Free Winter's Daughter by Kathleen Creighton Page B

zone of comfort. Instead, she stood her ground, and discovered to her surprise and dismay that feeling overpowered wasn’t necessarily unpleasant.
    "It’s your eyes," Dillon said, touching her only with his gaze. She’d never known so compelling a touch; she felt it with every nerve cell in her body; she felt as if she couldn’t move, or think, or even breathe without its guidance. "Your eyes give you away."
    He didn’t say anything more, but the world of sounds all around them retreated. City noises—horns honking, a jet plane’s drone, the muted roar of traffic, a distant siren; park noises—laughter, voices, the skirl of skateboards, a barking dog. Tannis heard none of it. She stood very still, her hands at her sides clutching faded cotton, wrinkling it beyond redemption. Her ears were full of the sounds of her own heartbeat, her own breathing, and a tiny inner voice shouting warnings.
    His soft chuckle was like a rock hurled through a window, letting in the noise along with cold, fresh air. Tannis released her breath in a faint gasp. "My eyes?"
    "Yeah. You know what they say about eyes being windows of the soul? Yours had too much passion in them. Too much fire. You forgot to hide them." He was moving away now, lifting his hand to the brim of his cap in a little salute that both apologized and gently chided.
    Tannis whispered, "Ohh," and watched him move away in the derelict’s shambling walk and blend with the crowd near the Spanish fountain.

Chapter 5
    "A committee?" Mayor Flintridge was frowning.
    The silence in the meeting room was broken by the faint percussion of the mayor’s fingertips meeting the tabletop.
    Dillon cleared his throat. He was feeling his way through this, too new at politics to be able to do anything except trust his instincts. "A panel, actually. Made up of people with special knowledge and awareness of the problems of the homeless." There, he thought; that sounded sufficiently glib and ambiguous.
    "Such as?"
    "Well," he said, still cautious, "representatives of the city and law enforcement, and the service organizations—Salvation Army, Red Cross, et cetera. And I think for such a panel to be effective, it would almost have to include someone from the street community."
    "Uh–huh," the mayor said thoughtfully tapping his teeth with a pencil.
    Encouraged, Dillon leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the tabletop. "As you know, I have quite a bit of personal experience along these lines myself—"
    The mayor snorted. "Some pretty recent."
    There were sounds from the others present at the conference table that could only be called titters. Dillon grinned. "I’d be happy to chair the committee, George, and, of course, as mayor you’d automatically be a member." He paused. "In addition, I’d like to propose that we consider hiring a part–time consultant."
    "You want to hire somebody?" The mayor was frowning again. "I was under the impression you were talking about a volunteer committee. We’re not budgeted—"
    "We’re budgeted for staff. I haven’t hired a secretary yet. I’m proposing instead to hire a part–time assistant to work with me on this. To act as a special liaison with the street people."
    There was a murmur of comment around the table. The mayor drawled, "Liaison. Well, If that means that our junior member intends to stay out of the streets himself from now on—"
    "Not to mention out of jail," Logan muttered. The other council members snickered. Dillon kept his mouth shut.
    "I don’t see any objection to hiring somebody," the mayor continued, looking expansive. Dillon could see him visualizing headlines in his mind already. MAYOR HIRES EXPERT TO STUDY HOMELESS PROBLEM! "Although I don’t know where you’re going to find—"
    "Actually," Dillon broke in hurriedly, "as it happens, I’ve already spoken to a social psychologist with special knowledge and, ah, experience dealing with the homeless. As a matter of fact, I’ve asked her to come to this