7
Rune Alignment
Chapter 2
"I swear to God, if you don't stop looking at your watch every five seconds and sighing, I'm gonna rip it right off your wrist and throw it in the river. At least stop sighing," Eames erupted as they sat in traffic.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know I was doing it. I'll stop," Goren said.
"Thank you."
Silence hung on them like a wet sheet. They had been on the way to a scene when a truck overturned on the 59th Street Bridge. Traffic was a standstill. Blocked on all sides by other cars, the SUV had nowhere to go.
"Why don't you call in that we're parked on the bridge and it ain't looking good?" Eames offered.
Goren made the call and suggested that another team head out. No telling how long they would be on the bridge.
Eames looked at her partner with disbelief, "Why did you suggest they send another team? This is our assignment. You want to give it away; just like that? God, Goren."
"Eames, the scene may be corrupted by the time we get there. We could be here for hours. They can't wait for us," he replied. Her exasperation was palatable. A few minutes of silence then, "What's with you, anyway? You've been acting weird ever since the museum investigation started. What's wrong?"
Eames shifted in the driver's seat and said nothing. She did not want to say anything about anything because she did not trust what she might say. She hated being like this. It wasn't professional. It wasn't like her. It made her appear weak and preoccupied. Moreover, she didn't know if Bobby was savvy enough to figure out that her behavior was a result of the green-eyed monster. How could she let herself be jealous of that professor woman? Wintermantle was brilliant and beautiful, but Eames never thought another woman's looks and mind could intimidate her. Come on, admit it, it was the way Bobby reacted to Wintermantle. Alex had never seen him so struck by a woman. Of course, he thought he was being cool and not showing any reaction. Eames knew him so well; she could practically read his mind.
Among many, many other things, Goren was the most courteous man Eames had ever known. He always stood when a woman entered the room, always got the door, held the chair – all those little things men used to do without thinking. All the little things that made a woman feel so special; that made Eames feel so special when Bobby did those things for her. Alex had watched Bobby when Wintermantle entered the conference room, the look on his face.
Deakins, Bobby and she had been in the conference room, going over the information and photos of the museum theft or switch, whichever it turned out to be, waiting for the ancient languages expert, a Dr. Gleason Wintermantle, who was now about ten minutes late.
Deakins glanced at the wall clock and said, "I wonder where he is. I've got a meeting with upstairs in about forty minutes."
"He'll be here," Bobby mumbled, continuing to write. "You know how these absent minded professors are." He kept writing as the conference room door opened and a tall good-looking woman was ushered in.
"I am so sorry. Traffic. Please forgive me. I'm Gleason Wintermantle," she said with her hand out to Deakins. At the sound of the deep, throaty voice, Eames saw Bobby's head shoot up, stare for a second, his mouth open and then rise simultaneously with Deakins. Bobby lit up, came around the table and moved in closely to take Wintermantle's hand. He set his left hand over hers; did he hold it just a wee bit long?
Eames rose slightly as she shook the good professor's hand. Bobby and Deakins both reached to pull out the chair next to Deakins, nearly nudging each other out of the way. Bobby had the advantage and got his hand on the back first. He pulled out the chair and reached out his left arm to escort her to her seat. Deakins stepped back and held out his arm as well. Wintermantle passed along in front of the two and took the seat. Bobby kept his hand on the back of her chair a nanosecond too long. Eames saw him take a deep breath; did he actually sniff her?
Eames watched these two juggle this woman, smiled, and shook her head. That was when Bobby removed himself to the credenza at the far end of the room. Deakins seemed to shoot him a questioning look, and then turned his full attention to the expert.
Alex watched Bobby watch the good professor. He never took his eyes off her; he barely blinked. At other interviews like this, he might be at the conference table with everyone else, listening attentively, taking copious notes and then entering the conversation with question after question, examining every angle. But not this time; this time, it was different.
Eames knew she was jealous. And she hated that about herself. How long were they going to sit here?
"Eames?"
"Goren, can we just sit here and enjoy silence? Please? I really don't want to talk."
"OK." What is going on with her, he wondered.
On the job, Goren could see what others missed, connect what seemed incongruent, and perceive emotions people didn't even know they felt. Combined, these traits made him a brilliant interrogator and a gifted profiler. In circumstances not related to work, however, he was awkward. Goren appeared unable to recognize and interpret social signals when he was a variable in an unfamiliar social situation. The incalculable responsive options one might make in those situations staggered him and rendered him incoherent. His circle of friends was small and tight, each of them a lot like Goren – a little odd. His work colleagues made up another set of comfortable interactions. He rarely dated, and when he did there was seldom a second date.
Content with himself, he spent his time reading, thinking, and brooding. He played chess with a machine and poker with his friends, worked out and listened to music. He liked Weihenstephanuer Hefe Weiss bier, a cloudy wheat German beer, and pastrami sandwiches, even though they gave him heartburn. And, he knew his way around a kitchen. That was pretty much it.
Eames appeared to be dozing. Goren's thoughts slid toward the professor. He had never met anyone like her. She was perfect: smart, pretty, and that voice – and she smelled like cinnamon. She seemed nice. After all, she didn't bolt or seem freaked out by his awkwardness. He cringed as he reran that scenario in his mind. What a jerk, he thought. Maybe he'd take flowers tonight. Keep them in his car until they got to where they were going and then give them to her as he met her at her car. No, it's too soon, it would seem anxious, rushing –no flowers.
A silent hour and half later, traffic began to move and Goren roused Eames. "Wake up sleepy head, we're moving." Goren called to check the status of the crime scene. "We need to get there," he told Eames, "They want us to go over the scene again and re-interview the witnesses." Eames proceeded without a word.
At the scene, Eames slipped back into partner mode, with no attitude, and they worked as one. They discussed the case on the way back to One Police Plaza where their paperwork was completed and filed. This would be a straightforward case. Maybe Eames was over whatever was bugging her.