the Silverado’s driver, and Peter Barns, passenger in the 150 and brother of Diane Barns, under observation but apparently sustaining only contusions.
She had taken a statement from Mr. Coffey but was waiting until tomorrow for the rest. Mrs. Coffey, Matt, and Peter were all under sedation,and the parents of the Silverado's driver and passenger had not arrived yet. Matt and Peter’s parents were here, devastated. Mrs. Barnes, Maggie reported, sat at her son’s bedside weeping quietly but ceaselessly. Quietly forewarned about Diane’s injuries, Mr. Barnes insisted he alone identify her…which he had done by her clothes and a necklace she wore, then needed fourteen stitches in his hand after punching out a window. Mr. and Mrs. Wiltz had been there to identify Jonah but now gone home, Mrs. Wiltz with sedatives.
All people Maggie knew. This had to be hard for her. Garreth said, “How are you doing?”
Her jaw went square. “I’m fine!”
Meaning, no but damn if she would admit it. He retreated to patrol.
Meeting with Serk to thank him for the help downtown, Garreth gave him details of the accident.
Serk shook his head sadly. “I worked plenty of fatalities in the Highway Patrol but the accidents involving young people always got to me the most. And this…such appalling consequences for a prank.” He sighed. “There’s one more victim we need to remember, too, Jonah’s brother Darrell. Darrell made the football play of his life tonight, and now how can he ever enjoy the memory?”
A tragic ending for what should have been a night to celebrate.
Echoing that, Baumen settled into the silence of a graveyard. Walking Kansas, then cruising down random streets, all empty, Garreth felt like the last man on Earth.
Around two-thirty Doris radioed: “
When he arrived, he found Maggie bent over a typewriter. He eyed her in surprise. “You haven’t gone home yet?”
“I need to finish this accident report while everything is still fresh in my mind.” Diamonds would have shattered on her voice.
Doris gestured him to her with a crooked finger and whispered, “She’s been at it since one, but keeps tearing up forms and starting over. Can you do something?”
Maybe.
He walked back to her desk. “Maggie.” He expected her to at least glance up so he could look her in the eyes. But her focus stayed on the typewriter. Might voice alone work? “You’ve been on duty over ten hours. Go…home. Finish…this…in…the…morning. Believe me, you’ll still remember every detail.”
The temperature dropped twenty degrees. “You’re in my light.”
Garreth shrugged at Doris and left. Frosted again.
So he never expected to find Maggie sitting on his stairs when he came home.
“I finished the report.” Her tone challenged him…what, to apologize for doubting she could?
He kept his own tone casual. “But you still haven’t gone home.”
“I’m not tired.” Still challenging him.
He recognized that syndrome…had been there. In fact she was probably exhausted but too wound up, too haunted, to sleep. In a bigger department she could have decompressed in a bar with a group of fellow cops. Here, now, she had only him.
He climbed past her and opened the door. “Then come in and have some tea.”
Her nose wrinkled even as she followed him. “Tea!”
Not that tea interested him, either. What if he just went ahead and had his blood. His throat burned for it. How would she know what it was?
“I don’t have anything stronger.” Blame hunger for the impulse that made him add, “I never drink… alcohol.”
She missed the Dracula reference. “Oh…recovering alcoholic?”
A reasonable assumption, he had to admit. “Alcohol allergy.” He put two mugs of water with tea bags in the microwave. “Have a seat.”
Instead, she paced. Several times she took a breath as though about to speak, then paced on. Not sure what she wanted to say….or how to start?
She needed a nudge. “You keep seeing it happen, right?”
She halted, eyed him, and dropped into a chair at the table, staring into the past. “Over and over, in slow motion. The Silverado pulling out around Matt to run from me, realizing there’s an oncoming vehicle and trying to pull back in…but too soon, impacting at Matt’s rear wheel. Matt spinning out…ejecting Jonah. Diane…” Maggie sucked in a breath. “Diane had been hanging out her window howling back at the Silverado. When the Fairlane t- boned Matt, she — ” Maggie choked…swallowed. “I heard her hit the windshield.” Her tone went defensive. “It’s wimpy, I know.”
Was that what she thought? “Wimpy?” The microwave dinged. He set a mug in front of her. “Let’s review this. You watched two kids you know die violently, but despite that you worked their accident and notified all the parents. Probably the toughest part of this job.”
“I almost lost it at the parents’. The Wiltz’ were having a party, celebrating the game and Darrell’s play. The minute I said I needed to talk to them in private Floyd jumped to the conclusion the Bellamy boys had sworn out a complaint about their banner and started ranting at me for the stupidity of arresting Jonah over a prank. I wanted to put a bullet in the ceiling to make him shut
He knew that feeling. “But you didn’t.”
“Because Abbie realized I wasn’t there about some stupid prank and she dragged Floyd outside!” Maggie shoved the mug away with a force that almost sent it off the table. “He wouldn’t have given you or Duncan that shit!”
“I think he would. He sounds like he’d had a few beers, and maybe something stronger. In the face of which I’m confident you maintained your professionalism…as I saw you maintain it the rest of the night. So…wimpy? Hell…you’ve got bigger balls than a lot of cops I’ve worked with.”
She stared at him as if stunned, then started to tremble. Garreth reacted as he had when reaction to a tough case at the hospital caught up with Marti. He circled the table to lift Maggie to her feet and put his arms around her.
The flood of her blood scent turned his hunger ravenous, the heat of it surging outward through him, including to his groin. Feeling himself harden, he let go and started to step back. “Shit, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean — ”
Her arms locked around him. “No, no; it’s…” She fairly lunged for his mouth, kissing him with violent, desperate urgency.
He recognized what drove her…had been there, too…using sex as an affirmation of life.
He gave her the affirmation, meeting her ferocity with his hunger goading him almost to savagery, as it had in San Francisco. Only this time he fought against biting, making the one penetration substitute for sinking his fangs into a vein.
Her convulsive release shattered all control and the tension, horror, and grief bottled up all night turned into wracking sobs. Garreth held her through the storm, and even after it spent itself and she slid into exhausted sleep. Ignoring hunger, he enjoyed the feel of a woman in his arms again.
Eventually she began shivering…with cold this time, her goosebumps told him. He lifted her to the couch from the pile of their discarded uniforms on the braided rug and tucked the afghan from the back of the couch around her. Then snatching the last bottle from the fridge, he headed to the bathroom for his robe, slugging down half the quart on the way.
Coming back shortly, to his surprise he found Maggie awake and struggling into her shirt and trousers. Minus underwear, which still lay on the rug.
“Maggie…what — ”
“I have to go.” Without looking at him she jammed the underwear into her pockets and her feet into her shoes.
Was she so embarrassed by what happened? “No, please stay. I’ll reheat the tea.”
“I need a clean uniform.” She scooped up her vest and was across the room and out the door.
He stared at the closed door. Shit. Was it something he did? Maybe going after his robe made her think he wanted to get away from her, though he had not just left her lying there on the rug. Did she think she would now be
