Page 71 of The Cartographer

“Like what?”

“So…conscientious.”

I pick up the punch and take a sip, the bright red liquid feeling as vibrant on my tongue as it looks in the clear plastic cup. Slightly carbonated, it fizzes down my throat as I swallow. “Not if I can help it.”

There’s a look on Allie’s face I can’t quite read, but it looks a little like pity. I don’t like it, but I don’t have time to dwell because then Imani’s in my arms again, launching her body into me so hard it nearly knocks me on my ass.

“More tickles!” she demands, her smile sinking dimples into her cheeks. What can I do but oblige? I set her on the floor so she won’t fall in her squirming, and then I go for the sides of her ribs, making her squeal and wriggle under my hands. I look up at Hart, and he’s got this expression on his face, something I can’t quite figure out. Though the uncertainty makes me uneasy, I try to shrug it away. Easy when I’ve got this kid in the throes of euphoric giggle-fits.

She shrieks and squeals, her protests a little hysterical, and when she says, “Tickle stop,” I do. Baby’s first safeword indeed.

Chapter Twenty-Two

‡

It’s a Tuesdaynight, and I’m back from a visit to DC. Hart was in Philadelphia this weekend, and I needed a distraction. I thought about going down to San Diego to see India, but she ended up going out to Kona. Not that I wasn’t welcome there as well, but she and Cris need some alone time. That’s why she went out there, after all. To see him. Not to see me.

DC was fun. I made my usual stops, got to see Spider do some exceptional ropework. He’s into minimalist stuff right now, and though it scares the living crap out of me, I suppose it gives his subjects quite the thrill and I know he’s safe about it. Outside of the Black House, I visited Slade and Pressly at their townhouse.

Their five-year-old is a handful—not that I’d expect anything less from the progeny of those two—but their two-year-old is strangely docile and sweet, as though he’s trying to make up for his hellcat of a sister. And Slade and Press—they’re doing well. They have a standing date to go to the club every Tuesday night, which had made me laugh.

Press had shrugged. “For old times’ sake. Besides, my Zumba class switched to Wednesdays.”

I’m setting down my messenger bag inside the door and surveying my domain—perfect, as expected, because Matthew is a professional—when there’s a knock at the door. My mouth curves slowly, reluctantly, but inexorably into a smile. I’d told Hart I’d be back around nine, and here he is. Nine sharp. Do you think he spent time in the military?

Turning to face the door, I try to shove down the palpable…what is that, relief…coursing through me? I’m happy he’s here. I enjoy a lot of people’s company, but I don’t tend to miss them when they’re away. India’s a notable exception to that rule, but even with her, it’s not this release. Not until I know she’s okay, anyway.

With Hart, though, he doesn’t expect me to be on all the time. Would prefer, perhaps, I not be. Right now, I want to put my arms around him, breathe in the scent of his skin and run my fingers over his scalp. Kiss him, rest my forehead against his. Tell him I missed him while I was away. What even is that? I can’t be projecting that expectation onto him.

I try to shake it from my head before I open the door, but I don’t bother to erase the smile I’ve got for him. He should know I’m pleased to see him. When I open the door, though, it’s not to a cocky, hornball Hart. It’s to a completely freaking out Allie. Eyes wide, chest heaving, hands clenching and releasing as if he doesn’t know what else to do with them.

That’s all it takes, the panic and the need on his face, for me to snap back on duty. Because that’s what I do.

“What’s the matter?”

“Kendra, she’s—”

“Do you want to come in and talk or should we be driving somewhere?”

“She’s at Bay Memorial?” It sounds like a question, and I hate that he’s so uncertain.

“Then let’s go and you can tell me on the way.” I grab my keys from the bowl I set them in a moment ago and a coat too, because hospitals tend to have completely whacked HVAC systems. It’s perfectly mild outside, but it could be an icebox inside and who knows how long we’ll be there.

My car isn’t far, and Allie slides inside the passenger seat easily, buckling up and staring straight ahead. I pull out of the tight space and set out. It’ll be about twenty minutes until we get there.

“What happened?”

“Fire at their house. Kids are okay because Kendra got them out, but then she went back in to grab some of their things and—”

I stop breathing. Jesus. If something happens to Kendra, I don’t know what Allie would do. And poor Marcus and Imani—they must be so worried about their mom. They already lost one parent…

“—neighbors stopped her before the house got unstable and part of the roof collapsed, but she still got hurt. I don’t know exactly how bad. They’re checking her out now.”

Serious, obviously, if we’re headed to the hospital, but not like there’s a chance she won’t make it. “Is she conscious?”

“Yeah. She called me just before they were taking her to do some tests. She was in pain because she has some burns, but mostly she was freaking out because she’s not going to be able to work. She’s going to lose her job. If she loses her job…”

He stops talking, his hands curling into claws on his knees. If Kendra loses her job, she’s going to freak out, and stress exacerbates her lupus. She has a cushion to fall back on and decent healthcare, fortunately, but spending even a penny of that money is hard for her. Rent for a new place because it sounds as though their house is going to be a loss and insurance takes a while to come through to buy a new one; replacing what was lost; an entire fridge of groceries; and everything else is far more than a penny.

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