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After the housewarming party for Joe Dunbar, Janet Andrews went home to the apartment she shared with Stan Warren. It felt temporary and sterile without any of her things, and without Stan. Pulitzer didn’t like it either — he was confined to a kennel when she wasn’t home. And she made mad dashes home periodically throughout the day to take him out. But they’d be back home soon, she promised him as she took him out for a quick late-night walk, and Stan’s coming with us.
Then she got ready for bed and called Stan to see how things were going in Vallejo. She listened contentedly to him as he vented about bureaucracy, corrupt cops, and drugs that were never going to stop coming into the country as long as the people in this country bought them. All true, she thought. And not her problem — his problem, she conceded, but not hers.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been doing all the talking,” he said finally. “How are things in Seattle?”
Janet laughed happily. “He came back,” she said, and again she felt the happiness bubble out of her. “He came home, Stan.”
She could hear the smile in his voice, when he replied. “Congratulations,” he said, and he meant it. “I guess he chose — he’s a reporter, not a contract killer. And from what I hear, he didn’t even blow anything up, or kill anyone. Came close, maybe.”
Janet laughed at that, and she didn’t mention the village that managed to have a surprise arsenal when the cartel showed up to wreak vengeance. She thought it was pretty funny, herself, but Stan — the FBI agent version of Stan — might not see it that way.
“I wasn’t sure, you know. I thought...,” she said, and she had tears in her eyes. Tears of happiness, she assured herself. “Well, I thought maybe we wouldn’t be enough to pull him home. That he would stay.”
“Three years ago, he would have,” Stan replied. “When I first met him on the Parker story? He would have stayed and taken over the family cartel.”
She knew that. And even now, she thought it had been a closer struggle than most people realized. Angie had made the difference. “You used to liken him to a wolf in sheep’s clothing — not because he intended to harm the sheep, but because he liked having three meals a day and a warm place to be,” she said, laughing now.
“I did,” Stan agreed. “And then they became his sheep. And he became their protector. Our protector,” he added ruefully, referring to last fall.
Janet gave a big sigh of relief. “When are you coming home?” she asked.
“Another week, no more,” he promised. “Don’t worry, I’ll be home in time to help with the move.”
Janet laughed. “We’re hiring movers,” she said. “I’ve been buying books for a year, and putting them in storage. And those things are heavy.”
Stan teased her about the books, and about the contractor and battle over bookshelves. When she hung up, she tried to force herself to go to sleep. Tomorrow was another early day. And she needed to get Mac up to speed on that McBride story. He was going to be pissed.
She grinned at Pulitzer who was comfortably taking up three-fourths of the bed. “He’s home, boy. Mac came back home.”