Subterfuge
by loxley85
URL: http://www.bluecatsgraphics.com/pean/fanfics/81/

Part 1

Special Agent Cady entered her apartment and drew her Glock immediately. The door had been locked and nothing was obviously out of place, but something was off. She could feel it. There was an unsettled air in the apartment and she trusted her instincts. It was how she stayed alive. When she looked over to her living room and realized that the shades had been drawn, she tightened her grip on the gun. She never left the apartment in the morning with the shades still drawn. Someone had pulled them down. She glanced back and saw the same was true of the blinds in the kitchen. She crept silently down the hall, saw that the bathroom was clear, saw that the guest room was clear, and froze upon seeing that her bedroom door was shut. Leaving her bedroom door shut was another thing she never did.

She took a deep breath, then turned the knob and flung the door wide but profiled against the wall, making herself a smaller target as she swiftly regained the two-handed grip on her pistol.

And there he was, waiting for her in front of the bed, hands at his sides, wearing jeans, a tee-shirt, and an unbuttoned blue work shirt over that. He gazed at her silently and she stared at him in disbelief. There were new scars on his face and on his hands. Healed, but new since she had last seen him. His eyes glittered still, but there was a shadow in them now.

She kept the gun trained at him, fighting to conceal the shock at seeing him there. She had never expected to see him again. “They say you killed Mike Decker,” she said softly.

Pendergast held her gaze. “I did not.” The statement was simple, straightforward, very little inflection. He was simply handing her a fact, but she saw that he studied her, looking for her reaction.

“All of us are on orders to bring you in, if we see you. There are probably agents literally on stand-by, waiting to be sent in as back-up to get Special Agent Pendergast safely into custody.”

“I didn’t kill him.” Still no expression, no heated denial, no pleading, no anger. Nothing. “I didn’t kill Mike Decker.”

There was a moment of silence. “I never for a minute thought you did,” she answered at last.

His shoulders slumped slightly, whether in exhaustion or relief was impossible to tell. He stared at her when she didn’t lower her gun.

“But you know who did,” she said.

No answer.

“Pendergast, you know I’m no idiot. I understand about planting evidence. But planting evidence to implicate you specifically? That’s beyond personal. That’s sick.”

He blinked but said nothing.

“Are you willing to tell me?”

He remained completely still a moment longer. Then, moving slowly and carefully in the face of her aimed Glock, he pulled his shirt further open to reveal his holster. Still staring at her, he removed the Les Baer and released the clip, which he put on her vanity. He jacked the round out of the chamber and put that on the vanity, then placed the empty gun there as well. Then, moving cautiously, never breaking eye contact with her, he raised his arms, put his hands on his head with his fingers laced, and went to his knees. “Take me in if you have to, Agent Cady. I won’t resist you.”

She stared at him a moment longer, then allowed herself a ghost of a smile. “Interrogation would be a hell of a lot more fun, but I don’t think we have time.”

For just an instant, she saw a glimmer of hope cross his face, but it was lost to shadow as quickly.

She uncocked her gun and put it on the vanity next to his, then took his wrist and pulled him to his feet. He swayed a moment and she tightened her grip. His arm was like iron. Pendergast never had any weight to lose, but now his forearm felt streamlined and solid. “Okay?”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m fine,” he said quietly. “Just a little tired.”

She frowned at him. “When’s the last time you ate?”

He frowned back at her, but just in thought. “I’m not entirely sure,” he said at last.

“Wish.” It came out in exasperation. She pushed him toward the bed and then pushed him down onto it.

“My dear Agent Cady—”

“Oh, stop it. We’re not going there right now. You lie down and I’ll get you something to eat. If you’re asleep when I get back then you keep on sleeping, and eat when you wake up.” She put her fingers gently against his lips to stop his protests. “Nobody touches you here, Wish. Nobody gets in. You’re safe. My word on it.”

He sat and stared at her a moment, and then something softened in his expression. “Agent Cady, I am a fugitive. What about your career?”

“What about doing what’s right? My career is not your concern. You just worry about relaxing enough to get some rest. No one has any reason to think of looking for you here. My being on that stupid assignment with Coffey ought to take care of that.” She removed his outer shirt and his holster and he offered no resistance. She pushed him supine and took up another pillow to put under his head, removed his shoes, turned the spread up to cover him. “We’ll talk later.”

He put a hand on her arm. “Jemimah—”

“Be still,” she said softly and then smiled at him. “Isn’t that what you always said to me? Go to sleep, Wish. For now, no worries.” She brushed a lock of pale blond hair away from his forehead and then leaned down and kissed him there. “Just sleep.”

He was out before he could even reply.

She studied him for a while. The scars on his face, now that she could see them up close, showed the marks of careful repair work, but her sharp eyes still caught how jagged the wounds had been. The same was true of his hands. Bites, she thought. Animal bites of some kind. His face, always chiseled, was gaunt, and the expression on his face, even in sleep, was worried. She sighed, looking down at him. She would ask him some questions, and he would or would not tell her the answers. She accepted that. It was how they had always been. But she knew from his behavior, from the gravity in his demeanor when they spoke, from the watchfulness, that he was in a fight for his life. She knew he was being hunted by something more than just the FBI and every other law enforcement agency in the system.

It was growing dark and she switched on the small lamp on the far nightstand, angling it to cast most of its illumination against the wall and away from his face. She loaded the Les Baer and put it closer to the bed, within easy reach for him. Then she changed and put her Glock into its holster and put it away, preferring to arm herself with the smaller gun at home. Normally she wouldn’t have carried a gun in her apartment. But she couldn’t watch his back, unarmed.

She went to the kitchen and made herself a sandwich, grabbed a bottle of juice and ate quietly at the table. She wouldn’t fix him anything until he was awake. She smiled a little at the thought, wondering if she had anything in either her pantry or her refrigerator to accommodate his rather particular palate. Somehow she didn’t think PB and J was going to cut it. She had just gotten her dishes into the dishwasher when she heard him call out.

She took the hall as swiftly as she could, gun at the ready, still checking the rooms on her way to her bedroom. Nothing. Clear. She got to her room and looked in.

He was still asleep.

But she had heard him yell. She frowned and waited, saw that his mouth worked, saw that his eyes were moving nonstop beneath the pale lids. He was dreaming. Check that. He was having nightmares. Now he was restless, one arm already coming up — to strike? To defend himself? She put down the gun and went to sit beside him on the bed. In the times they had had together, on those occasions when they had actually slept together, he had dreamt sometimes. He would grow restless in his sleep, and while the occasional word he uttered made no sense to her, the wordless sounds he made were sometimes wrenching, sometimes chilling. Where he had been in his past, whatever he had seen, or done... She understood his reluctance to speak about any of it, given what she could gather on those restless nights. This looked about ten times worse.

She laid a hand on his arm. “Wish,” she said softly.

“No,” he said.

It took her a moment to realize he was not replying to her.

“No...” It was the last word she knew. What he said next she didn’t understand, but she knew enough to recognize he was speaking in Italian. The tone of his voice chilled her. He threw her hand off his arm — he was grappling, wrestling. And yet he would not wake up.

Cady kicked off her shoes and got under the spread with him. He still moved, still struggled, and she felt suddenly afraid for him. Several months ago, they had been told he was dead. The word had come from the New York City Police Department, and Cady had mourned privately. She had holed up in her apartment after work and on weekends and remembered him, hurt for him, mourned for him. She ended by cooking trout for dinner and toasting him with wine in her silent kitchen while the tears ran freely down her face.

Then just as suddenly he wasn’t dead, and quicker than that, he was wanted for murder. None of it made any sense. But she could see he was entangled in some kind of hell and even sleep was no escape.

“Wish,” she whispered. She put her arms around him and he tried to fight her off. “Shhhh,” she said, almost like she would have with a frightened child. “Wish, relax. It’s me. It’s Cady.” She pulled him a little closer, held him a little tighter, willing him to feel her contact, to understand that he was safe for now.

After a minute his eyes fluttered open and he turned his head to look at her in the unfocused light from the small lamp. He seemed puzzled when he saw her, confused. “Jemimah?”

“You’re okay, Wish. It’s all okay. Go back to sleep. I’ve got you.”

He frowned, shook his head. “It’s not safe. I must—” he pushed away from her, moved to sit up, his entire body as tensed and coiled as a spring.

She pulled him back down. “You’re not even really awake,” she whispered. “Relax, Aloysius. Get some rest.”

There was a long silence and then he said in his quietest voice, softened by the drawl, “I’m so tired.”

She repositioned herself to cradle his head against her shoulder, her chin against his hair. “Go to sleep, Wish.”

He sighed and curled into her, the tension leaving him in stages, and presently went back to sleep. She held him, felt his breathing deepen, felt the restlessness starting again and soothed it out of him, gently stroking his arms, his back, his soft, fine hair against her cheek, until his breathing slowed down again when the nightmare had been broken. Still cradling him against her, doing her best to shelter him, she fell asleep with her head resting against his.

She came awake all at once, realizing he was also awake. They were interlocked; she still had her arms around him and she found his were around her as well. She stirred slightly. “What is it?”

“Nothing. You should go back to sleep yourself, Agent Cady. It was not my intention to impose like this. I just needed to get off the streets and think. I do apologize for choosing your apartment for sanctuary, but it was the closest—”

She stopped his rambling with a kiss. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?”

He had kissed her back gently, but now he sighed. “We must talk, Cady.”

She nodded. “And you need to eat. C’mon.”

They went padding down the dark hall together, by silent agreement not switching on any of the overhead lights. In the kitchen, Cady switched on the stove light only. “What’ll it be?” she asked. “You know what I eat like, Wish. So think of this as a survival diet.” He actually winced and she laughed in spite of the situation. “You can’t tell me that someone with Special Ops in his background hasn’t eaten absolutely disgusting things that aren’t even food, except in theory.”

“I can survive when I must. But in New York...”

“In New York we all eat processed, frozen, boxed, and fast food, Wish. You’re the odd one.” She opened the refrigerator. “However, you are in luck. There was a dinner last night and I brought home what I didn’t eat. I know you like antipasto. You can start with that and we’ll progress to the Ramen noodles if you’re still hungry.”

Part 2

He sat down with her at the table, and even though she thought he must have been ravenous, he still nibbled at the food she set before him. She thought fleetingly it would have been fun just once to see him shovel things into his mouth like a lumberjack. The image brought a bit of a smirk to her face and of course he noticed.

“What are you thinking, Cady?”

“Never mind.”

“Hmmm. I know better than to ask.”

She sat and watched him eat. He still seemed to eat slowly, almost reluctantly, but the food vanished as if by magic and he was dabbing his lips in Pendergast fashion. Not for the first time she thought of a cat grooming itself. He finished with a glass of water.

“Okay, talk to me. How does a dead-but-not-dead, wanted for murder, rogue FBI agent wind up in my apartment in a pair of jeans and a muscle tee?” She raised her eyebrows. “I approve of the look, but it’s not your usual style, Wish.”

“I have to be discreet, Cady.”

“Ahh, I get it. You look rather like my neighbor down the hall. Right?”

“I could. I came in wearing this shirt and the prerequisite cap. There were any number of utility workers here earlier. I came in with them, but the clothing is nondescript enough that I can leave.”

She looked him in the eye. “Enough of that. We can tog you out in drag, if need be. Now tell me, who’s hunting you?”

“Besides you?”

“Don’t play with me, Wish. Who put your DNA all over that crime scene? Who’d frame you for killing Mike?” Her voice caught slightly when she said his name but she swallowed against it.

He looked down and answered reluctantly. “My brother.” His voice was quiet and flat.

And then it all snapped into place. “Your brother is a serial killer. Or at least, he gives lessons. That last case we had together, when you suddenly became a behind the scenes consultant and took your name off all the official reports—”

He nodded. “That message was for me. ‘Ave,’ remember? It is how he has always greeted me. He wanted me to know he was here. He was challenging me to stop him, knowing full well I would always be one step behind.” He looked at her. “He’s a brilliant man, Cady. His intellect and his abilities far outstrip mine. And he is planning something huge, something hideous. He made Mike a part of what he is doing. He has killed two other of my friends, besides. I am sure my DNA will be found at those scenes as well, if it hasn’t already.” His expression changed slightly. “He’s targeting people close to me. And so you are about to be reassigned.”

Cady stared at him. “What? What did you do? Wish, you have no right—”

“Decker had been thinking about sending you out to Tacoma to work on that task force—”

“And I turned him down. He filed my answer.”

“I went into the files and changed it,” Pendergast said quietly. “You should receive your new assignment by five o’clock tomorrow. If I could have gotten it through more quickly, I would have. But I couldn’t do anything unusual. As it is, it just looks like one of those reassignment orders that was temporarily buried, the way they frequently are.”

“Wish, you son of a—”

“It’s the only way I can protect you.”

“And who says I need your protection? Who the hell appointed you to be my guardian? I’m not an idiot. I’m not stupid. I’m not without training and I make a damn lousy victim. You know this about me.” Her voice was getting louder and wilder and she brought it back down to a fierce whisper. “You change it back.”

He shook his head. “I can’t do what I have to do if I am worrying about you.”

“So don’t worry about me. Who the hell is going to connect us, anyhow? How would anyone? We did one case together how many years ago? Then Coffey put me on his Pendergast witch trial case. And then you erased yourself off the Announcement Killer files, so who would ever connect us?”

He looked at her sadly. “I don’t know how long he has been here. I don’t know how long he has been following me, but I know it has been for some time, and I cannot take a chance on that.” He touched her face and she pulled away, her expression suggesting he had betrayed her.

He cleared his throat. “There’s something more.”

“Oh, good. More fun news.”

“I met someone. Over in Italy.”

At that, she looked up at him. “So why are you telling me? Or will I be getting a wedding invitation in the mail?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Then it’s really none of my business, is it?” She looked at him. “Or maybe you got yourself into some kind of paternity trouble and are looking for legal help to get out of it?”

He stared at her as if she had suddenly started speaking in tongues. “My dear Agent Cady—”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Unless she has some kind of communicable disease you’ve picked up, she’s of no concern to me right now. Is she?”

He blinked. “Cady, sometimes the sequence of your thoughts—”

“Shut up, Wish.” She grinned at him suddenly. “You know what? I think I’m going to take you right here on the kitchen floor.”

He looked as if she had slapped him. “Jemimah—”

“Ah, hah! We’ve gone from ‘Cady’ to ‘Jemimah.’ Freudian slip, Wish. You want it as badly as I do.”

“Agent Ca—” he didn’t get any further. She straddled him as he sat on the kitchen chair, took his head in her hands, and kissed him as aggressively as she knew how. If his hands against her shoulders had originally been placed there to push her back, if the sounds he made as she kissed him had originally been uttered to make her stop, the time came in short order that his hands went from her shoulders to her hair, her back, her hips. The sounds went from attempted words to quiet, anguished moans and she savored that. Kissing him relentlessly, not giving him a chance to pull back or away, she took his hands in hers and guided the scarred, strong fingers to her breasts, catching her breath in his mouth when they moved gently across her nipples of their own accord. She wriggled against him as they sat there and felt his reaction, and she pulled him closer, if possible, and kissed him until they were both working to catch a breath.

“Cady,” he whispered, freeing his mouth at last.

“What?”

“I wanted you to know—”

She shut him up with a kiss and he stood up from the chair, picking her up effortlessly as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He went slowly to his knees, holding her as if she were something fragile and precious, and then she was on the floor and he was atop her. His weight against her felt so right she wanted to cry out. He sensed that and placed a finger across her lips. “Be still,” he whispered, and they smiled at each other.

She rolled him over onto his back and began to unfasten his jeans, fingers exploring him through the fabric the whole time, touching, teasing, rewarded with the reaction she felt through the denim. He moved restlessly against her and pulled her down to place her mouth against his. Even as she was unzipping his fly, he was yanking her shirt out of her own jeans and slipping his hand up against the bare skin of her back, caressing her from side to side, each time moving his hand just a little closer to the outer swell of her breast. She had goose bumps from his touch and she moaned into his mouth. She reached behind her to guide his hand around to her front and he pinned it there instead, breaking the kiss.

“Impatient, Agent Cady?” he asked teasingly.

She struggled against his hold, but not too strenuously. “Touch me, Wish,” she whispered.

“In due time.” He sat up, taking her with him, and crossed her wrists behind her, pinning them to her back at the waist before beginning to kiss and nuzzle her breasts through her tee shirt. “It has been a while for us,” he remarked, stopping for a moment to enjoy her reaction.

“Too long,” she said, squirming forward against him. “Are you going to make me wait still longer?”

“Worse. I’m going to make both of us wait still longer,” he replied in his laziest drawl.

“Wish—” But he put his mouth against hers and holding her captive with one hand began to finger her front with the other. Starting at her neck with just the softest brush of his fingertips, then slowly letting his hand glide down her front, squeezing, stroking, cupping and teasing while she thrust and squirmed toward him, unable to do more than moan into his kiss, unable to break the steel of his hold. She was melting. She was on fire. And then his hand moved further down until at last he fingered her center and she shrieked into his mouth and moved frantically against his touch.

“Oh, no, not like that,” he said to her with a small smile, removing his hand and brushing the hair back from her face. “You wouldn’t be satisfied with just that, would you?”

“Wish, stop teasing,” she pleaded, twisting in his grip. “You know what I need. I know you need it, too. Don’t wait anymore.”

“Hmmm.” He pushed her backwards to the floor, still holding her hands pinned beneath her. “What to do.” She wriggled upward and nipped him in the chest, through the fabric of his shirt. “What was that you said about taking me on this floor?”

“I’ll do it, too.”

“I don’t know that you’re in the best position to be calling the shots, Agent Cady.” He pulled her tee shirt up and bared her breasts. “Although I must admit you are tempting me sorely.” He put his head down and began to mouth her where he knew it excited her most.

Cady squirmed up against his lips, his tongue. He was making her insane with the wet warmth of his mouth. Every time his tongue brushed against her nipples, she rose from the floor in an attempt to follow him, though tethered by his grip. She twisted against him. “Wish, I can’t,” she said, breathless. “I can’t do this any longer. I’m going to be screaming here in just a second.”

“Yes, you do have that tendency, Jemimah.” He smiled at her. “And if I release you now, what are you going to do?”

Still bucking, unable to stop struggling against his grasp, she smirked up at him. “What I said. I’m going to take you right here on this floor.”

He let her go and she rose up like an Amazon, pushed him back, tore his clothing from him piece by piece until she was looking at the familiar alabaster skin, so warm, so fair, so terribly scarred. She put her mouth against his hard, bare belly and moved south to his hips, and then lower, pleased at his response, well aware of the noises he made even as he tried hard to conceal them. She left him long enough to strip off her own clothes, removing them slowly, teasingly, giving him a show, pushing his hands away every time he reached out to cup her breast or stroke her flank.

Part 3

“Let me get you ready,” she said wickedly, and took him into her mouth.

“Jemimah—” the drawl was slightly strangled.

“Oh, and who wanted to wait?” she asked, raising her head. He propped himself up on his elbows, eyes glinting at her and she pulled herself up to straddle him. “Do you think you’re ready for me, Wish?”

“My dear woman—”

“Well, too bad if you’re not.” She took him in one movement and then fell forward upon him, nipping, nuzzling his throat, his neck, his shoulders, even as she rotated herself against him. His hips rose to meet hers and she smiled as she kissed him when she felt him shudder. “You never could hold out on me, Wish,” she whispered.

“Nor could you.” He pulled her close and rolled her over so that he was atop her and pumping hard and deep enough to please them both, building the aching need in her until she was ready to burst in brilliant pain and light, heat and joyous relief.

She felt him catch up to her and cried out for them both until he kissed her to quiet her, moved against her, driven, urgent, stealing her breath even as she surrendered herself to him. She tugged at his hair and scratched his back. She wrestled against him, clutching and frantic, wanting so badly to make it last. Desperate to make it last. She moaned loudly into his mouth, and he took it from her, breathed her in, gave her back to herself. The tide hit and swallowed them both, rendered them helpless in its waves, one after another, relentless, until at last she whimpered softly against his lips and broke the kiss. He raised his head and looked down at her and something inside her ached at the sweet familiarity of that face, those lips, those eyes. She looked at his expression, open as daybreak to her for just that moment as it sometimes happened, and locked the memory of it into her heart. But already she felt him drawing away and realized she was doing the same thing. Old habits...

She stared up at him, reached up to brush that same lock of pale hair out of his eyes. “Was this what you had in mind when you came here seeking sanctuary?” she asked with an evil smile, reestablishing the mood.

He smiled back. “It was the furthest thing from my mind.”

“Liar.”

“Jemimah, your notion of pet names leaves something to be desired.”

“That’s not a pet name, Wish. That’s a statement of fact.” And then at once she grew still. “We won’t be together again for a long time, will we?” she asked. “If ever?”

“I cannot answer that.”

“At least you’re honest with me.”

He took her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. “Cady, you must go to Tacoma.”

She looked at him, but there was no more mutiny in her eyes. “Why?”

“So I know you’re safe. So I can think of you being there, away from the danger here.”

“And will you ever even think of me?”

For answer he kissed her twice very gently on the mouth. “When I can.”

She nodded. “I’ll think of you. And I’ll come check up on you, too.”

“But—”

“Look, Pendergast. I’ll go out to Tacoma. I’ll do what you want for your peace of mind and that’s saying something. Normally I don’t give a rat’s ass about anyone’s peace of mind and you know it.”

He nodded ruefully.

“But I will do this for you. On one condition.”

“Didn’t we just finish?”

“Oh, so that’s how you thought you’d get around me? No dice, Wish. Like I said, you may be all that in bed, but that’s not enough to make me do something.”

“On the contrary, Cady, I have gotten you to do all manner of things.”

“Will you let me finish? I’ll go out west on one condition. And here it is: if you need me, you call me. Can you promise me that?”

“To call you if I need you?”

“That’s it.”

He was silent for a bit. “I can do that.”

She stared at him. “Because you’re thinking that you’ll never need me. I’m right, aren’t I?”

He returned her gaze, face back to completely expressionless. “I have someone helping me. In fact, I have a few people helping me. I do not need to risk anyone else’s career.”

“That’s bullshit, Wish, and you know it. Everyone helping you makes the career decision on their own. It’s nothing to do with you, so quit trying to carry the whole world around on your shoulders.”

He looked at her and shook his head. “Your view on things, my dear woman—”

“Oh, you know I’m right.” They helped each other to their feet and dressed swiftly and silently. “I know you have to go,” she said, following him into the bedroom where he buckled on his holster. “And guess I have to pack.” She looked him up and down one last time as he pulled on his outer shirt. “That’s a new one,” she gestured at his gun.

“I needed a new one.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “You know, they told us months ago you were dead.”

He looked away from her. “I was.”

“Wish—”

He stopped her with a sharp glance. “We don’t have to make this difficult.”

“No,” she agreed. “We don’t. Although I could and you’d deserve it.”

His eyes sparkled for just a moment, then the tension came back to his face. “I’d better leave now. Cady, I cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done for me tonight.”

“No, you can’t,” she agreed. “Are you going out the service entrance? It’s pretty dark back there and people don’t usually go into the alley at night.”

He nodded. “That was my plan.”

She walked him to the door and they lingered for just a moment. “Wish,” she whispered.

He leaned forward and kissed her gently. “We’ll see each other again.”

“Yes, we will,” she agreed firmly.

He caught the tone in her voice and fixed her with his iciest expression. “Cady, you told me you would go to Tacoma.”

“Oh, and I will.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “I just never promised not to come back.”

“But you must remain there.” There was real desperation in his voice and she pitied him. For about a second.

“Wish, you can’t control me anymore than I can control you. So Decker’s orders from weeks ago came through and I go to Tacoma. Fine. But just like when I worked for Decker, I do what I have to do. Including coming back east unexpectedly to check on a colleague.” She raised her eyebrows at him even as he was opening his mouth. “It’s not negotiable, Pendergast. It just is.”

“My brother is more dangerous than you can imagine. You have no idea.”

“I saw some of his handiwork on that case. I think I have a pretty good idea. Frankly, he scares the hell out of me.”

“So he should.”

“I think he scares the hell out of you, too. And I don’t leave my partners in the lurch at a bad time.”

“I’m asking you to leave me.”

“And I’m giving you my answer. Yes, I’ll go to Tacoma. No, I won’t stay put.”

He glared at her. “Cady, if I had more time—”

“Oooh, come back and make good on that threat, will you?”

Exasperated, he turned away and opened the door.

“But Wish,” she said.

He paused and looked at her quietly, cautiously.

“I don’t care who she is over in Italy. She’ll never be as good with scarves as I am.”

The smile in his eyes actually touched his lips as he looked at her a moment longer, and quite unexpectedly, impulsively for Pendergast, he leaned forward once more and kissed her, lingering just a little longer than his norm. He touched her face softly, and then he was gone.

She shut the door behind him, smiling a little from their last exchange, but despite her cavalier farewell to him, she felt as if she were at the edge of a precipice. Everything was about to change. Everything.