Double Cross

Chapter 8

BREE’S WORDS HUNG IN the air for the next few seconds, which was a first-the first time I’d ever been at a loss for words with her.

“It just kind of slipped out. Who said that, anyway? Sorry. Sorry,” she said.

“Bree, I… why sorry?” I asked.

“Alex, you don’t need to say anything more. Neither of us does. Wow. Would you look at those stars!”

I reached and took Bree’s hand. “It’s okay. This is just happening a little faster than probably both of us are used to. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

Bree answered me with kisses, and then laughter, and more laughter. The whole thing could have been uncomfortable, but somehow it was just the opposite. I hugged her close, and we started to kiss again. I stared into her eyes. “Wow back at you,” I said.

And so the fact that her pager went off at that moment was… what? Poetic justice, I guess. Classic irony? The not-so-funny part was that I’d always been the one getting the cell-phone call at just the wrong time.

The pager inside the tent buzzed again. Bree looked over at me without moving.

“Go ahead,” I told her. “It’s yours. You have to answer it. I know the drill.”

“Let me just see who it is.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “See who it is.”

Somebody’s dead. We have to go back to DC.

She ducked inside. A few seconds later, I heard her talking on the phone. “This is Bree Stone. What’s going on?”

I was kind of glad for Bree that she was so much in demand. Kind of glad. I’d heard from my friend Detective John Sampson that her future with the department was as bright as she wanted to make it. Meanwhile, this call could mean only one thing. I looked at my watch. We could probably be back in the city by ten thirty or so. Depending on whether she wanted me to push it, something the R350 could certainly deliver on.

When Bree came out of the tent again, she had already traded in her shorts for jeans, and she was zipping up a hooded Georgia Tech sweatshirt.

“You don’t have to come. I’ll be as quick as I can. Back by breakfast, if not before then.”

I’d already begun gathering up our things. “And the check’s in the mail, and it’s only a cold sore.”

She laughed, sort of. “I’m really sorry about this. Shit, Alex. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. And pissed off.”

“Don’t be,” I said. “This was the perfect day.” And then, because I couldn’t help myself, and because I knew Bree wouldn’t be insulted by the change of subject, I asked, “So what’s the case?”