In the long scheme of things, who cared?
Nicholas looked around him, from the small entryway into the living room to his right. It wasn’t a large room, but it held charm and warmth. It was cozy. He really liked the stuffed floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the large sectional sofa that would be his bed, and the single big window that looked out over the street. There were several nicely framed Impressionist prints on the one open wall, and colorful rugs strewn over the oak floor. He walked after her to check out the kitchen, hidden to the left of the entrance, then the bedroom and bath, both down a short hall to the right. Nothing seemed out of place—either by Mike’s hand or one their assailants’.
She said, “All’s as it should be. The two guys didn’t make it up here. I doubt they even wanted to.”
“Probably not. I like your apartment.”
Mike smiled. “It’s home.”
“But remember, the Fox is the master of the bug. We should sweep. Too bad we don’t—” He shrugged.
“Hold that thought,” she said, and went into the kitchen. He heard her open a drawer. A moment later, she handed him three items, a wand, a control box, and a set of headphones. “Go for it.”
“What are you doing with a Superscout NLJ?”
“Believe it or not, your uncle gave me this fancy nonlinear junction detector for Christmas last year.”
She watched him go from phone to lamps to vents. Just in case, Mike flipped on her stereo as she walked past, low, and Diana Krall’s mellow voice filled the room.
Nicholas appeared in the kitchen doorway. “We’re clear. No bugs.” He handed her back the equipment. “I wish my uncle had given me something like that for Christmas, but my aunt Emily knitted me a sweater instead. It was purple.”
She leaned back against the counter. “I’m glad you came home with me. I’m glad you realized someone was waiting for us in the garage. I’d be dead if not for your gut, so thanks again, Nicholas.” She pulled two boxes from the fridge and faced Nicholas. “To be honest, at this moment in time I really don’t care about anything other than food—here’s pepperoni with mushroom, or plain cheese.”
He pointed toward the pepperoni. “May I help?”
“Yes, talk to me. Keep me awake.” She slid the pizza into a convection oven, set the timer.
He was rubbing his shoulder. At her raised eyebrow, he said, “For a while there I thought something was broken.”
She took a tube of muscle relaxant out of her junk drawer. “Sit down. This and some ice, it should help.”
Without a word, he pulled off his torn, bloodstained tux coat and shirt, stripping to the waist.
He was ripped, of course. She admired the work of art, then started rubbing in the muscle cream, slowly, in circles, then pressing deeper. He groaned.
She realized even though she was exhausted, half dead, really, she still needed to distract herself. “Do you know when your uncle Bo told me about his sister, your mom, the actress? I called my dad and I thought he’d explode on the phone. He was in love with your mother when she starred in that TV comedy A Fish out of Water. He watches the reruns whenever he can find them. I’ll have to call him, tell him his goddess’s son is in our midst.”
“Mom will get a kick out of that. But as she’s always saying, she’s more than a pretty face.” He groaned again, rested his head on his hands on the kitchen table while she smoothed and rubbed and dug in.
“Well, sure, but what do you mean?”
He said, voice muffled, “I get my detective genes from her. She’s solved I don’t know how many mysteries in our village, a regular Jane Marple. When I was a kid, she’d take me with her, explain all the facts to me, and tell me it was up to the two of us to deduce what happened.”