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She sighed. “Yes. I hate dipping into people’s lives that way.”
“No choice.”
Another sigh. “I know.”
He drew her even closer. For the moment, the reason she was here, the reason they were all here, faded into oblivion. There was only the beach, the sunset, and the woman in his arms.
And he thought, A man could get used to this.
Not just a man.
Him.
• • •
By midnight, Bianca was asleep on the living room sofa. Annie was sprawled in a big leather chair, snoring lightly.
“Breathing hard, she’d call it,” Dec said with a little smile.
Chay looked up from his laptop. “So, what’s the deal?” he said quietly. “This a serious thing, or what?”
Dec sat back. “You know me, Olivieri. Hell, you know yourself. No room in our lives for anything serious, particularly when it comes to women… Although I seem to see some kind of change goin’ on with you.”
Just days ago, Chay would have laughed.
Not tonight.
He sat back too and looked at Sanchez.
“Sometimes life catches you by the short hairs,” he said, even more quietly. “Not that I know where this is taking me, you understand, but—but yeah, things, you know, things change.”
Dec nodded. “Damn right. Like—like I’m the one who won’t talk about anything beyond dinner tomorrow night or maybe, if I’m really into it, a weekend away.” He sighed. “But…”
“But?”
“But,” he said, jerking his chin towards Annie, “she’s the one who won’t talk about anything beyond tomorrow. Or, if I’m lucky, next week. And, man, you know how they say women are mysterious…”
Bianca sighed, rolled onto her back, opened her eyes and said, “What time izzit?”
Chay laughed. He rose from his chair, went over to her and drew her into his arms.
“My lady’s favorite question,” he said.
She flashed a sleepy smile. A minute later, Annie woke up. She and Bianca started making coffee, and Sanchez and Chay got back to work.
• • •
By two a.m. they had cleared all but five names on Bianca’s lists.
Five names.
Five histories. Five serious histories.
One of the instructors in her department, a guy she described as mild-mannered, even meek, had twice been arrested for assault. He’d beaten his ex-wife. Beaten her badly enough that she’d been hospitalized, but no charges had been filed, because she’d refused to press any.
A professor she’d studied with had a history of bizarre psychotic episodes. Under control as long as he took his
meds, but who knew if he was?
