“She came through it fine, but you owe me big time for that. The experience has left me scarred and traumatized for life.” His torso shook as he laughed, rocking me, and I cuffed him again. “I’m not kidding. If we had a kid, and our kid had to have his tonsils or appendix out, I’d be a basket case.”
He hugged me. “We’d make such a beautiful little boy.” He sighed. “Well, we’ll have all of my cousins’ kids to fuss over, as well as nieces and nephews eventually.”
“We…we could always adopt,” I offered, “and as I mentioned to your dad, there’s in vitro fertilization also.”
“I guess.” He looked thoughtful, but I didn’t want to talk about kids just yet. There was plenty of time before we got serious about children.
“So what’s number two?”
“Hmm?” A mischievous grin curled his lips. “Babe, if you don’t know…”
“Don’t push your luck, Matheson.” I reached down and pinched his ass.
“Hey!”
“You know what I mean.”
“Oh, the second reason why I won’t feed Miss Su? I can’t. You’re on top of me.” I was about to roll off, but his grip tightened. “Not that I’m complaining.”
A muffled “mrrow” came from the other side of the door. “Someone is. I’d better go feed her. But don’t you go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
I pulled on a pair of sleep pants, went out into the hall, and closed the door behind me. “Hey, Miss Su. Let’s get you fed, okay?”
She trotted after me into the kitchen. After popping the lid on a can of Fancy Feast and spooning it into her bowl, I poked around in the pantry and the fridge and frowned. Not that they were bare, but I didn’t really feel like cooking.
I went back to the bedroom. “Babe, how about if I make reservations at Raphael’s? Mount Olympus is open late on Fridays. We can shop for our rings, and then go there for…” I stopped short. Wills wasn’t lounging in bed. “Babe?”
“I’m in the bathroom.”
“Are you decent? I hope not.” Grinning to myself, I strolled in, to come to an abrupt halt.
He was dressed in slacks and a tailored shirt, wearing his shoulder holster, and running his electric razor over his cheeks and chin. “I just got a call from Mr. Vincent.”
“I didn’t hear the phone ring.”
He shrugged. “I have to meet him at work.”
Shit. “Okay. Give me a couple of minutes to shower. I’m coming with you.” Vince would have to tell me to my face that Wills had to give me up.
It took me about five minutes. By the time I was dried off and dressed, he was gone.
I ran down the stairs to the front door, threw it open, and ran to the drive. “Son of a bitch.” The Dodge was gone as well.
Well, I’d driven Wills to work once, and I knew where Huntingdon was located.
Back up to the apartment, where I grabbed my jacket and car keys, and down again to the garage. I backed the Corvair out, scraping the driver’s side against the fence to the left of the driveway, something I hadn’t done in years, leaving behind a streak of taxicab yellow paint—”Son of a bitch!”—and headed out after him.
Traffic was heinous, and on top of that I got stuck at almost every single traffic light. At each of them I worried my fingernails. While I waited at the last light before the turn into Huntingdon’s parking facility, I tore the cuticle from my thumbnail and had to suck the blood away.
“Son of a goddamned fucking bitch. ” The only parking spots I could find that weren’t handicapped were a good five minute hike from the building. I turned off the ignition, got out and slapped the lock, and slammed the door shut, then had to open it again because I’d left the lights on. Swearing under my breath in Greek, I stuffed the keys into my pocket and began walking.
A series of glass doors faced me, not a single revolving door in the lot. It looked kind of anonymous, nothing above the doors announcing the address or the name of the building. This was probably the employees’ entrance.
The door I approached slid open with a subdued “shhht,” then slid closed behind me with the same sound, and I stood gazing around the lobby. A bank of elevators, but no obvious doors, no seating arrangements, no greenery to brighten the area. Fluorescent lights lined the ceiling, although during the day the glass doors would let in so much light they wouldn’t really be necessary. There was no directory listing departments and the people who worked in them. Wills had never mentioned what floor he worked on, and I realized I had no idea where to start looking for him or for Vincent’s office.
“Can I help you?”
I jumped and turned to face a stocky black man with salt and pepper hair, dressed in a maroon blazer and gray slacks. A slight bulge under his arm hinted at a gun in a shoulder holster.
Wills’s suit jackets, in spite of how nothing special they appeared, never revealed the fact that he sometimes carried a gun.