Just enough dry heat had lingered to be soothing. The quiet was merciful. Robin had driven up an hour before. Feeling guilty about returning to Starkweather without informing her, I'd filled her in. "No need for confession. You're here in one piece." She'd looked tired, soaked in the tub while I drove into Westwood to get the pizza. I took the truck, playing Joe Satri-ani very loud. Not minding the traffic, not minding much of anything at all. A couple of beers when I got back didn't raise my anxiety. The bath had refreshed Robin, and staring at her across the table as she worked on a second slice seemed a great way to pass the time. I'd allowed myself to feel pretty good by the time the unmarked zoomed up in front of the house. The headlights made my head hurt. Tonight, Marie Sinclair and I were kindred spirits. The car stopped. Spike barked. Robin waved. I didn't budge. Milo stuck his head out the passenger's window. "Oh. Sorry. Nothing earth-shattering. Call me tomorrow, Alex." Spike had cranked up the volume, and now he was baying like an insulted hound.
