“What time did you say she was getting here?” Gimble asked Mulder for the tenth time. They were camped out at Mulder’s apartment, waiting for Phoebe to show up.
“No clue. It depends on which airport she flew into.” A piece of information he didn’t know, because Phoebe had switched her flight to an earlier one without telling him until an hour ago, when she landed. Their conversation yesterday must have raised a red flag.
“I can’t believe she just changed her flight and hopped on a plane.” Gimble scooped some sunflower seeds out of the bag and alternated between crunching and talking. “That’s hot.”
“She always knows when I’m about to get myself into trouble,” Mulder said, flipping through the worn paperback the Major had given him.
Gimble noticed. “You’re actually reading Stormbringer? You must’ve been bored.”
More like I needed a distraction.
“You said it was a good book. And I’d already watched the Knicks lose to the Clippers, 116 to 126. I figured the book couldn’t be any worse.”
Mulder didn’t mention that before the game he’d spent most of the afternoon in the library, poring over microfiche, searching for articles about other missing children. If the person who killed Billy Christian and abducted Sarah Lowe was the same head case who had taken his sister, why the huge time gap? Or had the kidnapper taken other kids in between? Looking at photos of children who might never see their families again had left him feeling tense and edgy. He tucked the copy of Stormbringer in his back pocket.
“So what do you think?” Gimble asked.
“About the book?” Mulder shrugged. “I think all that stuff about keeping the balance between Law and Chaos is interesting.”
“Me too. But don’t tell the Major, or he’ll want to talk to me about it nonstop.” Gimble tossed some sunflower seed shells in the trash.
Mulder was impressed. His dad just left them all over the place.
“So back to your friend. Do you think she’ll like me?” Gimble sounded genuinely concerned as he crunched the seeds.
The question annoyed Mulder. “I don’t know. Why does it matter?”
“She sounded sexy on the phone. And if she looks half as good in person as she does in that picture in your wallet, I might propose to her.”
Mulder instinctively touched his back pocket. “You went through my wallet?”
“You asked me to. The night you got pulled over for having a busted side mirror? Remember?” Gimble flicked the hair out of his eyes and broke into a grin. “So will she like me or what?”
“You’re not Phoebe’s type.” Mulder sounded like a jealous boyfriend.
She wasn’t his girlfriend or anything. Not that Mulder was opposed to the idea. He just didn’t have the guts to bring it up. They had kissed a handful of times—okay, exactly five times—in the last two years, and one night after a party they had made out long enough to steam up the windows of the Gremlin and give Mulder something to daydream about for months.… Phoebe in jeans and a black bra, cheeks flushed and lips swollen from kissing him. But she didn’t act like it was a big deal, and she didn’t bring it up. So he didn’t bring it up.
“I’ll impress her with my wit and extensive knowledge of Star Trek. You’ll see.”
“Now I understand why you’re so good at D and D,” Mulder said. “You’ve got a great imagination.”
Gimble was thinking of a comeback when the doorbell rang. Both boys spun around fast enough to give themselves whiplash. Mulder rushed to the door and flung it open.
Phoebe stood in the doorway, wearing flared jeans that looked cool instead of trendy on her; the gray-and-blue NASA T-shirt Mulder had given her two Christmases ago, which was an inch from becoming a full-fledged crop top; and sandals that crisscrossed over the tops of her feet, in tan leather that matched her skin tone. Her long blond hair was knotted just above her ears on either side of her head in Phoebe’s version of Princess Leia buns, except Phoebe’s were smaller and the ends of her hair stuck out of the center of each bun. Mulder couldn’t tell if his best friend/girl of his dreams wore any makeup, but if she did, it wasn’t much. A constellation of freckles spread over the bridge of her nose and spilled onto her rosy cheeks.
Phoebe planted her hands on her hips and opened her mouth to say something, but Mulder threw his arms around her neck before she uttered a word.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered.
She rested her palm against his chest, fingers splayed open, and gently pushed him back far enough to get a good look at him. “Of course you are. You look like a zombie.”
Phoebe stepped around him and surveyed the living room. She picked up the half-eaten bowl of cereal from the coffee table. Then she spotted a second bowl on the end table. “Is this all you’ve been eating?” She plucked two Hostess apple pie wrappers off the sofa and scrunched up her nose. “And don’t lie, because I’ll get the truth out of your Dungeons and Dragons–loving friend over there.”