“Mind if I join you?”
Surprised for the second time, Josef set down his glass and looked up. Winchester was already pulling out the chair opposite, setting his drink and hat on the table between them.
“Doesn’t look like I have much choice.”
The captain smiled as he sat down. It was rather a dazzling smile, wide and engaging. Josef wished he hadn’t noticed. “You’re not waiting for anyone, I hope?”
He could have said yes—he dearly wanted to puncture the man’s self-assurance—but he also wanted to investigate the mysterious and horrifying wounds he’d recently seen, and since Winchester appeared to know something about that, Josef simply said, “Not tonight.”
“Good.” The captain smiled again and lounged back in his seat. Beneath the table, their knees touched, and Winchester caught his eye, holding it rather longer than necessary. He said, “I’d hate to be in the way.”
Well, well. Pulse spiking distractingly, Josef couldn’t keep from smiling himself as he said, “Not at all. I’m glad you’re here, in fact. I wanted to talk to you.”
“Did you? How fortunate; I wanted to talk to you too.”
Not about this, I’ll warrant.
Josef folded his hands on the table before him but didn’t move his knee, growing warm now against Winchester’s. “In the resus tent the other day, I saw you looking at that man’s wounds—Bearman. They were the same as the boy we watched click it at the dressing station.”
Winchester’s smile faltered, jarring like a truck bouncing over a rut. “I see a lot of wounded men,” he said, but Josef could see his discomfort and jumped on it.
“Me too, but I’ve not seen anything like that before. What causes it?”
After a pause, the captain said, “I’ve twenty-four hours’ leave. I’d rather not spend it talking about the damned war.”
“Is it a new weapon? It doesn’t look like mustard gas, but—”
Abruptly, Winchester sat forward, placing his hand over Josef’s wrist, and looking directly into his eyes. “I saw straight away that you were a clever and curious man, so I shan’t trifle with your intelligence and pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about. In return, you must believe me when I say that I cannot tell you anything about it. And, furthermore, that you can’t try to find out.”
“Or what? I’m no soldier, Captain Winchester. You can’t give me orders.”
“Which is a shame.” His lips ticked up at one corner, rueful and wry. “I’d rather like to try.”
Josef held his gaze, very aware of the weight of the man’s hand on his wrist. “I’ll bet you would.”
Winchester gave a little huff of laughter, letting go. “Either way, it’s in your interest to have nothing to do with this matter. But you can trust that those who need to know do know.”
“I don’t have a lot of faith in ‘those who need to know’.” Josef gestured around them. “They brought us all here, after all.”
“This is different.”
“Is it? How?”
He made an exasperated sound. “Just be grateful you can leave this mess to others.”
“I’m not a very grateful man. And I happen to believe that hiding messes makes them worse.”
Winchester barked a laugh, raking one hand through his glossy hair. “Dutta said you looked like trouble.”
“Dutta was right.”
“He usually is.” Winchester’s smile faded. “But sometimes secrets are best kept secret. As I think you well know.”
And now they were talking about something else.
Winchester’s knowing look set Josef fizzing; the excitement of being seen for who he was never failed to light a fire. His heart began to race. “Perhaps I do.”
Beneath the table, Winchester rubbed his knee more surely against Josef’s. Eyes sparkling, he said, “So…?”