5

Anne Bouchard placed her empty coffee cup on the table and smiled at Houston. His black hair was still messed from sleep, and he needed a shave and shower after the Olympian effort he had put forth the previous night. His hazel eyes were bloodshot, and he yawned.

“What’s the matter, Mike? You out of shape or something?” She suppressed a laugh. The truth was that she, too, felt the effects of the previous night’s activity and wanted a hot shower to revive her.

“Well, it’s been a long time since we went to bed that early and went to sleep that late . . .”

“Take a hot shower—that’ll wake you up,” she said. “Better yet, I’ll go first.”

“Don’t you think we should shower together to conserve water?”

“Are you up to it?”

Houston thought for a moment then said, “Probably not. . . . You wore me out, woman.”

Bouchard stood and, as she walked to the bathroom, said, “I’m starting to think you’re too old for me, Houston.”

“Too old for you? I’m only four years older—”

She smiled and with an exaggerated sway of her hips turned toward the bathroom. “Age is only one way to measure how old a man is. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

_________________

Once showered, Houston made a fresh pot of coffee and took two mugs out to the porch. He sat in one of the Adirondack chairs beside Bouchard, who said, “You were right about one thing, Mike. This life grows on a person.”

“And I thought you’d go nuts up here. It’s a long way from here to Newbury Street and Quincy Market.”

“Oh, I knew I could adjust.”

“Maybe so, babe. But a part of you will always be a city girl.”

“You’re probably right. Let’s get down to business, okay?”

“Sure, I’m all ears.” He sat back and listened. When he and Anne had been partners on the BPD, he had always deferred to her when it came time to make a presentation or to present the facts of an investigation to their superiors. They had both been born and raised around Boston—he in Irish South Boston and she in affluent Newton. However, it was she, not Houston, who had the gift of blarney.

“An old couple, Betty and Archie Guerette, have been hounding every law enforcement agency between Portland and Boston. Their granddaughter, one Cheryl Guerette, was a student in Boston, and she’s disappeared.”

“Well, college kids are an impulsive bunch. She probably took off to the Cape or some romantic getaway with her latest boyfriend.”

“Maybe, but I got a bad taste about this.”

“Anne, I don’t have a clue as to what I’ll be able to do in regards to this.”

“I’ve arranged for us to meet with the Guerettes at their home in Kittery. That should give us a starting point.”

“If,” he added, “I decide to take this on.”

“When,” she countered, “you take it on.”

“That sure of me, are you?”

She smiled at him. “After five years as your partner and over a year of living as your significant other, I know you better than you know yourself.”

“I still don’t know if I want to do this. We’ve been off the job for over a year.”

“Mike, you were the best when it came to closing cases. Like I said, you have a couple of resources that make you uniquely qualified for this.”

“I think you overestimate how much influence I have in Boston.” He took a sip of his coffee and placed the mug on the small table beside his chair.

“Twenty years as a cop, fifteen as a detective, and being a lifelong friend of Jimmy O’Leary’s gives you more influence than even you realize.”

“How does Jimmy fit into this?”

Houston and Jimmy O’Leary had grown up together in South Boston. They’d separated when Jimmy dropped out of school, and the rift had widened when Houston joined the Marines. Later, when Houston became a cop, the relationship became adversarial and remained so until a deranged sniper killed Houston’s ex-wife, Pamela—Jimmy O’s sister.

Bouchard pressed on. “Even though you chose to walk a different path, he’ll still do anything he can for you. He’ll still help you. He never stopped thinking of you as his brother-in-law, even after the divorce.”

Houston’s face turned pallid. “Pam’s been dead for over a year . . .”

“Yes, she has, and Jimmy helped us bring Rosa down.”

“I didn’t promise anything other than I’d go talk to the girl’s grandparents. I’m not committing to anything yet . . .”

“I know you will . . .” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “And you know it, too.”