He didn’t love wading through page after page of mug shots in search of the man he’d seen and chased, but the police were insistent, and he knew it was necessary. He particularly didn’t love it when the wee hours of the morning approached and they were still at it, he and Marni. His hand was beginning to ache again, and as the minutes passed, his head was, too. He knew that Marni had to be totally exhausted, and while he wanted to send her home, he also needed her by his side.
“Nothing,” he said wearily when the last of the books were closed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think the man I saw tonight is here.”
The officer who had been working with them rose from his perch on the corner of the desk and took the book from Web. “Hit and run. They’re the damnedest ones to catch. May have been wearing a wig, or have shaved off a mustache. May not have any previous record, if you can believe that.”
Marni, for one, was ready to believe anything the man said, if only to secure her and Web’s release. Not only was she tired, but the events of the night had begun to take an emotional toll. She was feeling distinctly shaky.
“Is there anything else we have to do now?” she asked fearfully.
“Nope. I’ve got your statements, and I know where to reach you if we come up with anything.”
Web was slipping his coat on. He didn’t bother to put his left arm into the sleeve. It wasn’t worth the effort. “Do you think you will?”
“Nope.”
Web sighed. “Well, if you need us …”
The officer nodded, then stood aside, and Web and Marni wound their way through the maze of desks, doorways and stairs to the clear, cold air outside. They headed straight for a waiting taxi.
“I’d better get you home,” he murmured, opening the door for Marni. As she slid in, she leaned forward and gave the cabbie Web’s address. Web didn’t realize what she’d done until they pulled up outside his riverfront building, at which point he was dismayed. “I can’t send you home alone in a cab,” he protested. “Not after what happened tonight.”
Some of her spunk had returned. “I have no intention of going home alone,especiallyafter what happened tonight. Come on, big guy.” She was shoving him out the door. “We could both use a drink.”
He was paying the cabbie when she climbed out herself. She was the one to put her arm around his waist and urge him into the building. “This is not … what … I’d planned,” he growled, disgusted when he looked back on an evening that was supposed to have been so pleasant. “I never should have taken you to that party. If we hadn’t gone, we wouldn’t have been walking down that street—”
“And that poor girl would have been raped.” Marni pressed the elevator button. The door slid open instantly, and she tugged him inside. “What ifs aren’t any good—I learned that a long time ago. The facts are that we did go to the party, that we were walking down that street, that we managed to deter a vicious crime, that your hand is all cut up and that we’re both bleary-eyed right about now.” The elevator began its ascent. “I’m exhausted, but I’m afraid to close my eyes because I’ll see either that dark alleyway, that girl, or your poor hand…. How is it?”
“It’s there.”
“You wouldn’t take one of the painkillers while we were at the police station. Will you take one now?”
“A couple of aspirin’ll do the trick.”
He ferreted his keys from his pocket and had them waiting when the elevator opened. Moments later they’d passed through the studio, climbed the spiral staircase and were in his living room. He went straight to the bar, tipped a bottle into each of two glasses without thought to either ice or water, took a long drink from his glass, then handed the other to Marni.
“Come. Sit with me.” He moved to the sofa, kicked off his loafers and sank down, stretching out his legs and leaning his head back.
“Where’s the aspirin?” Marni asked softly.
“Medicine chest. Down the hall, through the bedroom to the bathroom.”
She found her way easily, so intent on getting something into Web that she saw nothing of the rest of his apartment but the inside of the medicine chest above the sink. When she returned, he downed the aspirin with another drink from his glass. She sat facing him on the sofa, her elbow braced on the sofa back.
“You look awful,” she whispered.
He didn’t open his eyes. “I’ve felt better.”
“Maybe you should lie down.”
“I am.” He was sprawled backward, his lean body molded to the cushions.
“In bed. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable there?”
“Soon.”
Very gently, she lifted his injured hand and put it in her lap. She wanted to soothe him, to do something to help, but she wasn’t sure what would be best. She began to lightly stroke his forearm, and when he didn’t complain she continued.
He smirked. “Some night.”
