"The Chief doesn't care for formal meals, and Ahn-Kha-"
"Just wouldn't fit in," Valentine finished. "I don't mean with us, but in this cabin."
"It would be a bit like having a horse in here for dinner," Carrasca laughed. She sat, and the men followed suit.
Carrasca began uncovering dishes. "Askin, you did wonders with the birds."
"A sugar glaze from the beets on this island," the lieutenant explained. His diction held only a hint of Calypso.
She took another cover off. "The bean-and-rice dish is mine. Sweet potatoes. Crab cakes with goat-milk butter, and a fruit platter."
Valentine took a bite of a buttery crab cake, feeling guilty that he hadn't brought anything. He turned to Askin. "The captain tells me you've landed here before."
"Farther along the north coast, near the Samanae Peninsula," Askin said. "We were chasing some little trading ship. They beached it and waded through the surf to escape us. It took us forever to take off the cargo. Something must have scared some of them worse inland, because they came scampering back."
"Did they say what it was?" Valentine asked.
"I think they got a look at one of the mines. Bauxite, maybe. Those and the sugar plantations-they're hell on earth. Hispaniola is the worst island in the Carib."
"The Kurians have a knack for doing that."
"That old Specter by Kingston, he was a saint compared with the creatures running Santo Domingo. They don't even try to keep their people alive."
Unspoken agreement turned the three to their dishes, further conversation might spoil their appetites. Valentine had seen his share of cruelty in his years facing Kur, and worse, recently participated in it as part of his assumed role as a Coastal Marine.
The meal ended with fruit for dessert and a single glass of wine chilled into sangria. There were no toasts this time. Askin excused himself, carrying two green bananas out with him.
"He has the bridge as soon as it gets dark, even though we're at anchor," Carrasca explained. "I told him to be extra careful tonight. I warned the watch to keep an eye open for our swimmer. Now we wait, David."
Valentine sipped at his sangria, enjoying the sound of his name from her lips. "I have no complaints. I'm left alone with a beautiful woman."
Carrasca smiled, her teeth gleaming against her dusky skin. "Captain Valentine, I'm shocked. A breach of etiquette. But for God's sake, don't stop."
Valentine's innards warmed to the wine and the spark in her eyes. "I haven't had a woman to talk to in a long time, Malia. When all this is over, when we can both relax and take off our respective hats, so to speak, I'd like to spend some time with you. You're someone I can talk to."
"So that's what you'd do with me? Conversation?"
He met her gaze. "Yes, long, in-depth conversations. Late into the night."
"Really, David?" she asked. "How long has it been since your last good conversation with a woman?"
"Over a year. In New Orleans I was tempted to pay a woman to talk to me, but I resisted."
"It's better to wait for a decent conversationalist," she agreed.
"Yes."
"I'd like to talk to you, too. I'm sure you'd enjoy it. Women with any Cuban blood in them-well, they make great conversational partners. You'd be amazed at how many different topics I'm familiar with."
"I'm sure," Valentine said, smelling her femininity in the confines of the dining cabin.
"It's a shame, now that you've got me thinking about it, I've been lacking in decent conversation myself. The only problem is, we're both married to our duty. We can't have the men thinking anything else."
"Maybe if we whispered-"
"I tend to shout at the top of my lungs, when I'm really interested in the subject."
Valentine laughed. "We couldn't have that."