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Rune Alignment

Chapter 19

"So, the four pay phones are about twenty-two blocks apart, in four corners of the city." Sledge pointed as he talked. Eames was amazed at what he had accomplished. "The time code on each of the calls puts them at about twenty-, twenty-five minutes apart, just about enough time to drive from one phone to the next; depending on his exact route."

Sledge had gotten the caller ID numbers on the professor's cell from Jerry. He mapped the sites of the pay phones and configured the distance and time. He plotted all of the information on a street map of the city pinned to the conference room wall.

"You know, if he was doing what Goren claims, sharpening his sword as it were, these would have to be car side phones. I don't think he would stand out in the open and whittle his wood."

"Thank you for that colorful deduction. Is that what you guys call it – polishing and whittling?" She smiled and shook her head. "That is a huge bit of work you've done. It will put us a little bit ahead tomorrow. It probably won't do much good to pull the lugs from the phones at this late date, huh?"

"Probably not." Sledge looked at this watch, "What do you say we call it a day? How about if you let me take you out to dinner? Later, tonight. Someplace nice."

Eames looked at him, considering.

"My treat?"

She smiled and said, "I think that sounds dandy."

Bobby opened his phone and scrolled his contact list, found what he was looking for, hit 'send,' waited, and then said, "Is Guido in? May I speak with him? Bobby Goren."

They were still parked at the curb outside Marlowe's wine shop. Gleason watched him – phone to right ear, left hand on the wheel. He is so good looking, she thought. So kind. So sexy! That story he told, of what she would like, how she would like it . . . amazing. And, he was right on the money; with every detail. If he knew that about a woman, does that mean he likes it, too? She didn't realize it, but this was the first time she didn't catch herself or caution herself.

"Guido! It has been a long time, I know." Listening. "Yes, yes, you kind of figured, huh?" Listening. "Tonight? For two. Nine thirty, great. Thanks Guido. See you later." He folded shut his phone and said to her, "We're all set. Reservations for two at Bordegona at nine thirty tonight. I hope you like Italian."

She smiled at him and said, "Oh, you know what I like."

He stood across the street again, smoking, watching, and waiting. Her car was still there, but the copper's was not. Her apartment appeared dark. Where are they? She's done something to her home phone – it sounds different; just a little, but enough, an odd click where there hadn't been one before. That bitch! That bastard cop, he's put a trace on her phone, even though it doesn't matter, with all of the wonderful American pay phones. She can still hear the goodies that I leave her; little reminders of what once was, and will be again soon. That cunt whore thinks she is taking away my fun. But she is wrong, wrong, wrong, because she is stupid, stupid, stupid. Where are they, though? He crushed the butt and shoved his hands in his pocket. He felt nothing.

They carried the produce, bread, cheese, wine, and beer upstairs. Bobby opened his door and she entered first. "The kitchen is this way," he said, stepping in front of her. They set the food and drink on the counter and table. He took off his coat and held out his hand for her shawl and bag. Gleason started taking items from bags while he hung their things in the hall closet.

"I'll be right back," he said, unclipping his weapon from his belt. Bobby went down the hall to his bedroom, emptied his pockets and set his money clip, keys, shield and weapon on the dresser, keeping his penknife and handkerchief. He turned and caught sight of the bed. Oh, my, God – "Gleason, come here. You have to see this."

She entered his bedroom and said, "What?"

He walked to the bed and lifted something from the pillow. "Oh no!" she laughed out loud. "Did Estella do that? Tell me it was Estella and not you."

Bobby shook the strip of condoms, "Should I fire her or thank her?"

She moved to his side, wrapped an arm around his waist, and said, "Oh thank her, thank her."

They returned to the kitchen. "Let me make the salad," she said, "I bet you even have a big bowl."

"No, you sit and watch my magic. Do you want some wine?" He pulled out a chair and indicated that she sit.

"It's a little early for wine, isn't it? I'll just have some water, thank you."

He opened the fridge, removed a bottle of water and handed it to her with, "Do you want a glass? Ice?"

"No, this is fine, just like this." Americans and their ice, she thought with a smile.

Bobby started shifting things around in the fridge. He took out a container of Chinese food, opened it, sniffed and threw it in the bin under his sink. He found space for her wine and his beer. He removed two hard-boiled eggs, stood up, looked over the door and, holding up one in each hand, asked, "Eggs or no eggs in the salad?" Gleason wrinkled her nose and shook her head. He put them back.

They ate on a table that Gleason set. Everything matched, his cutlery was from one set, and even his paper napkins had the same design. He didn't have a tablecloth, but he did have matching place mats. This is nice, she thought.

Careful now, go slowly, lass. Are you really going to sleep with him tonight? You don't even know him; really know him now, do you? How much do you not know? You have no idea what lies beneath. He is clever, though, slipping in that sex talk, warming you up, and making it seem natural. She felt herself begin to panic, her fears returning, rising. The scars on her back prickled. Stop it! she screamed to herself. But you don't know what he will do. Her breath began to come in shallow whispering gasps. No, no, no, no, he is good. He is good. She dropped a fork as her hands flew to cover her face.

Bobby turned at the sound of the fork hitting the floor. He saw her trembling with her hands over her face, gasping. "What's wrong?" He moved to her, took her arms in his huge hands, she was shivering. "Gleason, what's wrong? Tell me." She moved into his chest and began to sob. He held her tight. He closed his eyes, his face showed his pain. He did not know what to think. He did not know what to do.

The sobs slowed and he stepped back to bend and look into her face. He reached for his handkerchief and gave it to her. Gently, softly he asked, "What happened?" She couldn't look at him. "Honey, tell me. What's wrong?"

"I have to stop this. You think I'm crazy, don't you?" She looked up, a sob shaking her.

Still so softly, "No, no. I would never think you are crazy. You're frightened, that's all. Come on, let's sit down." He led her to the sofa in the living room. He sat in the far corner, and she curled against him, holding onto his shirt, as she had done last night. They sat quietly.

"Bobby?"

"What?"

"I can't make love to you."

"That's alright."

"Do you want to know why?"

"Only if you want to tell me."

She sat up, a hand against his chest to lean on. "I don't know anything about you, not a thing. You don't know anything about me, really. I don't know what you'll do to me. If you'll hurt me, mark me. I don't know if you really are as good as you seem to be. I am so tired of being so afraid all the time. If we make love tonight, you'll see what he's done to me."

He looked at her, not knowing what to say next. "What did he do?"

She looked at him as she had not looked at him yet – deeply, seeking to know everything inside of him. She sat upright, put her feet on the floor and pulled off her tee shirt. Then she pulled off her undershirt and turned away from him.

Bobby didn't make a sound. His eyes traced the scars on her back. Wide, white welts crossed and curved to form a perfect, three-point Celtic knot. It covered her back from just below her neck to just above her waist. He wanted to touch her, but was afraid to do anything. Without knowing it, he put his hand lightly on the center of her back and gently moved his thumb over a scar. She didn't even jump. He reached for the crocheted throw that lay across the back of the sofa, pulled it down and put it around her, covering her. She turned back to face him, pulling the cover closed. Still he said nothing. Gleason curled up against him again. He held her.