Draw One In The Dark(34)

Before she could stop it, she felt heat rise up her cheeks. "Thank you," she said. "But I would like to know why you asked me to come here."



He grinned at her. "I would like to have breakfast with you and to discuss . . . some cases the Goldport police force has encountered recently."



Her expression must have became frozen with worry, because he shook his head. "I do not in any way suspect you, do you understand? I just think you could—literally—help me with my enquiries. And I thought it was best done over a nice meal."



Kyrie nodded and picked up her menu, then put it down again, as the prices dismayed her.



"Ms. Smith—I'm hoping for your help with this. I'll pay for your meal." He smiled, showing very even teeth. "This is a business brunch."



She hesitated. She was aware that whatever he said, breaking bread with someone was an expression of friendship, an expression of familiarity. After all, throughout human history, enemies had refused to dine together.



"Look." He stared at her, across the table, and, for the first time since last night, didn't smile. "I'm sorry I mentioned the bathroom, which I meant to make you think of the paper towels. It was unworthy of me. And stupid. In fact, I . . . got rid of them, okay? I risked my position. But I'm sure . . . Just, I'm sorry I mentioned them. I didn't know any other way to make you help me, and we must talk. About . . . dragons and what's going on."



His voice was low, though Kyrie very much doubted anyone overhearing them would have any idea at all what they were talking about. But his expression was intense and serious.



She nodded, once. Not only was she starving, but she had left Tom in charge of the kitchen, with bacon and eggs at his disposal. Considering how many times he'd shifted the night before and how tired he'd looked, she was sure that he would have eaten all of it and possibly her lunch meat besides, before he could think straight.



Besides, what did Trall mean, dragons? He'd mentioned crimes. More than one? What had Tom done? Before she threw her luck in with his, she had to know, didn't she?



"Very well, Officer Trall," she said. "I'll have brunch with you."



He smiled effusively. At that moment, the server reappeared and he informed her they would be having the buffet. He also ordered black coffee, which Kyrie seconded.



The buffet spread was the most sumptuous that Kyrie had ever seen. It stretched over several counters and ranged from steamed crab legs, through prime rib, to desserts of various unlikely colors and shapes.



Kyrie was interested only in the meat. Preferably red and rare. She piled a plate with prime rib, conscious of the shocked glares of a couple of other guests. She didn't care. And at any rate, back at the table, she was glad to notice that Rafiel Trall's plate was even more full—though he'd gone for variety by adding ham and bacon.



They ate for a while in silence, and Rafiel got refills—how long had he been shifted the night before? Could a lion have killed the man?—before he leaned back and looked appraisingly at her. "How long have you known your friend? The . . . dragon?"



Kyrie, busy with a mouthful, swallowed hastily. "About six months," she said. "Frank hired him from the homeless shelter downtown for the night hours. He told me he was hiring him from the homeless shelter and that he thought Tom had a drug problem, so I'm guessing that Frank thought he was doing the world a favor, or was trying to garner a treasure in heaven, or whatever."



Rafiel was frowning. "Six months ago?"



Kyrie's turn to nod. "No, wait. A little more, because it was before Christmas when we were really crunched with all the late shoppers and people going to shows. And the other girl on the night hours had just left town with her boyfriend, so we were in the lurch. Frank got a couple of the day people to fill in, but they don't like it. Most of them are girls who think this part of town is unsavory and don't like being out in it at night. So he said he was doing something for community service, and he went and hired Tom."



Rafiel was still frowning. "And is he? On drugs?"



Kyrie shrugged. She thought of Tom, so defenseless last night, she thought of Tom, looking . . . admiring and confused this morning. And she felt like a weasel, betraying him to this stranger.



But she didn't seem quite able to help herself. Something was making her talk. His smell, masculine, feline, pervasive, seemed to make her want to please him. So she shrugged again. "Not on work time, that I've noticed," she said. She didn't find she needed to mention the track marks. To be honest, they might be scars. She hadn't looked up close. It seemed more indecent than staring at his privates. Which she hadn't done, either. Well, maybe she'd seen them by accident yesterday, but no more than to note he had nothing to be ashamed of.