“Good.Baltimore's been pushing for results on that one.”Patricia pulled on fresh gloves and began organizing her materials.“Speaking of results, I heard yet another heroic tale of how you and Agent Stone saved the mayor of San Francisco.”
Miles kept his eyes on the microscope.“I do have to admit,heroicsounds better thangot lucky.”He was honestly growing tired of the praise and mentions.Not only because they made him feel awkward, but also because he still felt there was something deeper to it all—something that went far beyond Diana Hartwell.
“Four murders solved and a mayor's life saved.That doesn’t sound like luck to me,” Patricia said.
He didn't respond.The truth was more complicated than Patricia's summary.Yes, they'd caught Diana Hartwell.Yes, they'd prevented another murder.But Diana's suicide in county jail, three days after her arrest, had eliminated any chance of learning about potential accomplices.The case file was officially closed, but Miles felt deep in his bones that they'd only scratched the surface.
The hair sample under his microscope blurred slightly.He blinked and refocused.Concentration had been difficult since his return from California.Simple tasks that used to absorb his attention completely now felt like exercises in forcing himself to stay present.
“Miles?”Patricia was looking at him with concern.“You okay?”
“Fine.Just tired.”He made another note in his file.“Late night last night.”
That was true, though not for the reasons Patricia might assume.He'd been awake until nearly three in the morning, lying in bed next to Elena while his mind replayed the moment Diana Hartwell swung that blackjack toward his head.The sound it made connecting with his temple.The way her eyes burned with fanatical conviction, even as Vic's bullet dropped her to the floor.
The nightmares were getting worse, not better.Last week he'd woken up screaming about molten gold pouring over his face.Elena had been patient, understanding, but he could see the worry in her dark eyes when she thought he wasn't looking.
Miles finished his analysis and sealed the hair sample back into its evidence container.The chain of custody form required his signature, the time, and a summary of his findings.Standard procedure that he'd followed thousands of times before.But his hand shook slightly as he wrote, and he had to concentrate to keep his handwriting legible.
The rest of the afternoon passed slowly.He processed three more cases, all routine forensic work requiring technical expertise, but little imagination.A fiber analysis from a burglary in Richmond.Paint chip comparison from a hit-and-run in Norfolk.Blood spatter interpretation from an assault in Alexandria.Each case represented someone's worst day.Victims whose lives had been disrupted or destroyed by violence.But the work itself was clean and methodical.Miles could examine the evidence objectively, apply scientific principles, and produce reliable results without getting emotionally involved in the human drama behind each sample.
It was exactly the kind of work he'd been doing happily before Assistant Director Hayes sent him to San Francisco.Before he'd learned what it felt like to chase a killer through museum corridors.Before he'd grown almost certain that Diana Hartwell was connected to the other element-related murders he’d been researching from all across the country.
At 5:30, Miles packed up his files and headed for the parking garage.The drive home to his Victorian row house took forty-five minutes through Northern Virginia traffic.He spent most of it trying not to think about Diana Hartwell or the periodic table murders he'd spent three years tracking before her arrest.He knew that if he allowed himself to do so, he’d let it consume him again…and he and Elena had already had a few hard conversations about the boundaries he needed to put up.
The house he shared with Elena sat on a quiet residential street lined with mature oak trees.It was a neighborhood of young professionals and growing families.People who worked regular jobs and worried about normal things like mortgage payments and lawn maintenance.Elena's car was already in the driveway when he arrived.She would have gotten home an hour ago from her pharmaceutical research lab and had probably spent the time reviewing clinical trial data or preparing presentations for her supervisors.Her work was demanding but straightforward and she had been very busy over the past several months.
He found her in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner.She looked up when he entered, and her smile was warm, but tinged with the careful concern he'd grown accustomed to since his return from California.
“How was your day?”she asked, setting down her knife and moving to greet him.
“Fine.Routine lab work.”He kissed her briefly, then stepped back to wash his hands at the sink.“How about you?”
“Meeting with the clinical trials coordinator.We're seeing promising results from the Phase Two data.”Elena returned to her vegetables, but Miles could feel her watching him from the corner of her eye.“Dr.Martinez thinks we'll be ready for Phase Three testing by early next year.”
“That's great news.”
They fell into the comfortable rhythm of preparing dinner together.Elena had started a pasta sauce that filled the kitchen with the smell of garlic and fresh herbs.Miles set the table and opened a bottle of wine, stirring sauces and pasta at Elena’s direction.
Over dinner, she talked about her research.The new Alzheimer's drug her team was developing showed real promise in slowing cognitive decline.Early trial participants were maintaining memory function longer than anyone had hoped.If the larger studies confirmed these results, it could help millions of families.Miles tried to focus on her words, but his attention kept drifting.It was especially frustrating because her work typically fascinated him.He could honestly listen to her talk for hours about the intricacies of her work.
The pasta was perfectly prepared.The wine was excellent.Elena's enthusiasm for her work was infectious.Everything about the evening should have felt perfect.
“Miles?”
He looked up to find Elena studying his face.“Sorry.What were you saying?”
“I was asking when you thought we’d be able to finalize the caterer for the wedding.It has to be this week if we want to lock in our first choice.”
“Right.The caterer.”Miles took a sip of wine.“Whatever you think is best.”
Elena set down her fork.“You're doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“That thing where you're physically here but mentally somewhere else entirely.”Her voice carried gentle frustration.“You've been doing it since you got back from San Francisco, so I imagine that’s where your head has taken you.”
Miles wanted to deny it, but Elena knew him too well.She'd been patient with his nightmares and distracted moods, but he could see that her patience was wearing thin.And he didn’t blame her.
