Night Watch (Kendra Michaels #4)(25)

“Agreed. And I can guarantee that I will never repeat it in any paper I write on the project. But instinct can be a powerful thing.”

“If you say so.” Anything he said at this moment was going to be fine with her. She was trying to fight the fear and the excitement and not show him either.

But evidently she hadn’t been totally successful. “I say so,” he said. “But you’re something of a skeptic, so I brought you something to remind you while I give you the benefit of all my cunning brilliance.” He took her hand and placed something in her palm. “Shh, don’t tell anyone. It’s not sterile.”

“Are you trying to sabotage me?” Her fingers were probing, exploring. Tiny. Metal. Shaped like a—“Fish.”

“Try again.”

Then she knew what it was. “The dolphin charm you said your niece gave you. The one you always have on your key chain.”

“It’s only a loan. I get it back after I prove myself to you.”

“Is it supposed to be lucky?”

“No, we make our own luck. But at the time when she gave it to me, I was having a rough time developing this process and was pretty discouraged. But Elswyth was only three, and she was facing years of therapy for cerebral palsy. She smiled up at me, and I knew that she would never surrender, never give up.” He squeezed her hand, and said softly, “So I couldn’t either. Never surrender. Never give up.”

She could feel the tears sting her eyes. “How is she?”

“Still fighting. Still splendid.” He took a step closer. “Now, let’s begin.” His voice was very gentle. “I understand you brought an iPod loaded with music you’d like to listen to while we work.”

“Only if it’s okay with you,” she said quickly. “You’re the one doing the work here. If you want to listen to your classical music or whatever, I’m cool with that.”

“Why does everyone think I prefer classical? Is it because I’m English?”

“English and highly educated. Sorry for pigeonholing you. What’s your pleasure?”

He paused. “Well, I do have London Symphony Orchestra season tickets at the Barbican.”

“Ha! I knew it.”

“But pick any music you like. Your iPod’s warmed up and waiting on the dock. Once I start work, I’ll tune it out anyway.”

It was going to start. Together, they were going to begin the adventure of her lifetime. Her hand tightened on the dolphin. Never surrender. Never give up.

She tried to concentrate on what they’d been talking about. Music. She thought for a moment. “How about The Clash? London Calling…”

*

KENDRA WOKE UP TO the sounds of The Clash in her ears though she hadn’t set her music alarm. It was a memory echo of an album she hadn’t played in years, but it came to her with astonishing clarity.

Then she remembered.

Waldridge.

Damn.

She checked her phone—7:17 A.M. One text from her mother, but nothing from the cops or the FBI. Probably a good thing. Any message from them at this early hour would most likely be bad news.

Nothing from Lynch yet, either. It had been almost 3 A.M. by the time he’d dropped her off at her condo, but she was sure he was already mapping out their day.

She opened the text from her mother. It read:

WAITING WITH BREAKFAST AND A POT OF COFFEE ACROSS THE STREET. COME OVER WHEN YOU WAKE UP.

What?

Kendra checked the time stamp. The text had come less than twenty minutes before.

Well, it was one way to start the day.

She threw off her covers and stepped into a pair of flip-flops. She splashed water in her face, ran a comb through her hair, and did a rudimentary teeth brushing. Then she left her condo, rode the elevator down, and ran across the busy street to Thompson’s, a neighborhood restaurant that did a booming breakfast business, but was practically deserted every other hour of the day. Kendra knew just where to look. Her mother was at her usual table in the corner, surrounded by platters of Danish, bagels, waffles, and sausages. The food was competing for space with a tall coffeepot and two newspapers.

Kendra walked toward her. “Jeez, Mom. How many people are you expecting?”

“Just you. I wasn’t sure what you would want, so I thought I’d give you a choice.” She looked disapprovingly at Kendra’s sweatpants and T-shirt. “You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“I did just roll out of bed. I knew you were waiting. You could have given me some warning, you know. If you wanted to meet for breakfast, I would have been happy to—”

“I didn’t know until this morning. And you never get enough sleep, so I thought it would be best if I did it this way so you could join me whenever you woke up.” She cleared a space for Kendra. “Sit down. Eat something.”

Kendra took a seat and grabbed a Danish. “Don’t you have class today?”

Her mother shook her head. “Finals week.” Dr. Dianne Michaels was a history professor at UC San Diego and her skill as a lecturer was matched only by her impatience with students who didn’t take her classes seriously. Kendra had no doubt that the kids were frantically preparing themselves for her mother’s notoriously challenging final exam.

“So what brings you downtown on a weekday?”