her book. “Zdra stvooite,” she whispered aloud, grimacing as the attempt at pronunciation twisted on her tongue. “Damn,” she muttered. All that for a simple hello.
    She frowned suddenly as she heard footsteps and then conversation in the hallway. A slender brow raised in consternation. Her next-door neighbor was definitely male—no one could mistake the deep velvet tones—but he most certainly wasn’t American. The Russian language was rolling off his tongue in double time. Strange, the voice sounded vaguely familiar. She shook her head, returning her attention to her book. The voice couldn’t be familiar. She had no acquaintances well versed in the Russian language. She forgot the sound of voices, until moments later when she was startled by a knock at her door.
    She began thumbing the pages of her book to find a translation for “Come in,” but unable to find anything remotely similar, she shrugged and called, “Come in.”
    The porter who had shown her to her couchette opened the door with a gnomelike grin, nodding and bowing slightly. “Will you have tea?” he inquired.
    “Oh, yes, thank you,” Erin murmured. He bowed again. Erin lifted her torso automatically to bow in return. They continued the friendly procedure until the man bowed himself back out of her cabin, only to reappear shortly with Russian tea served in a glass set in a silver filigree holder. Erin thanked him, discovered she was supposed to pay, discerned that he would accept Danish kroner, and once more thanked him.
    It was Erin’s first taste of real Russian tea and she found it absolutely delicious. She was also relaxed and thirsty. Erin drank the glass of tea quickly, too quickly, then decided she wanted another one.
    She remembered that the porter had said something and motioned toward the front of the coach when he had shown her to her couchette. Balancing herself against the jostling of the train, Erin collected a handful of her Danish money and her glass in the little silver holder that so fascinated her and made her way toward what she assumed had to be the porter’s couchette.
    She was shortly congratulating herself for being correct as she found the first door open, the porter relaxing over a newspaper she couldn’t begin to read although she did recognize the characters. He glanced up immediately and smiled brilliantly at Erin. “I’d like more tea, please,” she murmured, handing him her glass.
    He rose immediately. “Yes, yes,” he murmured. “Please. You go back, and I will bring.”
    Erin shook her head with a little smile. “Thank you, that isn’t necessary.” She pointed toward his paper. “You relax.” The small man looked as if he were about to argue further so Erin gave him her most professional smile. “Please,” she murmured very softly. “I can take it myself perfectly well!”
    Apparently, she thought wryly, the smile did the trick. The balding Russian sighed with an enchanted grimace and accepted the glass to fill from an immaculate silver samovar. Erin stuffed the kroners into his hand and decided to try out a Russian thank you.
    “Spasee ba,” she murmured.
    “Ah, very good!” he congratulated