A/N: Thanks for sticking with me, and for the reviews and PMs.

HER GIFT

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cap'm Murdrer

Chuck ran back to the car, the water bottle clutched in his hand.

The rear door stood open, the driver beside it, and Chuck could see Sarah enshadowed in the back seat.

Chuck had no idea how he was supposed to act, how his 'discovery' was intended to affect things between the two of them.

He decided to follow Sarah's lead.

Ducking down, Chuck slid onto the seat. The driver shut the door.

Chuck hazarded a glance at Sarah. She was staring out her window; she did not turn around. The driver started the car and they pulled away from StoneHurst Place.

Chuck waited for Sarah to turn around, give him some sign, some hint, but she was an ice sculpture, white and cold, and fixed in place, her face averted.

Sarah stared out the window, careful not to move, to look at Chuck, as she spun, spun, spun internally.

Chuck almost certainly must have seen the lingerie.

Christ, Carina! You managed this. Talk about action at a distance! The woman was a menace.

Sarah had not intended to leave the lingerie on the bed (had she?), but she had been rattled by the powerful, heated visions it had conjured. And then she realized she was late. She'd changed clothes in a rush and almost ran from the room, unwilling to even look at the bed — the staging-ground of most of her visions — and so she'd overlooked the lavender lingerie, left it flying like a sex flag on the bed, an unmistakable signal of seduction.

And Chuck almost certainly got the signal.

Sarah kept hoping he would say something, but he didn't. As the car reached downtown, Sarah was tired of her posture, of holding herself still. She felt the tension in her lower back. But she was afraid to move. She should just turn around and explain, make it a joke, call it a joke — it was Carina's practical joke, after all, but Sarah couldn't force herself to face Chuck.

Each time she decided to turn, visions filled her head, scenes of her and Chuck together fulfilling the lavender lingerie's promise.

Chuck was baffled.

Sarah had not spoken, had not even turned away from her window all the way to Jaeger Industries. Whatever else might be true of his complicated, changeable boss, she was not coy. This was no unannounced flirtation rite, no awkward playing at being hard-to-get. The driver had chatted away, pointing out sights, buildings, and Chuck had responded, but Chuck was too distracted to enjoy the drive downtown as he had the drive to StoneHurst Place.

"Jaeger Industries," the driver announced cheerily as he stopped the car near a set of elevators in a parking garage. "Just take the elevator to the sixth floor. Mr. Jaeger and his son, Marten, will be there to meet you. I texted them when we left StoneHurst. Have a nice afternoon. I will be waiting to take you wherever you want to go once things end."

Sarah finally turned but she did not look at Chuck. He could see her lovely profile. She was still flushed. "Thanks so much, you've been great. I'll be sure to tell Mr. Jaeger."

"Thank you, Ms. Walker, it's my honor. Mr. Bartowski, it's a very real pleasure to meet you."

The driver got out and hustled around the car. He opened the door and Chuck slid out, followed by Sarah. Chuck turned and offered her his hand but she did not take it. She fiddled with the fastener on her bag as she got out.

Chuck took back his hand and led the way to the elevator, depressing the Up arrow. They stood in the most awkward silence of Chuck's life, waiting for the elevator. Chuck's life had, unfortunately, featured more than its fair share of awkward silences, so calling this one the worst meant something.

They both stared at the numbers, the descending light. Finally, it arrived and the doors slid open with a gentle ding.

Chuck did not look at Sarah; she did not look at him. Chuck knew they were both thinking about the plane, but Say Anything had diminished to Say Nothing.

Chuck was beginning to worry that maybe, maybe he'd read the situation all wrong.

Maybe the baffling cold shoulder was Sarah's way of putting on her game face for the meeting with Jaeger — although a game face did not seem necessary for such a pro forma event, one that was likely to be all pleasantry.

And then it occurred to Chuck that maybe he was more wrong than he worried he was.

Maybe the lingerie was never intended for him, never meant for his eyes at all. Maybe she had bought it and brought it for something, for someone else.

Maybe her cold shoulder had absolutely nothing to do with Chuck seeing her lingerie. Maybe it was just Sarah caught up in thoughts of the man she really wanted.

Maybe she was planning to share the lavender with someone else after the signing?

Maybe...Marten Jaeger?

Sarah breathed in relief as the doors opened on the sixth floor. Every moment that she went without saying something to Chuck about the lingerie seemed to add to the difficulty of telling.

She should have told him immediately. It was just a mix-up, a mistake, a slip-up.

But she hadn't told him immediately, and now the lingerie was a lavender elephant in the room.

In the elevator.

I will twist Carina's pointy head until it pops off. Carina had pulled pranks like this at Harvard, but never so… intimately. There, she had sometimes arranged for Sarah to meet guys although Sarah knew nothing of the plan, and Carina had sometimes filled the guys' heads with lies about how interested in them Sarah was.

Sarah had managed to survive those clumsy, Carina-arranged encounters, but she was less sure she would survive this one.

Mr. Jaeger and his son, Marten, were standing at the elevator doors as they opened, waiting for Sarah and Chuck. Both men were dressed in three-piece suits. Mr. Jaeger's was black but his waistcoat was red; Marten's suit was all black.

Sarah stepped off the elevator and quickly extended her hand to Mr. Jaeger. She noticed, as she did, that the hallway was lavish with Christmas decorations.

"Ms. Walker, welcome, welcome! We're delighted to see you!"

Mr. Jaeger turned to Chuck and shook his hand as Marten shook Sarah's. "Mr. Bartowski, I was pleased when Roan told me you would be making the trip to Atlanta. This is my son, Marten."

Sarah watched as Marten and Chuck shook hands; she had felt Chuck's eyes on her when she and Marten shook hands.

Marten was not a handsome man but he had a pleasant smile. Sarah did not know him well but she was disposed to like him. Similar to his father, Marten was a little less of a showman. He would never have been able to pull off the red vest comfortably.

"Pleased...pleased...pleased to meet you, Mr. Bar…, Mr. Bartowski," Marten said, smiling despite his stammer. Chuck returned the smile and did not register the stammer. "Wonderful to meet you. Please, both of you, just call me Chuck."

"Call me...call me Marten."

"Will do, Marten. Say, this is beautiful, the decorations!" Chuck beamed around with a genuine smile.

"My wife loved Christmas," Mr. Jaeger explained, "and she declared it Christmas the day after Halloween. Thanksgiving, which she enjoyed, was in her view a warm-up feast for Christmas."

Chuck laughed. "I like that. Thanksgiving as dinner in the warm-up circle."

Marten's brow rose. "Are you...are you a base...baseball fan, Chuck?"

Chuck nodded but without emphasis. "I am to a real baseball fan what a bunt is to a grand slam. I'm a fan but in a small way. Do you follow the Braves?"

Marten answered by nodding, obviously relieved by the yes-no question.

"Well, let's go to the lobby. We're going to host the signing there, and you'll find hors d'oeuvres and drinks."

Marten grinned. "And more...more Christmas."

A man in a waiter's uniform approached them and took their jackets.

Chuck had studied Sarah's interaction with Marten.

It increased his bafflement, since Sarah betrayed no sign that she intended the lingerie for Marten Jaeger. She obviously liked Marten (Chuck did too) but — nothing more. Or, if there was something more, Sarah ought to join the CIA or go to Hollywood, since her acting skills were deep cover- or Oscar-worthy.

Sarah still had not made eye contact with Chuck, and that did not change as they walked along the hallway and through the double wooden doors that led to the lobby.

The doors opened, and they stepped into a Christmas Wonderland, a dazzle of trees and lights and poinsettias, all encased in cottony-soft Christmas music.

"Sarah!"

Chuck and Sarah turned. A tall, handsome man in an impeccably dapper suit surged forward to greet them. The man had a smile that rivaled Bryce Larkin's for easy self-assurance. Chuck guessed the man must be Roan Montgomery. The man embraced Sarah and she embraced him back, the most natural gesture of affection Chuck had seen from Sarah. Her smile was warm — and…relieved?

Roan released her and smiled at Chuck, looking him up and down, as if he were a tourist-attraction lighthouse. "I'm Montgomery, Roan Montgomery, Sarah's lawyer. You must be Charles Irving Bartowski, full legal name."

Sarah had finally looked at Chuck, but she frowned at Roan's remark. Chuck showed his puzzlement at his name and its lawyerly chaser.

"Yes, I am. But Chuck, please, not Charles Irving. It's good to meet you. I've seen your name around."

"On contracts, I assume?"

"Contracts?" Chuck asked, "Plural?"

Roan's face was immediately inexpressive. In Chuck's periphery, Chuck saw Sarah stiffen, stiffen more. "Sorry, contract, of course, singular," Roan said, a cat landing on its feet, "like you, Mr. Bartowski."

Sarah's frown had deepened and she had flushed again. Peripherally, Chuck could see a pained look appear and disappear on her face. Roan gave Sarah a look of amused defiance that Chuck did not comprehend.

A willowy, beautiful black woman of about Roan's age joined them, slipping her hand around Roan's arm. She was wearing a dress apparently made of gold, though Chuck knew that had to be false. Roan slipped his arm from her, took her gently by the elbow, and presented her. "This is Briana."

Chuck and Sarah both said hello.

Mr. Jaeger motioned to a waiter who carried a tray of filled champagne flutes to them. "Please," Mr. Jaeger said, inviting them all to take champagne. Chuck took a flute and held it, unsure whether there were proper and improper ways to hold something so delicate. Should my pinkie be up?

Mr. Jaeger then turned toward the room and spoke; the music stopped as he started.

"Ladies and gentlemen, beloved employees of Jaeger Industries, honored guests, we are here today to celebrate our company choosing Walker Insurance as the provider of insurance to our workforce — and to begin our celebration of the season. At Jaeger, we regard each other as family, and we take such things seriously, seriously enough to celebrate them and to welcome the CEO of Walker Insurance to our celebration. Ms. Walker, if you would, please join me for the signing of the contract."

He turned and held out his arm ceremonially to Sarah. She took it and walked to the table in the front of the room. It was decorated with a dark blue tablecloth, and a set of papers rested on it, a fancy fountain pen atop the papers.

Chuck set aside his bafflement and confusion to watch as Sarah walked with Jaeger, her back straight, the white pants suit fitted exactly. As she often did, she seemed aglow. Jaeger's red vest somehow increased that glow.

The two of them sat down, carefully placing their golden champagne on the navy table. Jaeger took up the black pen and signed the top page. He pushed the pages to Sarah and handed her the pen. She signed too.

The crowd of people cheered and clapped. Sarah and Jaeger picked up their champagne, clinked flutes. Sarah gave the room a smile that made Chuck's knees nearly buckle. The music restarted.

Chuck was proud to work for Walker Insurance, for Sarah Walker. He tried to avert his mind from lavender thoughts.

Arms crossed, Ellie was standing in her plain white underwear in front of her meager closet. Clara was on the bed, sitting criss-cross applesauce, watching her mother.

Ellie blew out a disgusted breath. "I don't have any idea what to wear, sweetie."

Clara grinned, the red streak on her face made a little fainter by some vigorous Ellie scrubbing, but still visible. "Momma's always beautiful. Momma's beautiful right now."

Ellie looked down at herself and shook her head. "Thanks, baby girl, but I don't think this is what I plan to wear on a first date."

Date.

Up until now, Ellie had kept from saying that word aloud, even from saying it silently to herself. She glanced at her nightstand, at the photograph of Devon enshrined there, and she felt like a betrayer.

She had loved Devon so much. The loss of him nearly wrecked her completely. Without Chuck and Clara, she was not sure she could have survived it. But tonight she was welcoming another man into her house, tonight she was cooking for a man who was neither her husband nor related to her. A man she just…liked.

She stepped to the closet and rummaged around, sighing. How do you dress in a way that suggests sexy but doesn't broadcast it, and that also suggests maternal — but doesn't spell MILF?

Ellie had invited John to her apartment deliberately. She wanted to see him with Clara. It made no sense to invest any time in a man who did not like or was not good with her daughter. Clara might run him off, but she did, she did. If he ran from Clara, Ellie certainly wouldn't chase him.

She located a green dress in the back of her closet, one she hadn't worn in a while and had half-forgotten. It was simply cut, but it was short enough, ending just above the knee, to show a little of her legs, and Ellie knew her legs were good.

She pulled it out, gave it a shake, and held it up to herself. She turned to Clara. "What do you think, Clara? Green? Will he like green?"

Clara's big grin was answer enough.

Casey tugged on the sleeve of his sports coat and grimaced, fighting nerves.

He was used to the quasi-uniform he wore at work, the dark, matching polyester jacket and pants that marked him WI Head of Security. The sports coat was nice, the man at the menswear shop said it emphasized Casey's shoulders, but Casey mistrusted new clothes. They usually meant someone was getting married or someone was dead.

Neither was an option he wanted on his mind that night. He wanted to enjoy a nice dinner with a beautiful woman — and her daughter.

Casey tugged at his other sleeve, moving the bottle of merlot from one hand to the other in order to do so.

Daughter.

Casey had never been good with children. He liked them, he did, but he had never been exposed to them. He had no training — and Casey was a training guy, a man who trusted his training and worried about himself when he lacked it.

He was nearing Ellie's apartment door. An older woman was sitting on a lawn chair in front of the next apartment, and she peered at Casey intently for a moment before waving. He waved back. In the distance, at the far corner of the apartment complex, Casey thought he saw a man watching him, but when he looked back from waving at Ellie's neighbor, the man was not there.

Casey stopped in front of the door and squared up with it — old habits die hard. He brushed the front of his jacket and shirt and took a deep breath. He exhaled as he pushed the doorbell.

When the door opened, the commingled sight of Ellie in her green dress, her eyes greener than green, the scent of her subtle perfume and delicious odor of the pot roast hit Casey in tempting sensory overload.

"Hi, John!" Ellie's smile was sweet, welcoming, but Casey could not manage a word for a moment. He just stood there, newly jacketed and stiff, stone silent, blinking like a dumbass.

"Hey, Mister," Casey heard a voice from closer to the ground, "I'm Clara."

Casey's consciousness finally reincarnated itself, helium returned to the tank. He squatted down. "Hey, Clara, I'm John." He fished in the sports jacket pocket and produced a small package of colored pencils and a tiny coloring book. "I brought these."

Clara took them hesitantly, but with a smile. Then she looked up at Ellie. "Look, Momma, cats!" She displayed the coloring book. "Like Kitty!"

Ellie's face fell. "Oh, shit...Sorry…Oh, shoot. John, I forgot Kitty, our cat. Are you allergic? Tell me you're not allergic," Ellie pleaded.

Casey smiled. "I'm not allergic — and you look lovely, Ellie Woodcomb."

It was Ellie's turn to blink and color. "Thanks, John," she breathed out with feeling. "Come in."

Ellie stepped aside and Casey entered the apartment. His shoulders were so wide he had to turn to slip past Ellie.

"It's small, I know," Ellie said, self-consciously, but welcome. Why don't you sit down while I finish up in the kitchen — which is also the dining room?"

"Sure, but can I help?" He held out the wine. Ellie took it with a grateful smile.

"No, it's all but ready. Just a few minutes more."

Casey felt someone else tug on his sports jacket sleeve. "Color kitties with me, Mr. John?"

"Sure, Clara," Casey said to the little girl. He felt less nervous around her than he thought he might. She was so cute, a living cherub. With a red marker streak on her face.

It was then that he noticed the hearing aids. Ellie noticed him noticing. The look on her face kept him from mentioning it.

Casey got down on the floor and extended his long legs beneath the coffee table, from one side of it, beneath it, and out the other. Clara knelt beside him and opened the package of pencils. She dumped them all on the coffee table and then she opened the coloring book.

"Which color you wanna use, Mr. John?"

"What color is Kitty?"

"She's gray with stripes. Momma shut her in the laundry room."

Casey chuckled. "Well, how about I use gray?"

Clara nodded, pressing her lips together as she fished for the gray pencil.

"What color will you use?"

"Red!"

Casey glanced up at Ellie and smiled at her. She laughed and shook her head.

Sarah signed the documents and drank the celebratory toast and worried about what to say to Chuck. She could not go on like this, but she was so bad at anything personal, and this now felt really personal.

And annoying. Not that Sarah was annoyed with Chuck. He was innocent. Sarah was annoyed with Sarah. She had felt her self-control slip the first time she saw Chuck, when, in the Observation Room, she saw him smile on the TV screen. She had lost her grip on it completely in her office when she met him in person.

Since then, she had been playing the Player Queen in Hamlet and protesting too much. She had kept protesting, all in a vain attempt to reassure herself that she was not interested in Chuck beyond her interest in him as a donor, that she had no feelings but friendship. But each protest had been more false than its predecessor.

Call me Gertrude.

The situation between them, between Chuck and herself, had been tangled enough without Sarah's feelings to snarl them more. The only thing to do was acknowledge the feelings to herself, as she was doing now, and to go on, to ignore them. Such feelings had only betrayed her in the past; nothing about the present suggested they were reformed, trustworthy.

A wise man never entirely trusts those who have once cheated him. Someone said that. Descartes? A wise woman never does either.

Maybe the lingerie disaster was a blessing in lavender disguise. If not for it, Sarah might have been overcome by her unacknowledged feelings, yielded to them in the press of a moment, and revealed them. But now she knew she had feelings, she acknowledged them; the task now was to repress them.

Her plan had not changed. She could hear her Dad: Stick to the plan, don't go soft. The plan's the thing.

Sarah took a breath and re-joined Chuck, Marten, Roan, and Briana. The task at hand was keeping Roan from revealing the plan.

Sarah would handle Chuck and the lingerie later.

Ellie took a second as she wiped her hands on a dishcloth to survey the table.

It would have been nice to have matching china, lead crystal, all that fancy stuff, but still, the table looked nice, homey, and attractive. The flowers Casey sent, still fresh looking, were in the center of the table, a placement that had caused Ellie some worry before she decided on it. The two plates, the best two she had, gleamed in the flicker of the candles. Clara's highchair damped the romantic effect, but that had been Ellie's decision too.

Ellie folded the dishcloth and stepped lightly to the doorway into the living room. She peeped around it. She smiled widely at what she saw. The hulking John Casey was still sitting on the floor, his legs beneath the coffee table. Clara was on her knees beside him. Clara's concentration on her coloring was complete: her tongue was between her teeth, her gaze focused on the page, her red pencil a blur. Casey was coloring too, and they were laughing at something Ellie had missed. The scene warmed several parts of Ellie simultaneously, high and low.

"Okay, you two. Dinner!"

Clara dropped her pencil. "C'mon, Mr. John, let's eat." She stood and put out her hand to help John up. The sweetness and the pointlessness of that gesture — as if the tiny blond girl could lift a man with shoulders like John Casey's — melted Ellie into a sentimental puddle. Her eyes welled.

Casey carefully took Clara's diminutive hand into his massive one and pretended that Clara was helping him stand.

The pot roast was delicious, as was the entire meal. Casey enjoyed every bite. The three-way conversation among himself, Ellie, and Clara was constantly amusing. Ellie and her little girl had charmed him so thoroughly and so quickly that he had no time to let his nerves overtake him. Soon, they vanished altogether.

Ellie gave Casey a small smile as she looked up. In the candlelight, her green eyes were alive with so many things it bewildered Casey. But he did not fight the bewilderment; instead, he settled into it.

"So," Ellie said as she cut a piece of pot roast into small pieces on Clara's plate, "Chuck's in Atlanta with Ms. Walker. I was surprised that she took him along."

Casey nodded. "Me too, to be honest. Ms. Walker, Sarah, normally travels alone. She's normally alone. But your brother's made an impression on her."

Ellie considered Casey for a moment; she seemed to be weighing his phrase in her mind. "Did you know she showed up here on Halloween?"

Casey boggled, almost dropped his fork. "She did what?"

Ellie told the Halloween tale. Casey's eyes grew wider as it unfolded. "So, your brother goes trick-or-treating between the devil and the deep blue-eyed blond, Sarah Walker under the unlikely aspect of an angel?

Ellie grinned with a hint of malicious enjoyment, and Casey liked her even more. She laughed. "Yes, I wish I had been here earlier, seen it all."

Casey shook his head. "You know, as I recall, Carina Miller had an angel outfit like that. I bet Sarah got it from her?"

"Carina Miller?"

"The WI VP of Sales. Sarah's best friend. They go way back — college. Harvard."

Ellie chuckled. "Oh, of course, Hahhhrvahhrd." Ellie lifted her nose into the air.

Casey chuckled too. "Actually, neither of them's like that. Neither's a preening Ivy-leaguer. I gather Carina's college years were so wild that they are still the stuff of Harvard legend…"

Ellie's face darkened. "And Sarah was her friend?"

"Yes, but, believe me, those two are as different as friends can be. I gather Sarah was as unapproachable as Carina was…approachable."

"Well, Sarah's built for approachability."

Casey felt embarrassed by the remark, unsure whether to agree or to take the fifth. Ellie gave him a look then laughed. "She's not here, John, and I would worry about you if you weren't aware of how beautiful she is."

Giving himself a moment, Casey sipped his merlot. "Yes, she is, and I am aware of it, but I've known her so long, and in a certain way, and so her attractiveness just doesn't normally register with me. She's my boss."

"How did you end up working for her? — Here, Clara, let me get you some more peas."

Clara made a face, a face made funnier by the red streak. "I ate four. No more!"

"We don't eat peas singly, little one. Now, here, eat some more for me, please?"

Clara shook her head, pouting. "We got company, so I shouldn't gotta eat more peas."

Ellie nodded. "Okay, okay. Do you want to go to your room, choose a book for us to read at bedtime?"

Clara brightened. "Yay! Can Mr. John read it to me?"

"Sweetie, Mr. John…"

"Will be happy to read one. Is it alright with your mother?"

Clara looked at Ellie and Ellie smiled. "That's fine if John's willing."

Clara extended her arms and Ellie lifted her from her chair, put her feet on the floor, and wiped her face. Clara submitted to it, then ran to her room.

Pushing his chair back from the table, Casey shook his head. "She's a wonder, Ellie. I'll confess I was nervous about meeting her — I've not spent much time around kids — but she.."

"She's a pint-sized cruise director…"

Casey barked a laugh. "That's so true!"

"I can't claim that phrase," Ellie said, pleased by Casey's laugh, "Chuck came up with it. I think it's a reference to The Love Boat. Chuck and his friend, Morgan, treat old TV shows like works of classical literature. You learn quotation from them."

Casey shook his head. "Your brother's an interesting man. — To answer your earlier question, I didn't actually get hired by Sarah. I got hired by her father. He was old by then, failing, but he still ran WI with an iron fist, his daughter too. I still think he hired me mainly to watch over his daughter, although that was never in the job description as such. I was just out of the Marines, looking for a fresh start. I saw an ad, applied, met the old man, and he hired me on the spot."

"You said 'iron fist'. He was a hard man?" Ellie asked.

Casey grew thoughtful. "Yes, but I guess I would say more sharp than hard, though, God knows, he was hard."

"Sharp? As in crooked?"

"Jack Walker was like a cat," Casey said slowly, "it was impossible for him to walk in a straight line. I figure he built WI on sharp dealings. Maybe nothing strictly illegal, but he was a con man at heart — and insurance is pretty much a legalized con. — Did your brother mention a former WI employee to you, Bryce Larkin?"

Ellie blinked, then grinned. "Is that the sneaky pretty boy you keep throwing into and out of elevators?"

Casey guffawed, and then looked self-conscious. "Larkin brings out the worst in me. But I don't normally act like that. I look scarier than I am."

Ellie gave him a long, soft look and a slow smile in the candlelight. "I don't think you look so scary."

Casey's sports jacket was all-at-once too warm.

Sarah finally looked at Chuck.

She let herself smile, but oh-so-carefully, making certain her smile was miles from suggestive, making the smile blank. He smiled back but she could see the question-marks in his eyes above his smile, muting it.

She refused those question-marks any answers. "So, Briana, have you known Roan long?" The best defense is a good offense.

The woman smiled elegantly, reminding Sarah for a moment of the women her father favored. Sarah supposed there were other similarities between Roan and her father, but comparisons surely favored Roan, for all his gremlin-like delight in wrenching other people's plans.

Briana glanced at Roan before she answered. "For a while now. We see each other whenever business brings him to Atlanta."

"Not often enough to suit me," Roan said, standing straighter, his tone gallant, "but I can only go where my clients send me."

Sarah gave Roan a look and he glanced away. "Well, I'm glad you are here."

"Me too," Briana said, "I actually know the Jaeger's independent of Roan, and I am very fond of them. Jo Ellen, their daughter, is a client of mine. I'm an interior decorator."

Chuck had been listening and then he spoke. "Did you decorate this, do all this?" He gestured around them.

Briana smiled and dropped her head. "Yes, I did, as a matter of fact."

"Boy, I wish I'd had your help when I was putting up the Burbank Buy More Christmas tree!" Chuck declared, his eyes moving from decoration to decoration. "It would've looked so much better."

Briana's brows contracted. "The Burbank Buy More? But don't you work at Walker Insurance?"

"Yes," Sarah said, stepping in, "he does work for me," Sarah emphasized the final three words. "He did work at the Buy More."

"He's a recent hire," Roan said, his tone odd, "hired for Special Projects." Roan grinned at Sarah with all his teeth.

Sarah wanted to punch her lawyer, despite how much she liked him. He was almost as enamored of chaos as Carina.

Chuck had stopped contemplating the decor. He turned to Roan. "Special Projects? I'm Ms. Walker's Personal Assistant."

"Indeed. But what's in a title? A sire by any other name would serve as sweet," he bowed in courtly fashion as he gave Sarah an obvious wink, "am I right, milady? A sire is a sire is a sire, as Gertrude Stein might have said."

Gertrude?

Sarah felt her mouth fall open, and swing like a porch swing.

Casey was seated in — or rather, on — one of Clara's tiny chairs.

He felt as comfortable as a duck on a June bug. He had a book in his hands, the one Clara had eagerly handed him.

Casey read the cover aloud: "Charles Dickens, Captain Murder." He glanced at Ellie.

Ellie shrugged. "It's a book from our childhood, Chuck's favorite. Don't tell. He reads it to Clara on Fridays. Human Services might come and claim Clara if they knew that was her favorite book."

Shaking his head, Casey opened it, holding it as if it might bite him. "I've never read this."

"Cap'm Murdrer! Cap'm Murdrer!" Clara chanted, eyes shining, clapping.

Casey read the first sentence:

If we all knew our own minds (in a more enlarged sense than the popular acceptation of that phrase), I suspect we should find our nurses responsible for most of the dark corners we are forced to go back to, against our wills.

He stopped and looked at Ellie. She shrugged and gave him a wavy smile. Clara clapped again. Casey read on.

"Special Projects?" Chuck repeated, more or less to himself, confused. "Sire? Like royalty?"

Sarah was going to murder Roan Montgomery, fly home, and murder Carina.

The prison sentence would be worth it.

Casey finished and Clara's weighty and weightier eyelids drooped closed:

And he went on swelling and turning bluer, and being more all over spots and screaming, until he reached from floor to ceiling and from wall to wall; and then, at one o'clock in the morning, he blew up with a loud explosion. At the sound of it, all the milk-white horses in the stables broke their halters and went mad, and then they galloped over everybody in Captain Murderer's house (beginning with the family blacksmith who had filed his teeth) until the whole were dead, and then they galloped away.

Casey closed the book silently and looked at Ellie. He whispered — "That's a hell of a story. She sleeps after that?"

"Like a log," Ellie whispered, and stood up from the foot of Clara's bed, where she had been seated during the reading, and motioned for Casey to follow her. He did. Ellie shut Clara's door as he left the room.

"I know, I know, crazy story. But she loves it, and she only understands it in part. She thinks it's funny, and it is."

Ellie bit her lip. "I sometimes wonder if our senses of humor are rusty, if past generations could laugh at things we can't, and so we misunderstand them because of that. The best way to shine light in the dark is to laugh."

Casey grunted and Ellie looked at him. "Sorry, yes. I was agreeing."

Ellie really liked John Casey. The evening had gone so well. But she could not help herself, she had to ask. Her curiosity was killing her. "John," Ellie said, her tone cautious, hoping not to overstep, "do you think your boss has a thing for my brother? Hiring him out of the blue, the daring angel costume, the Atlanta trip?"

Casey sighed. "Sarah's a deep file, as we say in the insurance game, Ellie. She likes Chuck, that's my guess. She may know it, she may not. But with Sarah, knowing it may not count for much. No one's got more willpower when she puts her mind to it. She can out-will her own desires every single time. She inherited her willpower from her father."

Ellie frowned and looked concerned.

Casey asked his own question. "So, Clara — she's hard of hearing?"

"Yes, but with her hearing aids on, talking to her, it's easy to miss — unless you see the hearing aids."

Ellie started to mention her need for insurance, and then she thought of Chuck, and she understood his reticence about mentioning it to Sarah. It was too soon to ask a favor from John Casey, and he was Walker Insurance's Head of Security.

Clara's need was probably not one he could address, professionally. If he helped, it would be by encouraging Sarah Walker to do him a personal favor.

They reached the front door and Casey turned to Ellie, stopped, and looked into her green eyes.

Unsure what to do, what Ellie wished him to do, he knew what he wanted to say.

"This's been the best evening I've spent in a long time. Dinner was so good, Clara is loveable, and you, Ellie Woodcomb, you'll do, you'll surely do."

Ellie mock-curtsied. "Why thank you, Mr. Casey, that's high praise." When she finished, she stepped forward and kissed Casey's cheek, lingering against it for a second or two.

He put his hand on his cheek involuntarily after the kiss, and left it there as he asked, "Maybe we could do this again sometime soon?"

Ellie gave him a soft, responsive laugh, the sound a promissory note. "That could be arranged."