Jim listened to Tom sit down at his desk without saying hello. He pulled off his sunglasses and turned. "Tom, what are you wearing?" Jim asked and wrinkled his nose.
"Ha, ha, Jim, I'm not falling for that one. Not about to take fashion advice from a blind guy."
Jim smiled and slipped his sunglasses back on.
"How'd it go last night?"
"Good," Jim said.
Tom laughed. "You got a stupid grin on your face. Spill."
Jim nodded and tried to wipe the smile off his face. "We learned a lot, we had fun. You should have been there; Karen almost started a bar fight."
"Karen? Our Karen?"
"Who else? I'm surprised she doesn't take bodyguards with her when she goes out."
"Because I can take care of myself, Jim," Karen said, sounding peeved.
"I know. I was there, remember?" He spun his chair toward her. "I know you can take care of yourself."
"Thanks," she said quietly.
"What else?" Tom prodded.
"Jim got a little drunk," Karen said, smiling.
Jim felt his face getting red. "Just a little. But I'll have you know I was still totally in control of all my faculties."
"Just not your tongue," Marty said.
Jim looked up, startled, not having heard Marty come in.
"You learn anything useful on your drunken rendezvous?" Fisk asked, his tone clipped.
Jim's head swiveled. He still hadn't recovered from Marty showing up; how long had Fisk been there?
"Which no one bothered to tell me about, by the way," Fisk continued. "What if something would have happened?"
"Boss…" Karen said.
"We were just asking questions," Marty defended.
Jim hung his head.
"And the last time you all went undercover?"
Jim averted his gaze further, anger swelling in his stomach.
"We kept an eye on him," Marty said.
Jim snapped his head up. "Boss, all due respect, but that was one time. We don't get a second chance? I think we all learned last time—"
"And we watched out for each other this time," Karen said.
"So Karen almost starting a bar fight…?"
"A joke, boss," Jim said, keeping his eyes down.
"Just a guy hitting on me."
Jim clenched his fist tightly in his lap. The conversation was going so badly he was sure any second Fisk was going to order him to stay behind in the future, just in case something happened to Karen and he couldn't help her.
"Don't let it happen again," Fisk ordered. "These little things, you run them by me first. Do you all understand me?"
They chorused like schoolchildren.
"Now, that said, what'd you learn?"
There was a moment of silence. Jim felt the necessity to break it, since they'd only been reprimanded in light of him being in on the bar escapade. "Marty found the guy Sonny'd talked to."
"And Jim got a card from someone who offered us a bit of untraceable poison." Karen started typing.
"And Karen tripped this guy—you shoulda seen it, boss," Marty said, grinning.
"Marty," Karen said, sounding like she was blushing and trying to hide behind her laptop.
"She also got several leads," Marty continued.
"None of which panned out," she said glumly.
"Only because we split early," Jim reminded her.
"My fault again."
"Karen…"
"Next time we go out, I'm dressing as a man."
Jim and the other guys laughed.
"No real problems last night?" Fisk asked.
"No, really," Karen said.
"We're really starting to come together, right Jim?" Marty teased. "All getting more comfortable as a squad…"
Jim cleared his throat and glanced away. A small laugh escaped, despite his embarrassment. "Right, Marty."
"Really?" Fisk asked.
"Really," Marty replied. "Dunbar and I had a little heart-to-heart."
Jim looked away again.
"Good to hear it."
"I can't find anything on this card," Karen said, stopping typing. "All it has is a pager number—we'd have to call it and hope for the best."
"So much for that," Jim said, knowing they were already treading on thin ice with the boss.
"We'll keep it in mind," Fisk said.
"But no more deals with the blind guy," Jim said, facing Fisk as closely as he could and forcing a smile.
"Right."
"So, Russ, it all hangs on you," Jim said, turning.
Marty cleared his throat, but didn't say anything right away. "We had us a little staring contest…"
"But he never told you anything?" Karen prodded.
"Nothing. I asked all sorts of questions, believe me, and he just stared at me. I asked around about him, but no one had a name, so I'm going to spend the morning going through mug books and hope we can haul him in on something for leverage."
Fisk sighed. "Well, I'm glad you three had fun last night."
Marty grumbled something.
"Jim, my office," Fisk said as he turned to leave them.
Fisk's footsteps hurried away. Jim stood slowly.
"Hey, we got your back, Jim," Marty said.
Jim shook his head. "I realize that, Marty, I'm just not used to needing people to stand up for me." He started away.
"Jim," Karen called. "Don't worry so much."
Jim shut the door to Fisk's office without answering.
"Have a seat," Fisk offered.
Jim shook his head.
"Jim, you know you need to be extra careful, right? Because if something were to happen…"
Jim kept his head down and nodded. It wasn't enough for him to say he'd never let anything happen to Karen.
"Are we clear on that?"
"Yes." Jim raised his gaze. "We're clear."
"You can go."
Jim stepped out the door and headed for his desk, the corners of his mouth drawn, feeling an extra responsibility had been dropped on him. He sighed.
"Jimmy!"
Jim turned toward the hall and cocked his head, trying to place the voice. He grinned, suddenly feeling years younger. "Rob." He stuck his hand out at the approaching footsteps, but had to wait a moment for Rob Mulhaney to finish crossing the squad.
"It's good to see you back on the job again." He clapped Jim on the shoulder. "Not for nothing, but the last time I saw you, you looked like hell."
Jim bit his lip, acutely aware of the other detectives milling around right behind him, listening to every word.
"Robby!" the lieutenant called out his office door. "Come on in."
"Always business," Rob said under his breath to Jim. "I've been trying to get him to relax for years." He touched Jim lightly on the arm. "Can you get to the office okay?"
"Yeah," Jim said quickly. "I can get around no problem. Been awhile since we've seen each other, huh?" He gestured for Rob Mulhaney to go ahead of him, then followed, keeping his gaze to the floor.
"Hey, Gary, you're lucky you got a chance to work with this knucklehead," Rob said. "Jimmy's always been a great detective. Glad he got a chance to come back."
Jim paused in the doorway, then took a step just to the left to make room for the other three detectives.
It was strange seeing people from before, ones he didn't get to see often. So many of them he'd once considered good friends. They called him Jimmy, not Jim. He felt like a different guy, like two separate people. He used to be Jimmy, all laidback, had friends, people respected him. He couldn't imagine Tom and Marty calling him Jimmy. Karen had a couple times, once right before telling him maybe he was lucky he was blind…
Three more bodies shuffled in, the last one shutting the door. They filled the office, moving around to each claim a space. Jim leaned against the wall of windows and crossed his arms.
Rob clamped a hand on Jim's arm a second before pulling the chair just to his left closer to Fisk's desk. He sat, shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't think Jimmy'd even remember anything I told him about my son… but I'm glad he did. Our end of the case has gone stagnant. We had a few leads, friends of… Brian's. They all disappeared before we could get any proof."
"What have you found?" Fisk asked.
"It was all luck. One day three kids showed up at my door, Brian's age. They were looking for him, didn't know he was dead. I didn't tell them, wasn't allowed, with the investigation. No one was supposed to know who didn't need to. But now I'm wondering, if I did tell them… if they could have helped shed some light.
"The girl's name was Mary, the other two were guys, both had played football in high school, thought they couldn't make anything out of their lives. They told me to call them Rock and Bug, I never did get full names.
"Mary was crying when they showed. They just had to find Brian, she kept saying. All I could say was I hadn't seen him, but if they'd help me, maybe I could find him. Who had he been hanging out with, where, how was he making a living…
"Nothing. She cried harder, we just have to find him, don't you understand.
"No, I told 'em I didn't. Does he have something of yours, or is he your boyfriend, or what? They wouldn't answer any of my questions. I finally told 'em, look, I'm a cop, if you're in some sort of trouble, I can help."
Tom cleared his throat. "It's sounding an awful lot like our investigation."
"Did you get anything?" Jim asked. He heard Rob turn in his chair to look over his shoulder.
"In the mail, believe it or not. They asked me for a stamp, said they'd keep in touch, then they left and mailed me this flier for a resort in Indiana. For writers and artists."
"Do you still have the flier?" Jim asked.
"Yeah, but it won't do you any good. I drove all night, left immediately. By the time I got out there, the place was deserted. I tried to contact the guy in charge, but couldn't find him."
"What's the name?" Fisk asked.
"Josiah Wilkins? I really couldn't find anything on him. Didn't seem particularly inclined toward the arts, so I figure he was just the benefactor."
Jim heard papers being sifted through and handed around, listened as Rob's hand crinkled the papers.
"We need to find this guy," Fisk said after a moment of allowing Rob to look through the connections they'd found to Josiah Wilkins.
Rob shifted, slammed the papers on Fisk's desk. "Look, I was supposed to pull you off this case. We were going to take it over. But… I gotta admit you're getting somewhere." He sighed. "Find him." He pushed his chair back and stood. "I gotta go." He turned, froze.
Jim felt a hand on his arm and looked over.
"I gotta go," Rob said, his voice cracking. Anger, frustration, or sadness, Jim couldn't tell. He just nodded back. "Good seeing you, Jimmy. I'll be in touch, maybe take you and Christie out to dinner." He squeezed Jim's arm, then threw open the door and left. Jim let his gaze follow the footsteps out the door.
Fisk planted himself on the edge of Jim's desk between the detectives. "I just got a fax of the flier and all Rob's personal notes. He can't send us the full file, being a closed investigation, but he thought this might be helpful."
Jim listened as Marty slid over and took the papers, fanning through them and whistling. "One hell of a note taker, ain't he? I'm glad we didn't get the full file."
"He's got a list of names in there, people he found useful. One of 'em's Glenn Bartlett." He stood up. "Keep this all under wraps—we're not supposed to be on this case anymore. Keep that in mind."
"No problem, boss," Karen said. Fisk walked away, closing the door to his office. "Let's spread out in one of the interview rooms and go through all that."
Jim waited until the other three had headed to the room, then slowly followed. He closed the door behind him, listening to where they all were.
"Split it fo—three ways," Karen said from the far left of the table. "Sorry, Jim."
"No problem. You got an empty chair?"
"Side of the table by the window."
Jim nodded and headed to his right.
"By the window?" Marty said. "Really, Karen, how's he supposed to know—"
Jim grimaced. "I've been in this room on enough interviews. I know where the windows are, Marty." He ran his hand along the corner of the table until it touched the chair, pulled it out and plopped down. "Let me know if you find anything useful."
"Don't fall asleep on us over there," Marty said from the chair right in front of the door, directly to Jim's left.
"Wide awake, Marty."
"The boss yell at you about going last night?" Karen asked from across the table.
Jim shrugged, wishing he could grab some papers and get busy searching for clues.
"I mean, it was all our—"
"We should have run it by him first," Jim cut in.
"But he didn't…"
Jim gestured out with both hands. "I'm still here, aren't I?" He turned his head to the right, where the fourth chair usually was. "Hey, Tom—"
"Over here, Jim," Tom said from the left, from the other side of Marty.
Jim turned his head, his mouth still open, and stared.
"I, uh, moved the chair so we could look at the files, not have to read upside down…"
Jim bent his head and ran a hand over his face. "This is turning into such a long day," he muttered. He stood up, not looking at any of the detectives. "I'm going to go get some water."
"Okay," Tom said.
The other two stayed quiet as Jim left the room and shut the door. He stood there a second, his hand on the door, head down, and took a deep breath, eyes closed against the blindness. Then he strode over to the water cooler.
"Jim," Fisk called.
Jim felt the paper cup start to crumble and quickly loosened his grip. He moved to the doorway of Fisk's office.
"I have to look out for the safety of all my detectives, you know that, right?"
Jim nodded. "I know. And I hope you know I would never endanger any of them."
"I do."
"Thanks," he said awkwardly.
"It's nothing personal. You're a good detective and—"
Jim held up a hand. "Boss, you don't have to apologize."
"I should have yelled at you all."
"It's okay. I'm still the wild card here, right?"
"If it's okay, why aren't you with the others?"
Jim held up the paper cup of water.
"Oh." Fisk moved something on his desk. "Uh, Robby called back. He's looking into Pipsqueak and that Uncle Josiah some more."
"Good." Jim nodded.
"You can go…"
Jim turned and headed back to the interview room. All he heard when he walked in was the rustling of papers. He closed the door quietly.
"Anything?" he asked.
"Not yet," Karen said.
Jim headed for his chair slowly.
"Hey, Jim, what were you going to ask me?" Tom asked.
Jim felt the heat rising in his cheeks again. "I don't remember." He frowned. "Couldn't have been important." He pulled out his chair but didn't sit. "Who has that list of names? If you give me some, I'll start running them."
A paper slid across the table. "Knock yourself out," Marty said.
Jim slid his hand across the table until it touched the paper. "Is it typed?"
"Uh… no."
"Read me a couple." He pushed the paper back.
Marty picked it up and read him a few names. Jim pushed in his chair and quickly left the room.
Jim ran the names, then hurried back, throwing the door open so fast it banged against the wall. "They're dead."
"Who? All of them?" Marty asked.
"Give me the next three."
Jim rushed back to his desk so fast he bumped into someone, but ignored it in his haste.
Back in the interview room he shook his head. "Dead."
"You sure?" Karen asked.
Jim gave her a disparaging look and pursed his lips.
"Sorry," she said.
Jim pulled out the chair and sat down backwards, resting his crossed arms on the backrest. "If all these people are dead…"
"Because they were helpful," Tom said.
"Someone doesn't want them talking to the cops," Karen said.
"You want me to finish the list?" Jim asked, feeling useful.
"Not right now," Marty said. "We're starting to dig out some useful stuff from all this crap. I don't want to have to go through it twice."
Jim faced straight ahead. "I'm ready."
"I got the notes on Glenn Bartlett," Tom said.
Jim clenched his jaw. It was kind of strange, getting a statement from a dead man.
"Keep in mind, they're just looking for the Mulhaney kid."
Jim nodded. "Now's not the time for dramatic effect, Tom."
Marty chuckled.
""Glenn likes to stare at fire,"" Tom read.
"What?" Karen asked.
"Give me that," Marty ordered
Jim head papers crinkling, guessed Marty had yanked it from Tom's hand.
""Glenn likes to look at fire,"" Marty read.
The papers crinkled again.
"I just said that, man. Find your own interesting information."
"Who said that was interesting?"
"It's about our DOA, isn't it?"
Jim grinned. "I like chocolate chip cookies, but that doesn't mean it's relevant."
"Exactly," Marty said.
"Mulhaney wrote it down. Maybe it's pertinent."
Jim chuckled. "You're on a roll, Tom, keep it going."
"He even put a star by it… says he had to light a candle before the kid would say anything."
"A bit of a pyro?" Marty asked. "How's that gonna help us now?"
"Mulhaney says it seemed like the kid couldn't talk unless he was watching something burn."
"So he was psychotic."
"That's just weird," Karen said.
"Astute observation isn't weird," Tom defended. "At least Mulhaney figured out how to get him to talk, right?"
"There's a lot of weird stuff about this case," Jim finally said. "Maybe it's relevant, maybe it's not."
"Thank you, Jim," Tom said.
"He wasn't exactly agreeing with you," Karen chided.
"But he wasn't disagreeing. I can appreciate it. I'll take what I can get, okay? This whole file's messed up."
"Keep going, Tom, I'm hooked," Jim said with a grin.
"The only thing it doesn't have is his favorite cookie… or his family… or his address… social security number."
"No important stuff," Marty clarified.
"Right."
"And about the case?" Jim asked to get them back on track.
"He said they were playing police officer one night, passing Brian's badge back and forth, visiting convenience stores and strip malls and pretending they were there on police business."
"When?" Jim asked.
"Uh, no specific date, but it sounds like Brian was with them."
"So they were friends."
"I guess. It almost sounds like they were high… Then it says they had to push Brian in the creek…"
Jim sat up straighter. "Read it."
""Left the shop, laughing, and headed for the middle of nowhere. Brian's a good guy, so we stopped and pushed him in a creek.""
"Didn't he drown?" Marty asked. "Jim?"
"I thought so…" Jim looked over at Marty. "But if he's connected with our case, I'd almost bet he was poisoned first."
"They were high?" Karen asked.
"You think this guy deals in poisons and street drugs?" Tom asked.
"And meds," Jim added, thinking of how Samantha would have needed insulin and Artez would have needed something to stop his seizures.
"A pharmaceutical genius," Marty summed up.
"So why'd they kill Brian? Does it say?" Jim asked.
"Nah. He doesn't get specific. Mulhaney made a note to talk to the kid again."
"And the note's from…?"
"October 3."
"So a few weeks before we found him. He was talking to a cop. Maybe someone found out, so they had him killed," Jim sketched out.
"Or maybe the poison was just this new drug," Marty suggested. "You take it a while, it goes bad in your system."
Jim shifted uncomfortably, running his hands along the back of his chair. "Do we have anything specific?"
"Still looking," Karen said. "Mulhaney sent over notes on everyone he'd interviewed."
"Do you think they all really died?" Marty asked.
Jim looked over.
"'Cause, you know, DeLana and her brother, they're not going under their own names, right?"
"So maybe they just disappeared…" Karen said. "And they're using aliases?"
"If they're just disappeared, they can still be found."
Jim shook his head. "But how?"
"You work on that while the rest of us trudge through these files," Marty said mischievously.
Jim smiled a little. "Thanks, Marty. Why don't you be the blind guy this time and I'll finish the files?"
Marty chuckled. "Not this time."
"Has anyone found Artez's body yet?" Jim asked, leaning back in his chair.
"Come on, Jim, Marty's our resident pessimist," Tom said.
Jim gestured at his computer. "Every single name I've run has come up as dead."
"Yeah, but I'm running the photos, maybe we'll find some of them."
Jim sighed. "Artez didn't even tell us anything."
"He's not dead yet."
"But if he turns up—"
"He won't."
"What'll he have died for?"
"For saving his sister, right?"
"If she even is his sister, which I doubt. He definitely wasn't father of his own son." They'd just heard back from the paternity test on Clem. "I wish you guys would have gotten DeLana to talk."
"She was pretty upset," Tom said. "She might have talked to you."
"And I can't go down there," he said, frustrated enough he lashed out and hit his desk, sending his sunglasses skittering.
"Careful, Sundance."
Jim grabbed the glasses and stood up. "I'm going to take Hank out."
"You do that."
Jim took Hank down to the park. The leaves were mostly off the trees, crunching underfoot as they walked. Jim kicked out, but heard only a couple scrape across the sidewalk. He'd need to kick something more substantial than a pile of leaves to make himself feel better.
These long, drawn-out cases, sometimes Jim didn't mind them. The more intricate, the more fascinating. But in this case, lives were at stake. Not just DeLana and her kids, and Artez if he was still alive, but all those people like Glenn Bartlett. Were they all really dead? Or, like Marty'd suggested, was there a chance they could be found, living under pseudonyms? Would they even be in the city anymore if that was the case?
Jim heard something small run through the leaves on his right—a rabbit or a squirrel—but Hank barely turned his head, just enough to make sure it wasn't an immediate threat. Jim ordered him to find a bench, then sat facing the dog, scratching his head. "Good boy." Hank yawned. Jim played his hands through the long fur, his mind racing on the case.
They needed to find Samantha's family.
They needed to find the person supplying these drugs and poisons.
And just what was the connection that would leave two cousins dead within such a short time, and one other person missing?
Where was Artez anyway?
And who was going to be next?
Hank licked Jim's hand. Jim leaned closer to the dog. "Hank…" Jim sighed. Hank sighed back. "Exactly."
"Jim!" Karen said, hustling over as soon as he got back. "Marty and Tom just got Mrs. Whittleton into Room 1." She grabbed his wrist.
"Mrs…?"
"Samantha's mom!" She started pulling him and Hank toward the observation room.
Jim pulled his arm back. "We're coming." He slowed his pace a little.
"We? Oh, hi, Hank."
Jim followed Karen with Hank in tow. She pushed open the door.
"Hey, Jim," Fisk greeted.
"Hey."
He shrugged out of his coat in the stuffy little room and leaned against the wall with the one-way mirror.
"…you hear that made you come?" Tom was asking.
"My sister called."
"Did you know we've been trying to call?"
Jim turned to Karen. "She ID the body yet?"
"Yeah," Karen said quietly.
"I'd just heard from Samantha this morning. She's been in Europe, but she calls every couple days," Mrs. Whittleton said.
"She called this morning?" Marty asked.
"Yes."
"And what did you talk about?" Tom asked.
"She said she was in Paris, everything was fine, she'd call in a couple days."
"That's it?"
"I was out of the house. She left a message. So when I kept getting messages that you had her body, and then I'd hear from her right after… I knew it wasn't—" She cut herself off. Jim heard her crying.
"Obviously someone wanted you to think she was okay."
Mrs. Whittleton cried harder. "I—now I don't know when the last time I actually talked to her was."
Jim lowered his head and grimaced.
"Do you know what your daughter would have been doing with Glenn Bartlett?" Marty asked.
"They're cousins. Were."
"Or why they'd both end up dead?"
"No, I wouldn't know."
"We heard he came up here to stay with her. Why?"
"I don't know. Samantha wouldn't have told me about Glenn because… My sister and I don't…"
"You mind if we ask why?"
"She had an affair with my husband, is that reason enough?" she asked, her voice cold.
"So your daughter wouldn't have mentioned anything she was doing because of that?" Tom asked.
"Last I knew, she was headed for Europe. She took some time off work—"
"Work? Where?"
"Bloomingdale's."
"You know she only worked there a couple weeks?" Tom asked.
"No."
"So when did she leave for Europe?"
"About six months ago. She said she wouldn't be in contact much."
"Who'd she go with?" Marty asked.
"Her church group."
"Headed by Uncle Josiah?" Tom interjected.
"I think so."
Jim turned toward Karen, but she didn't say anything.
"How long has she known him?"
"Her pastor? I don't know. She left home when she was 18, so probably around then. She always liked going to church."
"Are you aware you have a grandson?" Marty asked.
"What?" The response was a whisper.
"No?"
"Is there anything you can tell us that would help us find who killed your daughter?" Tom asked.
"Obviously I didn't know her as well as I thought." She sniffled. "I don't know. I don't know what's true."
"Don't sweat it. We'll figure out what's true," Tom said. "You just give us contact names and friends."
Jim wrinkled his brow. "Why'd someone go out of their way to make sure Mrs. Whittleton thought her daughter was alive?"
"When everyone else has been getting anonymous phone calls telling them where their children are?" Karen added.
Fisk cleared his throat. "You two have anything you want to ask her before we cut her loose?"
"She sounded honest enough," Jim said. "She really doesn't seem to know anything about her daughter's activities."
"You think someone overlooked the fact that they're cousins?" Karen asked. "When it came down to keeping information from the mom?"
"Either that or they figured the mom would find out from her sister, so they didn't bother to call."
"But the message from Samantha—"
"I'll see if we can get the numbers from the incoming calls to her house this morning," Fisk said. He moved toward the door.
Jim stepped back to let Fisk pass. "You think it was tape recorded?" Jim asked Karen. "Or do you think it was just someone who sounds kind of like her?"
Fisk turned back. "I'll see if she still has it on her answering machine. Do you think you'd recognize the voice?"
Jim shook his head. "I never talked to her myself. Karen?"
"Maybe… She talked enough. I might be able to."
Jim got home late, but Christie wasn't there yet. He tossed his coat on the coat rack and fed Hank, then sank onto the couch. The big date was tomorrow. He'd made reservations at a restaurant Christie liked. He barely remembered it, not having been there in over a year, but he knew there was a big fountain in the entryway.
He planned to stop and pick up flowers on his way home from work. He'd even offered to leave Hank behind so they could have a romantic evening for two.
Hank whined.
"Sorry, boy, you're not romantic," Jim said. He let his hand fall over the side of the couch and scratched the dog's ears. "Did you eat?" He got up and moved Hank's dish out of the way, washing out the doggie drool. He flipped on the TV for background noise, but sat facing the window. He imagined Christie, how she'd look tomorrow night, all dressed up. He still felt guilty about not saying anything about her birthday right away. They probably could have avoided a big fight if he'd just been upfront about it.
Or not. There were so many variables in their relationship, so many things that had gone wrong. They'd been bound to come out eventually.
The resolution still puzzled him, though. Christie just forgiving him for everything like that. He thought maybe he should ask her again if she wanted to go see the couples' therapist Galloway had mentioned. Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn't; she might be too entrenched with her own therapist. He knew how difficult it was to open up. Sometimes it felt easier to talk to Galloway than to his own wife, but that was because Galloway wasn't a part of his life, he didn't have to see him everyday, didn't have to prove his worth, didn't have to come home to him and worry what he thought. He knew that now, but opening up in the first place? That had been difficult.
He fell asleep on the couch, barely waking when Christie came home.
"Jimmy?"
He stirred a little and grunted.
She rubbed a hand across his forehead, smoothed his hair back.
"You wanna come to bed?"
She covered him with a blanket and he stirred again.
"I'm coming," he mumbled and held a hand out.
She took it and he followed, falling into bed. He snuggled up to her when she joined him, half awake, and fell asleep breathing in the fragrance of her hair.