Chapter Five

Cleo didn’t look back again as she was escorted out of the museum, but was definitely tempted. She could still feel those dark eyes as if she were standing in front of the wall hanging, again. They rode in silence as Serge drove them through the snowy streets.

He parked the car, and side by side, they walked through the falling snow toward a place called Mu-Mu Café. He held the door for her and waited for her to enter first. Cleo was in heaven; this place was amazing, the scents were mouthwatering and each table full of happy chattering patrons. Smiles were easy between people, and it made her comfortable. Not to mention cheap. She and Serge each got a three-course meal for about ten American dollars.

During dinner, Serge kept her fully entertained with tales about things he’d seen and experienced during his many years as a taxicab driver in Moscow. He had so many interesting stories about all the strange and unique people he’d met. Still, as they slowly finished up dessert, Cleo found her mind continually drifting back to the man from the tapestry.

With a full belly, Cleo rested her head against the window of the taxi and watched as the night-lit skyline of Moscow drifted past. In her mind, dark eyes seemed to peer at her from above the cityscape as if searching for something, or someone. Desperation was hidden in their depths, and, yet, she experienced comfort as he watched over her.

Watching over me…please. I don’t know why I can’t get that image out of my head. Some man who lived back in the eleven hundreds, what is wrong with me? But I can’t get him out of my head. I want to know who he is. What his name is.

“You are okay, Miss?” Serge’s question snapped her attention away from the window.

“I’m fine, Serge. I was just thinking…” She let her words fall off, not knowing how to say it without sounding like a total psycho.

“About the solitary man in the tapestry?” he asked.

Her eyes widened. How did he know? “Yes,” she admitted. “Do you know who he is?”

“No,” he said after a few seconds of silence.

Disappointment filled her. She’d really been looking forward to finding out a little bit more about him.

“Perhaps you can find some more information on him, tomorrow,” Serge offered as he stopped the car in front of her hotel.

“Perhaps.” Cleo knew she was going to be doing some digging online once she got back into her room. To hell with how tired she was.

“You are saddened by this, da?”

“Yes,” she confessed. “I was…really hoping to find out who he is…I mean, who he was.”

“You are a smart woman, Miss Cleo Laurens,” Serge muttered as he climbed out of the taxi. Her eyes followed him as he moved around the front of the vehicle to her door. He opened it and as she moved past him, he whispered, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

He walked her to the door in silence, the noise of the city muffled by the increasing size of snowflakes that fell. Cleo smiled at him as he held the outer door for her. “Thank you for a lovely day, Serge,” she said before leaning in and placing a kiss on his bearded cheek. Underneath the lights, Cleo swore she saw a blush race up his skin.

“Thank you, Miss Cleo. For making an old man’s day so much easier and more enjoyable.” He patted her arm and shooed her inside. “I’ll see you in the morning, my dear. Spokojnoj nochi. Do svidaniya.”

“Do svidaniya,” she said in return and headed inside the warm hotel.

Cleo continued on to her room with a small smile on her face. If there ever were a man she’d want for a second father, Serge would be at the top of that list. Once in her room, she opened up her laptop and let it warm up while she got ready for bed. Padding around in her PJs, she sent her friend Kenya a text message just to say “hi” and let her know she was still alive and kicking. Then, she sat down and began pulling up old tapestry paintings to see if she could find the one she’d seen today at the museum. As well as searching for his name.

Whoever he’d been, he was quickly becoming an obsession with her. She wanted desperately to know who he was. Wanted to know his story. It was close to midnight before she found him. Well, it wasn’t a depiction of the tapestry, but she’d bet her life this was the same man. This time, he stood before a huge black horse, but it was the same sword, stance, and look that seemed to permeate her soul. Beneath the hand-sketched drawing, the script read, Lion of Midnight.

Enlarging the image as much as she could on her computer, Cleo memorized him. The shape of his face, each angle, how his lips looked. The arrogant smirk he had. In this picture, he still had a full beard, but it was nicely maintained and shorter than the one in the tapestry.

“The Lion of Midnight,” she muttered as her index finger moved along his body. There was no further information to be had. No date, nothing. All she had was this picture and an unquenchable thirst to know more.