Smiling at the wayward locks of blond hair mussed by sleep and the sheet wrapped around Shelby's middle, she resisted the urge to straighten out the bedding and cover her up, not wanting to wake or frighten her. You look so content. What are you dreaming about? In a self-deprecating moment, Kris was glad it didn't parallel the nightmare visions of her dreams.
She briefly wondered why the nightlight burned. Kris had studied people for years in order to better learn how to blend in with the local populace when on an assignment, and one thing she'd learned over time was that there was usually an underlying reason for each habit a person exhibited.
The operative suddenly felt a surge of protectiveness toward this virtual stranger. Kris backed out of the doorway, unsettled by the intensity of her reaction and struggling to bury the troubling emotion. She was finally able to do so only by forcing her real identity into her mind's eye, and along with it, the distancing she had developed in order to survive.
After a quick detour to the bathroom, Kris entered the kitchen, turning on an overhead light. She saw the tell-tale red light of a timer glowing from the coffee maker on the speckled beige Formica counter and switched it off to start the coffee brewing as she studied the kitchen. The night before, her assessment of the apartment had been general impressions made primarily from a security standpoint. Alone now, she could study the decor unobserved and hopefully gain some insight into her new partner. Kris' analytical mind refuted the justification that her interest was solely professional. With steely resolve she quelled the doubts that plagued her, unwilling to admit any personal curiosity.
Kris scanned the tiny room with an eye trained to notice the smallest details. It was little more than a wide aisle between the dining room and hall, and she decided it would be a tight fit for more than one person at a time. A white refrigerator and stove were centered on one side with a sink and dishwasher on the other, all the appliances surrounded by cupboards. Thinking of Shelby's short stature, Kris opened a cupboard over the refrigerator out of curiosity. She had expected it to be empty, but instead found a cache of cooking herbs and spices. Makes sense. Stuff she probably doesn't use every day.
She looked into the dining room, her eyes skimming the bookcase she had examined the previous night, then turned her attention to a matching bookcase that was filled with more traditional ware of hardback and paperback books. Kris' eyes skipped over the college textbooks and lingered on the other titles, which included quite a variety of reading material ranging from sagas like The Clan of the Cave Bear to thrillers, most notably, Silence of the Lambs. Finishing her perusal, the operative concluded that Shelby's favorite reading material was probably romance and mysteries, but it was difficult to ascertain for sure because of the mishmash of other genres evidenced in the bookcase.
She turned her attention to a picture on the wall. It was a still-life painting of a single pink rose, elegant in its simplicity and a sharp contrast to the magical creatures displayed in the bookcase. Kris glanced quickly at the papers spread over the table, discerning that Shelby was taking an online course on investigative techniques. She smiled, impressed. You don't intend to be caught short, do you?
Very demanding, high-pitched mewing interrupted her thoughts. She looked down at the little ragamuffin and grinned. "Come on. Your food is in the kitchen." Kris quickly opened a small can of food and dumped it into the dish Shelby had left on the floor. Watching the kitten bolt it down, her thoughts turned back in time.
Her mother had come home from work carrying a covered basket. She set it on the floor and said, "Happy birthday, Natasha."
She frowned and looked up at her mother. Even at the tender age of five she knew they were very poor and to receive a gift was incomprehensible to the young child.
"Go ahead and look," her mother encouraged.
Not needing a second invitation, she had opened the lid of the basket and her eyes widened in surprise as she lifted out a tiny white kitten. She had asked her mother for a kitten many times, but her mother had steadfastly refused, saying they could not afford to feed a cat. Gently holding the kitten close, she rubbed her cheek softly against its fur, smiling delightedly. "Thank you, Mama. I love it." She carefully set the kitten back in the basket and threw herself into her mother's embrace, her thin arms dwarfed by her mother's stature. She promised her mother, "I'll share my food with it."
Her mother had kissed her head. "Igor said that if you help him around the store each day after school, he will pay you with food for the kitten."
"I will, Mama. I'll help him every day!"
She had, too, until her life spun irrevocably out of control . . .
Kris consciously cut the recollection off. It had been years since she had allowed that memory to surface, and she was angry that it had slipped past her defenses now. What's wrong with me, anyway? It's gotta be this damn case. Shaking her head, she resolutely ignored the inner voice that suggested, More likely your new partner. She's getting to you.
The operative stalked to the balcony door, threw aside the drapes, unlocked it and stepped outside. Dawn had barely begun to lighten the sky and she stayed in the shadows while carefully scanning the parking lot for anything that appeared unusual. Kris relied heavily on a finely honed sixth sense that alerted her to danger and when her visual scan revealed nothing, her instincts corroborated that finding.
Shelby was a problem, and Kris knew she needed to regain control of her emotions to avoid any more lapses. Damn woman isn't making it any easier, either. Discovering the relationship between operatives' locations and the assassinations had required a very organized, intelligent approach. Then she worked relentlessly, even skipping lunch to prove herself. Why? What does she care what I think? And she has to go and insist on cooking for both of us and even tries to give me her bed. Why couldn't I have gotten some dull, boring analyst?
Shelby woke to the smell of brewing coffee and glanced at her alarm clock noting it was only 5:30. Much more interested in spending time with the enigmatic operative than staying in bed, she decided to forgo the extra hour of sleep and got up, donning her robe.
She was greeted by a gray fur-ball sitting contentedly next to an empty dish, thoroughly cleaning her face with a paw. "You are too cute!" Shelby bent down and stroked the kitten a couple of times, before standing up and letting the kitten resume her bath.
Kris must have gone back to bed. Quietly walking into the living room, she saw an empty couch and slightly separated drapes. Shelby moved so that she could see through the small opening and gazed at the tall operative standing on the small balcony in just her long white nightshirt. A steady breeze was blowing wisps of hair across her face, but Shelby could see a far away, troubled expression on the other woman's countenance. She wondered what demons haunted Kris, yet knew any attempt to find out would be rebuffed, so she returned to the kitchen with an alternative approach in mind.
Kris had been lost in her thoughts and whirled around when she felt a presence behind her. Her resolve to distance herself began to fade when she saw Shelby standing there in a pink cotton robe with locks of hair lying every which way, smiling warmly and holding out a cup of coffee.
"It was ready. Thought you might like a cup."
"Thanks." Kris raised an eyebrow. "Where's yours?"
"I left it inside. I didn't know if you wanted any company."