ago?”
“Must be a year at least.”
“You never reported it?”
“I told George. He said he’d take care of it.”
“And? What did he do?”
“I have no idea. I never gave it another thought until now.”
“I see. Thanks. I take it the bureau people with you have been recalled.”
“Yes, thank God. Things are back to normal around here again.”
“That must be a relief. Thanks again.”
***
Lizenby stopped by Saksis’s office at eight. “Another fifteen minutes, okay?”
He was no sooner gone than her phone rang. It was Bill Tse-ay. “I tried you at home but no luck. Thought I’d take a chance at the office.”
“I was just on my way out. Bill.”
“Putting in overtime, huh?”
“Yes. It’s been this way since—well, it doesn’t matter. You’re in town?”
“Uh huh. I got here a couple of hours ago. Had dinner yet?”
“No. As a matter of fact, that’s where I was going when you called.”
“Damn. I should have called earlier. Any chance of getting out of it?”
“No, Bill, it’s—it involves a case I’m on. How about tomorrow?”
“Sounds good. I’m staying at the Gralyn on N Street.”
“Free for lunch?”
“No. I’m tied up with some people from Interior. I’ll call you later in the afternoon and we’ll set something up.”
“Fine. I’m glad you’re here.”
“So am I. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
Saksis and Lizenby went to Suzanne’s, a noisy but pleasant café that Chris Saksis liked when she was in the mood for something light. They stoodaround the downstairs take-out section until a table was available, then went up a narrow staircase to the restaurant, where they had a cold platter of smoked chicken and beef fillet with herbed mayonnaise, two individual portions of cold pasta with pesto, and a bottle of white wine. Lizenby was in good spirits, more gregarious than usual. He was affectionate during dinner, frequently holding her hand across the table and complimenting her. “You have such a great smile,” he said.
“So do you, but you don’t use it enough,” she said.
He appeared to be hurt at her comment, then broke into a wide grin. “Yeah, I suppose I don’t. It’s the Scandinavian in me.”
He talked a little about his childhood in Seattle, about his father, who he characterized as humorless and unbending, in contrast to his mother, a nervous, giddy woman who he remembered as always laughing. “She had to placate the old man all the time,” he said. “She was good at it, which was good for me. It took the edge off.”
Chris knew he’d been married once and that it had ended in divorce. She’d asked on a couple of occasions about it, but he offered little: “It didn’t work,” or, “We were too young,” or, “It was a mistake we caught in time.” When she asked where his former wife was now, he shrugged and said, “I don’t know and I don’t care.”
Over coffee he brought up the question of where they’d stay that night. To Chris the question was not
where
to stay but whether to spend the night with him at all. Until dinner, she had been determined not to, but now… it was a tough decision.
“Ross, would you mind terribly if we didn’t stay together tonight? I really need time at the apartment to catch up on some personal things.”
She searched his face for a sign of anger or disappointment, but saw neither. Instead, he smiled, took her hand, and said, “Of course I don’t mind. We both need some time alone. I’m just glad we had a chance for dinner together. I miss you.”
His words touched her. She squeezed his hand and said, “I miss you, too.”
“You know what I’d like to do when this Pritchard mess is resolved?”
“What?”
“Go away together for a couple of weeks, maybe Mexico, Europe, just the two of us.”
“Sounds wonderful. I’ve got lots of vacation time accrued.”
“So do I. Let’s plan on it.”
They returned to the Hoover Building to pick up her car. He took her in his
“Must be a year at least.”
“You never reported it?”
“I told George. He said he’d take care of it.”
“And? What did he do?”
“I have no idea. I never gave it another thought until now.”
“I see. Thanks. I take it the bureau people with you have been recalled.”
“Yes, thank God. Things are back to normal around here again.”
“That must be a relief. Thanks again.”
***
Lizenby stopped by Saksis’s office at eight. “Another fifteen minutes, okay?”
He was no sooner gone than her phone rang. It was Bill Tse-ay. “I tried you at home but no luck. Thought I’d take a chance at the office.”
“I was just on my way out. Bill.”
“Putting in overtime, huh?”
“Yes. It’s been this way since—well, it doesn’t matter. You’re in town?”
“Uh huh. I got here a couple of hours ago. Had dinner yet?”
“No. As a matter of fact, that’s where I was going when you called.”
“Damn. I should have called earlier. Any chance of getting out of it?”
“No, Bill, it’s—it involves a case I’m on. How about tomorrow?”
“Sounds good. I’m staying at the Gralyn on N Street.”
“Free for lunch?”
“No. I’m tied up with some people from Interior. I’ll call you later in the afternoon and we’ll set something up.”
“Fine. I’m glad you’re here.”
“So am I. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
Saksis and Lizenby went to Suzanne’s, a noisy but pleasant café that Chris Saksis liked when she was in the mood for something light. They stoodaround the downstairs take-out section until a table was available, then went up a narrow staircase to the restaurant, where they had a cold platter of smoked chicken and beef fillet with herbed mayonnaise, two individual portions of cold pasta with pesto, and a bottle of white wine. Lizenby was in good spirits, more gregarious than usual. He was affectionate during dinner, frequently holding her hand across the table and complimenting her. “You have such a great smile,” he said.
“So do you, but you don’t use it enough,” she said.
He appeared to be hurt at her comment, then broke into a wide grin. “Yeah, I suppose I don’t. It’s the Scandinavian in me.”
He talked a little about his childhood in Seattle, about his father, who he characterized as humorless and unbending, in contrast to his mother, a nervous, giddy woman who he remembered as always laughing. “She had to placate the old man all the time,” he said. “She was good at it, which was good for me. It took the edge off.”
Chris knew he’d been married once and that it had ended in divorce. She’d asked on a couple of occasions about it, but he offered little: “It didn’t work,” or, “We were too young,” or, “It was a mistake we caught in time.” When she asked where his former wife was now, he shrugged and said, “I don’t know and I don’t care.”
Over coffee he brought up the question of where they’d stay that night. To Chris the question was not
where
to stay but whether to spend the night with him at all. Until dinner, she had been determined not to, but now… it was a tough decision.
“Ross, would you mind terribly if we didn’t stay together tonight? I really need time at the apartment to catch up on some personal things.”
She searched his face for a sign of anger or disappointment, but saw neither. Instead, he smiled, took her hand, and said, “Of course I don’t mind. We both need some time alone. I’m just glad we had a chance for dinner together. I miss you.”
His words touched her. She squeezed his hand and said, “I miss you, too.”
“You know what I’d like to do when this Pritchard mess is resolved?”
“What?”
“Go away together for a couple of weeks, maybe Mexico, Europe, just the two of us.”
“Sounds wonderful. I’ve got lots of vacation time accrued.”
“So do I. Let’s plan on it.”
They returned to the Hoover Building to pick up her car. He took her in his
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