Lisa Gardner - The Next Accident

Quincy said, "I'll call you." She nodded. Quincy said, "Soon." She nodded. Quincy said, "I'm sorry, Rainie." And she nodded, though she wasn't really sure what he was sorry for.

She got back to Portland. Five days, six hours, and thirty-two minutes ago. Her phone did ring. But when she picked it up, Quincy was never there.

"I can't be this well adjusted forever," she told her computer screen. "You know this isn't my style. Are women supposed to change everything for men? I mean, I was hostile, insecure, and stubborn before and he wanted to get to know me better. Now I'm honestly trying to be a mature, productive member of society, and I haven't heard from him since. On the one hand, the man is under enormous amounts of stress. On the other hand, that's just plain rude."

Her computer screen didn't reply. She scowled. "Do you think it was the sickening-sweet pet names? Maybe if I had called him stud muffin…"

Her buzzer sounded. Her head bobbed up, her gaze going to her TV/security monitor. A man was standing in front of the outside doors. He wore normal clothes, but she would've known that salt-and-pepper hair anywhere.

"Shit!" Rainie yelled. "Why doesn't he ever give me a chance to shower!"

Screw the shower. She buzzed him up, ran to the kitchen sink, and hastily splashed water on her face. Two sniffs. Hey, at least this time she'd done deodorant. He rang the doorbell of her loft just as she dragged on a clean white shirt. One last hand through the hair, and she was at the door.

"Hello, Rainie," he said.

She just stood there. He looked good in his Quincy-like way. A little uptight, a little too smart, a little too much weight of the world resting upon his shoulders. But he was wearing slim khaki pants with a navy blue open-collar shirt, the first time in weeks she'd seen him out of a suit.

"Hey," she said. She opened the door a little wider.

"Can I come in?"

"It's been known to happen."

She let him in. SupSpAg had something on his mind. He walked all the way to her family room where he promptly paced back and forth while she gnawed her lower lip. Six days ago they'd been so close. Why did they suddenly feel like strangers?

"I've been meaning to call," he said.

"Uh-huh."

"I didn't, though. I'm sorry." He hesitated. "I didn't know what to say."

" 'Hello' is always a good start. Some people like to follow that with, 'And how are you?' I find that works better than, 'Drop dead.'" She smiled.

He winced. "You're mad."

"Getting there."

"You've been very understanding."

"Oh God, are you breaking up with me?"

He finally stopped pacing, looking genuinely startled. "I didn't think so."

"You didn't think so? What does that mean? I asked if you were breaking up with me. If you're not, for God's sake say no, with authority!"

"No, with authority!" he said.

"Five days, six hours, and thirty-seven minutes!"

"What's that?"

"How long since you promised to call. Not that I'm counting or anything." Her hands flew up into the air. "Oh God, I've become one of those women who waits by the phone. I swore I would never be one of those poor saps waiting by the phone. Look at what you've done to me. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

"Rainie, I swear I haven't been trying to torture you. I swear, last week when you arrived, I've never been so happy to see anyone. I've never… needed anyone the way I needed you. When I drove you to the airport, all I could think was that I didn't want you to go. Then I had this image of us – driving to and from airports, the high of getting together, the low of splitting apart, trying to be a couple, but still leading separate lives and… And in all honesty, then I thought that I was much too old for this shit. There are so few things that make me happy, Rainie. There is so little I have left. So why was I driving you to the airport?"

"I had a ticket?"

He sighed. She could see the tightness around his eyes. He stood too far away, half of the loft looming between them, but she couldn't bring herself to close the gap. He had more to say. That was the problem. He'd said the good stuff, so if he still had more…

"I'm no longer an FBI agent," he told her quietly. "I tendered my resignation to the Bureau two days ago."

"No way." She rocked back on her heels; she couldn't have been more surprised if he'd suddenly announced that he could fly.

"I've decided to reinvent my life. Kimberly has returned to school and is saying she's perfectly fine, so we know she's going to need help. Even if she's too stubborn to let me hold her hand, I think it would mean a lot to her to know that I'm really there for her this time. Not out in the field where I could get hurt. Not running back to the job as I've always done. But close. Say in New York, somewhere by NYU, where she could drop in for dinner if she liked or simply show up to chat. I'm thinking I'll get a loft, put up a shingle and work as an independent consultant for law enforcement agencies."

"Profiler for Hire?"

He smiled. "You'd be surprised how many profilers retire to become consultants. You get to pick your cases, choose your hours, and best of all, ignore all the politics because they're no longer your problem. It's a good setup. Of course, there is one problem."

Rainie eyed him warily. "I'll bite. What problem?"

"I'd like to have a partner."

"You came all the way here to tell me that you're offering Glenda a job?"

He rolled his eyes. "No Rainie, I came all the way here to offer you a job. With full benefits I might add."

"What?" Far from being calmed, she became incensed. "Five days, six hours, and thirty-seven minutes later, this is what you're offering me? A dental plan?"

He finally appeared uneasy. "Well, maybe not dental. The company is a start-up."

Rainie stalked toward him. Her eyes had narrowed into slits. Her finger jabbed the air. "What are you doing, Quincy?"

"Apparently once again dodging your finger."

"You fly across the country, you come to my home, and you offer me employment? Do I look like a woman who needs a boss?"

"Not boss," he said immediately. "Oh no, 1 am not that dumb. I said partner, and I meant partner."

"It's a professional arrangement! Five days, six hours, and thirty-seven minutes later, I do not want a professional arrangement. I have not flown across the country three times in six weeks looking for a professional arrangement. I did not jump your bones just last week, looking for a professional arrangement. So help me God, Quincy – "

"I love you."

"What?" She drew up short. Her finger froze in midair.

"Rainie, I love you. You don't know how many times I've already said that because it was always after you'd fallen asleep or left the room. I didn't know if you were ready, or maybe I didn't know if I was ready. But I love you, Rainie. And while I need to stay on the East Coast for my daughter, I don't want to drive you to airports anymore."

"Oh."

"Now would be a good time for you to say something more than, oh."

"I get that."

"You're making me nervous."

"I have a mean streak. And you made me wait five days."

"All the casework you can handle," he offered quietly. "Never easy, nothing boring. You know how it is in my world. I've waited so long to be happy, Rainie. I've made so many mistakes. I want to do better this time. And I want to learn to do better with you."

She sighed. She had that tight feeling back in her chest. So that was what this was about. So this is what everything was about.

She leaned forward. She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Hey Quince," she murmured. "I love you, too."

LISA GARDNER is the author of The Other Daughter and The Third Victim, both New York Times bestsellers, as well as The Perfect Husband. She lives in New England with her husband, Anthony, and her two dogs, where she is at work on her next novel of suspense, The Survivors Club.