Spense glanced down at his hand, watching it curl into a fist in slow motion. His arm drew back, then sprang forward. He heard a loud crack and saw Grady’s chin snap back from his first jab, then again when he punched him square in the face.
His knuckles stung and vibrated.
Webber tottered back, and crumpled to the floor, blood gushing from his nose.
Then he looked up at Spense . . . and smiled.
Back at the hotel, Caitlin rushed into the bathroom and bolted the door behind her. The irony of locking herself in against the man she loved, after having left a door wide open to a man she loathed didn’t escape her.
It was an empty gesture on her part, since unlike Grady, Spense would never intrude on her privacy. But she’d wanted him to hear the click of the lock, hoping his gut would clench at the sound, the way hers had sickened when she’d heard his fist connect with Grady’s chin.
She sat down on the edge of the tub and turned on the water, then absently watched as it circled down the drain.
Like Spense’s career.
She dipped her hand in the water, shook the droplets from it, then turned off the faucet and stood up.
Don’t be ridiculous.
Spense was far too valuable to the FBI, and far too admired by his peers for one punch to end his illustrious career. But it might get him disciplined, and most certainly would get him tossed off the case, if Grady pursued the matter. And from the way Grady had gotten to his feet, practically gloating about needing a hankie for his bleeding nose, it was clear he intended to do Spense as much harm as possible. It wouldn’t surprise her a bit if Grady had something like this up his sleeve the whole time.
She kicked the base of the toilet, and then took off her shoe and rubbed her throbbing foot. She shouldn’t have told Spense about the bathroom incident in the first place.
No. That wasn’t right. She should’ve told him, and he should’ve acted like a reasonable adult.
“Caity.” Spense rapped on the door. “You okay in there?”
“Fine.”
He knocked again.
“Can I come in?”
She sighed. Now who was being childish?
“I’m coming out.”
She opened the door, and there he stood, arms open, a look of contrition on his face. She could either brush past him and be miserable the rest of the night . . . or . . . she fell against him. “Dammit, Spense. I wish you hadn’t done that.”
She waited for him to say he wished he hadn’t too, but he didn’t.
He kissed the top of her head, then her eyelids, then finally, and softly, he kissed her lips. Instinctively, she opened her mouth for him, and for one moment, forgot everything except the deliciousness of being kissed by a man who knew her every weakness. Had she not run out of breath, said kiss might’ve ended the discussion once and for all. Summoning all her will she came up for air and stepped out of his embrace.
His arms dangled slowly back to his sides. “I’m sorry that I upset you. But I’m not sorry I decked him. I’d do it again—”
She stopped him by pressing her fingers to his lips before he said something to make her regret the moment they’d just shared. She’d cooled off, and she had something important on her mind. “You know it was wrong, but I don’t want to keep going around and around about it. It’s over and done. I’d like to forget it entirely, but I don’t think that’s wise. Grady has ammunition against you, now—if he chooses to use it. So I’d suggest you shut up and let me get to work.”
“Get to work on what?”
“The best defense is an offense. Did you copy the files of Grady’s sessions with Laura?”
Spense tilted his head. “You’re thinking his records might reveal some unethical practices . . .”
“We can kill two pigeons at once. Arm ourselves against an attack by Grady and figure out what the hell is happening to Laura Chaucer at the same time.”
“I’m in.”
“Good. Because I’m not leaving this room until I’ve been through every page of this thirteen-year medical record.”
She sat at the table, while Spense prowled the room.
“We can split them up,” he said.
She shook her head. “I need to look at these all myself. So there’s really no point. No offense, but you wouldn’t know what to look for.”
“Then how am I going to help?”
She smiled. “You can order room service.”
He ordered up a salad for himself, and a cheeseburger for her, then he hopped in the shower. When he came back the room smelled like shaving cream. He stretched out in his boxers on the bed, and she had to turn her back to avoid the distraction.
Her cheeseburger sat forgotten while she combed through the files. Spense ate his salad and thumbed through the Agatha Christie she’d been reading on the plane.