27.

Friday morning Kirsten woke up and ran to the kitchen to catch Dugan before he left for his office. He was still sitting there, though, eating cold cereal, which he never did. She was pouring herself some coffee when he announced that from now on he was eating raisin bran every day, and that he wouldn’t be flying to Asheville that afternoon, after all.

Kirsten spun around from the counter and splashed coffee down the front of the new tan “classic tee” from J. Jill she’d slept in. “Say that again?”

“Raisin bran. I saw this article in—”

“No, Dugan,” she said. “You are going.” It was a trial workshop and competition at a resort and conference center in the mountains near Asheville, North Carolina. She’d been wishing he didn’t have to go; she wanted him here with her. But she wasn’t about to let him not go on her account. She didn’t need taking care of.

He got up and ran cold water on a dish towel until it was sopping wet. He dabbed with it at her shirt, but the area where he soaked the shirt was a good three or four inches to the right of the coffee spill. “What are you doing?” she said, but she knew a distraction when she felt it.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, and then tried to wet her shirt over the other breast, too, but she pushed him away and sat down, with the table between them. He sat, too.

“You’re just kidding, right?” she said.

“Actually, no. The fact is the workshop was Larry Candle’s idea, and I don’t really want to go.”

She didn’t believe him. “You’re going to Asheville.” She pointed to the calendar on the wall beside the clock. “It’s right there. ‘Trial Lawyers Association mentoring workshop,’” she read. “You told me months ago that Larry signed you up for it and said it would be good for the firm’s reputation. You agreed. Plus, you said it would be a nice change of pace, a lot of fun.”

“I must have been drinking at the time. I’m gonna call and tell them I’m not going.”

“You’re on the faculty, for God’s sake. They’re counting on you.” She pointed at the calendar again. “Starts tonight and ends next Saturday.” That was eight whole days and she didn’t want him to go. “You’re going,” she said. She picked at her wet shirt, holding it out away from her skin and shaking it a little to dry it.

“Damn,” Dugan said, “I like it when you—” He stopped when she gave him a dirty look. “Anyway,” he said, “if I was sick, or on trial or something I couldn’t go and they’d put my four students with—”

“But you’re not sick, and you’re never on trial. You can’t back out now. The teams are probably all picked.”

“But I don’t want to leave you right now. With this priest killer running around, and this … you know … this postcard—”

“Forget that. The killer’s not running around after me. Like you said yesterday, catching him is police business, and I’ve got Cuffs to help watch over Michael and the others. And as to the other thing, I … well … let’s not overreact to what could very well be a stupid prank.” She studied Dugan as she spoke, and he looked as though he believed her. “I bet the real reason you don’t want to go is because you don’t try cases any more. It’s been years, and you think you’ll look bad compared to the other faculty members.”

“That’s bullshit. I’ve forgotten more than most of them will ever know.”

She knew he was dying to go. Each experienced lawyer was teamed with four top students from law schools all over the country to simulate both preparing a case for trial and then the trial itself. “I think you owe it to the program to follow through,” she said.

“I don’t know.” He scooped up some raisin bran, then stopped the spoon halfway to his mouth. “Hey! Why don’t you come? They say the workshop’s pretty intensive, but I’m sure they leave time for splashing around in the hotel pool at night. Plus, you’ll have the days to yourself. You can swim, shop, do whatever.”

“When you put it that way, it’s tempting.” And it was, especially when she considered that law school students weren’t all fresh out of college, and that over half of them these days were women. She pictured Dugan and his “team” holed up together day after day, then splashing around the pool at night. “Um … do you have the names of the ‘kids’ on your team?”

“No, we don’t get those until—” He stopped, and a grin broke over his face. “You’re right,” he said. “You better come along. You never know what might go on in a charged atmosphere like that.”

“You’re going.” She set her coffee on the table and stood up. “I’m not.” The part of her tee shirt Dugan had gotten to was still pretty well soaked. “And you know what?” With both hands she plucked the wet fabric out away from her skin and jiggled the shirt, and herself, again. “I’m not worried one bit.”

*   *   *

Since he’d be going directly from his office to the airport in the afternoon, Dugan stuck around after breakfast for about an hour, packing and saying good-bye. Packing took ten minutes.

He had a twelve-thirty flight and it was past nine o’clock, so Dugan called his office and told Mollie he’d go straight to the airport from home. He said he had plenty of work in his briefcase to keep him busy while he waited. Kirsten was relieved that by the time he left he seemed truly convinced that she wasn’t as spooked by the idea of someone stalking her as she’d been the day before.

In reality, though, it was more than a mere idea, and it bothered the hell out of her.