*
Fletcher arrived on her doorstep just as she was sliding the bacon from the pan. She dumped the shredded potatoes into the skillet to let them cook in the rendered grease, and went to the door, wiping her hands on a towel.
He looked like something the cat dragged in. He’d showered, but barely. Stubble bristled from his jaw, and his blue eyes were shadowed with deep pockets of dark skin. He had on a suit that was rumpled, and mismatched socks. Fletch on a case was a sight to behold.
“You want to use my bathroom, try again?” she asked.
He just shot her a look and came into the house. She looked to the northwest for a second, down N Street toward Georgetown University, wondering how long Xander would be, then decided feeding and watering Fletcher took precedence. Her stove had a warming setting; she’d put Xander’s plate in there and he could eat when he returned. She shut the door and went to the kitchen, where Fletcher had already grabbed a mug and was filling it from the coffeepot.
She flipped the hash browns and started to assemble their plates. Fletcher sat at the table with his coffee, sipping and groaning in the kind of earthy delight only men who can appreciate decent coffee and women’s backsides could pull off.
She slid a plate of food under his nose, then joined him with her own. He dug in immediately, shoveled three forkfuls in before taking a breath.
“God, this is good. Thank you. What do you need?”
“We should wait for Xander. It’s his story.”
“Where is he?”
“I think he went for a run. He was gone when I got up. So he should be back shortly. What’s happening with the investigation? The TV said there were no more deaths overnight, and a few of the victims would be released this morning. That’s good news, right?”
He crunched his bacon. “You know as much as I do right now.”
“But you’re working with the JTTF, right? I figured they’d have all the scoop.”
“They do. I don’t. I am tasked with something else. A smaller part of the investigation.”
She heard the annoyance in his voice. “Want to tell me about it?”
“I can’t. Not yet. Suffice it to say, one misstep and I’m toast.” He ran his forefinger along his throat in a slash.
“Really? I can’t imagine Armstrong letting you get into trouble.”
“He doesn’t know about this. I’ve been asked to keep the ‘nature of my investigation’ to myself. And trust me, it’s something I want some cover on. A single fuckup, and I’ll be on the first train out of town with pitchforks and brands thrown at me.”
“Are you in trouble?”
He ate some more, took a big drink of his coffee. “I don’t know yet. But I have to make some decisions pretty damn quick. So let’s get a move on. You can tell me what’s up, and when Xander gets back, he can fill in the blanks.”
She glanced at the clock. He should have been back by now.
“Let me just call him. He usually takes his phone with him when he’s in the city.”
She grabbed her cell. Xander’s phone rang once, twice, then he picked up without a greeting.
“I wondered when you were going to call.”
“Where are you? Fletcher and I are about to eat your breakfast.”
His voice changed. “Fletcher’s there?”
“Yes. Remember, we were trying to touch base so we could tell him your theory?”
“I do. And so you may.”
“Where are you, Xander?”
She heard the noises in the background then, a familiar squelch, and realized exactly where he was.
“Oh, come on. That is so not fair. Where are you going?”
She could almost hear the smile in his voice. “You’re good, Dr. Owens. Don’t worry about me. I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Xander, we need you here. You need to show Fletch what’s going on.”
“He has enough to deal with. Just let me figure this out, and see if I can’t track them down, then I’ll tell him exactly where they are, and he can swoop in and scoop them up with all the fanfare he wants.”
“Xander—”
“Samantha, honey, I don’t want to jam up these people if they have nothing to do with the attack.”
“And if they do?”
“They don’t. I know it. I just need to have enough proof so they won’t be arrested.”
Fletcher was watching her closely now, as if he knew already the situation at hand.
“You kept something from me. You do know who they are, and where they are,” Sam said flatly.
“I have a sneaking suspicion.”
“This isn’t your fight, Xander. Come home. Let’s deal with this together.”
His voice deepened. “It most certainly is my fight. They’re calling for me to turn off my cell, sweetheart. I’ll be in touch.”
The phone went dead. Sam didn’t know whether to curse or throw her cell across the room. In the end, she chose a few deep breaths and set the phone gently on the glass kitchen table.
Fletcher set his fork down on his totally clean plate. He watched her expression, then sighed and said, “If he’s not coming, can I have his breakfast, too?”