“I did try my pitiful best. You know, when I compare you to all the others, I have to say you’re flying really high, right up there near the top.”
He didn’t know where his laughter came from after everything that happened that day, but it burst out of his mouth. He hugged her to him, kissed her ear. “Do you know this is the same bed I slept in Friday night? It feels much better with you in it. The Sherlocks are good people, letting all of us invade them after they just got rid of me two days ago.”
“Do you think we were quiet enough?” Ruth whispered against his ear as her palm flattened over his belly.
“Since I put my hand over your mouth, I don’t think anyone heard us. Stop moving your fingers, Ruth, I’m nearly dead here. Wait, my heart just kicked back in, I can feel it, thank God. Do you want me to rise up and fly high again?”
Ruth grinned in the soft dim light thrown off by the lamp on the bedside table. “I remember how dear Lance could rise up and fly, anywhere at all, even in the shower. Goodness, now that I think about it, Lance could even sing.”
“How old was Lance?”
“I do believe he turned eighteen during our acquaintance. I thought about giving him a car for a graduation present, but he was such a rowdy lad he might have gotten hauled in by the cops for speeding, so I decided on a watch instead.”
“That means I’m going to have to lock Rob up in about a year and a half. No girl in Maestro will be safe.”
“Oh dear, Rob and Rafe are nearly that age—that certainly changes one’s perspective on things. Now that I think about it, Lance was twenty-one, maybe even twenty-two. Maybe it was a graduation present from college.”
Even as he grinned, realizing how really good he felt at this moment, reality climbed up on his chest and stared him in the eye.
“Stop it, Dix, come back here. Life is always out there, but neither of us have to face it every moment. Come back.” She took his hand, brought it down to his chest, and pressed her hand down over his. “It’s the strangest thing,” she said. “I can feel your heart through your hand.
“Another strange thing,” she continued. “Every day of the week you get up in the morning, chow down your peanut butter toast, navigate to the Hoover building hoping you won’t kill any of the idiots on the Beltway, and you arrive at your job, which is to hunt down murderers and various other sorts of psychopaths. Everything’s all nice and normal and expected, and then something weird happens, something that knocks you off your pins, something like this deal we’re in right now, and suddenly we’re not in Kansas anymore.
“But you know something? No matter what smacks me in the head, I know I won’t have to deal with it by myself any longer. You’ll always be there for me. It makes the world exceedingly nice, Dix.”
He came up onto his side, leaned over her, and riffled his fingers through her dark hair, all wild about her head, a beautiful contrast to her white skin, and those dark eyes that seemed to see all the way to his soul.
She touched her fingers to his cheek and heaved out a soft sigh. “I love you.”
She loved him? This incredible woman actually loved him? “You’ve never said that before,” he said.
“Now was the time,” she said simply. He was basking in what she’d said when she added, “On the other hand, I also love football, and thank the good Lord there’s only four more months to wait.”
He turned his hand palm up and twined his fingers with hers. “Now you’re doing your Ruth thing—mixing the utterly serious with a joke. What would you think,” he went on as he leaned up to nuzzle her jaw, “of getting married before football season starts? That way we’ll have a good week for me to fly high and sing arias to you in the shower before we’re yelling our heads off in front of the tube for the Redskins. And you know what would be really good about that?”
“Great sex whenever I want it?”
“That too. Better yet, it would mean no more questions, no more doubts, no more putting things off—”
“Just you and me and a big bed and a bigger—?”
“You gonna finish that thought?”
“And a bigger heart, Dix. I’m so glad I staggered into your woods. I would love to marry you. You and the boys are the center of my life now.”
He leaned down to press his forehead against hers. He felt the goodness in her, the bone-deep honor, and the strength. “Have you ever considered that maybe tracking down killers and psychopaths isn’t all that normal and expected?”
She kissed him, stroked her hand through his hair. “Nah. What I can’t understand is milking a cow or taking apart a smoking motherboard.”
He grinned, fell onto his back, felt her hand move to lie flat on his belly again. He lay quietly, finally heard her breathing even into sleep. No wonder. Both of them were tired to the bone, what with the long flight from Richmond, then dropping her off here at the Sherlocks’ because of his decision to see Charlotte as soon as possible. He’d tried to get some information out of her, anything at all they could use about her and her husband, but she had cut it short. He had no idea if she really wanted to see him again, or was pretending. When he’d told Ruth he might have to play-act at seducing her, she’d merely nodded, and said in that no-nonsense way of hers, “It’s your call, Dix.”
After he’d left Charlotte, he’d stood by his rental car a moment and felt cold to his soul. He knew something wasn’t right about Charlotte. He knew too that something really bad was out there that concerned Christie, waiting for him to find it.
Savich and Sherlock, with Sean and his nanny Graciella, had arrived a little after six o’clock, welcomed by all, especially Sherlock’s parents. Isabel called out over their heads that she’d made her baby’s favorite sausage enchiladas.
Sean had yelled “Yes!” until told by his mother that she was Isabel’s baby, not him. Sean had looked puzzled a good long time about that.
Of course, there’d been more discussions, more plans made over a big pot of coffee—until all of them, in their pajamas and their jet lag—were shooed off to bed by Mrs. Sherlock.
And now, as Dix lay in the sinful big bed, Ruth’s head on his shoulder, he thought of the endless string of lies he’d told the boys, and felt the knife of guilt twist in his gut. And if that wasn’t enough, he realized he hadn’t told Ruth he loved her. What a moron he was. What was a marriage proposal without at least some mention of love? He was an idiot. He’d tell her first thing in the morning when she awoke, warm and soft with sleep.
His last thought before he fell asleep, his face against Ruth’s hair, was about Christie. I’m going to find out what happened to you, Christie. I’m going to find you justice. And then I’m going to let Ruth share my heart with you.
CHAPTER 36
Cheney stood at the front window of his condo, leaning to his left so he could manage a glimpse of his partial view of the Golden Gate. Julia was asleep on his sofa, sprawled on her back. He was glad she’d wanted to come home with him, away from the media, the crime scene tape, the neighbors, and maybe another visit from Makepeace. Suddenly she said clearly, in an anguished voice, “Linc, oh Jesus, no! Linc!”
She began to sob, deep wrenching sobs, and she wept, saying over and over, “Linc, oh no, please Linc. Don’t leave me. No!”
He gathered her up, rocked her. “Julia, wake up. You’re okay, it was a nightmare. Come on, wake up.”
She did immediately, staring up at him in the dim moonlight coming through the front window.
“You had a nightmare. You’re okay now.”
It took her a moment to gain control. “Thank you, Cheney. I guess with all the stress, those nightmares are slipping right in.”
He wondered how often she dreamed of Linc, but now wasn’t the time to ask. “You want some warm milk or something?”