181

Designed Intent

Chapter 38

Friday Afternoon

"It's just a few more hours, Honey. You know these delays happen. Did they say why?"

"They said the incoming plane was delayed by traffic in Charlotte. They keep pushing back the departure time." Gleason was furious, but more frustrated and disappointed than anything.

"Ok, well, it's not weather, so they'll get you here at some point. Call me when you board, ok?"

"Ok. I love you."

"I love you, too." Bobby snapped shut his phone, returned to the body sprawled on the concrete, and knelt beside it.

Eames had kept her eyes on him from the time he jumped up and walked away when his cell rang. She saw him work to control his temper; Gleason was supposed to come home yesterday. Now she watched him refocus.

"Uh, this, this . . . ," he stopped pointing at something he saw on the victim's upper body and wiped his forehead with the back of his gloved hand. Suddenly Bobby stood up and just looked at the body for a minute. He wiped his forehead again.

"You ok?" Eames asked softly. She did not like the dark look gathering in his face; not one bit.

"Yeah, yeah. Give me a minute, ok?" he replied sharply. "Just give me a minute." Bobby had to walk away. His mind was everywhere. One goddamn thing after another, he screamed to himself, she was supposed to come home yesterday! However, a black out had shut down everything in and around Chicago until noon today -- now this. He was desperate to see her, hold her. Fuck!

Bobby strode back and knelt beside the body. "Here, look at this," he said, pointing to the exact spot as before, "see this? What is this? I can't tell." He looked up and hollered to everyone standing around, "Anybody have a magnifying glass?" Eames caught a muttered, "No shit, Sherlock," and then a few muffled laughs.

Bobby must have caught it too because his demeanor changed, he seemed hurt. "Uh, I'm going to need some shots of this, please," he said quietly to the CSU photographer standing by. Bobby stood aside while the woman did her thing with the camera. "Thanks," he told her.

Eames continued to scope the immediate area and directed the bagging of bits of broken glass. "I've got blood and hair over here," she called to her partner.

"Would you go and take shots of what she found while I finish here, please?" he said to the photographer. The woman headed over while Bobby continued with the body. He took each hand and sniffed. Some kind of chips, taco maybe, he thought. "Be sure to bag the hands," he mentioned to a CSU member then added, "Uh, he's ready to go."

Bobby wandered over to Eames, "What did you find?"

"Blood and hair. On the corner of this bench."

He stepped closer and the photographer stepped away. "Yeah, this is good," he mumbled. I need to start carrying a magnifying glass, one of those with a built in light, he told himself.

Eames called over for CSU to gather the evidence.

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"For those of you who have been waiting to go to JFK . . .," Immediately the gate area fell silent, waiting for the rest. ". . ." Well? Gleason wondered along with everyone else. God, these Americans with a microphone! The whole world is a stage and they are the fools upon it! Gleason was in no mood for stupid attempts at humor. ". . . your plane has left Charlotte and will arrive in . . . approximately . . . ninety minutes, that's approximate now. After a swift offloading of passengers and bags, and a quick clean up, we will be ready to go, hopefully, in about . . . thirty minutes after that. So, we are going to New York tonight, in about two and a half hours. Please stay within the gate area in case of any changes. Thank you for your patience."

Just as quickly, the sound level resumed and a number of passengers rushed to the desk. Gleason checked the clock in the corner of the screen behind the gate desk and did the math. Her two o'clock fight had been pushed to four o'clock; it was now about three-thirty, add two and a half more hours waiting makes for a six pm departure; ok, six o'clock plus ninety minutes in the air is seven-thirty, eight-thirty in New York, more like nine . . . we may be able to get dinner after all, she thought.

She wished she had thought to bring some work to do whilst she waited. Two quizzes and a stack of reports sat waiting back in her office. She also needed to read the most recent draft of the article Willow, Malcolm and she had written. She had told them she would read it and suggest revisions. This task fell to her, they told her, because she had written three books. She had left everything in her office as she thought she and Bobby would be home in bed by now. She missed him and could not wait to be with him. Gleason hated wasting this time.

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Friday Night

Bobby and Gleason went straight from the airport to Porcini's for dinner. It was late and they were both starving. Bobby could not keep his hands off her. He held her hand as they ordered and as they waited for their salads.

"I have missed you so much, Sweetheart," he told her, his thumb sliding over the back of her hand.

"This will be a nice weekend together, Love. It is so good to be home. It will be so good to be in bed with you."

Bobby smiled at her want. He would please her in so many ways tonight, this weekend; God, he missed her. They began to make plans as to what they would do tomorrow when Bobby's cell rang. They both froze; it would either his mother or Eames, he prayed it would be his mother. Bobby pulled the cell from his suit coat pocket and checked the number. His eyes slammed shut and he uttered a silent, 'fuck.'

"Don't tell me we're getting called out," he said into the phone without preamble, rising to walk to the lobby for privacy.

"I know, I know and I'm sorry. Another one turned up near Chelsea Pier Sixty-Two; Deakins thinks they're from the same doer and wants us to check it out. I'll pick you up. Are you at home?"

Bobby was steaming, "No, Gleason and I are at Porcini's trying to have a nice dinner together. I guess that's not going to happen now."

"Bobby, this is not my fault! Don't shoot the messenger. I can be at Porcini's in fifteen minutes. Do you want me to come in, or will you wait outside?"

"I'll meet you outside," and he flipped shut his phone and returned to their table. He looked at the beautiful woman across from him and said, "Honey, I am so sorry."

Gleason smiled at him and said, "I understand Love, we'll have the rest of the weekend. Don't give it any mind. I'll take home our dinners and we can eat when you get there."

God, he loved this woman. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" Bobby caught the server as she passed by and told her they needed their meals to take away. The server smiled knowingly, thinking she knew why. Boy was she wrong.

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Very Early Saturday Morning

Bobby let himself in and locked the door behind him. He was hungry and tired, but he wanted to be with Gleason more than anything. He opened the bedroom door and Gleason roused, "Are you all right?" she mumbled over her shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Honey, I'm sorry about tonight."

"It's ok, Love, it's your job. Are you hungry? Our dinners are in the fridge," she said, turning over to look at him.

Bobby said nothing as he stripped and climbed in beside her. He wrapped himself around her and sought her mouth with his. He was completely erect and started pulling up her nightgown. Gleason kissed him and then tried to push him off her, "Bobby you need to sleep. We'll make love in the morning. Wait, Bawb –."

He kissed her again, hard, pulled her onto her back and pushed himself between her legs. "Oh, god, Gleason, I, I –," he maneuvered her so he could enter her, placed himself at her opening and shoved. He pushed and pulled three times and came with a subtle groan. She felt him jerk inside her and then she couldn't breathe.

She gasped and whispered, "Get off! Get off me! Bobby –," and pushed him away. He rolled off her and onto his back. Gleason left the bed and headed for the bathroom.

Bobby watched her hurry and then turned onto his right side to wait for her to return. He was asleep in less than a minute.

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