Chapter Nine

Four days later, Pride strode up to the receptionist at the PMC ER and asked for Rachel.

He turned around and leaned against the desk, folding his arms. He hadn't seen her since that day, but he had been thinking of her.

As it turned out, LeLand Hollister faced a terminal diagnosis and was starting to make amends to the soldiers he had hurt. He had set up a meeting with DuBois, but when he failed to show up (due to Ginny putting a bullet in his brain), DuBois went beserk and showed up at the office. Unfortunately, Davis was there waiting and could have killed him right there until the security guard got in the way.

The men on the list were only names of those possibly involved, their only connection being that they had gone to Hollister's clinic as boys and then went into the military during a certain time period. When contacted, a few appeared genuinely surprised and not part of the scheme. Most admitted to being part of the drug ring. They told Pride that while Hollister had targeted Matt Norton, he had nothing to do with the ring. As retaliation, they were blackmailed to spread rumors about him. But, in the end, they all said he had not been involved.

Pride called Rachel with the news. She told him she was satisfied that the men were telling the truth and they could let her son rest in peace. He had wanted to say more, but she said a curt "Thank you," and hung up abruptly. He decided it was better to say his piece in person.

To his surprise, Rachel came in from the back with a broad smile. "Special Agent Dwayne Pride! Did LaSalle get injured again?"

"I wanted to talk to you—can you spare a few minutes?" he asked.

She considered it. "You lucked out Pride, there's a lull in the mayhem. Coffee in the cafeteria OK?"

"Perfect," he smiled.

"I'll be back in ten, Josie," she said to another nurse.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The two sat down with their mugs in a corner of the hospital cafeteria.

Pride took a sip of coffee and grimaced; it tasted like burnt leather. He looked at Rachel. A small smile played on her lips as if she enjoyed his discomfort. Still, he liked that smile. It told him she wasn't totally pissed at him.

He was coming to her hat in hand to apologize, which was never easy. LaSalle would never let him hear the end of it if he knew-he believed in never saying sorry to suspects, even if they ended up being victims themselves.

Rachel looked down at his left hand and motioned to the third finger on his left hand. Her face got serious.

"I see you have ring shadow." she said. "How long you been divorced?"

"Ten months now," he said.

She considered her own finger, which had a defined indentation where her wedding band had once been. "I took mine off three years ago to get it resized." She looked back at Pride, "When I got it back, it just didn't fit."

"Leaves an awful mark, " he said.

"True dat," she said. Their mugs met in mid-air to clink.

"I thought you were a widow," he said.

"I am, technically," she said. Her face got serious. "A month after we separated, he was diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer. I ended up taking care of him."

"That must have been difficult," he said.

She took a sip of coffee. "It was, but, you know, in those last months, we talked more than in the previous two years-actually came to an understanding. Shame really-we wasted all that time being angry," she stopped. "Y'know, when you've got a deadline, you cut through the bullshit."

Pride shook his head in agreement, taking time to consider what she said. He was also trying to figure out how to bring up what he came to say. Eventually, he decided just to plow ahead, even with an awkward segue.

"We didn't get to talk much after everything, and I just wanted to say...the way you were treated wasn't right. I know you were just trying to help us," he said.

"And…"

"And, I'm sorry you ended up in harm's way," he looked down.

"It's really OK; being held at gunpoint is quite exhilarating," she said. "I especially enjoyed the near-death experience."

He frowned, "You're not going to make this easy, are you?"

"Oh, I'm having fun," she said, the sly smile returning.

"I want to make you - a peace offering," he said, putting down his mug.

"I'm listening."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Back at the ER, Rachel and her coworker, Josie, watched Pride walk away.

"Umm hmm, that is one silver fox," Josie remarked.

"Yeah, too bad he's a hot mess," Rachel commented. She sat down at the desk and began to checking the status of her patients on the computer. "Newly divorced," she said, continuing to stare at the screen.

"But, he came here to talk instead of just calling." Josie said. She leaned over and whispered in a sing-song, "I think he likes you…"

"A man like that and a woman like me? Nooo way," Rachel protested, typing harder for emphasis.

"What?"

Rachel looked up at her friend. "Pride is a handsome man working with beautiful, young agents during the day and even younger, hotter women at his bar; and you know how they love musicians." She made a face, "He wouldn't want a run-down grandmother like me."

Josie frowned, "C'mon-you may be a grandmother, but a young one-you still have it girl!"

"Oh hon, you're sweet," Rachel put a hand on her friend's arm. "But, I've been single a few years now, and if I've learned anything, it's men my age don't want women my age," she said turning back to her screen. "We remind them of their mortality."

"So, if he's not interested, what did he mean about 'see you on Saturday'?" Josie pushed.

"Piano lessons…"

"Piano lessons?" Josie echoed. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

Rachel sighed and looked at her friend. "He feels bad about what happened, so he offered to teach me some basic jazz piano."

Josie did not look convinced. "Umm hmm."

Rachel stammered, "I always wanted to learn…."

"Umm hmm," she winked and walked away.

The edges of Rachel's mouth turned down. As much as she liked Pride, she almost hoped all he had on his mind was music-because if it became more, she felt certain he would end up breaking her heart.
XXXXXXXXXXXX

Buckley had a wicked cold and Pride made him stay home Friday night. So when Pride came into CFA at 10 a.m. that Saturday, he had only left a mere seven hours before. He was uncharacteristically grouchy, but his lack of sleep wasn't the only thing making him edgy. When he made these plans with Rachel, he had forgotten about his coffee date later in the afternoon with his online dating match. He wasn't sure about meeting the CPA who seemed so perfect two weeks ago, so much had happened since then.

To be honest, he looked forward to seeing Rachel. Despite their rocky introduction, he liked the woman. Most people he dealt with had a veneer of bullshit covering a thicker layer of defensiveness. He appreciated Rachel's straight-forward manner-she seemed incapable of duplicity. He didn't know if it was her profession, but he just always felt better after seeing her. Maybe that was why he invited her for "lessons" in the first place.

Pride was deep into liquor invoices when Rachel ran in. It had been raining and she had gotten soaked just walking from her car.

"Man! It's raining like a pissing cow out there!" she exclaimed. "Do you have a towel or anything?"

Pride chuckled. "Well, that's certainly paints a vivid picture!"

"It's an old French expression," she said. "A little something I picked up from one of my more colorful patients." She looked up at him with a smile, blue eyes sparkling.

He tossed her a clean dishtowel from behind the bar and considered her as she dried off. He noticed the rain made her wavy hair curl and it hung in tendrils framing her face. The look was definitely appealing.

"So, ready to do this?" he asked and led her to the piano.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she said, smile fading.

"Can you play at all?" he asked.

"A bit. I took lessons as a kid, but never practiced much. Now I just play for my own amusement," She took some wrinkled pages out of her large shoulder bag. "I brought something I've been working on."

"Well, let's hear it girl," he said.

They sat down on the narrow bench. Their thighs touched, and Pride felt discomfort and heat at the same time. He scooched over the other way.

If Rachel felt anything, she didn't let on. She appeared to be preoccupied with performance anxiety.

"I usually just play for myself," she said. "I'm really not good…"

"Don't worry-I just want to see where you are," he encouraged.

"OK. Oh, and I need these," She pulled out a pair of reading glasses, put them on and gave Pride a nervous smile. "Well, here goes nothing." She began to play an easy arrangement of "What'll I Do?." She started off hitting a natural F instead of a sharp for several measures and stopped.

"Do you mind if I sing along? I do that at home and it relaxes me," she said.

"Sure." Pride prayed her voice was better than her playing.

Indeed, she did have a lovely voice-alto with a slight husky tone that gave it character. Unfortunately, her playing did not improve much. She played in a stilted manner often hitting the wrong note. Still, no matter how bad the mistake, she charged on.

She finished and turned expectantly towards Pride.

"Well," he said, trying to be honest, but diplomatic. "First, you have a lovely voice."

"But, I have a long way to go in playing…" she offered.

"You seem very tense when you play; it sounds wooden," he offered.

She relaxed. "That's what I think. I try to get comfortable, but my fingers just don't seem to learn the keyboard. Do you think there's any hope?"

In Pride's opinion, you either felt the music or you didn't, but she did have emotion in her voice, so perhaps she had potential.

"I think we can work on it," he said. "Let's trade places and I'll show you something."

They moved the bench back and Pride stood up. Rachel just moved over so their legs got a bit tangled. As previously, Pride felt heat when they touched.

"First, get rid of this," he took the song and placed it on his side when they switched. "Music is for saps."

"Really?" she said amused.

"Well, it's good to know how to read, but you need to get an instinctive feel of the keyboard so you can play without looking at your fingers," he said. "iIke typing."

"OK," she seemed unsure.

He then went on play a piece he taught Laurel when she was little. He showed her some standard jazz riffs. Before they knew it, an hour had gone by.

"Can I offer you a drink nurse?" he said.

"Sorry, gotta go to work. But, could use some coffee." she replied.

"You drink a lot of coffee," he said.

"Tried coming in drunk once or twice, and they didn't seem to like it," she smiled.

Pride laughed as he got a pot he brewed earlier, and poured two cups.

"How late are you working tonight?" he said.

"Till 11." she replied. "Just enough time to get in the early evening accidents, stabbings, and shootings."

He nodded. "We've been called to crime scenes at all hours. Trouble doesn't take time off."

"Not in this city," she agreed and took a sip, and changed the subject without warning. "So, you have plans for tonight?"

Pride did a small spit take and spilled on his shirt. He suddenly felt uncomfortable. For some reason, it bothered him to be talking to her about this. He cleaned up, then spoke cautiously.

"I, ah, have a, kind of a date." Saying it out loud made it more real and increased his awkwardness.

"Really, a date?" If she was disappointed, she was disguising it well. In fact, she again seemed amused at this discomfort.

"She's from an online dating site. It's just coffee," he said, praying they'd get off the subject.

"You drink a lot of coffee." She said with a smile and a sip.

Pride turned a tad pink. She was not making this easy "Touche." He toasted her with his mug.

She put her cup down. "Internet dates. I went on a couple of those. Only one real disaster. He, ah, loved his mama a bit too much," she made a face.

Pride laughed. "Now how can you fault him for that?'

"That's what they said about Norman Bates." They both laughed.

She continued. "The others were nice enough,, but..." she trailed off as if reluctant to share.

Pride raised his eyebrows. "But?"

She sighed deeply. "There was no crackle, no spark," she paused, "And, and… I want lightning." She put down her mug, leaned forward, and stared at him square in the face. "Are you looking for lightning, Dwayne Pride?"

Pride gulped slightly, then regained his composure. "Well, I thought I had it… once."

"Good," she leaned back. "Then you'll know it when you find it."

With that, she got up, grabbed her purse, and opened the door. It had begun to rain again.

She turned around. "You don't have an umbrella, do you?" she asked.

"Sure," Pride was still a tad dazed from their conversation. He grabbed one from under the bar and handed it to her.

"See you next Saturday, Agent Pride," she said, starting to go through the door and popping the umbrella. She turned toward him again. "Good luck on your...date."

Pride just stared as the door closed.