It did not help matters that Joe thought he was quite off his trolley. “Dude,” he’d said with great exasperation, arms rather akimbo, “You can’t be banging the perps!”
“There is no evidence she is a perp,” Flynn had calmly informed him, “and I am not banging her. I’m really rather fond of her.”
“That chick is wacked. Wacked!”
“She’s unique. She’s really quite witty and very smart, and compassionate,” Flynn argued.
Joe looked at him as if he’d lost his mind, his mouth gaping open to his lap, his eyes bulging out quite horribly. He managed to poke his eyes back in his head and ask, “Are you serious?”
“Quite,” Flynn said evenly, and moreover, of late, he was a firm believer in the power of witchcraft, too, because the chemistry between him and Rachel was sizzling. He adored her.
It was a first for him to adore someone, to truly adore them, and it was as unexpected as it was unwanted. Really, he wasn’t certain what to do with it, particularly since this was more than a transatlantic fling—Rachel was not just an American girl to whom he’d formed an almost instant and an increasing attraction.
She was also a suspect in a major crime.
That was the problem that kept Flynn awake at nights. He couldn’t conceive of her being involved in the nutty professor’s scheme, but nor could he prove otherwise, not yet.
All that being said, his involvement with her, undercover notwithstanding, was reaching a point where Flynn was teetering precariously on the edge of a serious and career-ending lack of professionalism.
At some point, he had to confront what was happening to him and come to terms with the realities of this particular case. And if he didn’t do it soon, he had the distinct feeling Joe would do it for him, if he wasn’t already, with remarks such as, “What, they don’t have any ass in England?”
“I’ll kindly ignore that,” Flynn had said, quietly seething. “But really, Joe, are you so bloody macho that you haven’t been smitten once or twice in your life?”
His partner had blushed fiercely at that, and he’d looked out the window, muttered something that sounded a bit like maybe. “Well, whatever,” he said, a little louder. “You’re nuts, pal. That chick is so in on this deal she’s drowning in it.”
Flynn had smiled darkly at that. Until he’d been in her bungalow and determined what she did indeed have in her possession, he couldn’t say one way or the other, but he knew Rachel. He knew Rachel. “Would you care to place a gentleman’s wager on it?”
“Sure,” Joe said, grinning like a man quite sure of himself. “What would you like to wager?”
“One thousand American dollars . . . or is that too rich for your blood?”
That made Joe chuckle. “You’re on, little Lord Fauntleroy. You’re on.”
They had dropped the subject in favor of wrapping up the homicide they were working, and drove down to the shore to have one last chat with a young man who had served a little time for breaking and entering a few years ago.
Back in New York, Aaron noticed that Daniel had new office furniture. Giant butterfly chairs and a big, sixties-type cubed ottoman between the clients and the master manipulator, which is how Aaron had begun to think of the idiot therapist, because damn him if he couldn’t get him and Bonnie to do the most ridiculous things. This week had been their at-home experiment in touching. Fingertip to fingertip, hand to hand, elbow to elbow, and so on.
Daniel seemed pretty pleased with his furniture and himself, and was beaming at Bonnie as she talked about the touching exercise. “It was really . . .” She paused; cast her gaze heavenward as she tried to think of the right word. “Something close to . . . magical. Not sexual, really,” she said, lowering her gaze and trying to find a comfortable position in the new butterfly chair, “but I was cognizant of the connection, you know? I was struck with how long it had been since Aaron and I had been aware of each other on a purely physical level. I didn’t remember Aaron’s skin was so smooth.”
Aaron moaned.
“Aaron?” Daniel asked, smiling at him. “Was there something you wanted to say?”
“My skin is smooth because I live in hospitals and they are turning me into an old man,” he said gruffly, and tried to sit up in that fucking chair.
Daniel was still smiling. “Is there something wrong with smooth skin?”
“If you have to ask, yeah.”
Daniel nodded. “Let’s talk about what you took from the exercise, Aaron,” he said, leaning forward and looking concerned and interested.
“Well, Daniel, I learned that I can’t get it up anymore. When a beautiful woman touches me, there ain’t nothing going on downstairs. Not even a whimper. Might as well lop the damn thing off.”
“Oh, honey . . . you think I’m beautiful?” Bonnie asked.
Aaron looked at Bonnie like she was nuts, which she certainly was if she didn’t know that he thought she was beautiful. “Hell yes I think you’re beautiful, Bonnie! What do you think?”