Marcus said, “I’m sure Fitz would rather go on out there with you, Taylor. I probably should man the desk for all the mission person calls. Or maybe head home and take a shower?”
Taylor looked at Fitz, who yawned widely and smiled at her. “Sure, love, whatever you need.”
Taylor saw the strain on their faces, how tired they all were. They were no good to her like this. “Okay, change of plans. Lincoln, Fitz, Marcus, I want all three of you to go home and get a few hours of sleep. Nothing is going to happen until we find out if this is Jill Gates’s body. Report back at one.”
Marcus looked like he was going to kiss her. “Thanks, LT. I could swing by your place and pick up something for you, bring it back when I come in, if you want.”
His subtle hint that she needed to clean up wasn’t lost on her. She looked down at her smoke smudged shirt and jeans, smiling ruefully. “That’s sweet of you, Marcus, but I’ve got a change in my locker and I’ll grab a shower at Sam’s. Go on now, before I change my mind.”
Forty-Seven
Sam fiddled with a scalpel, turning the blade over and over in her hands. She sat in her office with the sunlight streaming through the window, a cup of cold tea at her elbow. She’d been so lost in thought she’d forgotten to drink it. The sun was a welcome respite after the days of rain the area had been flooded with; the water tables were dropping and the minor floodwaters receding. Nashville would heal itself. She hoped she could do the same.
She had gone home the night before feeling overwhelmed and a bit lost. The scene at the church had gotten to her more than she wanted to admit. She figured a hot bath and a glass of wine would settle her nerves.
But when she opened the door there was soft music playing, roses on the table in the foyer and a delicious smell coming from her kitchen. Smiling, she followed her nose and found Simon Loughley standing in the middle of the kitchen, wearing an apron and conducting the symphonic CD playing with a spatula. The scene was so absurd she burst out laughing. He started, then smiled sheepishly and gave her a hug. He was tall and thin, and she could feel his collarbones poking her in the cheek. His sandy hair was too long, his glasses were askew, but his blue eyes sparkled, showing the depths of his patience and good humor. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone cuter.
“I hope it’s not to late for you?”
“I’ll take midnight margaritas with you anytime.
“It’s wine, does that work?”
“Of curse. Let me change and we can dig in.”
Though the house technically belonged to them both, Simon generally didn’t show up unannounced. Despite the fact they had bought the house together nearly ten years ago, he kept his own apartment on West End. Hypocrite that she was, Sam freely gave him her body, but wouldn’t agree to officially “live together” until they were married. It was supposedly a nod to her Catholic roots, but if she were honest with herself, she was just scared of settling down. It had always seemed so permanent to her. After the past few days she’d had, the loss and senselessness of the murders, a domestic commitment was something she was willing to think about. She was tired of fighting it, and tired of being alone.
Once she’d freshened up, they sat down to the meal, opened a bottle of wine, and Sam told Simon everything. It felt so good to talk with him, to get all her worries off her chest. He was one of the few that could understand what she went through day in and day out, and she loved him for it. They’d been bickering lately, and she hadn’t had his shoulder to cry on for a few weeks. She spilled all the worries that had built up since they’d last spoken: her fears for Taylor and her surprise at the attraction between her and Baldwin. Simon thought of Taylor as a little sister. He shared Sam’s concern, but assured her Taylor would land on her feet. She always did.
He’d cleared the table and gotten Sam settled in the living room. He came back in the room with a nervous smile playing on his face. Before she knew what was happening, Simon was kneeling in front of her, pulling out a ring box.
“No midnight margaritas, but how about some diamonds, instead? I can’t wait any more, Sam. I want to marry you. I want a family with you. I want to spend the rest of my days making you happy. Will you marry me? Please?”
She was so shocked that he was actually proposing she barely registered what he was saying. Before she could stop herself, she’d said yes, and the ring was on her finger.