Page 99 of His Wall

I sat with the cup in my hands.

"Yeah. One more thing."

"Go."

I looked up.

"I'm in love with her."

The kitchen went quiet for a second. The baby monitor on the counter kept beeping.

Nolan almost smiled. Declan put his coffee down very carefully.

"Calder."

"Yes."

"The federal agent who lied to you for five months and is currently your assigned protective detail."

"Yes."

"Jules."

"I'm telling her tonight."

He looked at me for a long second.

He shook his head. The corner of his mouth curled up, just as it had at his bachelor party when I handed him a drink and toasted, To your last night as a free man.

"Of course you are."

"Do not get yourself shot, Jules," Nolan said.

"I am trying."

I was three blocks from my building at 4:12 a.m. when I made the turn onto Eleventh.

The street was empty. The linden trees were full. The doorman in the lobby of West Eleventh was awake at his post. He nodded at me through the glass as I came up. I lifted my hand at him without breaking stride. The elevator was already on the lobby floor. I rode it up to twelve.

I came off the elevator into the carpeted hallway.

I unlocked my door.

I stepped in.

The lamp by the couch was on.

I had not left the lamp by the couch on. I had killed it before I had walked out to call my partners. The vinyl was changed.

The Coltrane I had put on was gone from the spindle. In its place a record I had not played in months was turning quietly on the platter, the needle dropped, the volume down to nothing. Bach. The Goldberg Variations. Conrad's favorite piece of music when I had known him.

My stomach dropped.

I stayed in the doorway.

Conrad was on my couch.

Silver hair. The tailored gray suit from the gala. His legs crossed at the knee. A glass of my whiskey in his right hand. The signet ring on his fourth finger. He was looking at me across the room with the same warm pale-blue eyes he had been looking at me with for ten years.