I hope you are all well and staying away from troubles. :-)
Thank you for reading and reviewing.
There are a couple of more (book) chapters in this story so consider yourselves warned. ;-)
TOWDNWTBN and Vale, there are no words to describe what kind of treasures you are.
"I thought you'd use this time to get some sleep." Dylan's tone was more questioning than reprimanding as he entered Kepler's apartment. "Have you seen the circles under your eyes?"
"Flattery won't get you anywhere."
"I thought you'd be in a good mood. I told Kepler to call back in twenty minutes. Fifteen now."
"Why so long?" Christine whined, fully aware she was whining.
"In case you were sleeping or were in the shower or something. I don't know…I told you he was working with Olek since he got both my texts and he couldn't call until it was safe with that guy, Sam. As soon as he called me I briefed him, asked him to call back and came here straight away. They were making a stop at a gas station."
"Where are they going? Together—"
"To an empty warehouse rented by an off-shore. It was on the list of the possible places Kepler had to check out but now he's certain that's where Spencer's staying."
"And why did he take Sam with him? Isn't that weird?"
"Comforting, if you want my opinion. A third party between them will force them to behave. Kepler has made arrangements for Spencer to leave the States within the day and it's through Sam's liaison. So Sam will accompany Spencer. It's safer for Kepler, too." She nodded absentmindedly. "What's wrong, JC?"
"Nothing." She wrapped the afghan she had on her shoulders more tightly around her, needing its warmth. "Rebecca was the co-star in that tape with Kepler." Her voice held no shock anymore. Just weary acceptance.
"And?"
"And I didn't know. I guess you did."
"I had the—what's the opposite of 'pleasure'?—of watching it when Gallagher sent it. We were all in the room with Taylor just about to burst in. Rebecca was frantic, hysterical, when she realized Spencer's role in this. So what's wrong?"
"I just wish Kepler had told me, that's all—"
"The night was full of surprises for us all. Have you eaten?"
She snorted at the change of subject.
"You tend to forget things lately—" he accused her as he rummaged through the contents of the fridge. "There it is—leftovers. That man cooks more than he can eat, which is always to my benefit." Dylan's smile had recovered its full charm. He prepared a dish and put it in the microwave. "You have fifteen minutes to regain your energy."
One minute later a steaming serving of casserole was before her on the kitchen table.
"Come on! It's almost dawn and I won't even try to guess how many meals you've missed. Eat!" She started reluctantly when her appetite kicked in and she couldn't stop. "You sure eat fast! Lucky you, I know Heimlich."
"Lab habits. You eat over the sink so that the crumbs won't fall on the table and you won't have to clean up. At least now I'm sitting."
"So…why the face?"
"You wouldn't understand. It's a male deficiency." She half-smiled, swallowing her last bite. Amazingly, food did make her feel better. Perhaps he was right and her blues were mainly due to low blood sugar.
"You're the most sexist woman I've met in my life." He filled the dishwasher with the glasses and the cups they had used before. "Sex is not just romance and love and flowers, JC."
"Sex is just sex," she repeated Rebecca's words in a mocking, sarcastic manner as she handed him her plate.
"I have two answers for you about that. Firstly, I don't believe you didn't know that already. Didn't you have any one-night stand before? No, don't answer that. I withdraw the question. Haven't you heard of women having one-night stands?" She had opened her mouth to speak when the night after the party came to mind. Sex with Radek. Darn! Darn! Darn! "And secondly, you know Cassandra's phone number. Call her—in the morning. I'm not good best-girlfriend material." She winced. "I trust you won't bring that up in the phone call with Kepler. It's—"
"Please, Dylan, give me some credit," she interrupted him, "I'm not twelve."
"You'll have to put up with me until Kepler calls." He filled the teakettle with water and placed his untraceable cell phone on the kitchen table. "I don't know whether he'll call straight to your phone or mine. So—" He sank onto the chair opposite her and grabbed the other device from his pocket. "I'd make a lousy spy. All these phones…I grew up in an era where people had no cell phones at all. Can you imagine that?" He rubbed his nape with his hand. "I need to check the flights to New York—"
"I'd already booked for you when you called me from Olek's. I don't know why but I couldn't find anything in the 08:40 flight—"
"Because of the holidays…maybe?" He arched his brow in mocking question.
"—so I booked the next one to Newark though, not JFK."
"That's great. Thanks," he offered, smiling as he dropped a tea bag into each mug he took from the drawer, poured water and handed one to her. She looked at the dark liquid—not the flavor she favored, but okay. She missed Kepler. He always knew the flavor she preferred depending on the mood she was in.
"I can't believe I've forgotten the holidays." She sighed.
"That research on memory you mentioned…. Maybe it's a good idea after all."
She made a face at his teasing. "Anyway, it's the 10:25 flight from Heathrow—"
"I like commercial flights. I don't trust private jets," he muttered to himself and for a moment she thought he was joking. The idea of renting a private jet had never crossed her mind. Of course when time was essential and money not an issue….
"I've arranged a taxi for the airport. I figured driving after being up all night is not a good idea and I thought it better if John Barrett stay around OKTO in case he's needed."
"You're a treasure."
"Then I also arranged for a rental car so there will be no waste of time in New York."
"I can't believe you! If the excruciating tortures Kepler would inflict on me didn't hold me back, this is when I'd propose. You're a life saver. I'll even have time for a nap before the airport. Not even the lousiest movie drives me to sleep during flights."
"You're in a good mood."
He shrugged. "At least now we know what we're dealing with."
"You're right. Our flight leaves in less than four hours. Do you think you have time to sleep?"
"Our flight?"
"Did you think I'd let you go alone?"
"And this is the point where the marriage proposal would be instantly withdrawn. Why? Why would you do that?" Christine looked at him, confused. "Why would you do that to me? I know you want to see Kepler but he'll kill me if I drag you into this. I'm going just in case he needs me. Why can't we leave it at that? Let me go, help him wrap things up…I swear I won't leave the States without him."
"No way, Dylan." She hoped her tone conveyed the message.
"Do you have to be so stubborn?" Apparently it did.
She nodded, unshaken by his frustration. "I have a ticket. You still don't have the details of yours."
He made a sound of exasperation, sipped his tea and grimaced in disgust. He was right. It was too strong.
"Would you do that?" Her tone was casual now.
"What?"
"Propose marriage to a woman out of gratitude, because she accommodated your needs."
"JC, I was kidding. I'm in no way proposing to you, I want this to be clear." He looked around as if addressing hidden cameras in the room. "No. No. No."
She couldn't restrain her smile at the way he shook his head while declaring his denial.
"Oh, yes, as if every man who proposes is serious and knows what he's doing—" She propped her head in her hand, her elbow on the table as if the question had no other purpose beyond passing the time till the phone rang.
"As long as we're clear I've never proposed or retracted any proposal—not to mention that I see you as my very young, very naïve little sister—" he looked at the supposedly hidden cameras again in mock exasperation before his stare landed on her face once more, "can I now laugh at this nonsensical idea?"
"Why nonsensical?"
"Look, I've done it all: I knelt down on one knee and I felt utterly ridiculous while doing it even if at the same time I was near a heart attack in case she said no—and I knew she wouldn't say no! So I can't believe there's a man who would be doing that unless he means it one hundred percent."
"Because of the bent knee and all—" she mocked him. "Your back must have hurt."
"Because you risk being refused, rejected," said Dylan slowly as if talking to a child, "and the most obvious reason of all," he offered a victorious smile as if he'd just thought of the argument and was very pleased with himself, "what if she says yes? What do you do? Say 'okay, darling, I was just joking, would you like some pizza instead?' No, love, this is not how it goes." He had a point. She watched him shaking his head as if he thought she was crazy. "Believe me, if I'd said I didn't mean it, Allie would have killed me and if she'd said no I'd have felt like crap."
"Your proposal was accepted, so you have nothing to whine about," she accused him, attacking a nail.
"If it hadn't been accepted, I wouldn't have just felt rejected. I'd have felt betrayed. At least up till that point I'd done everything right," he murmured, clearly thinking about the way things had turned out. "So, what is it going to be?"
"About what?"
"About you staying here! Hold the fort for us."
"Since I have no idea where this fort starts and where it ends…not a chance, Dylan."
"Should I argue more or is it a waste of time?"
"Total waste of time."
After his exasperated sigh it was his turn to look at the phone as if in need of its help.
"Haven't the fifteen minutes passed by now?"
He nodded. "Give him some time. He didn't set an alarm. He has to find the right opportunity." He played with the cup in his hands, avoiding taking a sip.
"Before, when Beatrice mentioned Kepler's mother, his past, you stopped her—" She stole a guilty glance at the phone as if Kepler could listen to her inquiry. Dylan's silence drew her eyes to his face. It was difficult to connect the violence of the tone he had used to stop Beatrice to the man sitting across from her at the kitchen table.
"I don't know. If that's what you're asking me—whether I know of Kepler's past with his mother…I don't. It's liberating to allow people to have their secrets, to unfold on their own. When, if Kepler ever feels like it, he'll tell me. It doesn't matter to me—not knowing. It doesn't change what I know about him. I just refused to play Bea's game. She aimed to hurt Kepler through us, not you or me."
He was right, but he talked as Kepler's friend. She wasn't Kepler's friend. She needed to know everything about him. Every little, irrelevant or basic detail. To know all of him, have all of him, be with him. When had she become so possessive?
They remained silent and the twenty seven minutes that followed were long and dragging, filled with worry and their attempt to silence that worry through more silence. When the phone rang they both jumped to answer it, with Dylan withdrawing at the last minute.
"You did it again, Wonder Woman!" Kepler's warm voice filled her, embraced her. "Dylan told me all about it. Your suspicions and theories ended up saving the day for us." She smiled at his praise, the pride in his words warming her.
"Kepler—" She didn't trust her voice.
"You did save the day, Christine. It pays to have a genius for a girlfriend. With everything you—all—gathered, I don't have to search throughout the country for the moron. I'll get him, ship him back and be home as soon as possible."
"Do you think so?" Hope filled her.
"I have some shopping to do, sightseeing, visit museums, catch up with shows but I'll probably postpone the 'playing the tourist' game for another time…with the right company." She felt herself blushing. Dylan stirred in his seat, reminding her they were not alone.
"Kepler, I'm putting you on speaker. Dylan's here and wants to talk to you. Tell us, what's happening?"
"Where are you? Have you seen Spencer?" Dylan barely restrained his anxiety now.
"We've just reached the warehouse. I left Sam at the back entrance and I'm going through the front."
"Be careful—"
"Don't worry. Sam is a total freak. You can't believe the gadgets he has. He even scanned the whole building." They heard the noises as he opened and closed doors and moved stuff that screeched like metal panels. "There's no one inside. It's pretty isolated and in bad shape. Obviously, Spencer's out but we'll wait for him to re—"
"Fuck!" Another man's voice—his cry—was heard faintly but clearly through the speaker. "Fuck it, man, no, man, no way, no way—"
"What's happening?"
"Kepler, don't disconnect the call. Leave the Bluetooth on—" Dylan ordered and Christine was surprised Kepler obeyed. Or perhaps he hadn't heard them at all.
"God! Goddamn it, Spence—" They heard Kepler mutter under his breath as he ran and almost collided into something. "Help me!" he shouted to Sam. "Lift his legs. For God's sake, don't stand there." The urgency in his voice was excruciating.
"He's dead, man! I'm not touching him, he's dead!"
Christine gasped, but Dylan's hand on hers on the table silenced her.
"We have to bring him down, start CPR—" Kepler ordered.
"What CPR, man? Don't you see his face? He's dead! How are we supposed to get him down? That beam's way too high—"
"Find a knife, something sharp to cut the rope, now, Sam. Now!" They heard more noises, indecipherable sounds, a cacophony of heavy breathing and clatters as Kepler fought to drag something towards him and drawers, cabinets were opening at various distances.
"There's nothing, man, Spencer's gone. There's no saving him." The man called Sam was openly crying now, his voice thin, sorrowful.
"Sam, I need you in this—" Kepler was using the soothing, persuasive tone Christine knew so well. If she had ever doubted he was conscious of its effect, there were no doubts now. "I'm counting on you—" What terrified her was the utter despair, the helplessness underneath it.
"Tell me what to do—" Sam sounded calmer now.
"Check the other spaces. See those doors? There has to be a kitchen or something. Find a pocketknife, a bolt cutter—"
More doors opened someplace distant, then Sam's voice was heard, his tone alarmingly soft, inquiring. "If Spencer killed himself, why did he need a bomb?"
"Sam, come here—" Kepler sounded impatient.
"I've only seen them in movies, but there's a bomb in that room, wires and everything—"
"What? Come here…hold his legs, I'll go check—"
"He hanged himself, man. Or someone killed him, I don't know…but he's dead. What don't you get? Spencer's dead! Dead! I'm not touching dead people!" Sam shouted at the top of his lungs. "There's a bomb in that room and it's ticking. It's set. Why don't you believe me? There's a countdown."
They heard Kepler moving with Sam close to him murmuring. "What are we going to do? See? Less than six minutes now. Will you defuse it?"
"I'm no bomb expert, Sam. Get this laptop and this phone in your bag and wait for me in the car." Kepler's voice was deadly serious now. Christine heard noise as if he was rummaging through the contents of a drawer.
"Kepler, what do you think you're doing?" She couldn't restrain herself anymore.
"I'm not leaving you here, man."
"I'm not leaving him here." Kepler's voice replied to Sam and Christine at the same time after a long pause. He had clearly forgotten they were on the line.
"Kepler, this is Dylan. You have to get out of that warehouse. Now." Words uttered one by one, aiming to pass his point to a confused mind.
"I'm not leaving him here. His body's still warm—" His whisper was soft, laced with infinite gentleness.
"Kepler, please, please, Kepler—" There was no sign he heard her as he muttered orders to Sam.
"Kepler, you know Spencer is dead." Dylan's voice stating the obvious a thousand miles away from the scene in an absolute, indisputable way drew a painful, breathtaking reality. "You can't do anything at this moment—"
"I won't leave him," he growled, struggling to cut the rope and hold Spencer's weight at the same time.
"You have to. Think of Sam. You know it's too late now. It's too late for Spence now. There's no first aid when the trachea is broken or—"
"I have to bring his body back to Bea." Kepler's voice was unrecognizable, guttural. His breathing ragged, broken. "At least that—" Sam cried something that sounded frantic, something important? A curse she couldn't decipher? She heard steps, then Kepler's voice again. "Sam, run! I have him, run! Stay away from the windows—"
A sound loud, sharp, deep as if erupting from the guts of the earth, the unmistakable sound of an explosion, filled the elaborate, shiny kitchen of Kepler's apartment for the tiniest of seconds before the call ended, the line disconnected and empty.