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“I told you! My vehicle was attacked by a deer! It jumped away before you got there!”

Bell just stared at him.

Finally Holmes let out a long breath. “Okay. Margaret and I had a fight over dinner.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” said Bell. “What was the fight about?”

“Apparently she’s taking her cooking obsession to the next level. She’s enrolled in a class with some fancy French chef in downtown Ithaca.”

“Does that make you jealous?”

“Jealous? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a cooking class, not an affair.”

“I meant jealous of her time—time that she could be spending with you.”

Holmes felt his temper flare. “Time she could be spending on our business!”

“Why should you care about the business?” asked Bell. “You told me you quit. You said you were done with the firm for good.”

Holmes drummed his fingers against his mug. “I relented. Recently.”

Bell took a beat. “I see. And do you think that’s a healthy step?”

Holmes shrugged. “Healthy or not, I’m needed.”

Bell leaned forward. “Brendan, did you ever consider that in addition to being addicted to dangerous drugs, you might be addicted to a dangerous job?”

Bell was not wearing Chanel tonight. But she had recently washed her hair. It was still slightly damp, and Holmes could smell the vanilla and lemon notes from where he sat. She was dressed in jeans and a sweater. No lipstick. She looked younger than usual, more girlish.

More beautiful.

“Brendan? Any response?”

“It’s possible,” said Holmes.

“More tea?”

Holmes nodded.

Bell slid her hand across the countertop to retrieve his mug. Without thinking, Holmes closed his hand around her fingers. Bell jerked her hand away but kept her composure. She waited a few moments before speaking. “What’s going on here, Brendan?”

Holmes lowered his head, avoiding her eyes. “I’m not sure. I can’t explain it. Maybe it’s that Margaret doesn’t understand me, and you do.”

“It’s my job to understand you. Or try to. We have a connection on that level.”

Holmes pushed his mug aside and leaned across the island. “I’m afraid it might be something more than that.”

“Brendan, you know better. That’s just transference.”

“I think about you.”

“Perfectly normal. We’ve been on quite a journey together.”

Holmes stood up. He moved around the kitchen island. Bell slid off her stool. She was nervous. Holmes could see it in her breathing. A lock of her hair fell across her cheek. He reached out to brush it back. Bell grabbed his hand and forced it down hard onto the countertop. “Stop it, Brendan! That’s enough!”

Holmes pulled his hand away as if he’d been scalded. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Bell stepped back and folded her arms across her chest. “Brendan, this is inappropriate. I should have called 9-1-1 from the road. I should never have let you talk me into bringing you back here. That was my fault.”