“Are you hurt?” he asked, as he raced around to her side.
She shook her head. “No,” she said, “I’m just—”
“Exhausted,” he said. “You’re physically and emotionally exhausted.” He led the way to the front door and took her inside, the dogs milling around them, subdued, as if worried about Angela too. Bonaparte motioned toward her bedroom. “Just go get some sleep.”
“I should have a shower,” she said.
“Okay, if you got the energy, then do it,” he said. “You’d probably sleep better. Just don’t let all those bodies and this day take over your mind,” he said, “because then you’ll never sleep.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I was trying to hold all that back for now.”
“You’ll have to deal with it, but, if you could get some rest first, it would be better,” he said. “No way you kill someone in the line of duty and walk away from that without feeling some reaction.”
“We should feel a reaction,” she murmured.
“Absolutely,” he said quietly. “That’s what makes us different from the bad guys, who feel nothing but maybe power and revenge. Come on. Let’s get you upstairs.” He helped her to her bedroom.
“I’ll be fine from here,” she said.
“Good,” he said. “If I don’t hear you moving around in the shower, I’m coming in after you.”
She smiled. “That sounds like an excuse,” she teased.
“I don’t need an excuse,” he said, “but, right now, if I were to take you to bed,” he said, “you might fall asleep on me, and my ego couldn’t handle that.”
She broke out laughing again. “I don’t know what it is about you,” she said, “but, every time I’m around you, I end up smiling.”
He grinned and said, “That’s a good thing.”
“Maybe,” she said. “It seems like there hasn’t been a whole lot of laughter in my life for a while.”
“We’ll change that now,” he said.
She slowly made her way into the bedroom, closing the door between them. Stripped down, she headed for the shower. Once she was alone and under the hot water, she just leaned against the wall and let it pour all over her. When there was a knock on the bathroom door, she lifted her head and said, “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
She could hear the worry in his tone. She shut off the taps and poked her head around the corner of the shower curtain. “Really, I’m fine,” she said. “I’m just …”
When she let her voice trail off, he poked his head around the door, nodded, and said, “As long as you’re okay.”
She smiled. “I’ll be fine.”
He closed the door and said, “I’m putting on coffee.”
“That sounds good. Bring me a cup, if you don’t mind.”
“Will do.”
She got out, and, instead of getting dressed, she put on an oversized T-shirt and baby-blue underwear, then crawled into bed, a hairbrush in her hand. “What a day,” she whispered to herself. He knocked a few minutes later, and she called out, “It’s open.”
The door moved jerkily open, as he had used his foot to prod it, and she noted he carried a tray. She smiled, as he brought in a cup of coffee. “Do you really think I need coffee?” she asked, leaning her head back.
“You asked for it,” he said.
She nodded. “I’m looking for the comfort of the hot drink, I suppose. And I highly doubt that the caffeine will stop me from sleeping tonight.” He placed the tray gently on her lap, and he’d made a simple sandwich for her as well. “And food,” she said. “Wow, you’re a keeper.”
“I am, at that,” he said, with a smile.
She lifted one half of the sandwich and chewed gently. “Gosh, I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” she muttered.
“We haven’t had anything all day,” he said.
She nodded tiredly and finished the sandwich in about eight bites. Picking up the coffee, she sat here, hugging the warm cup, sipping it, as she huddled under the blankets.
“And now,” he said, as he removed the tray and put it on the floor, “you need to crash.”
“I know,” she said. She put down her cup and shifted, so she was curled up under the covers, and pulled her pillow up under her neck. “You okay to stand watch?”
He reached out a gentle finger across her cheek and whispered, “Over you? Always.”
But she didn’t hear him. She was already out.
*
Bonaparte quickly took the tray downstairs and left the bedroom door open, so he could hear her. He wasn’t sure what she was like, but, for most people, after shootings and all the stress and adrenaline related to that, it was rare to sleep very deep. It wasn’t long before he heard her crying out, tossing and turning. He raced upstairs and soothed her, until she was calm and relaxed again.
Leaving her for a few more minutes, he walked to his room and had a quick shower. With clean boxers and jeans on, he went to check on her. As he stepped inside her bedroom, she opened her eyes and stared at him, jolting awake.
He winced. “Sorry, I was just checking to see if you’re okay,” he said.
She looked at him in surprise and yawned. “I’m feeling much better.”
“That’s good,” he said. “Go to sleep and really sleep this time.”
“Working on it,” she said; then she rolled over. Before he stepped out, she asked him, “What are you doing?”
“I just had a shower,” he said, “so I’ll try to get some rest too.”
She patted the bed. “Just stretch out here then.”
“Dangerous idea,” he murmured, but she waved her hand to that.
“I’m too damn tired.”
“What makes you think I am?”
“I’m trusting you,” she said. “Besides, you want someone a little more with it. You said so yourself.”
He smiled and said, “Absolutely,” then stretched out on top of the bed.
“Don’t you want a blanket?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Just rest.”
She yawned again and crashed. He waited until she’d fallen asleep; then he got up, checked outside to make
