She shook her head, trying to knock loose the memory of the nightmare she’d just had.
Her stomach growled again, and she turned and made for the kitchen.
“Is there any . . . ?” she began as she stepped through the doorway, to find Patrick reaching over and picking up a steaming mug from the counter and holding it out to her. “Coffee,” she finished with a sigh as she took the mug in both hands.
She took her first sip, eyes closed.
“Cream and two sugars, right?” Patrick flashed a faint smile as he turned his attention back to the stove. “See, I remember things.”
“Close enough.” Izzie lowered the mug slowly from her lips. “I usually use the no-calorie sweetener stuff these days, but you won’t hear me complaining.”
Patrick was carefully folding an omelet in the skillet with a spatula. “I haven’t had a chance to get to the market this week. . . . You know, with all of this mess going on. . . . So I had to make do with what I had.”
“What, the impending apocalypse is interfering with your grocery shopping?” Izzie went to stand beside him, taking a deep breath in through her nose. “Well, it smells fantastic. Like I said, you won’t hear me complaining.”
She took another sip of the coffee, as a brief pause stretched out between them. Then she put the mug down on the counter and straightened up.
“You don’t think we’re crazy, right?”
Patrick looked over in her direction, quirking an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“This . . .” Izzie took a ragged breath. “This is all really happening, right?”
Patrick put the spatula down next to the stove top, and then turned to face her. “What, you think we’re just imagining all of this? Like, this is one big hallucination that we are all sharing?”
“Maybe,” Izzie said half-heartedly. She looked at the floor for a moment, then back up at him from under her eyebrows. “Or maybe I’m the one imagining all of it, and none of the rest of you are really here?”
Patrick’s face cycled through a number of expressions quickly—the first hints of a smile, interrupted by a sudden shadow of doubt, and finally coming to rest on a look of resigned concern.
“Look,” he said, reaching out and resting a hand on her shoulder. “You’re exhausted, sleep deprived, and strung out. So I get why that would make sense to you right now. But I promise you that this is really happening. As much as it would be nice to think that we could just, I don’t know, wake up and all of this wouldn’t be real, we don’t get that choice.” He sighed heavily. “Those things really are out there, and we have to deal with it.”
“Do I smell coffee?” said a voice from behind Izzie.
She turned to see Daphne standing in the open doorway, drying off her short blonde hair with a towel. Seeing her there, a smile spread across Izzie’s face, as she remembered the hours that they had spent together earlier that morning, waiting for the sun to rise. Their personal rules about getting romantically involved with fellow FBI agents were completely forgotten, as they sought what comfort they could in the warmth of each other’s embrace, sharing their most intimate secrets.
At least there was one thing about last night that Izzie was glad to know hadn’t been a delusion. . . .
CHAPTER TWO
Patrick dug around in the cabinet until he came up with a couple of additional coffee mugs. He rarely had company over these days, and seldom had need for more than one mug at a time, and so he usually used the same insulated plastic travel mug every day. The ceramic coffee mug that he’d given Izzie was the only other one in regular use, most often used if he wanted hot tea later in the day. So the only options he had on hand to offer Daphne Richardson were two mugs that were normally buried way in the back of the cabinet.
“You’ve got two choices,” he said a little sheepishly, turning back from the cabinet and holding a mug in either hand out to Daphne. On one was printed a blue Smurf holding a flower with the caption “Have a Smurfy Day,” that had probably belonged to one of his older cousins when they were kids, and on the other was printed SO MANY MEN, SO FEW CAN AFFORD ME. He watched as Daphne read the text on the second one and then looked back at him, raising an eyebrow. He shrugged, and explained, “It was my mom’s.”
Daphne grinned, and opted for the Smurf. “I’ve got a Snoopy mug in my apartment,” she said, as she walked over to where the coffee pot sat on the counter. “It’s got a bonsai tree growing in it, though.”
“I guess Joyce can use that one.” Izzie nodded toward the other mug, and then leered suggestively at him. “If you think you can handle it.”
Patrick rolled his eyes, and, picking up the spatula, turned back to the stove. “This should be done in just a few minutes. Eggs are okay for everyone, I hope?”
He glanced back over his shoulder when no one answered, and saw that the two women had drifted off to the far side of the kitchen, huddled close and talking in low voices as they sipped their coffees.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, returning his attention to the omelets.
Izzie had told him in the car the other day that she might be interested in someone, romantically. Patrick hadn’t suspected at the time that she was talking about another FBI agent, much less another woman. No wonder Izzie had accused him of having a
