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“He’s not,” I said. I gathered up my empty snack bag and water bottles, and opened the door. “Thanks, Greg. I appreciate you giving your time to do this even if it didn’t work out.”
“I’m in forensics,” he said. “We’re used to null results. The ones where you actually find the killer—those are pretty rare. Well, anyway, I’m happy to have gotten to know you a little. Hope to see you again, sometime.”
I nodded and watched him back up and drive away. He didn’t look nearly as tired as I felt.
Andy did. He stayed where he was, standing on the porch with his arms folded, as I walked up the steps toward him. “Friend of yours?”
“His name’s Greg,” I said. “He’s a forensic tech. Prieto arranged for us to cover one of the dump sites last night, just in case the killer was following the same pattern.”
“Doesn’t seem likely.”
“You’d be right about that since nothing happened.” I covered a yawn. “I’m sorry, honey. I should have told you, but I forgot, then you were gone. Did you find out anything?”
“Not as much as I’d hoped,” he said. He opened the door for me and stepped aside to let me go first—unconscious chivalry, something ingrained in him so deeply, I doubted he even knew he was doing it. “It wasn’t safe for you to be out there on your own.”
“Wasn’t safe for me? Andy, you didn’t even tell me where you’d gone! And you know I don’t like it when we’re apart.”
He locked the door behind us. “Don’t you even tell me to be careful. I fought a zombie war, in case you forget. I’m not made from spun sugar.”
“It’s not that,” I said softly. “But what if—what if the longer we’re apart, the thinner the connection between us? I can’t help but think that it’s dangerous for you to be out there without me. Not physically dangerous. Magically dangerous.”
He was already shaking his head. “You need to stop worrying.”
“I know, but I just don’t understand how you’re still here. Still … alive. It defies all the laws of magic I understand, and it scares me that you could just be … gone one of these days.”
That made him look at me, and some of the tension eased out of his face. He reached out and took me in his arms—not holding me close, just … holding. “Sweetness,” he said softly, “I thought you’d guessed by now that there’s only one person in this life who can undo what brought me back. You.”
“Me?”
“You stop loving me, and that connection will spin right out of my control,” he said. “The dark will have me. It’s always there, waiting, but you keep me here. The minute you don’t want me, the minute you turn your back on me, that’s the minute I start to die again.” He sounded casual, but there was something serious about the expression in his face, the tightness around his eyes and mouth.
He was afraid of that, at least a little.
“Never happen,” I said. I felt crazily better, and this time, I almost laughed. “Never, ever, ever happen, Andrew. Thank God. If that’s all we have to worry about, we’ve got nothing at all to worry about.”
He kissed my fingers, and that was the end of that, at least from my perspective. My heart felt warm and peaceful, but when I looked over, I saw that he still had that drawn, tight expression. What he’d just said had eased my mind, but it hadn’t eased his. I didn’t know why, or how to fix it. Sometimes, there were black chasms of misunderstandings between us; we came from different eras, different beliefs, different lives. And I wondered if, way down, he might not believe that I really did love him, all evidence to the contrary.
“I think I’m going to call in sick,” I told him, and that got a smile, a slow and very wicked one.
“Works better if somebody calls in for you,” he said. “Being all concerned. Which I am.”
“I’m not so sure that’s a—”
It was too late. Andy picked up the phone and dialed; he knew my work number by heart. Ten seconds later, he must have gotten an answer. “Yes, ma’am, I’m calling for Holly Anne Caldwell … no, I know she’s not there, ma’am, she’s here with me. Yes, she’s sick. Got some terrible fever. I’m putting her to bed right away. I figure it’s contagious, too, she’s coming out in red spots. May need a doctor. Me? I’m her minister. Reverend Toland.” He fended off my attempts to get the phone away from him; when he was really trying, butter wouldn’t melt in Andy Toland’s mouth, and he sounded utterly convincing. “Yes ma’am, thank you, I’ll let her know. Hope she’s better tomorrow. Thanks.”
He hung up and spread his hands in a gesture that made me smack him on the arm. “Seriously! They’re going to send me a fruit basket now! You couldn’t just tell them I had a cold?”
“Had to make sure they let you off, didn’t I? Now, you need to do what I said. Go right on to bed.”
I was still caught between outrage and delight, and delight finally won. “All right,” I said. “You want to come with me?”
He gave me a crooked smile, and said, “Ma’am, I am a minister, you heard me say it on the phone. I minister to your needs just as often as I can, but I promise, not today. You crawl in and sleep, and I’m going to go talk to those two resurrection witches you said weren’t telling you the truth.”
That drove away the cobwebs for a moment. “Andy—”
He kissed me—sweet and light and undemanding, this time. “You go on,” he said. “I’ll get you up for lunch. Then we’ll see what we do about making up for lost time between the two of us.”
He was right, I did need the rest; I was asleep practically from the moment my head hit the pillow.
