Burn (4 page)

He smiled to soften the directive, but she merely
nodded her acceptance of his rule before she retrieved her
belongings. On her way back to her chair, she took the
cash from her purse and returned it to the messy desk.

“Would you like a receipt for this?”

“It isn’t necessary.”

“Then we’ll talk more tomorrow.” He rolled himself
a few feet to the tall filing cabinet behind his desk. He
unlocked it, then opened the bottom drawer to retrieve a cash box. “We’ll discuss your goals and the best way to achieve them. I take what I do very seriously and I expect
my students to do so as well. If you expect me to go easy
on you, or if you think this is going to be a social hour, I’ll return your money right . . . now.”

He turned around to see that he was talking to empty
space. He shot out of his chair, nearly vaulting over the
corner of his desk, and got to the main studio in time to
see the woman, once again shrouded in black, walking out the front door. Only then did Gian realize that he had failed to get her name.

* * *

As was her habit, she glanced over her shoulder before
unlocking the door to her attic apartment. The steep,
narrow stairwell behind her was deserted, but she quickly
opened the door and slipped inside, an old arrow of panic
piercing her belly as she closed the door a bit too force
fully. Both automatic locks fastened themselves. She
turned the three deadbolts before typing a release code
into the security console built into the adjacent wall. She
had ten seconds to supply the code before the unit sent a
silent call to the police, who would respond in less than
three minutes if her last security drill was still accurate.
After rearming the unit, she secured the heavy chain and
notched the steel police bar in its groove and latch.

Opening the door to the foyer closet, she took off her
scarf. She hung the scarf on a hook inside the door, then
held onto the door frame to maintain her balance while
she kicked off her black flats. With her toe, she scooted
them neatly into the gap between her white Nike Cross
Trainers and a pair of sensible black pumps.

In her bare feet, she padded into the kitchen. She
passed her right hand through her hair, her fingertips
reading the raised line of a scar hidden just behind her
temple. She’d spent the afternoon preparing her dinner, a
banquet of broiled prawns accompanied by broccoli rabe
sautéed with bacon, red onion, and a drizzle of balsamic
vinegar. Dining alone was no excuse for not dining well,
but she got something more than physical nourishment
from her efforts.

C
ooking fed her mind and soul along with her body.
It was her therapy, her companionship. The acts of
washing, peeling, chopping, slicing, mincing, and dicing
kept her on her feet and her hands busy, sometimes for
hours, depending on the complexity of her recipe or
menu. It wasn’t until after she had consumed her meal,
when she looked up from her empty plate to see the
vacant chairs around the dining table that loneliness tried
to sneak up on her. Washing her cookware and plates by
hand, drying them and putting them away helped push
the loneliness aside long enough to get her to bedtime,
when her attention to herself through bathing and
grooming took her to the point where she could climb
into bed and turn herself over to sleep.

She had gotten into a routine during her waking
hours, one that successfully, if not joyfully, moved her
from one day to the next. At the end of her day, she
clutched a handful of her bedcovers under her chin and
succumbed to the heaviness of her eyelids, wishing that she could manage her sleeping hours just as well.

“So, uh, who was the lady in your private studio last
night, Gian?”

Gian looked up from the employee schedule opened
atop his desk. His black pen froze above the square in which he’d been writing the name of the instructor who
had just pried into his business.

“She’s a new student, Chip,” Gian said, returning to
his schedule.

“She had some really good moves. That is, before I
interrupted you. Was she okay?”

“She got over it quick enough,” Gian answered.
“What am I missing?” Karl asked. He ceased his
pacing behind Chip’s chair.

“Gian gave his new student a bloody nose last night,”
Chip explained.

“It wasn’t like that,” Gian sighed.

“What’d she do?” Karl chuckled. “Back talk you?” Gian sat back in his chair and eyed Karl, who grew
increasingly uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

Karl’s impish grin faltered. “Dude, what . . . ?”

Until yesterday, Gian had thought little of Karl’s frat
boy mentality. But after spending time with his new
student, Gian no longer viewed Karl’s coarse remarks as
harmless. “I’d like to build up my female client base, and
I won’t be able to do that if you don’t ease up on the
caveman crap,” Gian said.

Karl opened his mouth to protest, but Gian cut him off.

“I don’t want to hear you referring to women as ‘hot-
ties,’ ‘babes,’ ‘hoes,’ ‘shorties,’ or any other expression you’ve picked up from MTV.”

“So if a female with a really tight ass and big tits
comes in—” Karl started.

Gian cut him off. “Female is an adjective, not a
noun.”

“Okay, Mr. Dictionary, what should I call people who
are not guys?”

“Women,” Chip volunteered. “Or girls. Calling them by their names has always worked out good for me.”
“Who asked you, Squirt?” Karl grumbled.

At six feet, Chip was only a couple of inches shorter
than Karl. A former college football standout, Chip was
younger than Karl and outmatched him in speed and
agility, if not size. Chip’s hiring had brought out Karl’s
competitiveness, making him a better instructor. The
younger man’s laid-back nature and confidence made
him an easy target for Karl’s petty nicknaming, but Gian
had no doubt that anytime he wanted to, Chip could
easily put an end to Karl’s insulting nicknames.

“Chip is as much a part of the management team of
Sheng Li as you are, Karl,” Gian reminded him. “His
contributions are just as valuable as yours.”

“So who was that ba—” Karl caught himself , rolled his
eyes. “Who was that
woman
who came in late yesterday?”

“I don’t know.” Gian went back to his schedule to hide his embarrassment. “I didn’t get her name. You
needed next Saturday off for your cousin’s wedding, right
Chip? I think I can get Aja to cover your taekwondo
class. She owes me a couple hours.”

“Go on, change the subject, boss,” Karl said. “Your
mystery pupil should be here real soon. I’ll find out her
name, her number, and, when she wakes up next to me
in the morning, I’ll find out how she likes her eggs.”

“Isn’t your five o’clock Strength and Conditioning
class about to start?” Gian directed at Karl.

“No, Squirt’s taking it for me. I’m goin’ to the casino
tonight with some of my state trooper pals.”

“Clear it with me the next time you want to make
changes in the schedule,” Gian grumbled.

“I meant to.” Karl grinned. “I just forgot.”

“Maybe I’ll forget to sign your paycheck this week,”
Gian proposed.

Karl snapped his bare heels together and offered a
mock salute. “Yessir, boss man, sir. I’m out.”

“I apologize, Gian,” Chip said once Karl had
departed. “Karl told me that he got the okay for the
switch from you.”

“He’s getting a little too big for his britches around here
lately,” Gian said. “He acts like it’s his name on the door.”

“You could always fire him,” Chip suggested hope
fully. “Insubordination is one of the no-nos in our
employment contracts.”

“So’s that shaggy mane of yours, Goldilocks,” Gian
quipped.

C
hip gave his long blond curls a good shake. “I’ll get it trimmed this weekend. Wouldn’t want to risk pissing
off the boss.”

Gian leaned to the left to get a better look into the
main studio and the lobby beyond it. “Your students are here. You’re on, cowboy.”

“Later, hoss.” With that, Chip exited the office,
bowed at the entrance to the main studio, and called his
students to take their places.

Gian wished that Chip had closed the office door.
The fight cries and sounds of bodies hitting the mat were
a distraction he didn’t need in the face of the mountain
of paperwork before him.

Unfortunately, there was no door to close out his biggest distraction.

The woman in black.

Gian glanced up at the red and gold dragon clock
mounted above his bookcase on the opposite wall. His
new student wasn’t due for another twenty-five minutes.
He’d assigned his four and five o’clock taekwondo classes
to other instructors, giving him a two-hour break. His intention had been to create files for his new students,
check the references for a couple of potential hires, find a new housekeeping service for the dojo, and to speak with
Chip and Karl about a tournament in which he wanted
Sheng Li to participate.

None of his tasks had successfully drawn his thoughts
away from the one thing occupying his mind. The one
person, rather.

“For cryin’ out loud,” Gian muttered, rubbing his
palms over the scrub covering his dome.

It’s not like he hadn’t seen a pretty girl before.
Webster University, which was only a few blocks from
Sheng Li, fed him a steady stream of fetching young
coeds. Enrollment always shot up in the winter after the
university’s seminars on personal safety.

Karl never hesitated to hit on the female students,
and although he was forbidden to do so at Sheng Li, he
managed to get a number here and there from women
who cared more about dating someone with good looks
than good behavior. But Gian made it a rule to never get
personally involved with his students. It just wasn’t wise
to teach a potential romantic interest how to maim or kill
with one blow.

The woman in black was the first real test of his
resolve. Gian sat back in his chair, baffled. The woman’s
boyishly short black hair made her face that much more
noticeable. She had the kind of big brown eyes that
reminded him of the somber children living in some of
the villages he had been stationed in during his tours of
duty in the Marines. Just as those children had worked
their way into his heart, so had his new student. Only her
presence had also moved into his head, keeping him from
properly tending his business.

He tapped the end of his ballpoint pen on the new
student enrollment form he planned to give her. Of all the blanks on the form, the one he most wanted filled
was the first, the one that came after
NAME
.

“Angela,” he said aloud softly, trying to shape his
memory of her to the name.
No,
he thought.
Angela’s too
soft.
“Harriet,” he muttered. Chuckling, he deemed the
name too old-fashioned for her. “Kyla, Halle, Jada,” he
recited, wondering if she shared a name with one of the
actresses he liked. “Rumpelstiltskin,” he sighed, aban
doning his little game.

* * *