On the first
day of the thirteenth week, Sam sat next to Mike at Carlito's and said, "I
think I have some good news and some very good news for you." He hands
Mike two pieces of a newspaper.
The
first one is an in-depth report of a recent FBI anti-human trafficking raid,
and how fifteen underage girls were rescued from their pimp. Tyrell James
"Jaydd" Robinson was facing over one hundred charges relating to sex
crimes, trafficking crimes, kidnapping, and since the youngest girl was twelve,
aiding and abetting pedophilia. The report talked about how local law
enforcement, the FBI, and unnamed "community activists" had collaborated
to make this happen.
Sam
smiles. "That got me off Harris' bad list. He's gotten enough bonus points
from the higher ups on this that they're going to revist my Russian Spy
problem."
"That's
good, Sam." He folded the paper carefully, sure Fi will be happy to see
it.
"Now,
here's the better news, a buddy of mine sent me this."
Mike
glances at it for a second, not understanding why Sam might think he'd want to
see this. "An obituary from Seattle."
"The
guy at the top right was one of my boot camp instructors. Check out the bottom
left."
Michael
stares at the picture for a long time, feeling his blood run cold.
"Management."
"Yeah.
Turns out he was a 'retired cop' in Seattle."
Michael
just sits there, paper limply held between numb fingers.
"I
took the liberty of looking into it. He was found by his wife, apparently had a
heart attack. There was an actual body in the morgue, and he's been cremated.
Unless this Crane guy is Managment's twin brother, he's really dead."
"Says
here he was survived by two sons, a daughter-in-law, two grandsons, and his
wife."
"Boggles
the mind, doesn't it."
"Yeah."
Mike shakes his head and gives the paper back to Sam. Management was the last
loose end. The only piece he never managed to hunt down. And he was just hiding
in plain sight in Seattle, with a family.
Seven
years of his life, finally done, all the pieces tied up, as nice and tidy as
they could possibly get.
He's
vaguely tempted to send a copy of this to Simon, just to know that someone else
understands how utterly bizarre this feels. But if he does that, then someone
will want to know why he's sending things to Simon, and that will reopen a can
of worms he wants to keep not just sealed, but buried in concrete beneath the
ocean floor.
Sam
smiles at him, "It's really over, Mike."
Mike
smiles back. "Yeah, I think it is. So besides good news, what else is
going on?"
"Glad
you asked, a buddy of mine..."
***********************
On
Tuesday Fi said, "Let's go to the beach."
"Really?"
"Yes.
I'm feeling pretty good today, and I want to get out of the house."
"You
sure?"
"Yes,
Michael, I'm sure. I want air and sunshine and to move around, and maybe get
ice cream or something while we're out."
 |
| Pretend there's a bit more tummy and a bit less rib. |
"You
want to eat?" She'd started feeling better last week, but this was the
first time he'd heard her say anything along the lines of actually wanting
anything. And after almost six weeks of Fi not wanting anything, let alone
food, Mike will happily go get her anything, including front row seats to a
live gun battle, if it'll get her out of the house and pique her interest in
something.
"I
think so."
"Out
we will go." Two minutes later he's in swim trunks, a short sleeve
button down, and flip flops.
"Are
you thinking food first, or right to the beach?" he asks as he packs a bag
with towels and suntan lotion.
"Food,
I'm feeling hungry."
"Good,
it's been..." Michael's words trail off as Fi comes out of the bedroom in
her bikini. It's not that Michael's been unaware of the fact that Fi's body has
been changing. He has been aware, and appreciative of this fact, but he hasn't
really seen it. Since morning sickness started, Fi's mostly been laying about
in his pajama pants and loose t-shirts. So, while he's felt her body pressed
against his as they've slept or the rare occasions they've made love, he hasn't
really seen it in a while. He stares for a very long minute, eyes devouring the
new gentle curves revealed by the swimsuit.
The
primal part of his brain, one he was barely aware was back there, took in the
sight of his woman with his child and started jumping up and down and shouting
MINE. The result was a wash of raw sexual desire of the sort he hadn't felt
since he was fourteen and laid eyes on Kelly Jamison sitting two rows ahead of
him in algebra class, stretching in such a way that the sleeve of her shirt
gaped open and he could see she wasn't wearing a bra.
The house
could be on fire, surrounded by mercs, with every single one of his enemies
risen from the dead and zombie-shuffling toward the door, and Fi would still be
the only thing on his mind.
He
swallows hard and says, "You need suntan lotion. And I should put it on
you. Right now."
She
grins at the way he's watching her. And
then reaches up and strokes her neck, shoulder, and chest, fingers just
skirting the fabric of the bikini top. "I can put my own sunblock
on."
"No.
Not this time." He grabs for the bottle without looking away from her and
manages to knock it over.
She
walks to him, stopping a few inches away. "Michael?"
"Yes?"
He's staring at her breasts and tummy.
She
reaches up and nudges his face so he's looking in her eyes. "Like what you
see?"
"God,
Fi, yes."
"Want
to touch?"
"Even
more."
"So
skip the sunblock and touch me."
His
fingers traced from her eyebrow to her hip, skimming over shoulder, breast, and
belly on the way down. His lips follow, tracing her new curves.
An
hour later, he does, happily, put sunblock on her, before she got back into her
suit, and then they got ice cream and a swim.
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