“Yeah. Well, I knew what was coming, so why not grab the fun for a second? I don’t much get what’s fun about sliding down a plastic tube, but I guess it seemed like the thing at the time.”
She sat back a moment, wished the water she’d finished would miraculously reappear as coffee.
“I think I’m leaning toward his mother—the killer—dying or abandoning him as a kid. I think I may be leaning there because of yours dying, mine taking off. And I need to set that aside and work the facts and evidence.”
Though she seemed steady again, he stroked her hair. Couldn’t seem to stop touching her.
“Your instincts are every bit as valuable as facts and evidence.”
“Usually I’d agree they’re almost as valuable, but I need to keep some distance this time. You need to go to work, and you don’t have a tie. You always have a tie.” She ran a hand down the front of his shirt. “I’m okay,” she added, knowing he’d object. “I’m going down to the gym, sweat the rest of this out. Go buy Prague.”
“I’m not after buying it.” He leaned down to touch his lips to hers. “Just a piece or two.”
He picked up the tie he’d dropped when he’d rushed to her, and slid it under the collar of his shirt. “What do you think Mavis would do if she came on Bella playing with her makeup?”
“Laugh. Then help her put more on.”
“And there you have it. I’ll be an hour.”
“That works for me.”
She spent another minute in bed, stroking the cat.
“You know, between you and Roarke I ended up with a couple of solid moms. Not an insult,” she added, and gave him a good scratch before she got up.
She fed him, and if she indulged him with seared tuna he deserved it.
After pulling on shorts, a support tank, she rode down to the gym. A good sweat, she decided, because in truth, seeing herself as a child, that helpless need, that helpless fear, unnerved her.
She programmed a five-mile obstacle course run, and, on a whim, on the streets of Prague. When she finished, dripping and satisfied, she spent another fifteen on resistance and power lifting before she stretched it out.
Her initial thought was to end the whole deal with a swim, but she found herself turning into the dojo.
She didn’t like meditation. In fact, it usually annoyed the crap out of her. But she decided, considering all, to give it a shot.
She programmed five minutes with the master, sat on the mat, crossed her legs.
She breathed, exhaling tension （or trying to） as instructed. She let her mantra play in her head, which was—her secret—fuck this, fuck this, fuck this.
She pictured a blank screen, normally the best she could do before her mind started wandering to a case, or paperwork, or why chocolate wasn’t one of the major food groups.
The blank screen turned a soft blue, began to ripple gently. She floated on it, just floated until the chimes sounded.
“You did well,” the master told her. “Take the calm and clear into your day.” He put his hands together at his heart, bowed. “Namaste.”
She bowed in return. “Namaste.”
When she stepped out of the elevator, Roarke walked in.
“And here’s timing,” he said.
“I went to Prague, too. Five-mile run, obstacles. You probably bought or already own some of what I ran through. Gonna grab a shower. Oh, hey.” She shoved at her hair as she walked toward the bathroom. “I meditated for, like, five minutes. Okay, probably three before I got there, but that’s two minutes and fifty seconds more than I’ve managed before.”
She hit the bathroom, called back, “And I fed the cat. Don’t let him bullshit you.”
Roarke glanced over at Galahad. “It appears the lieutenant’s back in form.”
When she came back, he sat, the stock reports muted on the wall screen, a tablet in hand and the cat across his lap. Breakfast, whatever he’d chosen, sat domed on the table.
She poured coffee, then lifted the lids to find he’d gone for the full Irish.
“You’re worried I’ll skip lunch again.”
“If you do”—he set the cat on the floor—“you’ll have a good breakfast in you.”
“I guess we’re going to see the Irish next month, right?”
He looked up, met her eyes. “I’d like to.”
“Fine with me.” She sat and started on the bacon. “That quick trip to catch Cobbe doesn’t really count. Where else?”