Page 97 of ClickBack

“I’ll be around.” Graves gives her a little salute and leaves us there.

I point upstairs, then at my damp shirt. “Shower?”

She mutes the call. “Towels in the linen closet. And that is the last question you’re asking me until I take this headset off.”

I lean down and kiss her. She catches my shirt to keep me there for another one, then releases me and returns to the man’s missing records.

Upstairs, I know which door sticks and which handle needs lifting before it will latch. I get a towel from the linen closet, catching myself listening for her on the stairs. She said she had work to do. I turn on the shower.

After the shower, I eat in the kitchen. When Giselle comes in, she is still listening to her client. She sees the second container, looks at me, and mouths, “Mine?” I push it toward her. She steals a fry from my plate first.

I go to the living room and stretch out on her sofa. She is explaining the difference between missing information and information that doesn’t exist when I close my eyes.

The next thing I hear is, “Good morning.”

Giselle sits in the chair by the window, her laptop open. Sunlight has moved across the rug. I sit up and look for my phone.

“Forty-five minutes,” she says. “You were very committed to staying out of my way.”

“Call done?”

“Finally. He’s getting me the rest by Monday.”

I rub my face and look at her. “Could you take Friday off?”

“What for?”

“I want to take you skating.”

She stops with her hand above the keyboard. “During the day?”

“We’d leave in the morning. Get back late.”

“An entire day for skating?”

“Think you can handle it?”

“I’m wondering whether you can.” She looks at her calendar, makes a note, then closes the laptop. “I can move one call. What am I wearing?”

“Something comfortable. Bring socks.”

She comes over and sits beside me. “I move my workday, and you give me socks.”

“I’m protecting your feet.”

“Where are we going?”

“Let me surprise you.”

She studies me. I try to look like a man who can be trusted with a Friday. Apparently the effort helps, because she leans against me and says, “What time will I be home?”

“Around midnight. Could be later.”

“Jarrett.”

“We’re making a day of it.”

She picks a loose thread from my shirt. “I’ll tell Rae I’m unavailable.”