Chapter 4
Kate spied Simon, crashed on the couch, then walked over to see that he was breathing—because one of the things she absolutely loved doing in life was making sure he was still alive. When he didn’t move, she gave him a shake, then a harder one.
He opened his eyes and stared up at her, his eyes glassy. Yet a lazy smile crossed his face as soon as his gaze cleared.
His ability to go from … wherever he had been …
to this never ceased to amaze her. He came back to almost normal.
Almost untouched, except when she really studied his eyes and realized just how deep and how dark they’d gone.
She couldn’t imagine the nightmares he had come back with.
She sat down on the chair across from him, holding two glasses of wine.
He smiled at her and finally spoke. “Definitely something to be said about waking up to a beautiful woman holding a glass of wine after a very hard day.”
She smiled. “Edgar told me that you were pretty well at the end of your rope today.”
“Of course he did,” Simon muttered, then yawned. “Even if I told him not to tell you anything, I suspect that he would take one look at you and blurt out absolutely everything he could possibly imagine saying. All because of that look, saying, Don’t you dare lie to me.” Simon had to chuckle.
Kate snorted. “I don’t even have to give him the look. He’s always been extremely generous with information,” she shared, “particularly when it involves those he cares about.”
Simon opened his eyes wider, taking in the expression on her face, and then nodded. “That is very true. … I am fine, you know?”
“I’m glad to hear that.” But her steady gaze on him wouldn’t let up.
He sat up, stretched, and said, “I’ll take that glass of wine as soon as I get back from the bathroom.” When he returned, true to his word, he picked up the glass of wine, shifted on the couch, and patted the spot beside him. “You could sit here now.”
“That depends on whether you’ll crash out on me again.”
He frowned at her and asked, “You weren’t home when I did that, were you?”
“Nope,” she replied cheerfully. “Yet now at least I know that’s what you did.”
He attempted to glare at her, but his lips twitched.
“You’re really good at stopping anybody from hiding crap.
People just automatically open up and tell you everything, whether they want to or not.
Probably because of that pissed-off look on your face.
” He sighed. “I made it home, and I made it horizontal before I crashed,” he admitted, “so that’s the good part. ”
She nodded, waiting.
“How was your day?” he asked her.
“Awful,” she declared. “Nothing is good about finding a dead man wrapped up with a bow in his apartment, then everybody talking about what a great guy he was.”
“Such a great guy yet somebody decided to kill him?” Simon quipped.
“Yeah, and the bow was tied around his penis.”
Simon’s eyebrows raised at that.
“Then, on top of that, this very strange giant poinsettia plant was in his apartment and came with a card, a one-word note on it. Believe.”
Simon just considered her and swirled the wine around in his glass.
She kept her gaze on him, trying to glean something from his pensive expression. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” she asked, her tone gentle but firm.
He stared at her, still swirling the red liquid. “That may have something to do with why I crashed. I didn’t know it until I was deep … in a trance. And even now I’m not exactly sure what I heard.”
“Good enough,” she replied. “So, what did you hear?”
“Again, I’m not sure.” He described the little bit he saw. “She seemed to be praying. I really don’t know what that was, … whether really acting or praying to be released from something, but she asked to be saved.”
“Or,” Kate suggested, an odd note in her tone, “to become pregnant?”
“Ah,” Simon nodded. “That is also an option, isn’t it?”
“Some women desperately want to have children,” she noted, with a shrug. “It’s a big challenge for them if they can’t get pregnant.”
“I imagine it is,” he agreed.
“I haven’t ever had the urge to reproduce,” she stated. “So, it’s not something I can necessarily relate to. Yet I do understand that, for some women, it’s a very high priority. And particularly when, in some cases, the men put a very high value on it too,” she noted, for want of another word.
“Right. So, in other words, the men are telling their wives, You’re not a woman if you can’t procreate?”
“Something like that,” she said. He gave her a smirk, and she added, “No.”
“What do you mean, no?” he protested.
She shook her head. “Not going there right now. Definitely not. Now … back to what you saw.”
“You are incredibly focused,” he muttered, taking a sip of his wine. “Maybe I just want to enjoy my drink first, before getting intimate with the details of that dark vision.”
“That’s fine,” she replied. “However, you and I both know that, once you have that little bit of wine, some of what you have just seen will likely be lost and forgotten.”
“I’m surprised you don’t have a recorder out.”
She held up her phone, and, sure enough, the red light confirmed it was recording.
He slumped back and stared at her. “You know, for a cop who doesn’t trust anything I say …”
Her lips twitched. “For a cop who doesn’t know which way to think,” she corrected.
“How can I explain to my team what you saw when I cannot possibly recount all of it exactly? This is the easiest and simplest way to ensure nobody jumps to conclusions that it might have been such and such,” she explained.
“You and I both know a great deal of delightful reactions are had at the station when you come up with this stuff. I won’t however play it for anyone else, it is only for my own clarity. ”
He winced. “But not from you.”
She shrugged. “I definitely love parts about this. Yet, when I can’t see things, can’t hear things, can’t prove things, it makes my job even more difficult. I’m trying to be as open as I can, and that isn’t always easy.”
“I know,” he noted. “Which is why I really appreciate the fact that you give me a chance to explain before tearing apart what I just shared.”
She smirked. “I’m not trying to tear it apart, but, if I can dispute the notion that it’s incredibly useful, it makes it a bit easier to fight off everybody at work.”
“Do they really think I have something to offer?”
“Of course they do,” she muttered, “and you know it. You’ve been involved in enough of my cases to prove that.”
“Which you hate, by the way.”
She sighed. “If I suddenly decided to go into real estate or construction work, coming along with you to work, completely out of the blue, telling you how to do your job, how would you feel?”
He stared at her for a long moment, and then he burst out laughing. “That thought boggles the mind.”
“Exactly,” she agreed. “I mean, I can get things done with a hammer, but I am certainly not in a position to tell you how to do the things that you need to do for your rehabs.”
“Nope, you sure aren’t,” he acknowledged. His amusement was obvious as he kept chuckling to himself.
She asked him, “So, can you understand where I’m coming from?”
He waved his hand. “I understand totally. That is not an issue.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” she replied.
“And no,” he said, “I don’t really have anything else to offer. When I came home, I had an I need to go crash moment.”
He yawned again, and she frowned. “It really takes a lot out of you, doesn’t it?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “I know you want to stop that from happening to me, but I don’t think even you can control that.”
She glared at him and pointed out, “Somebody should be able to.”
“I would think that, if somebody should be able to, that somebody would be me,” he stated, laughing again. “And God knows that I haven’t exactly put too much dedicated time and effort into controlling this.”
“I don’t know about that,” she argued. “Seems to me that you have done as much as you could, as fast as you could. And I do thank you for all the assistance you have given us so far.” She hated that such a formal note filled her tone, but she meant it.
He narrowed his gaze at her. “Thanking me is one thing, but making me feel as if that’s all there is between us will just totally piss me off.”
She snorted. “I was just thinking that too—about how that would make you feel. And it’s not how I intended it, but it’s hard to thank you and have it not connected to my job,” she explained. “A lot of people in this world are doing much better now because of you.”
“And because of you,” he added. “Never forget that. You’re the one who never gives yourself any slack in the work that you do.”
“It’s hard,” she stated. “I always feel as if I should do more, could do more, would do more if …”
“And there will always be more of that,” he stated. “You and I both know that.”
She gave an irritable nod and then glanced over at the kitchen.
He sighed. “Sorry, I haven’t put two thoughts into food.”
“Okay,” she said, as she got up and walked over to see if there were any leftovers—or anything to possibly cook, like eggs. As she opened the fridge, she found it bare.
He chuckled. “Even if we wanted to cook,” he told her, “we don’t really have much in the way of choices. The contents of the kitchen leave much to be desired.”
“Yet, if we kept it full,” she suggested, “we could cook certain things on nights like this.”
“And, when you come home, tired and worn out, what is it that you would cook?” A hint of amusement filled his tone.
She glanced back at him and shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess, a couple fried eggs on a piece of toast,” she replied, as she opened up a drawer to see if he had any bread.
“And that’s not suitable for you to work on. You go through more calories in a day than a lot of people I know who have very heavy physical jobs.”