Page 10 of Long Way Down

She tried to keep her voice steady and her face blank. “Who knows how it is: I just started.” She faced the TV – he’d stopped on an infomercial for a kitchen slicer/dicer plastic thing that probably couldn’t cut warm butter. She fumbled the remote up from the seat where he’d left it and said, “Tonight was my first hot case.”

“They got you on the trail already, huh? Is it a good one?”

She tossed him a disbelieving look, and was grateful for a surge of anger, the familiarity and safety of it. “It’s arape, Pongo. Of course it’s not good for anybody, least of all the victim.”

He winced. “Yeah. Shit. Sorry.” Then rushed on, undeterred; nothing ever deterred the idiot. “But that’s – okay, I won’t say ‘cool.’ I’ll say ‘good for you.’ How ‘bout that?”

“Ugh.” She hit the channel button. October baseball game replay. Home shopping. A movie where Keanu Reeves shot a bunch of people. A different movie where Keanu Reeves shot a bunch of people.

“Got any leads?” he pressed. “Witnesses?”

“I can’t discuss an active case with you. You know that.”

“That’s not fair – ooh,Jurassic Park, stop here – I’m always sharing confidential stuff with you.”

She sent him a look.

“Good confidential stuff, even.”

“You only tell me what Maverick tells you to tell me.” She was a little disappointed in herself for knowing Maverick’s name. And Toly’s, and Topino’s, and Fox’s, and Walsh’s, and theirdad’s…

He winked. “Shit. I forgot you were smart.”

“Speaking of: you said you had intel for me in your texts.”

“Did I?” He screwed up his face, a portrait of black-eyed confusion. She would not allow herself to think he was cute like that. “Hmm…musta slipped my mind.”

“Pongo.”

He snapped his fingers. “Oh, right! I remember. It was really important, this intel. I needed to tell you that…” He leaned forward, gaze cutting conspiratorially to the side, voice dropping to a stage whisper. “You look super hot tonight.”

She didn’t slap him, but the urge was there, her hand twitching on empty air, and he knew what that meant, judging by the way he flopped back against the couch arm, laughing loud and easy with his head tipped back.

“Your face!” he wheezed between bouts of laughter. He wiped his good eye and sat back up. “No, but seriously.” He had to clear his throat, and then managed to do a one-eyed, lascivious up-and-down assessment of her, grin going wicked. Her skin heated immediately beneath her clothes; she could feel the traitorous blush come up in her pale cheeks. “You look so–”

“I look tired and like shit,” she snapped, “because that’s how I feel. It’s three in the goddamned morning, and you’re–”

“Hey, hey.” His expression shifted, tone instantly soothing. “It’s alright. I didn’t mean–”

“Are you seriously trying tocalm me downright now?”

“A little, yeah!” He looked hopeless and young, suddenly, like a dumb kid who didn’t know how to pry his size-twelve boot out of his mouth. He blew out a loud breath that puffed his freckled cheeks out, and raked a hand back through his curls; the gold and red in them caught the lamplight, gleaming like precious metal. “Okay, I’m sorry. That was shitty.”

“It was.”

“We can agree, then.” His look saidtruce?

Melissa nodded.

They both settled back into their respective seats, the atmosphere a little deflated.

On-screen, the brachiosaurus sneezed all over Grant and the kids. It was quiet, save the TV. Too quiet in a way it never was when Pongo was around.

A few months ago, she would have stiffly told him it was time for him to leave.

Now, she wanted to break that silence – and to lessen the tension it had brought about. She was aware that meant he was changing her, wasn’t happy about it, but didn’t think God himself could have gone unchanged in Pongo’s relentless company.

She didn’t want to talk about herself, though, about the way her stomach fluttered when he checked her out so boldly. Nor about the fact that he definitely hadn’t been loitering outside her building, waiting for her, because he needed ice.Theydidn’t bear discussing right now.

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