P. Parrish - Heart of Ice

The phone rang in the kitchen, and he heard Joe answer. A moment later, she came into the living room.

“It’s for you,” she said.

“Who is it?”

“Mark Steele.”

Louis just stood there, his brain tumbling with questions. Rafsky, he thought, Rafsky had set this up.

“You going to take it?” Joe asked softly.

Louis went into the kitchen and picked up the receiver from the counter.

“This is Kincaid.”

Joe was standing in the kitchen doorway, watching him. He kept his eyes on her face as he listened to Mark Steele. He said little, offering an occasional yes or no. Finally he hung up.

“What did he want?” Joe asked.

“He said he’s taking the red flag off my file,” Louis said. “I’m free to work in Michigan if someone makes me an offer.”

Joe raised an eyebrow.

“Rafsky must have talked to him,” Louis said.

Joe hesitated. “Do you want to work here again?”

Louis held her eyes for a moment, then went to the coffeemaker on the counter. He poured himself a cup and spent a long time stirring in three packs of sugar. He couldn’t get his fingers through the mug handle, so he gripped it with both hands.

“Louis?”

He turned to the window over the sink and looked out. The snow was deep and wide. Nothing but a clean white canvas stretching as far as he could see.

“Louis,” Joe said. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

He turned to her. “I love you.”