“So,” she said around a mouthful of donut, “anyone want to go with me and pay the old guy a visit?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Izzie sat in the passenger seat of Joyce’s Volkswagen Beetle, trying to act casually preoccupied with the passing scenery as they drove through the sluggish Sunday afternoon traffic, acutely aware of the awkward silence that had stretched out since they had left Patrick’s house a quarter of an hour before.
When she had enthusiastically accepted Joyce’s offer to introduce them to her friend who worked on the staff of the Northside Community Living Center, it had been Izzie’s assumption that the four of them would be travelling there together. But Patrick had begged off, insisting that his first priority was to tend to his great-uncle’s marks on the surrounding buildings, so as to prevent another incursion of the Ridden like the one they’d faced the night before. When Joyce had suggested that they could simply wait until he was done, Patrick was clearly tempted, obviously as curious to hear what Jett had to say as any of them. But he had made plans with some of the neighborhood kids he had run into that morning, to meet up later in the afternoon, to go over the basics of cleaning and tending the marks. The sooner that the rest of the neighborhood was secured, the better, but he was anxious to learn what they could from G. W. Jett as soon as possible. So he insisted that the others shouldn’t delay.
Daphne had been forced to bow out as well, explaining that she had open cases that she had been neglecting the last few days. And while the cases were hardly of earthshattering importance, Daphne had told Agent Gutierrez that she would keep on top of her workload while she was away from the office, and that if she didn’t post updates on them by Monday morning then she would likely have him on her back, fabricated “long term stakeout” or no.
There had been a moment when it looked as though Joyce was unsure about carrying through on her offer when Patrick declined to join them, and Izzie couldn’t help but wonder to what degree the offer had been motivated by Joyce’s desire to spend time with him, and whether she would have preferred to stay behind and help him. The fact that Joyce had been prompted to seek out the status and whereabouts of G. W. Jett in the first place in order to score points in a disagreement with Izzie and Daphne was never far from Izzie’s thoughts.
She hadn’t intended for the disagreement around Patrick’s dining table to get so contentious so quickly. Izzie had known that she was probably crossing a line with the medical examiner by asking her to circumvent regulations the moment that the words had left her mouth. And if it been just the two of them in the conversation, Izzie would have likely walked the request back as soon as she saw the offended expression on Joyce’s face, and that would have been an end to it. But Daphne had taken offense on Izzie’s behalf, offended that Joyce was offended, and the situation had quickly escalated out of hand.
Izzie imagined that the rest of them were as stressed and anxious as she was after everything they had been through, and their nerves were also frayed. But still she felt like she didn’t know Joyce well enough to say that stress and anxiety was all that was at play, or if the woman had some other issue with her. She was tempted to ask, but was uncertain how the question would be received. It was frustrating to Izzie, who normally didn’t have any difficulty talking with people. But this was also the first time that the two of them had been alone for any extended period of time, without either Daphne or Patrick on hand to facilitate matters, and Izzie couldn’t help but feel like the lines of communication between them were down, and she wasn’t sure how to reestablish them.
So they rode in awkward silence, driving north through Oceanview toward the Financial District, Joyce staring straight ahead and not even going to the trouble of turning on the car stereo, and Izzie left to look out the window at the cars and buildings passing by. She rehearsed things to say in her mind, ways to bridge this silence that stretched between them, but before she could settle on what to say . . .
“I’ve never had anyone try to choke me before.”
Izzie was almost startled by the sound of Joyce’s voice speaking in the small, silent space. She turned to see that, while Joyce’s eyes were still on the road ahead, her brow was creased with worry.
“I mean, never anyone that I didn’t want to choke me,” Joyce added.
Izzie was momentarily confused, until she saw the faintest glimmer of a grin tug at the corners of Joyce’s lips.
“And always with a safe word clearly established ahead of time.” Joyce’s eyes darted to the passenger seat as she sought to gauge Izzie’s expression.
They pulled to a stop at a traffic light, and Joyce turned in her seat to face Izzie.
“But seriously, this is all new territory for me,” she said. “I’m the one who deals with the bodies after all of the action is over, and then pieces together what happened from the physical evidence. I am most definitely not used to being one of the people who is out in the middle of the action, getting attacked or grabbed or what-have-you. And when the people doing the attacking and grabbing and what-have-youing aren’t even technically alive?”
She shook her head, but before she could continue, the light turned green, and she turned back to look straight ahead as she shifted the car into gear.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Joyce went on, “because I do not regret getting mixed up in this at all. Ever since I saw the state of the
