Free The Huntsman by Rafael Page B

throughout, sprang from the pages. “What is
chaat, Janesh?”
    “You must be looking at the appetizers.” Miranda nodded.
    “Served like your sidewalk hotdog stands, chaat is a savory snack
made of fried dough beloved throughout India. Chatur took this popular street
fare and gave it his own flare and style. He’s mixed in herbs and spices, with
mint, tamarind and yogurt, and added in a ginger potato hash. Quite delicious
and an excellent choice to start.”
    “Okay. Put me down for one of those.” She continued scanning.”And
vindaloo? What is that?”
    “Vindaloo is a spicy curry dish distinguished by vinegar and
Kashmiri chilies, served alongside whatever the menu selection is. Besides
being quite tasty, it’s rich in vitamins and minerals along with immunity and
healing properties.”
    “Great.” She hummed a bit. “What is tandoor? And you still haven’t
told me if tiger hunting pays the bills?”
    “That refers to how a menu selection’s meat is cooked. A tandoor
is a clay brick oven designed to reach very high temperatures. As high as 900°.
It sears the herbs and spices into the meat and is an essential component if
one wishes to create classic Indian cuisine. Chatur has two in his kitchen.”
    The silence lengthened. She looked up to see him concentrating on
the menu. “Having trouble remembering what else you do?”
    He matched her teasing tone. “It’s a question when asked on a
first date insures there won’t be a second. Make an effort to know who I am.
The question is lazy, makes a woman look like she has a tape measure out and is
checking boxes on a form. But this isn’t a first date.” He looked up from the
menu. “Is it?” She smiled and shrugged noncommittally.
    “Sounds to me like Exception #2 is in order.” His enigmatic
chuckle rose above the restaurant’s clink and tinkle.
    “You are a force of nature, Miranda Logan.” He sat back in the
chair. A smile played around his lips. “I am a…facilitator. Hunting tigers has
given me a certain notoriety and brought me in contact with a great many
people. I connect those who want something to those who can provide it.”
    “Sounds illegal.”
    “It can be. But legality has never been a factor in my decision to
do or not do something.” Miranda returned to the menu. She knew even less about
the man she sat with than ten seconds ago. Now what? Did she really want to
know more? Instinct told her not to probe deeper. For the moment he’d gone as
far as he would. She looked up to find him watching. His eyes gleamed with
amusement.
    “Okay, I’m ready. If I don’t eat my tummy will begin talking for
me. I’ll have the chaat to start and the tandoori shrimp with mustard seeds and
coconut milk. You can order. I feel empowered when a man orders for me.” Janesh
raised an eyebrow.
    “Do you have any objection to an Italian red?”
    “Not at all. Why not French?”
    “I
noticed the wine list includes a favorite of mine: Mocali Brunello di
Montalcino. It works nicely even with seafood. And two, the Italians were
making red wine when the French were running around in the woods.” Miranda
laughed.
    “Okay,
Mr. McKenzie. Italian it is.” With no apparent signal, the waiter appeared.
Janesh ordered in Hindi.
    “Forgive
me for not speaking English. As your introduction to fine Indian cuisine, I
wanted to leave no room for error.” The waitress returned to present Janesh the
red. He nodded. She uncorked and served him a glass. Her eyelashes batted with
unspoken invitations. With all the seriousness she’d seen in the forest, he
lifted the glass and tasted. Miranda thought the girl would swoon when he said,
“Perfect.” She gave the waitress her brightest smile when she poured her glass.
    Miranda
sipped and sat back in the soft seat. Spreading warmth suffused her. She rested
her forelimbs on the chair’s armrests, crossed her legs. Janesh looked at her.
She squeezed her thighs. “So, Miranda. Tell me about this creature of