Double Cross

“You need a hand there?” I asked once the fire was going pretty good, blowing sparks skyward. Bree had just pulled a sailcloth out of the backseat, presumably to use as a shade of some kind.

“Yeah, open that cabernet. Please, Alex. We’re almost there.”

By the time the wine was breathing, Bree had strung the tarp up onto three branches overhead, with looping knots she could use to raise or lower the corners from right there on the ground.

“We have to be careful with the food,” she said. “Bobcats and bears, you know. There are bears in these parts.”

“So I’ve heard.” I handed her a glass. “You know, you’re pretty handy around the house.”

“And you’re a good little cook, I’ll bet.”

Sometimes I missed what Bree said because I was too busy with those enchanting hazel eyes of hers. They were the first thing I had ever noticed about her. Some people just have great eyes. Of course, it wasn’t just the eyes that were distracting me. Not right now, anyway. She’d already shucked her shoes and was unbuttoning her cutoffs. And her blouse. Then she was standing there in pale-blue bra and panties. I had forgotten about her eyes for the moment, glorious as they might be.

She handed her glass back to me. “You know the very best thing about this spot?”

“Not really sure, but I think I’m going to find out. Am I?”

“Yes, you most definitely are.”

Chapter 7

I HAVE ALWAYS FELT that life was on the borderline of being absurd and meaningless, but it can still be pretty, if you look at it in the right light.

And so the rest of the early evening was perfect for us. Bree and I hurried, hand in hand, down to the very inviting Big Hunting Creek. We took off the rest of our clothes and waded in. After an uncomfortable minute or so, the water felt like a second skin on our bodies.

At that point, I didn’t know if I could ever get out again. And I didn’t want to. We kissed and held each other, then swam and splashed around like a couple of kids on vacation. Somewhere nearby, bullfrogs were attempting to serenade us with a steady glunk, glunk, glunk.

“You think this is funny?” Bree called to the frogs. “Well, actually, I guess it is. Glunk! Glunk!”

We kissed some more, and one very good thing led to another, which is where the old-time movies used to cut to the scene of the speeding, steaming train racing through the tunnel. Except that Bree and I weren’t in any kind of hurry to get in and out of that tunnel. She whispered to me that I had the gentlest hands and asked for light tickling all over, and don’t stop. I liked what I was doing, and I told her she had the softest body, which was strange considering how buff she was. That kind of sensual exploration had to lead to trouble, and it did.

We took a few steps back until we were in water up to our chests. Then Bree floated upward and wrapped her legs around me as I went inside of her. Being in the water like that made everything last longer, but all good things must come to an end. Bree screamed, so did I, and even the damn bullfrogs shut up for a minute.

Afterward, we lay on a blanket on the grassy beach, where the late-day sun dried us off, and we did things that maybe could have gotten us into trouble again. Eventually we took our sweet time getting dressed and then fixed some dinner. “I could get used to this,” I told Bree. “In fact, I’m already used to it.”

After the steak and lobster, and my semifamous tossed salad, there was a batch of killer brownies for dessert, compliments of Nana, who highly approved of Bree. At this point I was about ready to try out the tent with my companion.

By the time it was dark, we were feeling pretty relaxed and happy. Work was just a memory. The bears and bobcats were only mild concerns.

I looked down at her, nestled in the curve of my body by the fire. She seemed as soft and vulnerable now as she was strong and unflappable at her job.

“You’re amazing,” I whispered. “This whole day has been like a dream. Don’t wake me, okay?”

“I love you,” she said. Then she quickly added, “Whoops.”

Chapter 8

BREE’S WORDS HUNG IN the air for the next few seconds, which was a first-the first time I’d ever been at a loss for words with her.

“It just kind of slipped out. Who said that, anyway? Sorry. Sorry,” she said.

“Bree, I… why sorry?” I asked.

“Alex, you don’t need to say anything more. Neither of us does. Wow. Would you look at those stars!”

I reached and took Bree’s hand. “It’s okay. This is just happening a little faster than probably both of us are used to. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

Bree answered me with kisses, and then laughter, and more laughter. The whole thing could have been uncomfortable, but somehow it was just the opposite. I hugged her close, and we started to kiss again. I stared into her eyes. “Wow back at you,” I said.

And so the fact that her pager went off at that moment was… what? Poetic justice, I guess. Classic irony? The not-so-funny part was that I’d always been the one getting the cell-phone call at just the wrong time.

The pager inside the tent buzzed again. Bree looked over at me without moving.

“Go ahead,” I told her. “It’s yours. You have to answer it. I know the drill.”

“Let me just see who it is.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “See who it is.”

Somebody’s dead. We have to go back to DC.

She ducked inside. A few seconds later, I heard her talking on the phone. “This is Bree Stone. What’s going on?”

I was kind of glad for Bree that she was so much in demand. Kind of glad. I’d heard from my friend Detective John Sampson that her future with the department was as bright as she wanted to make it. Meanwhile, this call could mean only one thing. I looked at my watch. We could probably be back in the city by ten thirty or so. Depending on whether she wanted me to push it, something the R350 could certainly deliver on.

When Bree came out of the tent again, she had already traded in her shorts for jeans, and she was zipping up a hooded Georgia Tech sweatshirt.

“You don’t have to come. I’ll be as quick as I can. Back by breakfast, if not before then.”

I’d already begun gathering up our things. “And the check’s in the mail, and it’s only a cold sore.”

She laughed, sort of. “I’m really sorry about this. Shit, Alex. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. And pissed off.”

“Don’t be,” I said. “This was the perfect day.” And then, because I couldn’t help myself, and because I knew Bree wouldn’t be insulted by the change of subject, I asked, “So what’s the case?”

Chapter 9

TALK ABOUT A DISORIENTING change of pace and venue, and definitely not a pleasing one, to put it mildly. We reached the Riverwalk apartment building at 10:50 that night, which made the murder scene about six hours cold. Bree had offered to drop me at home on Fifth Street, but I knew she was eager to get here. This was a