qualified as a special occasion.
I guess he felt the same way, because he’d thought to bring me a gift from his travels. It was a stack of beautiful Asian fabric samples for me to use as book cloth in my bookbinding work. It was the loveliest and most thoughtful gift a bookbinder could dream of receiving.
After dinner, we snuggled on the couch. In my wildest imagination, I never would’ve used the word
Naturally, I couldn’t allow that blissful feeling to just exist. My mind rushed to scrutinize and worry over it. Call it human nature, but if I was this happy with a man, I had to wonder why. After all, I’d made mistakes with men before. I wasn’t always the best judge of character. So now I forced myself to ponder some key questions: Was he the right man for me? Why were we together? How did it happen so fast? And there were follow-up questions: Where would we go wrong? How would I screw things up?
The fact was, I’d never dated an ex-spy from another country. Were there issues I should be aware of? Was he a bad risk? Had he done things in his past that would come back to haunt him and, therefore, me? He seemed remarkably well-adjusted, and his level of self-esteem was the healthiest I’d ever encountered. But had he done things in the past that would someday cause him to hate himself? Would he have flashbacks? Would they develop into full-blown post-traumatic stress disorder?
And speaking of his former lifestyle, what exactly had he done? I imagined he must’ve played many roles during his time in British intelligence, but he rarely spoke of them. He still worked in that world peripherally. Did his current job of providing security to his wealthy clients ever entail role-playing? Suppose a rich young widow required someone to play her lover in order to uncover a blackmailing scam. Would Derek play that role or would he send an associate? Did I have the right to ask? Should I trust him to be faithful? Was I being ridiculously naive?
Or was I just imagining monsters in the closets?
To be fair, he had every right to ask himself similar questions about me. I was raised in a commune. How weird was that? And let’s not forget that we’d met under the most bizarre circumstances: over a dead body. Since then, I’d been involved in several murder investigations in which I’d played the role of number one suspect. My strange connection to murder had caused some of my colleagues to wonder if they should risk being in the same room with me.
Nevertheless, I had been relentless in my quest to find the true killer in each case. Derek had been right there beside me, and I was elated to know that we shared a passion for justice.
Still, I wouldn’t blame him for harboring doubts about my own ability to sustain a healthy relationship. I figured there was no time like the present to discuss it.
“Derek, I was wondering if you’ve-”
He emitted a soft snore and I realized he was sound asleep. Jet lag had hit him hard.
“Okay, we’ll talk later,” I murmured, then roused him enough to drag him off to bed, where he continued to sleep like a dead man.
It was five o’clock in the morning when the pounding began.
“What the hell is that?” Derek muttered.
“I don’t know,” I said, sounding whiny as I punched my pillow. Were they cleaning the streets? Or digging holes through concrete? The pounding continued, so I finally tossed the covers back and sat up. Throwing on my flimsy robe, I stood on wobbly legs as the pounding grew louder. By standing, I had a better grasp of the direction the noise was coming from. It wasn’t outside the building, I realized. Someone was pounding on my front door.
“I hope it’s not the little kids who just moved in,” I mumbled. “That won’t make anyone happy.”
That was when the screaming began.
Derek jumped out of bed and yanked on a pair of jeans. “Stay here.”
Ignoring his command, I raced after him down the hall, through the living room, and out to the workshop. I skidded to a halt behind him as he threw the door open.
It was Robin, wrapped in a trench coat and screaming as tears rolled down her cheeks.
She was covered in blood.
Chapter 2
Derek reached out, grabbed Robin around the shoulders, and pulled her inside.
“Oh, my God,” I cried, enfolding her in a hug. “What happened?”
“She’s in shock,” Derek surmised. Shoving the door closed, he led us both through the hall to the living room. Robin’s shrieks had faded to muffled whimpers and sobs.
I hadn’t noticed whether any of my neighbors were staring from their doorways, but was there any doubt that everyone in the building had heard the screams?
“Wait,” I said, when we reached the living room couch. I ran and retrieved my big old yellow blanket from the linen closet and threw it over the couch.
“Can we take your coat off?” I asked.
She twitched, then shook her head and wrapped her arms around her waist in a protective gesture.
“Okay, coat stays on. Sit down, sweetie.”
Derek helped Robin sit on the blanket, and we both tucked the soft fabric around her. I grabbed some socks for her to wear, because she wasn’t wearing any shoes.
Why was she barefoot? I didn’t ask. She was incapable of putting the socks on, so I knelt to slip them on her feet for her. But when I lifted her heel, I gasped. The bottom of her foot was caked in blood. Robin didn’t notice my reaction. She was still shuddering and crying and seemed unable to speak.
I ignored my own dizziness as I stretched out the socks and managed to pull them onto her feet without touching the blood.
There were also dried streaks of blood on her hands and across her face and forehead. The trench coat was relatively free of blood, so I figured she must’ve thrown it on at the last minute to drive over to my place. Was she wearing anything underneath the coat? I was just too plain scared to ask any questions yet.
I sat down next to her and angled myself so I could stroke her arms to get some warmth back into her. She was so cold.
Derek sat on the coffee table directly in front of Robin and pulled the blanket tighter over her legs, then patted her knees to keep them from knocking together. Her teeth began to chatter and I thought she might be sliding deeper into shock.
“I’m guessing the blood isn’t yours,” he began.
She blinked and tried to swallow, then licked her lips.
“Let me get her some water,” I said, pushing myself off the couch and running to the kitchen to fill a glass. I grabbed some tissues while I was there and returned to the living room.
I helped her take a few sips; then she closed her eyes.
“Honey, what happened?” I asked. “Can you tell us?”
“Blood,” she managed, then sucked in a breath between hiccuping and shivering. “Blood.”
“Whose blood is it?” I asked warily, glad that I’d thought to wrap her in the blanket. The fact was, I had an unfortunate tendency to pass out at the sight of blood. It’s not my finest quality, and it was a testament to my love for Robin that I didn’t shriek and drop like a tree when I first saw her.
Robin ignored my question and stared bleakly at Derek.
“Robin, love, we’re going to have to call the police,” he said gently.
“No,” she whispered. She turned and appealed silently to me. She tried to reach for me, grab my arm, but she was wrapped like a mummy in the blanket. I watched her struggle for a moment before I thought to pull her hand free and grip it in mine. I refused to think about her bloodstained palms.
“It’s okay,” I said. “We won’t call the police.” I gave Derek a look that said,
He seemed to understand, and turned to Robin. “We won’t call the police yet, but you must try to tell us what
