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FISH IGNORED LEXI’S question. “I’ll get my things.”
By the time they’d shifted their meager belongings to their new rooms, Fozzie had returned with his go bag.
“Last room,” Fish said.
Fozzie strode down the hall, returning with a small box he took to the kitchen. Fish watched as the man opened cabinets until he found a teakettle, which he filled and set on a burner. He washed out the used coffee mugs, added a tea packet to each, and set them beside the stove. “Never leave home without it. You will join me, won’t you? No caffeine. Perfect way to end a day.”
“Sure,” Fish said, wondering what the hell rooibos tea was.
“Thanks,” Lexi said. “Sounds wonderful.”
Fozzie gazed at Fish. “What’s the creature comfort in your go bag? What grounds you?”
Fish scratched his jaw. “I don’t have one, I guess.”
“Ah, mate, you need an anchor. I have my tea, which goes back to my mum in Australia, and this.” He pulled out his wallet, removed a folded strip of photos, the kind you get in an amusement park booth. “I don’t get into field work much anymore, but I always carry this. Reminds me why I need to get the job done right. So I can get home.”
Fish looked at the pictures, images of Fozzie and a woman clowning around, making faces. Fish recognized the woman as Torie, whom he’d met at a Christmas party. Lexi held out a hand, and Fish passed the photos to her.
She gazed at them, smiled, and handed them back. “Your wife?”
Fozzie beamed. “Made it official coming up on two years now.”
The kettle whistled, and Fozzie bounced up to pour the water into the mugs. “A spot of honey would be nice.”
Lexi stood. “Cabinet to the left of the sink.”
“I can get it,” Fozzie said.
By then, Lexi was at the cabinet fetching a squeeze bottle of honey. Playing hostess. If it kept her mind off the Falcon, good. Fish wondered if this whole tea thing was Fozzie’s way of instilling a sense of normality into an abnormal situation.
Was that a wink Fozzie threw in Fish’s direction?
Lexi stirred honey into her tea and took a sip. “This is good. I’ve never had it.” She lifted her eyes to Fozzie. “How long have you lived in the states?”
Making small talk. More normality. Fish tasted his tea. Not bad, but it wasn’t coffee. It wasn’t like any tea he’d ever had, either, although most of his experience with tea was from Chinese restaurants.
“Came over as soon as I graduated high school,” Fozzie said. “I left my family’s sheep station and went to college in the states. Ag school at Cornell.”
“Do you ever get back?” she asked. “To Australia, not Cornell.”
“Now and then. Not as often as me mum and dad would like, but they know this is what I’m meant to be doing.” Fozzie picked up his mug and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day, and tomorrow might be another one. Time to unwind. G’night.”
“Good night,” Lexi said.
“Tomorrow, then.” Fish said. And he was alone with Lexi.
It seemed as soon as Fozzie left, her fears and insecurities rushed back. She drummed her fingers on the tabletop, her legs bounced on the floor in counterpoint. He wanted to take her in his arms, wrap her in a tight embrace, tell her everything would be fine.
She’d know he’d be lying. Not exactly lying, but uttering platitudes, wishful thinking words, words that had no grounding in truth.
“Fozzie has the right idea. Nothing more to do tonight.” He wandered to the living room, stopped at the bookshelves. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to concentrate, he simply plucked a book off a shelf. “You need anything?”
“No, I’m zonked. Is there a briefing scheduled tomorrow?”
“Not that I’m aware of. I’m sure they’ll call after Adam and Scrooge report in.”
“I almost forgot. They’re meeting with Merlin tomorrow morning.” She leaned her head forward, raised her hair from the back of her neck and let it float down, carrying an enticing whiff of shampoo that settled over him. He inhaled, enjoyed it, because that was the only pleasure he would get from Lexi tonight.
She stepped closer, tilted her face upward.
He froze. Was she inviting a kiss? If she was, and he returned it, would it stop there?
He smiled, stroked her cheek, then gave her a chaste kiss where his fingers had been.
“Good night, Lexi.”
He managed not to say I’m next door if you need anything. Which he would be, but anything was dangerous territory.
He studied her eyes for disappointment, but found none. He clutched the book in front of his tightening groin and walked toward his bedroom.
***
LEXI WATCHED MARV STRIDE away, enjoying the rear view. She took a moment to return to the kitchen and put hers and Marv’s mugs in the dishwasher, then meandered to her bedroom, thoughts whooshing through her head like a traffic cam on fast-forward.
John Gunther—the Falcon. Nelson Riggs. Iredale. Tomás. Chief Kurcz. She tried to replace them with the people on her side. Marv. Dalton. Adam. Fozzie. Rambler. Scrooge. Emiko. Manny. Although she’d hired them, was a paying client, they gave the impression they were working for her, not for a paycheck.
Lexi took everything out of her—Marv’s—go bag and the Blackthorne suitcase and spread the contents on the extra bed. She repacked, combining her belongings with the Blackthorne additions, arranged for easy access. She’d never asked Marv what the rules were about Blackthorne-provided gear, but she decided she’d deal with returning things once she was ready to go home.
Home? Where was home? Was she going to stay in Burnside? If the Falcon was exposed, along with the way he’d corrupted the Burnside police force, she imagined the chief would be out of a job. And so might she, since he’d been the one to invite her on board.
She trusted Blackthorne. What about the man Brian had sent to prison? He’d been killed. So had Nelson Riggs, in a building that was supposed to have top-notch security.
He’d taken his own life, she reminded herself. Iredale had gained entry to the building, but he hadn’t made it to Nelson Riggs’s apartment.
Too much to think about. Wishing her thoughts could be erased like case notes on a whiteboard, Lexi changed for bed. She crawled under the covers and switched the television on, keeping the volume low, flipping through channels. Cop shows. Murder mysteries. Espionage. Aliens invading the planet. Where was a romantic comedy when you needed one?
After one more trip through the channels, she landed on When Harry Met Sally.
Lexi must have fallen asleep, because daylight bled through the curtains she hadn’t bothered to close last night. The television set was playing Splash. She hit the off button on the remote and checked the clock. Six-twenty. Nine hours?
Once she’d managed to fall asleep, her body must have demanded compensation for so many restless, sleepless nights. She yawned, stretched, and figured she had time for a shower. She left the bathroom door open so she’d hear the squawk box, and placed her phone on the counter, volume set to max.
After drying her hair, Lexi pulled it into a ponytail and dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved tee. She picked up the Glock she’d left on the nightstand, then padded across the hall to the command center. Empty, no lights on, no computer screens active. The silence was reassuring. Her mood lifted, she continued to the kitchen where the aroma told her someone had already brewed coffee. The machine was still hot, and she started a cup for herself. Sounds from the living room led her there, where Marv sat on the couch with his own coffee, the television playing the news.
“Good morning,” she said.
Marv twisted on the couch to face her with a smile. “Morning. Sleep all right?”
“Surprisingly, yes.” The coffee maker sputtered and hissed, and she turned for the kitchen, then stopped. “I meant to ask yesterday. Does this place have any extra holsters?”
Marv popped up from the couch. “Yes, and I should have thought of that when I gave you the gun. I’ll get you one.”
Lexi grabbed her coffee and went to the couch to see if the news had a report about what had happened in the building last night. A story about a major drug kingpin being arrested was asking too much.
Weather, traffic, sports, and politics. The usual. Marv returned with a holster which she slipped inside her waistband. With her weapon firmly affixed to her being, she felt more like the cop and less like the potential victim.
“Where’s Fozzie?” she asked. “Still sleeping?”
Marv pointed to a piece of paper on the coffee table. She picked it up, read it.
Had to bug out. Hear Burnside is lovely this time of year.
She gripped her mug. “When did he leave? I didn’t hear anything.”
Marv’s lips twitched. “Unless he wanted you to, you wouldn’t. I didn’t hear him, either. I got up around five-thirty and he was gone.”
“You didn’t get an update explaining why he left? What he’s doing?”
Marv shook his head. “Not in that loop, but I’m sure it’ll come up at the next briefing.”
“Which is—?”
“Whenever they tell us it is.”
“How are the guards?” she asked.
“No word on that, either. Want breakfast?”
Way to change the subject, Marv.
“I didn’t see any perishables in the fridge. So no eggs, bacon, milk, fruit, salad,” she said. “Were you suggesting energy bars?”
“I mixed orange juice from frozen. There’s a bottle of apple juice in the pantry. A loaf of bread in the freezer.”
“Juice and toast. Sounds like recuperation-from-the-flu food.”
“I’ll check with the boss in a bit, see if they have an idea of how long we’ll be here, and ask about stocking up.” He went to the freezer and moved containers around, held up a package of frozen bacon and a plastic bag of bagels. “What do you mean, no bacon? We can live without the eggs.”
He dropped the bacon on the counter with a thunk. “How do you cook frozen bacon?”
She chuckled. “You thaw it first. Get me a plate.” Lexi put the bacon on the plate and set the microwave. “Is there any more real food in there? I didn’t look past the ready-to-nuke stuff last night.”
“I didn’t get past bagels and bacon,” Marv said.
“Which sounds like an oxymoron.” She found a package of ground beef and another of chicken parts. “You think we’ll be here for dinner tonight? I don’t want to thaw anything if it’s going to spoil.”
“Thaw the chicken,” Marv said. “We can give it away if we have to leave in a hurry.”
Over breakfast, Lexi asked, “Does your Nana know you don’t keep kosher?”
He took a bite of bagel and nodded. “She doesn’t keep kosher herself. She won’t eat anything from a pig, but that’s it. When my parents dropped it another notch and went totally tref—”
“What’s that?”
“Nonkosher.” He swallowed, took a sip of coffee. “Nana never made a fuss. I guess you could call me a watered-down Jew. I appreciate the heritage, celebrate the holidays, but don’t take things much further.”
“And the food,” Lexi said.
“There is that.”
His cell burred, and he checked the display. He nodded toward Lexi. “It’s Manny.”