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She turned to see him entering the breakroom. He offered her a slightly sad smile and poured her a mug. “Here you go. Black like your soul.”
A memory came to her mind, sharp, clear and unbidden, of the first time he had said that to her. It was the morning after they had finally given in to their attraction, weeks of flirting and teasing finally culminating in frenzied passion and release. She had woken up in his bed and come to the kitchen to find him cooking breakfast. At the time, no one had ever done that before, and the smell of the bacon and coffee combined with the ridiculous sailboat boxers he wore was, to Faith, the pinnacle of romance and pleasant domesticity.
He had smiled at her and said, “Good. You’re awake. I made us coffee. The beautiful cappuccino with perfect microfoam is mine. The liquid representation of your black and bitter soul is yours.”
That was the moment she decided she loved him, and for that moment, she was absolutely certain that they would spend the rest of their lives together.
Back in the present, she took the mug he offered and managed a “thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said, “I’ve gotten used to carrying you.” He lifted his hand and quickly clarified. “Joking. That was a joke.”
She managed a transient half-smile and sipped her coffee. It was indeed black and very, very bitter.
“I talked to Dr. Heath and Sergeant Forster while you were asleep,” Michael said, preparing his own coffee. “They’ve searched thirty percent of the abandoned shelters and silos in the region so far.”
“Is that good?”
“They seem to think it is. I get the impression that farms out here are just allowed to sit and rot. Demolition is not something that matters much when you have a population density of six per square mile.”
“So they’ve made progress.”
“Well, they’ve looked,” Michael replied, “but they haven’t found anything.”
“And still no connection between the two locations?”
He shook his head. “So far no, other than that they were within an hour of each other, which to Iowa is apparently a very reasonable drive.”
She smirked. “Aww, are you missing the big city?”
“I am, but that’s not the point,” he said, not reacting to her teasing. “The point is that we might only have two bodies, and the only connection betweenthemis their online friendship with Ulysses. If that’s the case, then things start looking a little bleaker for Mr. Pratt.”
“And a little better for us,” she pointed out.
He shook his head. “That’s just the thing. I don’t think it looks better for us. Pratt doesn’t seem like our guy.”
“If the evidence fits…”
“Well, that’s the problem. The evidence doesn’t fit. There’s not enough of it for it to fit.”
The door of the breakroom opened, and a somewhat miffed duty sergeant—not the one from the previous night—gestured inside. A very relieved Turk barked and leaped up to kiss Faith.
“Your dog freaked out a little when he didn’t see you,” the sergeant said curtly. “Started barking and growling and whining, sniffing at everything.”
“Thank you,” Faith said, hoping to cut off any further complaint.
She wasn’t successful. The sergeant cast a look of naked contempt her way and asked, “Any idea when I can have my conference room back? Bullpen’s in an hour.”
“We’ll let you know,” Faith replied. “In the meantime, you can do your bullpen somewhere else.”
The sergeant glowered at her, and when Faith offered no apology or consideration, she looked at Michael. Michael’s expression remained wooden, and the sergeant rolled her eyes and left them without another word.
“I guess I would understand if I were in her shoes,” Michael offered. “It’s kind of a dick move to show up unannounced, flash a badge and say, ‘Hey, we outrank you, let us use all your stuff.’”
“They contacted the Bureau,” Faith said, “They know we’re kosher.” She finished the last of her coffee and rinsed her mug. “Besides, I’m cleaning up my mess. See?”
He shrugged. “So what’s on the agenda for today?”
“We should have one more go at Pratt. He’s had the night to sober up. Maybe he’ll be thinking more clearly, and we can learn something useful.”
