He sits as still as a statue for seconds, the wheels in his head turning. I wish I could see his eyes under the goggles. Wish I could read his face. Seems unfair he can read mine because I feel him studying it now. Then he turns away. "Fine."
"The others won't mind?"
"They won't care."
"Good," I say with a smile. I scoot the chair over so our arms touch. He doesn't pull away. "So. Show me how to hack into the Defense Department then I'll make us some sandwiches. Sound good?"
"Sounds great," he says after a pause.
"Then let's get started."
And for a brief second, he smiles too.
CHAPTER THREE
Dog Days
I get nightmares. A lot. Once a week on the good weeks and three on the bad. I wake up tangled in sweat stained sheets, panting like a dog. It's not always James Ryder tormenting me either, though he makes his fair share of appearances. No, sometimes it's Harry pressing a gun to my head or my mother shoving me off the Falls. Those I can handle. Some deep breaths, few minutes of television, and I'm back to my old self. No, it's the good dreams that ruin my day. The ones where I know it's a dream, that it's going to end, but I don't care because Justin's there and we're walking along the beach, or sailing, or just sitting on the couch talking like we used to. I always sense it coming to an end though. I beg and beg and cry and cry, and he just holds me, caressing and kissing my hair as I cling to him. Then he whispers, "I love you," kisses my lips and vanishes into thin air. It takes me a moment to realize he's gone, that he was never really there, and that I have to wake up now. When the veil of sleep lifts, it's as if the world has dropped out from under me again, and I can't stop crying because I still feel that kiss on my lips.
I can barely get out of bed on those days. My AA sponsor Marlene, a mother of three with her own troubles, has spent many an hour talking the bottle out of my hand after one of those. Hard to reach her when I'm in Tokyo though. Improvising, I woke poor Shannon to watch TV with me. She had to literally push me into the meeting with the telecom executives. Thank God Lane, our CFO, was there because I sure as hell couldn't concentrate. The Justin dreams are growing more frequent, not the once a month like usual, but twice a week for the past two weeks. I don't know if it's because the anniversaries are coming up or because of my new acquaintances. Both judging from the conversations Justin and I have in my dreams. It almost makes me want to sever ties. Almost.
The Triumvirate is effective. Been in town two weeks and not only have they arrested Gigantor, stopped Carrion from raising an undead army, and rescued another shipment of sex trafficked children, thus ensuring Oleg Casanov will spend the rest of his life in prison. Nightingale and I cracked that last one just a few hours before I had to leave for Tokyo. I got an anonymous e-mail with the news story and picture of the Triumvirate carrying teenage girls out of a ship container, then another the next day as Feds arrested several key members of the trafficking ring as I stepped off my jet. They also closed down several brothels and a kiddie porn ring. Wished I was there to celebrate with them, that is if they ever celebrate.
They are a serious bunch, especially Nightingale. It takes a lot to get him to talk, let alone smile. He grew friendlier as the days went on, even laughing when I smeared mustard on my nose and didn't know it. The other two only popped by once each and barely acknowledged me. At least they weren't hostile. I can't tell if they dislike me or think I'm inconsequential. Not that I give a shit but for the sake of being comfortable I hope those trafficking busts upgrades me from nuisance to ally in their eyes.
I arrive home from the Galilee airfield at seven in the morning after an eighteen hour flight, fall into my bed, and get to sleep five whole hours before Dobbs wakes me. I'm so exhausted I didn't even dream. I have a luncheon for the Restoration Society at one, and I would cancel but it's my friend Bitsy's event, and she takes it personally when I don't show. She's been surprisingly helpful since I "re-entered society" after Justin's death. She was pretty great, not leaving my side for the first few events and politely telling assholes to shove their comments as they came. I'd known most of the people for twenty years, but was considered an outsider, there solely because Justin needed an escort. Once Ward trash, always Ward trash. Not that it stops them from inviting me so their charity/party/event gets press coverage.
I put on my silk black/white/yellow swirl dress and huge floppy straw hat Isolde selected for this occasion. I'd look pretty damn good if not for the dark circles under my blue eyes. I'm too pale, close to sick looking even which makes my true black hair appear fake. Since it's a luncheon and I'll be sitting the whole time, I put on heels which adds a few inches to my 5"2' frame. I still look and feel like a kid playing dress-up.