Promise Not To Tell(70)

She found her glasses, got to her feet, pulled on a robe and went out into the hall. Sure enough, her living room was illuminated by the cold light of a computer screen. Cabot was on the sofa, his laptop in front of him on the coffee table.

“You know, the experts say that it’s a bad idea to stare at a computer screen before going to bed,” Virginia said. “Something about the blue light.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that,” Cabot said. “It’s on the standard list of good sleep hygiene rules. Right up there with ‘go to bed at the same time every night’ and ‘don’t watch television in bed.’”

“None of those sleep hygiene rules have ever worked for me.”

“Didn’t work for me, either.” Cabot looked up. “You don’t look like you’re having an anxiety attack.”

“I don’t feel like it, either. But I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about how someone tried to kill you tonight.”

“We don’t know I was the target. There’s a very good possibility the driver was aiming for Kate Delbridge.”

“In which case, you might have been collateral damage. Doesn’t change anything. I don’t think I’m going to get much sleep tonight. I think I’ll make some herbal tea. Want a cup?”

“Sounds good.”

Virginia went into the kitchen and made the tea. The little ritual – for years a lonely one – seemed very different tonight. Because I’m making tea for both of us.

When she carried the mugs of steaming tea back into the living room, Cabot closed his laptop, leaned back and stretched out his legs. Virginia set the mugs on the coffee table and sat down on the sofa. She curled one leg under herself and picked up her tea.

The lights were off but the glow from the cityscape illuminated the space. She and Cabot sipped their tea in a companionable silence for a while.

“What was it like, growing up with Anson as your foster dad?” she asked.

“Good,” Cabot said. “It wasn’t always easy, but it was good. From day one he made it clear that he would be there for us until hell froze over. Took us a while to really believe him, but one thing we learned about Anson Salinas – if he gave you his word, you could take it to the bank.”

“Was he married at the time?”

“No. His wife had died a couple of years earlier.”

“He never remarried?” Virginia asked.

“No. There was a woman once. For a while my brothers and I thought that Anson would marry her. But in the end she married someone else and left town. After that Anson had a few discreet relationships, but he never got serious about any other woman.”

“Did you ever find out why Anson and the first woman didn’t marry?”

“Anson never talked about it, but Jack and Max and I knew why she chose someone else. She didn’t want to take on the task of raising three teenage boys who were all carrying a few scars.”

“And Anson would never have abandoned the three of you.”

“No,” Cabot said.

They went back to drinking their tea in silence. At some point Virginia put her empty mug down on the table. Cabot set his mug beside hers. He put his arm around her. She settled against his side, savoring the heat of his body.

She did not remember closing her eyes.

She awoke to the early morning light. It took her a few minutes to realize that she and Cabot were both stretched out on the sofa, entangled in each other’s arms. Cabot was still asleep.

She extricated herself very carefully and got to her feet. For a time she stood looking down at Cabot. A sense of wonder swept through her.

“What?” he asked without opening his eyes.

“Nothing,” she said. “I’ll go put on the coffee.”

She had gone to sleep in her lover’s arms. No anxiety attack involved.

Life was good.

CHAPTER 50

Sandra Porter’s apartment was located in an anonymous downtown apartment tower. The lobby was sleek, modern and covered in a lot of hard surfaces – black granite and glass, for the most part.

“Yeah, sure, you can take a quick look around,” the manager said. According to the little tag on his white shirt, his name was Sam. “Cops took the crime scene tape down yesterday. No one has shown up to claim Porter’s stuff. I’m getting ready to have her things removed and put in storage so I can get the place cleaned and back on the market.”

“What number?” Cabot asked.

“Twelve ten.” Sam handed Cabot a key. “If anyone asks, tell ’em I sent you up. You’re prospective renters. Got it?”

“Got it,” Cabot said.

He slipped Sam a couple of large bills. Sam made the money vanish with an expertise that told Virginia it wasn’t the first time he had accepted a gratuity in exchange for looking the other way.

Virginia did not say anything until she and Cabot were in the elevator.

“That was slick,” she said. “Do that a lot?”

“You’d be amazed how far old-fashioned cash goes in a world where most transactions are done online or with credit cards,” Cabot said. “It’s still the perfect medium of exchange if you want to protect your privacy.”

Virginia nodded. “Untraceable. No need to explain things to the tax people. No awkward questions about your credit history.”