I was surprised when Jordan said she was a musician, as music had an important place in Romani culture, and in French culture too for that matter. I’d inherited a deep love of music from my mother, who insisted that if I were to be trained to follow in the footsteps of my father, that I would at least appreciate some of the art and artifacts I would be stealing. Father, of course, had his own hand in what exactly that meant, specifically in my choice of instrument, but thankfully I enjoyed it, and once I showed some affinity, he let me drift away from the staid, dry classical pieces toward whatever caught my ear.
As I listened and washed, I was drawn to the pitch of Jordan's voice. So many women nowadays try to sound girlishly high-pitched and end up sounding like a squealing hamster. Jordan, on the other hand, had a confident, slightly throaty voice for a woman. I wondered if her musical abilities were as enchanting as her speech. She certainly had a musical quality to her words.
After washing the dishes, I shook them off before taking them back in. Inside, I checked the food supplies, concerned. Francois had used more of our food than I'd thought, and we only packed for two people on a three-day wait at most. "Francois."
"Yes brother?" he asked, looking up from Jordan. I could see that he was interested in her, and understandably so.
"When you said you used our midday meal, I didn't realize just how much you used. I need you to go shopping. Think you can take the Jeep?" I asked, not trying to order him but making it clear I wasn't merely requesting. "While you’re out, pick up some warmer clothing for Miss Banks."
Francois nodded, giving Jordan an appraising look. “Will a medium or a size eight do?”
"Close enough," Jordan said with a smile. "I wear a six most of the time."
"I don't suppose you'd consider letting me go on the shopping trip?" she added, looking at me. I had to smile at her sense of humor and shake my head. "It was worth a try."
I nodded, part of me looking forward to the next few hours while Francois left the mountains to do the shopping. "It was, Miss Banks. Come, my brother needs get going."
* * *
After Francois left, I sat down in the chair between Jordan and the door, watching the fire and her at the same time. “Sorry about of all of this, but we couldn’t take a chance. I’m normally not in the habit of taking hostages, I assure you. In fact, I prefer to not be noticed by anyone at all."
"So you two are good at this I take it,” Jordan commented. She shifted, curling her legs underneath her and running her hand through her hair. She still had the blanket over her legs, which I understood, the cabin was cold, and the fire wasn't very large. We'd set aside wood, but hadn’t planned on living in woodsy luxury for our wait. "Any stories you want to tell?"
"Maybe later," I replied. She looked at me and sighed. “Francois’ boast that we both could disappear into Roma culture is true, but still, we shouldn’t tell you too much. I’m sure the police will press you for everything, and I’d rather not throw them any bones. And I overheard Francois tell you my name. So Felix is fine."
Jordan looked away into the fire. "You seemed pretty angry earlier, Felix.”
I shook my head. "I get that way when things don’t go as planned on the job. I don’t do a good job of controlling my stress levels sometimes, and this operation from the beginning has been what I believe some Americans call a clusterfuck. From the purchase of this property, much farther from the museum than we planned, to me literally running you over, to now problems with our extraction plan. Our father wouldn’t have approved of this from the beginning, but I let Francois talk me into it. The money was too good to pass up. By the way, how is your head?"
Jordan touched the back of her head carefully, her eyes tightened against any pain, but shook her head after a moment. "I think it'll be fine. There's no crust of blood or anything, and I don't have too much of a headache anymore. What does your mother think of what the two of you are doing?"
"They are fine with it," I replied. When she gave me a confused look, I waved it off. "It’s a long story. Maybe another time.”
“Sounds interesting. Well, do you have a radio or a TV around here?" Jordan asked. "It isn't that I don't want to talk, but this huge amounts of silence is kind of weirding me out. I seem to have spent too much time in the city with its perpetual background noise."
I shook my head, then thought. "This cabin doesn’t have electricity. Just a second, though. Francois is a bit of a musician . . . he usually brings something along for times like this. Come, I’ll see if I can find it."
Jordan shrugged and got up off the couch, letting the blanket stay where it was. It was my first chance to look at her without the shroud-like cloth, and I found myself staring, to the point that Jordan cocked her head and smiled. "What?"
Shaking my head, I regained my senses. “Sorry.” I felt an unfamiliar smile come to my face, one of genuine pleasure and not a grimace of restrained frustration, and I gestured towards the bedroom. "Shall we?"