"You'd love that, wouldn't you?"
"This is not about me."
"Isn't it?" She opened the Jeep door, then offered him a mocking smile. "Isn't it, Bishop?"
He stood there and watched her drive away, and didn't give a damn that at least two passersby quite definitely heard him angrily mutter, "Shit.".
NINE
Friday, January 14
Alex finished his second cup of Swiss-chocolate-flavored coffee and idly watched Liz moving around behind the counter. He had no business drinking anything with this much caffeine in it so late in the day; another sleepless night lay ahead of him. And he had no business watching Liz either.
Cravings always seemed to be bad for a man.
His, at least.
"More?" Liz asked.
"Better not. I'm off for the day, so staying awake isn't a big concern."
Liz glanced around to make sure none of the other half dozen or so customers needed anything, then leaned her elbows on the counter. "I guess nothing much is happening, huh?"
"Not much, no. We've been trying to find out if Steve Penman knew something that might have made him dangerous to somebody, but—"
"Because of what I said to Agent Bishop?" Liz looked both astonished and disconcerted.
Alex had to smile at her. "You started us asking. And when Amy Fowler told us Steve had made some kind of comment about there being several other guys who'd wanted to get Adam Ramsay, it started to look more likely. But that's as far as we've been able to get. Amy swears Steve wasn't specific, and nobody else we've questioned has added anything useful."
Liz lowered her voice. "I overheard some customers talking, and they said Teresa Grainger came to the Sheriff's Department this morning in hysterics, demanding to be able to bury her little girl."
"Yeah, she did," Alex said grimly. "I've never seen anybody so wild. Her eyes were like saucers and she was talking so fast you could hardly understand her. A couple of deputies were trying to calm her down, but she didn't want to be touched and sure as hell didn't want to calm down. Some of us were afraid she was going to try to grab a gun and shoot somebody."
"What happened?"
"Oddly enough, Bishop took care of it. He got to the reception area about two steps ahead of Randy, and never hesitated. Went right up to Teresa and put his hands on her shoulders, said something to her none of us was close enough to hear — and it was like flipping a switch. She quieted down completely, sat when he led her to a chair, and waited right there without another word until Doc Shepherd and her sister got there to take her back home."
"Maybe the Noah isn't such a surprise after all," Liz murmured.
"What?"
"It's not important." Liz frowned. "How's Randy holding up?"
Alex shook his head. "Maybe it's the pressure of the investigation getting to her, I don't know — but there's definitely something wrong. She's popping aspirin like candy, wearing sunglasses when she never used to before, and when she does let you see her eyes they don't look right."
"In what way?"
He thought about it. "Almost. . . glazed somehow. There's an odd, flat shine to them, like you're looking through something else first. It's weird."
"Have you asked her about it?"
"I've asked her if she's okay. She says it's just a bad headache and for me not to worry about it."
"Maybe that's all it is."
"Yeah. Maybe."
Hesitantly, Liz asked, "How are she and Bishop together? I mean, how do they act around each other?"
"That's another weird thing. At first, they seem fine. Professional, polite, even moments of friendliness as far as I can see. But the longer the two of them are in the same room, the more the tension builds. It's actually a tangible thing, I swear to God it is. You feel jittery yourself, catch yourself drumming your fingers against a desk or tapping your foot."
Still tentative, Liz asked, "Has anyone else noticed it?"
Alex knew what she was thinking. "I'm not jealous, if that's what you mean. I've told you I don't think about Randy that way."
"I didn't—"
He waved a dismissive hand, ignoring her flush, and went on. "Yeah, everybody else has noticed it. I've heard some of the other deputies talking about it, in fact. You can't help but notice. If you look around, you see everybody in the room watching them the way you'd watch a crystal vase on a shelf you know is about to give way. And then their voices get this edge to them, and one or the other of them finds some reason to leave the room. And it starts all over again the next time they're together."
"Who usually leaves?" Liz asked, a touch of embarrassment lingering in her voice.
"Randy," he answered promptly. "She shuts herself in her office for a while, that closed door daring any of us to bother her. And every time it happens I get the feeling Bishop wants to kick something."
"You do realize . . . they were involved once."
Alex gazed at her curiously. "Randy more or less admitted it. But how did you know?"
"Yesterday I saw Bishop looking at her."
"And that was enough?" he asked wryly.
"Well... for me."
He didn't push her. "I don't know their story, but I do know it isn't over yet. Problem is, they either can't or won't settle things between them. So there's this tension building, like steam inside a pot. And sooner or later the lid's going to blow sky high."
"Is it interfering with work?"
"So far, no." He paused. "Not that there's all that much work going on, to be honest. I mean, constructive work. All we can do is keep going over and over the same ground, trying to pick up something we missed before. Even Bishop and Tony Harte are reduced to rearranging the pictures on the bulletin board to make the puzzle look different."
"I thought the other agent — that doctor — was supposed to be running some kind of tests that might help."
"Yeah, well, it turned out she needed a better lab than what she brought with her, and way more than anything we could offer. She flew back to Quantico last night. And unless they're not telling me everything, she still hasn't told Randy or Bishop what it is she suspects about those bones."
Liz was called away by another customer, and when she came back Alex made getting-ready-to-go motions like leaving money on the counter despite her protests and picking up his hat.
"Carolyn's going to work tonight, so I'm going home in an hour," she said, "and I made a big pot of stew this morning before I came in. If you don't have anything else planned, why not help me eat it?" The invitation was light, but a slight flush rose in her cheeks.
Alex knew he had no business accepting, but the prospect of spending an endless evening alone in his own house held absolutely no appeal. So he closed his mind to the little voice warning him that he'd be sorry. "That sounds great, Liz. Thanks."
"I should have everything ready by seven," she said. "But come earlier if you feel like it."
She was always so careful, he reflected with a pang. So careful to make her invitations casual, companionable, and nothing more. Maybe it was because she and Janet had been friends. Or maybe it was just because the tea leaves had told her he was still in love with his dead wife.
"I'll bring a bottle of wine," he said, matching her nonchalance.
Bonnie moved her fingertips in a gentle circular motion on Miranda's temples. "Better?"
"Yes, much better. Thanks, sweetie."
Standing behind her sister's chair, Bonnie continued the soothing massage. "It's just a temporary fix, you know that. The headaches aren't going away until—"
"I know, I know."
"Are you sure this is the right way, Randy?"