The Nostradamus File

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Selena saw the red light flashing on her answering machine as she came in the door. Usually the only calls on that line were telemarketers ignoring the do not call rule. She thought there was probably a special place in a particularly hot corner of hell for them and all their employers.

One message. She pressed the play button, ready to delete.

"Hi, Doctor Connor, this is Detective Hanson. Uh, sorry I didn't catch you in." There was a pause. "Anyway, I wanted to let you know there's nothing new yet on the guy who attacked you. I'd still like to have that drink with you. Give me a call, if you're up for it."

Hanson read off his phone number. The message ended.

Selena erased it, got a glass out of the cabinet and poured herself an Irish whiskey, a taste she'd picked up from hanging out with Nick. The liquor was strong and warm going down. She walked over to the couch and sat down.

She wasn't going to have a drink with Detective Hanson. What bothered her was that part of her wanted to. She didn't need that kind of complication right now. She took another swallow of whiskey.

Nick.

What did she want from him, exactly?

They weren't sleeping in the same bed anymore and it wasn't helping things between them. His nightmares made it impossible. He hadn't said much about his counseling sessions. She wasn't sure when he was going again. Something always seemed to come up.

She felt like she was treading water, waiting for something to happen that would define them as a couple, one way or another. Everything felt impermanent. She supposed there were worse things. They made a good team in the field and neither one of them would still be alive except for the other. It made for a strong bond. Just the same, knowing he could be killed made it hard to imagine a future together.

Working for the Project wasn't like it had been in the beginning, before she understood what it was really about. It was hard, dirty work, where people got killed. Where her friends were at risk. Where vicious and pathological enemies would do anything to get what they wanted.

She loved Nick, she was certain. She was pretty sure he loved her, but they were different in so many ways. Shared danger gave them something in common. But a relationship needed something more than shared danger to survive.

What about children? She had avoided thinking about children. The kind of work she did, Nick did, it wasn't a good situation for having kids. But she was almost 35. The old cliché about the biological clock popped into her mind. How much longer could she wait? Did she want children or not? If she didn't have children, her family line would stop. Cease to exist. Just like the Earl of Pembroke.

When the detective had asked for her number, she'd had a sudden image of the two of them in bed together. In some ways Hanson was like Nick. Strong, dark-haired, competent, unafraid. A rugged man who carried a gun.

Are you that shallow? she thought. Dark hair and a gun is enough to turn you on? She thought about Nick. A wave of unease swept through her. He could be killed, any time, any day. I could lose him in an instant. I've been pushing it away. How can I give everything over to someone who might leave me forever at any moment?

The next thought chilled her. He has to feel the same way about me. He already lost one lover.

For the first time, she sensed the fundamental problem between them. In her heart, she believed that whatever they had couldn't last. Not because he would leave her for another, or because she wanted someone else. Because a bullet or a bomb could snuff out either one of their lives in an instant.

It felt like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over her.

There was nothing to do but take it one day at a time. The thought didn't make her feel better, but she could handle one day at a time. At least she could handle it today.

She got up and poured another drink.