“Was he attracted to you? And let me remind you that I expect nothing but honesty.”
She acknowledged what he said last with a nod. The light in the bird’s cabin was dim, but a small bulb burned brightly — beautifully — on her head, highlighting her blond hair. “I think so.”
“You think so? You don’t know?” Holmes sat back. “No feeling in your gut?”
His questions flew at her. She knew he wanted directness more than anything, difficult as it was becoming for her.
“Yes, I think he was attracted to me.”
“What makes you think so?”
“The way he looked at me. He… he wanted to kiss me. I held the moment as long as I dared, but looked away in time.”
“In time?”
“I didn’t think I should let him.”
“You thought he would have, though?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Here’s a tougher question. And let me say that there’s no right or wrong answer, Agent Anders. Only an honest one. Were you attracted to him? Was there any spark that you felt?”
Oh, shit. There was always a right or wrong answer. Don’t kid yourself.
“You did feel a spark, or you wouldn’t have paused,” Holmes asserted.
She nodded again “Yes, there was a spark. But I would never, ever compromise an investigation or my standing at the Bureau, or with your agency, by bowing to any kind of personal impulse. I’d never let that get in the way.”
Holmes smiled. She felt the fool. But what she’d said was true, painfully so. But what she had not told Holmes was that the spark was a bonfire that warmed her even now.
Holmes spoke to the pilots: “Take us back to Quantico.” He turned to her. “Have you seen enough of this?”
“Yes, but we were just talking about Ruhi.” She cringed inwardly when she heard herself use his given name, the way it hinted freely at the intimacy that she felt even as she flew high above the city.
But Holmes ignored that, telling Candace that he’d nominated her for the National Intelligence Distinguished Service Medal.
“Really? I mean, thank you, sir. It’s not necessary. I was just doing my—”
He waved her quiet. “It is necessary because you did your job superbly. As you did just now.”
“I’m sorry, really sorry that I was attracted to him.”
“No need to apologize, Agent Anders. Your answer means…” He paused, as if perplexed, when she began shaking her head.
“I know. I’m off the case,” she said.
“Quite the opposite. You’re very much on it, and it may take a turn in the near future that could prove surprising to you. You see, Agent Anders, you only confirmed what I strongly suspected.”
“Could I ask what you mean, sir?”
“Yes, and I would have been disappointed if you didn’t have the gumption to do so. It would have indicated a sorry lack of curiosity for a professional in our field. But I’m afraid I can’t tell you. Not yet. Just don’t make any plans that will take you more than an hour from the city by car.”
And that’s where Holmes left it as they touched back down at Quantico.
Holmes had ample reasons to suggest that Agent Anders had been attracted to Ruhi Mancur. Close monitoring of the detainee in his sleep had revealed him mumbling “Candace” on several occasions. It was Holmes’s long-considered opinion that attraction deep enough to make a man mutter a woman’s name in his sleep with such obvious longing was rarely one-sided, at least among the saner members of the species. And Ruhi Mancur, in the deputy director’s view, was eminently sane. So much so that Holmes planned to schedule another appointment in the very near future — with the detainee himself.
In the morning, Lana could barely rouse Emma from a deep sleep. She gave up for the time being and checked on Irene, who was still snoring at seven thirty, which was highly unusual. On the few nights when she had used the guest room, Irene had never awakened later than six a.m.
Well, best to let her sleep, Lana thought. God knows, Emma could drain the energy of a nuclear reactor these days, especially when the girl was feeling grumpy.
But she hadn’t been tetchy last night. She’d actually been loving.
Lana got ready for work, and downed a quick cup of coffee before deciding that it was time to make another attempt at waking the girl, to see how she was feeling. Regardless of her condition, though, Emma would not be heading to classes. That was because Kressinger schools were still closed. Education officials still appeared too shaken to open the doors, which Lana found profoundly wrongheaded. If firefighters and cops and other first responders could be on the job, so could district administrators and teachers.
“Emma?”
Lana sat on the bed, running her hand over her daughter’s forehead. The girl turned away, saying, “I’m sleeping.”
“I’m going to work. Is there anything you need?”
“No, I’m good,” she mumbled.
“How’s your throat? Can you tell me? Come on, look at me.”
Emma faced her. “It hurts. It’s strep to the tenth power.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Lana wondered if Emma actually knew what “to the tenth power” meant. She hoped so. It would suggest that her math skills were on the upswing. “Do you need a painkiller?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“You’re sounding a little better.”
“But it hurts so bad.”
Lana handed her a Tylenol with codeine and a glass of water. “Here you go.”
Emma took the glass and swallowed the painkiller. “Thanks,” she managed.
“How are things with Irene?” Lana asked.
“She’s all right.”
“I’m glad that’s working out. I need to go into the office. I’ll wake her now.”
“I just want to sleep.” Emma rolled over.
Lana left, treading lightly on the floor. Less lightly when she reached the guest room. She poked her head in, saying, “Irene, are you awake?”
It was, no kidding, like raising the dead. But once Lana saw Irene sitting up, she told the babysitter that she was leaving but could be texted at any time.
Moments after Lana drove away from her stately abode, Irene trudged heavily into Emma’s room and plopped down on the side of the bed.
“You awake?” she asked the girl, who was now lying on her back.
With no response forthcoming, Irene took the pill bottle and emptied out three Tylenol with codeine. She grabbed Emma’s glass and tossed them back in a single swallow.
“You are so busted,” Emma said, opening her eyes fully. “I saw what you did. I saw you do it last night, too.”
Irene reddened. “I don’t know what you are talking about. You are on drugs. You must be seeing things. Hallucinating.”
“Yeah, I sure thought I was seeing something all right. Give me that bottle.”
Irene hesitated, and then handed over the prescription bottle. Emma put it in the nightstand drawer.
“Let’s go watch cable,” she said.
Irene, already leaning to the side, nodded, which may or may not have been the effect of the opiates. Regardless, she smiled, and that did look genuine, if loopy.
Irene trailed Emma into the living room, and the pair assumed their respective positions: Emma stretched out on the couch, Irene flopped onto the recliner.
“You took my pills, so break out the breakfast,” Emma said. “I know what you’re hiding.”
With great effort, Irene pulled out a huge box of Godiva chocolates that she’d stashed under the couch. Though her efforts were clumsy, she managed to pry the top off.
Emma picked out three coconut creams and a couple of dark-chocolate cherries.
“Bon appétit,” she said, handing the box back to Irene, who fumbled around for a milk-chocolate caramel.