Free Shadows at Midnight by Elizabeth Jennings Page B

fall down.” She turned and met Claire’s eyes. “Did you have breakfast this morning?”
    Claire was taken aback by the first personal question anyone had asked her in over a year.
    “Um, no.” She sketched a shaky smile. “Lucky thing, too. I flew up from Florida and it was one of the most turbulent flights I’ve ever been on. The lady sitting next to me tossed her breakfast right into the barf bag.”
    Roxanne shook her finger. “And I’ll bet you anything you didn’t eat much yesterday, either.”
    Actually, Claire hadn’t eaten anything the day before except for some milk and honey. She’d come back from the cemetery so depressed her appetite, never strong since she’d woken up from the coma, had deserted her completely. The hot milk and honey had been to warm her up.
    “Uh-huh,” Roxanne replied nodding, as if Claire had spoken. “I thought so.” She pointed a slender brown finger at the tray, looking first at Daniel, then at Claire. “I don’t want to find even crumbs on that plate.”
    Daniel grinned. “Yes, ma’am . ” And he gave another ironic salute.
    The door closed quietly behind her and Daniel bent to the tray, giving Claire a sharp-eyed glance. “Roxanne’s right,” he said quietly. “Try to eat something. You do look like you’re about ready to fall down.”
    In her previous life, Claire would have bristled at those words. She’d never taken orders well and was lucky that she often worked alone. Few embassies could afford two DIA analysts and so she was always at the top of her own pecking order. No bosses and no colleagues, just as she liked it.
    But right now, what he said was so palpably true her indignation lobe just switched off.
    “How do you take your coffee?” he asked.
    “Black,” she replied.
    He looked at her, a long, penetrating look out of those intelligent dark eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to try the coffee with some milk and sugar? Might be a bit easier on an empty stomach.”
    Claire shrugged. “Okay.” She watched as he made the coffee almost white and refrained from wincing as he proceeded to dump half the sugar bowl into the mug.
    “Here.” He put a plate with a huge croissant in front of her, followed by a mug of pale coffee. “Those come from a French pastry shop across the way and they’re not half bad.”
    Claire leaned forward carefully, checking her stomach. To her astonishment, it wasn’t closing up like a fist, it wasn’t lurching back in horror. It was . . . quiet. Calm, peaceful. Not noticing that she was about to eat something. Maybe thinking of something else.
    She pulled off a corner and smiled. The exact same buttery smell of the croissants she used to eat in Paris wafted up, except this croissant was about three times the size. A croissant on steroids, but excellent just the same, she found as she put the soft puff of pastry in her mouth. Heaven.
    Dan was watching her carefully, nudging the mug closer to her. “The coffee now.”
    Okay. It didn’t taste of coffee, it tasted of milk and a mountain of sugar, but it was warm and went down and stayed down.
    He nodded as she sipped. “So . . . you don’t remember anything?” His jaw muscles rippled. “Nothing at all?”
    Claire shook her head, tearing off another small bite. “No.” Her voice came out almost a whisper. She cleared her throat and pushed her diaphragm to make her voice stronger. “Nothing. I read some of the after action reports, but it was like . . . like reading about the Beirut bombing of the Marine barracks back in 1983, which we did in my poli sci classes at Georgetown. It felt sort of long ago and far away, you know what I mean?”
    He nodded soberly.
    “But—” She took another sip of the overly sweet brew and put the mug back down. The room was quiet. The reception area had overlooked Barron Street but this office overlooked a series of back gardens, lushly green in the damp air.
    “But?” he prodded quietly and Claire nearly wept with