Winter's Daughter (9 page)

Dillon leaned back and glared up at her with eyes as hard and cold as diamonds. "The hell you will."

Tannis glared back at him, breathing hard, puzzled by the intensity of his reaction.

After a moment he shook his head and leaned forward again. So quietly she could barely hear him above the distant din of city traffic, he said, "Tannis, I don’t want you to stop what you’re doing. I just want you to stop doing it
alone.
" He got to his feet and looked down at her, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his ragged jeans. "I have a proposition for you. I want you to work for me. And with me."

As she so often did when he stood near her like that, Tannis felt overwhelmed. Not liking the feeling, she put her hand out and stepped back, a defensive movement designed to put a comfort zone between them. "Work— for
you?
" she said, incredulous. "Doing what?"

His gaze rested on her face. She felt it warm and soften until it seemed almost like a caress.

"Tannis, I told you I care about the problems of the homeless in this town, and that’s a pretty big understatement. It was one of the issues I campaigned on, and since the election I’ve made it a personal goal to do something about it. When I decided to tackle this thing, I knew I had to get back to the streets to find the answers, but I’ve been away from them too long. It’s beginning to look like I’m not going to have the time to reacclimate myself. Something needs to be done
now.
It’ll take me weeks to develop the kind of rapport you already have. If you were to work with me, we might just come up with some solution—something a lot better than this so–called sweep that’s going on right now. What do you say?"

What do I say?
The excitement she felt over Dillon’s surprising proposition was becoming lost in a fog of other emotions. She had a panicky feeling, as if she’d lost her train of thought in mid–sentence. She couldn’t concentrate. All of a sudden there didn’t seem to be room in her mind for anything but Dillon’s face, Dillon’s voice…

When she continued to stare at him, he added softly, "I won’t get in the way of your personal research, I promise. And you’d be helping your street friends at the same time. Will you at least think it over?"

"Oh, yes," Tannis whispered.

"You will? You’ll think about it?"

She cleared her throat and heard herself say, "No. I mean, I don’t need to think about it. I’ll do it. I’ll be delighted to work with you. It would be—"

"Hey, that’s great!" His smile illuminated his face as he caught her up in an impulsive hug. Her heart gave a joyous surge; she clutched his arms and sucked in air like a child on a Ferris wheel.

"Hey," she said feebly, laughing, "don’t you think this looks a little funny?"

"Oh," Dillon said. "Yeah." He dropped his arms and backed away from her. Suddenly it seemed that neither of them knew what to do with their hands or eyes. Dillon dragged his hands through the air while Tannis used hers to tug needlessly at the bottom of her sweater.

Dillon looked at his watch. "I’d like to talk to you a lot more about this, share some ideas, make some plans, and so forth. But I have to be at a meeting at two, and I need to get home and change." His expression grew thoughtful, then enthusiastic. "You know, I’d really like to have you at that meeting. I’d like to make this official—get you on the city payroll."

"Payroll?" Tannis said, feeling breathless and overwhelmed. "You’re offering me a
job?"

He frowned. "Yeah, what did you think?" He picked up his baseball cap from the bench, slapped it once on his leg, and put it on. "Listen, tell you what. You take your time, go home, and get yourself cleaned up. I’ll go to the meeting and you can join me there. That’ll give me time to brief the mayor and the other members of the council. That okay with you?"

"Fine," Tannis murmured, spellbound.

He gave her a wide smile and reached impulsively toward her. Instead of touching her, though, he waved his hand and backed away. "Great, see you then." He turned, and she saw his shoulders take on the derelict’s slouch.

"Dillon?" He turned back expectantly. She hesitated, feeling confused, not sure why she’d called him back, knowing only that she didn’t want to watch him walk away. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, shoot."

"How did you know me? What, exactly, was it that gave me away?"

He walked back to her, in no great hurry, thumbs hooked in his pockets, an unconscious but blatantly masculine swagger. She sensed the sultry throb of drums growing steadily louder and more hypnotic with every step he took.

"What gave you away?" His voice had a new timbre, warm and velvety, like a summer night.

He stood looking down at her, and though she felt as overpowered as she usually did by his height, this time she didn’t retreat to her 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.

"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 meeting." He checked his watch. "She should be here any minute."

Another ripple went around the table. Under cover of it Logan leaned over and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "She? I think I’m beginning to get the picture."

Dillon gave him a quelling glare.

"What in the dickens," the mayor asked peevishly, "is a social psychologist?"

"Ah—well, I believe she’s got degrees in both sociology and psychology, and is currently working on her Ph.D. in one or the other. I’m sure you’ll be impressed with her when you meet her."

"I can hardly wait," Logan said, his eyes gleaming.

Dillon glanced at his best buddy, wondering how he could manage to throttle him in front of four witnesses. Maude Harrington was already hiding a smile behind her hand; obviously, Dillon’s reputation as one of Los Padres’s more visible bachelors hadn’t gone unremarked in the powder rooms of City Hall.

"Ms. Winter is a professional—" he began, and was brought to a halt by sounds of a loud altercation coming from the reception area.

Fred Gould, who liked to tilt his chair back during informal meetings like these, muttered, "Jeez, what’s that?" and righted himself with a thump. Somebody else said, "What the hell—?"

The mayor leapt to his feet.

There was the clamor of arguing voices and some muffled bumps and scuffles. Logan stood up and casually reached a hand inside his jacket.

"Here—ma’am—please, you can’t go in there!" The door to the meeting room burst open, admitting Tannis, resplendent in her shapeless tweed coat and purple pompon. Sally the receptionist followed, looking wild–eyed and harried.

The mayor bellowed, "Who the hell is this?"

Dillon jumped up just in time to intercept Logan, who already had Tannis’s arm in a no–nonsense grip. Muttering, "It’s okay, buddy, I’ll take it from here," he claimed Tannis’s arm while he tried to calm Sally with an apologetic smile. To Tannis he said, "What’s going on? I thought you were going to change."

"Sorry," she whispered back, peering up at him through a pair of green–tinted rimless glasses as thick as Coke bottles. Behind them her eyes looked enormous, and slightly demented. "I didn’t have time to go home and change. I bought these glasses instead. What do you think—do they do the trick?"

Dillon thought she looked like a giant, tattered moth. "Your own mother wouldn’t recognize you," he whispered, amazed at how disappointed he was. Until that moment he hadn’t realized how much he’d been looking forward to seeing her again. Her—Tannis—looking the way she’d looked in his office this morning. He was beginning to wonder if he’d dreamed that lovely, vibrant woman with the mane of sun–shot hair—

"Dillon," the mayor said with ominous calm, "I take it this is your ’representative of the street community’?"

Exhaling slowly through his nose, Dillon turned to face his colleagues. Only George Flintridge was looking at him; the others were all staring at Tannis with varying degrees of horror and fascination. "George," he said grimly, "fellow council members and, uh, friends." He glanced at Logan, whose eyes, above the hand covering the lower part of his face, were suspiciously bright. "I’d like to have you meet Tannis Winter. The, uh, social psychologist I was just telling you about. Tannis, Mayor Flintridge."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Tannis said politely, thrusting out a gloved hand. Flintridge regarded it the way a sane man would the head of a cobra, and then, probably in a state of shock, took it anyway and gave it a shake. Slowly the other members of the city council followed suit.

"Ms. Winter," the mayor said severely, "would you mind explaining this?" He waved his hand to take in her general appearance. "And how you were able to get through security?"

"Not at all." Giving Dillon a look he couldn’t even begin to read, thanks to the blasted glasses, Tannis shuffled to a position near the foot of the conference table, where she could command all eyes—not that anyone present would have considered looking anywhere else. Her voice was her own but one Dillon hadn’t heard before. Calm, cool, completely in control. He couldn’t help but admire her, which frustrated him even more.

"For several weeks I have been living on the streets of this city, dressed pretty much the way I am now. That’s where I met Dillon—Mr. James—although I didn’t know it was him at the time." She paused to throw Dillon an impish look that probably would have been irresistible on her own face.

Then she turned abruptly serious. "This morning I came to these offices to see you, Mayor Flintridge. I came as a concerned citizen—as myself—to discuss the problems of the homeless as I have become familiar with them firsthand. You were not available, so I was shown to Mr. James’s office instead. I was treated with every courtesy, and a measure of respect." She paused to take a breath. "A few moments ago, visiting these same offices for much the same purpose, invited, this time, I was denied entry, threatened with eviction, manhandled—" she threw Logan an accusing look which he returned with an unabashed and wholly appreciative grin—" and in general treated like an unpleasant smell." She glanced around the conference table. No one spoke.

"The only difference I can see," she went on quietly, "is in the way I look. I got through security because of the pass I was given this morning, along with my photo identification—which most homeless people lack, by the way. You have a well–publicized ’open door’ policy, Mr. Mayor, but because I look like a ’street person,’ your door was not open to me. And that, gentlemen, ma’am––" she nodded at Maude Harrington "––is my point. Street people are often treated as if they have no rights at all. And yet they are citizens of this city, just as you are. As I am." She glanced again at Dillon, and this time he saw a faint but unmistakable flush stain her cheeks. Looking quickly back at the mayor, she went on in a low, hurried voice. "I apologize for causing a commotion, but I seem to have pointed up one of the biggest problems the homeless face. First and foremost, we must not forget that these are human beings. Their individual rights must not be violated in the process of—" She hesitated, looked once more at Dillon, took a deep breath, and blurted out, "—polishing up this city’s image for the purposes of political and financial gain."