Page 14 of Death is Familiar

Never mind, I had no idea where this was going. “Oh?”

“Our mutual friend used some very strong language telling me, in no uncertain terms, that I should have made sure that your needs were met. And that I should have consulted you before parading you around the FBI.”

“A heads up would have been nice,” I teased. The visit to FBI headquarters after closing the Almeida case had been terribly uncomfortable. Though I wasn’t sure I was in the position to turn down pieces of the job I’d accepted.

“So, at the risk of sounding insensitive. How soon would you be up for a new case?”

I knew what that meant. “You’ve got one already, don’t you?”

The look on his face was enough.

“Mm, thought so.” I brushed my mouth with the back of my hand. The conversation felt like it might become more serious, and I’d feel rather foolish carrying on with a sugar moustache. “And here I thought I’d get a full week of rest and relaxation.”

“There’s always another case, Delilah.” Jack’s attention zeroed in on my hand, the tulip brand, before I slipped it beneath the countertop, out of view. “The reason I’m asking you is to see if you need more time. To rest, to heal, whatever it is, I want to make sure you have what you need. But I also don’t want to make the mistake of assuming.”

The prospect of working a case actually felt like a good idea. Like it would be a suitable distraction while I figured things out. Even if the clock was ticking. “Does it involve getting beat up, shot at, or stabbed?”

“I’d prefer it didn’t, but it seems you are in the habit of attracting all sorts of trouble.”

I traced the lines of the countertop with the fingertips of my unmarked hand, thinking. Well, feigning thought, since I’d already made up my mind, and I didn’t want Jack thinking I was too eager.

“I’m in, but you’re the one who will have to deal with Todd if my ribs don’t heal properly.” I wished I was kidding. The longer they took to heal, the more I was convinced he was right about them being broken. “When do we start?”

“I’ll make sure you get your week. The team is putting together the brief.” Guess the time off didn’t apply to Fawzy, Thruppy, Kaatz, and Zhou. “We’ll go in the day after tomorrow… if you’re up for it.”

“You really know how to show a lady a good time.”

“You’re the one who said what we do is part of who we are.”

“Then next time I’ll come prepared to talk shop and wear my business pajamas.”

“Next time you can sleep over.” There was a sparkle in Jack’s eye. The mood shifted. And the idea of staying with Jack, at his house, was more than tempting.

I hip-checked him. “Can’t wait to see what you rent us.”

“Message received.” He straightened, gesturing with an open palm. “Stairs are this way.”

†

The rest of Jack’s house felt just as warm, just as luxurious.

The earth tones continued up the stairs and into the three bedrooms. One of which had been converted into an office, where it appeared Jack spent most of his time when not on site. There were files and papers in organized piles on the desk. Book-lined shelves. And lots of lockable drawers.

As we toured, I tried not to show too much interest in Jack’s bedroom. Though with the king-sized bed and crisp white linens, it was hard not to imagine myself tucked in under the sheets. It must have been like sleeping on a cloud. The thought alone was enough to heavy my eyelids, dragging the overwhelming urge to sleep along with it.

Ignoring any thoughts of my passenger, I blamed the donuts and the near full day of walking for the blooming fatigue I fought off as we climbed up another floor. Making comfortable, non-life altering, conversation, we reached the top of the stairs, abruptly bathed in natural light.

Woah.

I don’t know what I was anticipating, but the third floor was something else.

There were skylights. Art easels. Scrolls of paper rolled and stored on shelves. Spiral bound notebooks and notepads. A library of rolled canvas and paper.

An artist’s studio.

Suddenly invigorated, I crossed into the room to take a look at the work-in-progress on the easel. “You’re an artist?”

“I like to draw.” He shrugged. “Helps me clear my mind.”