"Do things for your own good. Don't worry, girl. You're more fussed about this than I am. This is just my business. I chose this kind of work years and years ago."
"Why?"
"Because I'm me. I'll tell you all about me at lunch." He waved at her and left.
Sarah stared after him, fear and affection clogging her throat. There was nothing to call after him.
Not after last night, when Dugan had paid her a call that started out conventionally and had ended up leaving both of them shaken by the naked imminence of love. He had been the awe-inspiring spy before then; suddenly he was her black Irishman, her Dugan. What would he be today? And all the tomorrows?
Sawayama's restaurant was not merely a seafood place; it was a roast-eel emporium. When Sarah arrived, Dugan was not identifiable at first. She felt bewildered. Then a strange shabby man in worn Western-style business clothes turned around. It was Dugan.
"I've just been telling the proprietor that as a Japanese-American working in your office, it was my responsibility to pick out a serious, succulent eel for your lunch. Don't tell me that you have not had unagi donburi before. Eel split and grilled over charcoal. It sounds fierce but it is the best thing to eat in all Japan."
She let him lead her to a small, immaculately clean private dining room. They both sat down on the matted floor. Dugan nodded his approval when he saw how expertly she had learned to sit on the floor.
When she stared at him, he nodded deprecatingly and said, "Working clothes."
He slid closer to her and talked just barely above a whisper, "I'm on my own now. Getting ready to do what your boss said. I need things that the American Army hasn't got."