Double Dealing(28)

"Well then, what are you boys cooking?"

Dinner was actually veal milanese, which is where you take a veal chop, butterfly it, bread it, and then cook it in butter. Considering I was working with an old camp stove that doubled as our heater, I think I did a pretty good job all around with it. Felix, bowing to Jordan's wishes, did mostly just preparations, while I did the actual cooking. It was for the first time in a long time fun to cook, with Jordan there cheering us on and keeping up the conversation. She was telling us about a show she did where the lead singer decided in the middle of the set that it was a perfect time to strip naked when I pulled the last chop out of the cast iron pan, putting it on the plate. "Dinner is served."

"My God it looks amazing," Jordan said as she cut into it. "I've never had veal, though. What's it taste like?"

"Veal is young cow," I said, "so it should be like a really tender beef."

She took her first bite, her eyes closing in appreciation of the meal. "This . . . this is the best thing I've ever put in my mouth," she said. "You lied when you said you weren't very good. You just haven't tried yet. But this . . . buttery, crispy . . . you could be a chef with this talent, Francois."

"Thank you," I said, my face warm from the unexpected praise. "I guess I was just lucky tonight."

After a nice meal where Jordan finished her story, I built up the fire while she made sure her hands were totally clean. "No use saving the wood, we're going tomorrow," I said as I added another log to the stove. "Might as well be totally warm for an evening."

Jordan hummed and nodded. She strummed a few notes on the guitar before picking up her fingering. I couldn't place it at first until Jordan's voice started, plaintive and haunting. She was right in that she was a better guitar player than she was a singer, but the main reason that it took me a while to place the song was because it was originally recorded for a man. It made sense, rock isn't generally a woman's arena, and that comes doubly for love songs. However, the original artist couldn't hold a candle to Jordan Banks that evening in the San Bernardino mountains as she brought the Spanish guitar influence to her playing, leaving both Felix and me speechless.





Chapter 12





Felix




The drive away from the cabin was almost totally silent the next morning as we pulled away. Francois was driving, having maneuvered the fire trail other times before while Jordan sat in the front passenger seat and I sat in the back behind her. When we reached the Rim of the World Highway, I was able to get a signal to our disposable smartphone and loaded the address that Francois had gotten the day before from our agent into the mapping program. According to the estimates, it would take us approximately three hours to get there. We could have cut nearly an hour and a half off the travel time by taking the Interstate, but by using State roads and highways, we were minimizing the chances of encountering a police officer. The Jeep was in the clear, but we wanted to be sure. Jordan's face was most likely all over the news still as a missing person.

"I hate this," Francois grumbled as we made another sharp turn heading toward Big Bear. The road was very twisting, curving along the mountainside so tightly that even my stomach was making complaints. “It's too damn close to major population centers."

"I'm more worried about you two taking off within fifteen miles of Edwards Air Force Base," Jordan said, and I shook my head. She was well meaning, but not yet all that aware of the realities of my world. I'd already researched some of this, and while the details were different from the original plan, much of my research held true.

"I'm not worried about that, they only have test aircraft. So many of those ranches around there have small airfields that they're probably used to it. I would hate to know what sort of contraband is moved in and out of Southern California through those hundreds of tiny little dirt strips. As long as we don't get pulled over by a police officer, we're going to be fine."

Jordan looked over her shoulder, her eyes large and dark with concern and unasked questions. The night before, she had practically begged through her music, and I knew what she wanted. She wanted to come with us, to be swept away. Her mind was whirling with the romance, with the freedom.

I wanted the same thing. Still, Francois words haunted me. I was worried I hadn't told her enough about the bad times as well, but my mind was made up. The life of a thief, especially a Gypsy thief, is not an easy one. I had spent the entire night pondering my own greed, my own desire to feel Jordan's lips on my own and her body snuggled against mine. It was overwhelming my logical thinking. It wasn't until early in the morning that I was able to make my decision and go to sleep.