“It happens very slowly in the dream, though it didn’t happen slowly. I remember everything, every detail, every sound, every movement. If I had the skill, I could draw it, scene by scene, and replay it like an animated film.”
“It’s hard on you to remember that clearly.”
“I…” She hadn’t thought of that. “I suppose it is. It was storming, like tonight. Thunder, lightning, wind, rain. The first shot startled me. Made my pulse skip, but I didn’t fully believe it was a gunshot. Then the others, and there could be no mistake. I’m very frightened, very unsure, but I rush out to find John. But in this dream tonight, it wasn’t John who pushed me back into the bedroom, who stumbled in behind me, already dying, blood running out of him, soaking the shirt I pressed to the wound. It wasn’t John. It was you.”
“It’s not hard to figure out.” She could see him in a snap of lightning, too, his eyes clear and calm on hers. “Not hard to put in its place.”
“No, it’s not. Stress, emotions, my going over and over all those events. What I felt for John and Terry, but particularly John, was a kind of love. I think, now that I understand such things better, I had a crush on him. Innocent, nonsexual, but powerful in its way. He swore to protect me, and I trusted him to do so. He had a badge, a weapon, a duty, as you do.”
She walked toward the bed but didn’t sit. “People say, to someone they love: I’d die for you. They don’t expect to, of course, have no plans to. They may believe it, or mean it, or it may simply be an expression of devotion. But I know what it means now, I understand that impossible depth of emotionnow. And I know you would die for me. You’d put my life before yours to protect me. And that terrifies me.”
He took her hands in his, and his were as steady as his eyes. “He had no warning. He didn’t know the enemy. We do. We’re not walking into an ambush, Abigail. We’re setting one.”
“Yes.” Enough, she told herself. Enough. “I want you to know, if you’re hurt during the ambush, I’ll be very disappointed.”
She surprised a laugh out of him. “What if it’s just a flesh wound?” He caught her hand, tugged her down.
“Very disappointed.” She turned to him, closed her eyes. “And I won’t be sympathetic.”
“You’re a tough woman with hard lines. I guess I’ll have to avoid flesh wounds.”
“That’s for the best.”
She relaxed against him, listened to the storm blow its way west.
* * *
In the morning,with the sky clear and blue, and the temperatures rising, she worked for another hour.
“You need to give that a rest,” Brooks told her.
“Yes. I need to fine-tune. It’s close, but not perfect. I don’t want to do anything else until I consider a few options. I’m checking something else now. Unrelated.”
“I checked in with Anson. He’s meeting Garrison and Assistant Director Cabot in about ninety minutes.”
“I estimate I’ll need another day on the program.” She glanced back briefly. “I can’t divulge to the authorities what I plan to do. It’s illegal.”
“I got that much. Why don’t you divulge it to me?”
“I’d rather wait until I’ve finished it, when I’m sure I can do what I hope to do.” She started to say more, then shook her head. “It can wait. I’m not sure of the proper dress for this afternoon or—” She broke off, horrified, spun around in her chair. “Why didn’t youtellme?”
“What?” Her sudden and passionate distress had him bobbling the bowl of cereal he’d just poured. “Tell you what?”
“I need to take a covered dish to your mother’s. You know very well I’m not familiar with the rules. You should have told me.”
“There aren’t any rules. It’s just—”
“It says right here.” She jabbed a finger at her screen. “Guests often bring a covered dish, perhaps a personal specialty.”
“Where does it say that?”
“On this site. I’m researching barbecue etiquette.”
“Jesus Christ.” Torn between amusement and absolute wonder, he dumped milk in the bowl. “It’s just a get-together, not a formal deal with etiquette. I picked up extra beer to take over. We’ll grab a bottle of wine.”
“I have to make something, right away.” She flew into the kitchen, began searching her refrigerator, her cupboards.
He stood, watching her and shoveling in cereal. “Abigail, chill it some. You don’t need to make anything. There’ll be plenty of food.”
