Before he had his shirt buttoned, the new cup of coffee was gone and he craved
more.
"What the hell..?" he muttered, realizing that he'd felt the same way about
the water in the shower.
Glancing at his watch, he realized he might not have time for any sort of
dinner, which was all it took to make him feel ravenously hungry. He went to his
backpack and took out one of the two big cans of chicken soup and a P-38
military-issue can opener that he kept in the bottom compartment.
One can wasn't enough. Not even close. A few minutes later both cans were
empty and Cade didn't feel as if he'd made much of a dent in his hunger. Someone
knocked on his door and Cade went to open it.
A guy in a hotel jacket said, "Room service," and wheeled a cart into the
room.
"I didn't order room service."
"No, sir. A woman placed the order." Holding up a ticket, the bellhop showed
it to Cade and said, "It's already paid for, sir; charged to another room, but
to be delivered here."
By this time the smell of a steak dinner had wafted up from the cart and
Cade suddenly didn't give a damn who'd sent it or why.
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