Wayfarers

by TheCollieLady

Robert Goren and Alexandra Eames, along with their adopted daughter, Olivia, have left on a book signing tour via tour bus, accompanied by Olivia's tutor Donna Hogarth. On the open road come new friends, old foes, fresh experiences, overdue amends, and always...possibilities. THIS IS THE 21ST STORY IN THE "MILBURY" SERIES.

1. Part 1

This is the twenty-first in my "Milbury" series featuring post-series Law & Order: Criminal Intent Alexandra Eames and Robert Goren.
The stories all build on one another and should be read in order.

The previous stories are "First Light" and "Dear Irené."

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PART ONE
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- Milbury, CT; May 15, 2023 -

"Are they here to see us off or make sure we leave?" Robert Goren joked as they paused on the top step at the front door of their white-trimmed grey Cape Cod house.

"Stop," Alexandra Eames Goren responded, but she was smiling, too, her left arm hooked into his right. She regarded him in satisfaction because, at his monthly excursion to the barber that morning for a beard trim and haircut, he'd left the silvering curls of his brown hair a little long the way she liked it. She'd had her own hair appointment yesterday, with the usual highlighting and ends trimmed; Olivia's blond curls had received TLC as well.

The specially-outfitted tour bus which would take them, their young ward, and the child's tutor on their book tour had just pulled up in front of 4 Courant Street, and neighbors and friends were approaching to check it out. The exterior was nondescript as busses went, a wide-bodied coach with a slightly elevated roofline and gradually darkening stripes of blue from top to wheelbase creating an ombre effect, belying the light, comfortable interior that duplicated a recreational vehicle. The Danielsons, the quiet ex-hippie septuagenarian couple from down the road, stood aloof at the fence line between the Goren property and the Novellos next door. Mike and Carla Logan, who would be house-sitting during their absence, had just pulled into the driveway in her diminutive Toyota Prius, followed by Bobby's nephew Donny Carlson in his truck cab with his mother in the front seat.

Their local friends, the crew from the Dark Crystal restaurant and bar, had simply elected to walk the four blocks from Milbury's tiny business district and were passing Bruno Volpe's corner house when the slight, seamed-face Korean War veteran slowly stepped outside to join them. Shard Carver immediately halted and opened the gate for the elderly man, the entire group behind him waiting patiently, bright-faced Tilde Svenson wiggling her fingers at them. Bobby watched their neighbor with concern, as he had been under the weather for the latter portion of the winter and was only now regaining his strength. Alex squeezed his arm comfortingly as Shard outstretched a hand just behind Bruno's shoulder just in case he stumbled. If Volpe noticed, he gave no sign but lifted his chin as he marched as he had when he served in Korea.

Now a second car parked in front of the Novello house, a sleek electric vehicle in a silvery gray, and two men emerged, the first in his late 60s with a receding hairline combined with short-cropped grey hair and mild brown eyes gazing out from a lean, mustached face, and the second, the driver, in his late 30s, his face resembling the older man closely enough that strangers would recognize them as father and son despite a difference in eye color and rounder cheeks and chin. The younger man's shoulder-blade-length brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail tied with a leather thong trimmed in blue beads; the first man was in a smart grey suit and blue shirt with an open collar, the second in stone-washed grey jeans, a soft orange cotton pullover shirt, a large red jasper pendant on a matching leather thong around his neck, and red Chuck Taylors on his feet.

"Quint and Zes are here to see us off," Bobby said, amused as always by their publishers' generational difference in appearance; not for nothing did Quentin Hastings V call his son the "world's oldest millennial hippie." They descended the front steps to approach the front gate, and Quint continued toward the house to greet the couple. Just then, their nine-year-old ward Olivia appeared in the doorway of the bus, her tutor Donna Hogarth standing behind her, and finally, his broad shoulders visible even in the low interior light, their driver, the formidable-looking Michael Agostino. Curious now, the younger man halted, then tarried at the front of the bus.

"Hello," he said in a cheerful voice, dark blue eyes flicking over the child and her tutor. "This must be Olivia!"

She pivoted, looking him up and down appraisingly. "You must be Zes. Mama said your outfits were...interesting," she returned in her light British accent.

Donna whispered, "Olivia!"

"Your mother would also tell you I like being 'interesting,' Olivia," he answered in a jaunty fashion.

Now Olivia spied their silver-haired neighbors in their simple button-down shirts and jeans as they took a few steps closer to the bus, calling out politely, "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Danielson," even though they had never answered her back. This time Mr. Danielson tilted up a seamed, leathery face to meet hers, saying in a raspy voice, "Olivia, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," she answered, brightening. "Mignon Olivia Pepin."

"What's happening?" asked little Mrs. Danielson with a cold expression.

"Mama and Papa have each written a book," Olivia eagerly explained as her tutor leveled a thoughtful look at the couple, and the newly-arrived visitor watched the scene while trying to work out the dynamics of the situation. "Mama's is called Ice Blue and Papa's is The Refuge, and we're leaving on a book tour while Uncle Mike and Aunt Carla care for our house. You'll like them."

"More police officers?" Mrs. Danielson queried stiffly.

"Uncle Mike was, but he's retired," Olivia said, her smile fading. She offered hopefully, "Aunt Carla's a librarian. She's on sabbatical, writing an academic paper. And now Uncle Mike works with...he says 'boys at risk.'"

Mrs. Danielson tugged her husband's arm, and they turned to walk away. Everyone now watching the little drama saw Donna flush, and, in a flash, she sidestepped Olivia, hopped down the two steps to the pavement, circumvented Zes Hastings, then jogged after them. "Mr. and Mrs. Danielson! Stop...please?"

The man pivoted first, then reluctantly, his wife.

Donna stood tall, pushing her densely-curled dark hair back from her face, saying clearly, as if she were addressing one of her classes, "My grandmother was a girl during World War II. Her two older brothers served in the European theater. They were both wounded, but returned home safely. But my grandmother had a best friend who was like her sister; they shared everything, even each other's pain. Her best friend's older brother fought in the Pacific, was captured by Japanese soldiers and tortured, then died." She paused, then added, "Because of what happened to her best friend's brother, my grandmother hated Japanese people for the rest of her life. I don't think that was very fair, do you?"

With Donna's hazel eyes fixed on them, Mr. Danielson suddenly looked uncomfortable, his mouth working as if he wanted to speak, but Mrs. Danielson's eyes shifted suddenly to Bobby and Alex. Her lips thinned in disapproval, and she once again tugged at her husband's arm; they walked back to their house without another word.

Alex expelled her breath as Donna's shoulders slumped briefly, then she tossed her head and strode back to the bus. Zes Hastings gave her a sympathetic look, but she walked past him to where Olivia stood chewing her lower lip. Donna stopped at the foot of the stairs, caught her breath, then said quietly, "Can't be helped, kitten. You can't make everyone like you."

Olivia said soberly, "I know. But I wish they would understand that Papa and Mama were good."

Donna sighed. "You know the old cliché about the one rotten apple that spoils the barrel. When some police officers do bad things, every other one suffers. Maybe they'll change their minds someday."

Reluctantly, Olivia nodded, then gestured to Bobby and Alex. "Papa, Mama, come and see!"

Bobby said, "We've already checked it out, Olivia. We're talking to Quint right now."

Now Donna regarded her ponytailed observer curiously. "'Zes'?"

"Quentin Hastings VI," he said, offering her his hand, "but my mother came here from the Netherlands as a little girl. 'Zes' is 'six' in Dutch. Dad's number five, so he's 'Quint.'"

She smiled at him mischievously, her eyes curving at each end as her mother's did. "Was your grandfather nicknamed 'Quart'?"

Not offended by her teasing, Zes simply chuckled. "No, sadly. Wouldn't that have made a great story? He was born during the second year of the Depression, though-not much use for humor back then. They called him 'Little Quentin,' which is funny all on its own because he was as tall as Bob Goren, half a head taller than Number Three. But his father always labeled all his snapshots 'my little son'-even with photos of him in his forties."

"I suppose all our parents think of us as little children occasionally," said Donna, shaking his hand firmly. "I'm Donna Hogarth, Olivia's tutor."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Donna Hogarth," Zes said briskly. "So I take it you like the tour bus, Olivia?"

"Oh, yes!" and Olivia proceeded to chatter about the interior while Zes and Donna listened, their eyes flickering to each other occasionally.

Bobby, watching the interaction from the sidewalk with a practiced eye, looked at his wife and quirked an eyebrow. "Do you detect a zap of electricity there, Captain Eames?"

She laughed, a familiar twinkle appearing, although Quint looked mystified. "I certainly do, Agent Goren."

The Dark Crystal crowd had now entered the yard, and Mickey, Carmella, and Shan had stopped to help Mike and Carla with the luggage that completely overwhelmed the tiny Prius-indeed, Carla had to hand out a toiletries case and a beach bag before she could emerge. Bruno Volpe steadily made his way to them to hug Alex, then Bobby pulled the shorter man into an embrace. "Bruno, you'll call Mike or Carla if you need anything? P-Promise me."

Volpe looked at him and shook his head. "You worry too much, Goren. I'll be fine. And I swear, on my honor as a fellow Army vet, I will call if I need someone."

Alex called to Carla, "Did you bring the entire apartment?"

Carla, who, like Alex, was short to her husband's tall, with a heart-shaped face surrounded by short-cropped red hair threaded with a bit of silver, responded loudly, "You hadn't bargained with Mr. GQ here. He's gotta have his wardrobe or he can't stand it."

Mike Logan, their former fellow detective at the Major Case squad of the NYPD, his once dark hair also laced with silver, came behind her to capture her by the waist. "Hey, you got the best looking husband, right?"

"The best dressed one, anyway," Carla teased.

"We have to get on the road!" Bobby finally reminded, raising his voice. "Alex's sister is...um...expecting us for dinner."

"But Papa," Olivia wailed from the bus steps, "Ana and Carlos aren't here yet."

"Ten more minutes," he said firmly, and she sighed, but nodded and continued talking to Zes. When ten minutes had passed, Bobby looked at his watch with regret, gave his nephew and Evelyn Carlson final hugs, then walked to the bus steps, extending a gentle hand to Olivia. "Maybe they can't make it. We need to go."

Olivia gazed at him, knowing the big-eyed routine she'd used for years on her biological father wouldn't work on Bobby, then nodded. "All right, Papa. Everything else is aboard, Michael says. I'll help Mama."

She skirted Zes and Donna, who were still chatting, and pelted up the front walk to disappear inside after Alex. Bobby gestured to Donna, then returned to the yard to rejoin Quint Hastings.

Zes laughed, smiling at Donna. "You've got your hands full with that one."

"Hey, I'm used to older kids in packs of 20 to 30," Donna joked. "I taught public school for fifteen years."

"You've been teaching since you were twelve?" Zes asked, arching his eyebrows, and Donna rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. "Oh, now there's a line-"

"All right," he said good-naturedly. "Fifteen, then. And you must be a lion-tamer to put up with 25 teenagers."

"I manage," Donna said, amused.

"Watermelon stone?" he asked, noting the sparkle on her face, and she automatically brushed the pink-and-green stone on her right nostril.

"Yes, I've loved them since I was a little girl. I'm surprised you know what they are."

"Hey, guys know about jewelry, too." He tapped the ruddy gemstone around his neck. "Good luck piece."

Now Olivia re-emerged from the house with Sam, their oversized tricolor collie, on his leash, followed by Alex carrying Bandit in his little blue travel box, his birdcage already in the bus and fixed to the stand reserved for it. Once in the open air, the white-and-grey budgerigar chirped excitedly to his songbird cousins in the trees.

Bobby handed Mike Logan the house keys, then shook his hand. "There you go. All yours for the summer."

Alex added to him as she walked by, blinking hard, "You keep our little dovecote safe."

Logan hugged her. "Scout's honor, Eames."

"Of all people, you were never a Scout," she scoffed, but bit back a smile.

Olivia looked at Alex, puzzled, because her usually sensible mother's eyes were moist. Knowing Alex had triumphed against the formidable Evangeline Pepin, she found this behavior baffling. "Mama, we're going on an adventure. All of us. Together. Don't cry. Aunt Carla will take care of the house even if Uncle Mike doesn't."

Logan gave a full-bellied guffaw. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, kid." But his eyes were dead serious as he told her, "I promise, Olivia."

Alex, biting her lip, had her gaze still fixed on the house. "Olivia, your mama has become a very sentimental woman in the last nineteen months." Then she smiled a little and added mischievously, "Your Aunt Lizzie is probably contagious."

Bobby proffered his arm with "My lady?" then quoted, "'Sancho! My armor, my sword!'"

She laughed at last. They had managed to get tickets for a revival of Man of La Mancha in the city in March, before Paris, before Olivia. "'More misadventures?'"

"'Adventures, old friend,'" he finished with an understanding grin as he escorted her and the budgie to the tour bus, with Olivia and Sam leading the way.

Near the door of the bus, Zes motioned Donna in front of him and walked her the few steps back to the stairs, then nodded at her gravely. "I hope we can talk more in New York, Ms. Hogarth."

Donna tilted her head. "That will be...interesting, Mr. Hastings."

"I hope so," he grinned, then stepped back to join his father as they made a procession into the bus and Agostino reached out to shut the door manually. Hastings senior gave him a look of dawning comprehension but said nothing.

"Taught public school for fifteen years," Hastings junior said with admiration, the sparkle in his eyes unmistakable. "Incredible."

Peering from the front window of the bus, Olivia suddenly pointed and shrieked, "Mama, Papa, wait! Michael! Please wait!"

They realized Russ Jenkins, Bobby's fellow volunteer at Big Brothers/Big Sisters, had arrived, followed by Viola Perrino, Alex's friend from Southbury, catching her breath as she trotted ahead of him to wave at them urgently.

"Mr. G, Mr. G!" they heard Ana shout. "Open the door!"

Amused, Michael triggered the door mechanism, and Ana and Carlos Serrano came pelting up the steps, leaving their abuela Abril Diaz to join her friend Viola. "Abi-Abi got out of the doctor late," Ana gasped. "These are for you."

"These" were a pile of handmade farewell cards that the eleven-year-old spilled on the dinette table, one from each of the children Bobby and Alex mentored, and thirteen-year-old Carlos handed Bobby a large plastic container. "These are pastelillos. So you'll think of us."

Bobby put his hand over his heart. "You and Ana and Abi-Abi are h-here, amigo," and he hugged both children, which Alex followed with one for Carlos. Then Bobby threw caution-and schedule-to the wind, and he and Alex went to the foot of the bus steps to say goodbye to the newcomers. Meanwhile, Ana threw her arms around Olivia for a final hug and said gravely, "Viaje seguro, mi hermana."

Olivia grinned. "'Safe travels, my sister,'" she translated. "Gracias, mi hermana."

"You take good care of Captain," Ana said, stern-faced, as she gave Alex a parting hug at the top of the bus steps, "and remember to post on the blog and Facebook page. And e-mail me!"

"Si, mandona Capitan Serrano!" Olivia said with a salute, adding impishly, "Pinky swear!"

. . . . .

It was Ana who, a week earlier, had suggested the blog.

Ever since Olivia had arrived, Ana had coaxed Viola Perrino into driving her to the Goren home after school twice a week so she could spend time with the younger girl. If you had asked her, she would have admitted truthfully that initially she was fascinated by Olivia's previous life, but, as the girls shared stuffed animals and chatted the first few days, she sensed Olivia needed someone to talk to, especially when she wistfully mentioned her school friend Renata. Ana was savvy enough not to talk about anything "deep" unless Olivia initiated the conversation-both her grandmother and Bobby had warned her earlier; it was like the time she and Carlos had helped Bobby with one of his cases, speaking with a kidnapped boy, Scotty Gibson-and was there to assist as they unpacked Olivia's books.

Olivia finally asked one day, "Do you remember your parents?"

Ana confessed that she didn't, except for a faint memory of her mother singing to her. She said Carlos was the one who remembered Mama singing lullabies to them in Spanish and Papa bringing him along in his pickup truck. They would go to an open field to watch the men play football-what they call soccer here, Ana explained-after work on summer nights.

"Maman used to like to talk about books and history," Olivia said wistfully.

"That's what Mr. G likes, too," Ana grinned. "I like his stories, and I like books...but I don't think I love them like you do. The book tour sounds like a lot of fun, though. Too bad-"

Then she said excitedly, "Olivia, why don't you and Mr. G and Ms. Alex blog your trip? Then Mr. J and all us kids can follow you, and even Mrs. Perrino and Abi-Abi, and Donna's mother Ms. Saltonstall, and your friend Renata, and your brother Laurent. Maybe even your nanny Luisa will have time to read it when she isn't caring for her sister. And when it's finished you'll remember all the things you did. You can post pictures and videos...what'd'ya think?"

"Tim Stratton said that, too, except he suggested a private Facebook group-"

"You could do that, too, just for quick things...like, maybe if you were driving across the prairie and saw a buffalo. You'd take a picture and post it quick! The blog would be for longer stories, like what happened during the book signings or behind the scenes when you get interviewed."

"Nobody's going to interview me," Olivia said, surprised. "I didn't write a book."

"But you're related to people who did. It's what's called 'human interest,' Mr. J says." Ana jumped to her feet. "C'mon, let's ask Donna and Ms. Alex-"

"All right...do you think we might really see a buffalo?"

After bursting from Olivia's room with Sam close at their heels, they found Donna in the living room and Alex with her. Donna was supposed to be reviewing Olivia's latest math exam, but instead, the two women were chuckling over Bandit, who was perched atop Donna's laptop screen attempting to catch the mouse pointer she kept jiggling while also pecking at his reflection in the screen.

"May we keep a blog of our trip?" "Could you keep a blog of your trip?" came out in unison.

Donna had responded enthusiastically, "That's a great idea. It can be a long-term project and also a remembrance of the trip." She raised eyebrows at Alex, who had frankly stated at least once in Donna's presence that working on one book was enough, and the longest thing she ever wanted to write again was a to-do list. Alex glanced up-she was sorting through the battered shoebox of postcards that Frances Goren had saved, all the ones Bobby had sent home from his Army travels, for she was hoping that it might result in a second memoir from him.

"It sounds like something Bobby might enjoy, too," she said with a thread of doubt. "I suppose I could throw in a line now and again."

Ana said excitedly, "You could call it 'On the Road with the Gorens.'"

It was at bedtime, when Bobby settled next to Olivia's bed to read to her, a routine cultivated since the first weekend after she arrived in Milbury, that she looked at him questioningly.

They were reading A Little Princess, the novel that had become a personal joke between Alex and Bobby ("Well, you have me there, Eames. A book I haven't read.") since their trip to France, with many digressions about imperialism and Victorian attitudes toward orphans. Bobby had turned to a new chapter when he noticed her face. "What's up, Olivia?"

She knew by now that he could read her face nearly as well as he read Burnett, and said shyly, "The blog."

He smiled at her. "I like the idea, don't you? We can write as little or as much as we like, and tell everyone about the countryside we're driving through, what happens at our stops. I traveled to dozens of cities while I was in-house and doing courier work at the FBI, but it was mostly from airport to city and back again-minimal sightseeing. We'll be crossing three mountain ranges, desert, the prairie-" He stopped. "You had a question. What about the blog?"

"Ana said we should call it 'On the Road With the Gorens.' But I'm not a Goren."

He closed A Little Princess, bookmarking it with a forefinger. "We can call it something else if that bothers you."

"Papa-" He waited now, let her finish. "Are...you and Mama going to adopt me?"

"We want to. Right now we're making certain...um...our guardianship is secure. Tony says we need to make sure all the 'i's are dotted and the t's crossed.' But it's pretty much a d-done deal. A formal adoption...well, that requires your input, too. Do you want us to adopt you?"

Olivia fidgeted, cuddling Captain, her stuffed fox, to her chest. "I can stay here-no matter what?"

He had answered very seriously, "We won't let anyone take you-no matter what."

"What difference would adoption make?"

Bobby wanted to say that adoption or not, they would care for her always, but he also wanted her to relax before bedtime in hopes of continuing to fend off her nightmares, so he said lightly, "For one, you would be able to inherit after we're gone."

Olivia's eyes widened and she cried, "You're not going anywhere!" as a shiver ran through her.

Bobby dropped the book, cursing silently at his thoughtless slip of the tongue, and moved to the side of the bed, lifting her up and into his lap as if she were a kitten. "It's legal talk, Olivia. We're not...I swear. I promise."

She clung to him, face buried on his shoulder for a few minutes, then, sniffling, she sat back up.

"And," he continued comfortably, "even when we do adopt you, you don't necessarily have to take the Goren name. You could choose to keep your Papa Marcel's surname, to honor him. You could be Olivia Haynes-Pepin, to add your maman. Or be Olivia Pepin-Goren." His tone lightened. "A hyphenated name sounds very...erudite, don't you think? 'Professor Olivia Pepin-Goren, Department of English Literature-' Or whatever you want to specialize in." Then he proffered his left hand with his little finger extended, a smile flickering on his lips. "Alex and I aren't going anywhere. Pinky swear."

"You're silly, Papa," Olivia said, hooking fingers with him briefly as she did with Ana, then laying her head on his shoulder with a relieved sigh.

"Do you want me to go back to reading?" he asked softly.

"I'd rather hear my song."

"All right."

And when Alex came in a few seconds later to listen to him read and then say goodnight, she had found him singing "Touch and Go" to Olivia instead, rocking her back and forth.

. . . . .

From "On the Road with Gorens"
May 15, 2023

From Alexandra Eames: "I was told to introduce myself, so, to borrow shamelessly from Charlie's Angels, once upon a time there was a little girl who wanted to go to the police academy. Oh, her dreams didn't stop there-some day, she vowed, she'd become captain of a squad. And later on, she wrote a book about her experiences. It's called Ice Blue, and I'm currently on a tour bus traveling from city to city, in the television camera's eye and autographing books. This will be a journal of our cross-country journey."

From Robert Goren: "Once upon a time there was a little boy whose childhood left him feeling alone and frightened. But his mother, a librarian, despite her own challenges, had taught him the secret of the power of books, and the library became his refuge and his friend. Later on, he became a law enforcement officer-and in the luckiest moment of his life, met Alexandra Eames. The Refuge is my story of libraries and solace within books, and together with my wife and our daughter, we're embarking on a voyage of discovery."

Olivia considered the previous two paragraphs, then posted: "Once upon a time there was a little girl who lived in France with her mother and father until they had a car accident. But her maman made sure there was someone there for her. Now I am traveling on a tour bus with Mama and Papa Goren, my tutor Donna Hogarth, and our collie Sam, who is tricolor and large, and Bandit who is a budgerigar (mostly white) and very noisy. (Also our bus driver Michael Agostino, who used to be a Marine.) We are keeping this blog as an album of memories, and so that our friends and family like Auntie Lizzie and Ana and Carlos and Renata and Luisa and Laurent can follow our travels. I am nine years old and hope to see a buffalo!"

. . . . .

- New York City, NY; May 15, 2023 -

"Bunt, you moron!" exclaimed Steve from the living room.

Elizabeth Hogan chuckled as she cupped the goblet of white wine before her. "Sounds like the Mets are losing."

"No!" came a yelp from Bobby, followed by a groan.

Alex, sipping her little shot glass of bourbon, joined in laughter with her older sister.

The two women were relaxing in the Hogans' cozy yellow kitchen with the lights low. Donna had already returned to the tour bus escorted by Alex's brother Jack, sister-in-law Patty, and daughter Eleanor, carrying a meal for Michael, but the sisters had wanted one more hour together. Their husbands had tactfully retreated to the living room and that night's baseball game, where Olivia was curled up in Steve's armchair, asleep with Captain the stuffed fox fast in her embrace.

Once more, Lizzie examined the list Alex had given her of the tour cities and their dates in each one, and the map of their journey. "Are you sure whomever turned out this schedule wasn't smoking really good weed? I would have thought it would be more sensible to go down the east coast and then start working west."

"It was based on the bookstores' availabilities, not the convenience of the driver," observed Alex. "Michael's actually very happy with it. He says with the salary he'll receive, he probably won't have to work for the rest of the year and can spend Christmas with his sister in Plattsburg. Bobby's happy that he'll see his Aunt Agnes before the end of the month, and I'll get to meet his old partner Ben Siler that same night."

"But there are so many gaps, especially once you get out west-"

"More ground to cover, remember? With no more than two cities per week we can take our time, and we may pick up a few more cities before the tour is over, at least that's how Krystine explained the schedule to me. Plus a day without a signing doesn't necessarily mean we have nothing to do that day. We have several morning show interviews even on days and in places when we don't have a signing." She pointed to the schedule. "Take here-it looks like we have nothing between Denver and Salt Lake, but there's a newspaper interview the day after the Denver signing, and a television and a newspaper interview in Cheyenne on July 28. Not to mention during that gap we can take Olivia to Yellowstone. Michael's all for it."

"And Hastings House is paying the bill?" Lizzie asked skeptically.

"Any expenses to do with the book tour, yes, and our meals in any city where we have signings or interviews. Bobby surprised them by asking them if they could stock the fridge, then we would buy groceries and he would cook himself on non-tour days. So we have a grocery budget as well as a meal budget. Of course, any attractions we want to see on our route are on our own dime-but Bobby and Michael have talked about taking a detour to Cleveland one day during the weekend between Columbus and Chicago so we can see the Museum of Rock and Roll, and Bobby wants to go to Dayton to show Olivia the Wright Cycle Shop and the Paul Dunbar House, even if it's on the return leg. And remember, any photos we take and share on Hastings House's Facebook page are good publicity."

"Are you planning to get any rest at all?"

"I'm considering this a once-in-a-lifetime trip! As long as we can hang in there and not exhaust Olivia-"

"She's the sweetest thing-" Lizzie let the remainder of her words drop.

"You mean, considering that she's..." and here Alex checked if there was motion in the hallway, then still whispered, "...her mother's child?"

Lizzie ducked her head, embarrassed.

Alex shook her head, then shrugged. "Liz, I...I don't know. Maybe Bobby's right, maybe this time...she did change. According to Olivia's stories, Nicole's relationship with Marcel wasn't without its...difficulties. But the Maman Olivia talks about, the relationship between mother and child-it's nothing like the woman Bobby and I matched wits with. It's like she put her hostilities aside. I can't reconcile it sometimes. But I know how Olivia turned out-and that Olivia's Nicole is as real as the one we knew."

Regretfully, she looked at her Fitbit. "We've got to go. Bobby and I have to be up at five for our appearance on Manhattan Alive! I'm dreading it. I've watched that show and they sometimes pull nasty surprises."

"You'll do fine," Lizzie soothed as Alex rose.

"You always say that," Alex said as she hugged her sister tightly.

"That's because you always do fine," answered Lizzie confidently.

. . . . .

- New York City, NY; May 16, 2023 -

"Look at this place," Mike Logan said with a big grin, waving an open hand to the crowded bookstore around them. "It's like one big NYPD reunion."

"I'm surprised anyone has showed up, considering what happened this morning," Alex said dryly.

"Are you kidding me, Eames?" Logan said incredulously. "Carla and I stopped by O'Malley's at lunchtime and it was all anyone could talk about, and ninety percent of it was 'Go, Eames!'" She glowered at him skeptically. "I mean it, and you know me, I'm the head hothead around here. The only guys bothered by what you said were the ones 'most likely to'-well, y'know."

Bobby patted Alex's knee under the autograph table, watching tension still pulse through her body. He was still angry about that morning but suppressed his frustration for her sake.

Their appearance on Manhattan Alive!-a morning talk show that often tackled controversial subjects-had taken the exact negative turn Alex had predicted. She'd already been buttonholed by several Connecticut reporters who'd been hostile to her about writing a book about a law enforcement career despite continued police arrest abuses and specifically after one event in January; Alex still couldn't watch the footage of that fatal traffic stop without wanting to explode. However, she welcomed civil discussion about the use of force by arresting officers. But this morning's program had replaced the regular host with a man who very much opposed law enforcement, and he arrived on stage already hostile, assuming that, like the officers in Memphis and other cities, Alex was a bully and would defend the actions of the police.

Bobby glowered but left the matter in Alex's experienced hands.

She'd kept control of the situation by going deadly calm. "If you had actually read my book, Mr. Trephano, you would have seen that I addressed many of these issues, including the continued cover-up of use of deadly force and the still rampant 'buddy boy' system. The event you mention was a travesty of authority. If I had been that commanding officer, the arresting officers would have been off the street the moment I had received the first complaint. Several of them had previously used excessive violence during arrests and shouldn't have been on the streets at all. The best and most proactive action that any police department can do is weed out these abusers, and weed them out now, before anyone else has to die. Aggressive, entitled, and especially racist police personnel have no place in any type of law enforcement situation.

"What troubles me most is others making excuses for these officers. There are no excuses. There are no reasons for a law enforcement officer to abandon their humanity and the tenets of justice. We're supposed to protect and serve, not endanger and intimidate, nor belittle and demean, and police officers throughout this country must operate to a higher standard-at the least they must behave better than the criminals they arrest!"

Her eyes were fiery as she finished, and she concluded, "And if the NYPD disagrees with me, that's a risk I'll have to take."

The show cut to a commercial abruptly, and when she had looked back at Bobby, she smiled at his nearly imperceptible nod.

"Mike's right," James Deakins said casually, leaning back in the heavy, ubiquitous blond wood-and-vinyl bookstore chair Bobby had pulled up for him. Dressed in a khaki-colored cotton shirt and soft beige trousers with rubber-soled canvas shoes, still damp around the shoulders from the rain outside, he looked more like a "silver fox" each day with his wavy grey hair framing his long face. "A buddy of mine called me from his precinct in New Jersey this morning. He said practically the whole bullpen cheered when they heard the broadcast."

"Even better, I heard from Van Buren about ten minutes after that moron cut you off," Logan said with a decisive nod. "First thing she said was 'Mike, did you catch Manhattan Alive! this morning? How about that Alex Eames?'"

"That means a lot, coming from Anita," Alex said gratefully. There were a few protestors outside the bookstore, but not as many as they had expected, and they were respectful of the bookstore customers. She inclined a chin toward the doorway. "I almost want to step out there and join them."

Logan added with raised eyebrows, already anticipating her reaction, "I heard a couple of beat officers say they wish you'd stuck around to be Chief of D's instead of that..." and he quickly looked around to see if Olivia was in earshot, "...that asshat McGrath."

Alex, predictably, groaned. "Nothing would have persuaded me to put up with the political bullshit McGrath has to endure. I almost-almost, mind you-understand why he's an asshat."

"Whatever people...um...thought, it definitely hasn't kept familiar faces from coming," Bobby observed as several more detectives and officers they both knew entered the store, and at that moment gave a friendly thumbs-up to Megan Wheeler and her daughter just as they came through the door. The freckle-faced former detective returned the gesture with a grin. "Isn't that Rodgers near the end of the line-never mind, it has to be; Wheeler just-"

Olivia abruptly appeared at Alex's elbow with a curly-haired boy at her side. "Mama," she requested urgently, "can Noah and I...'hang out'?"

When Alex turned her attention to the pair, she also met the amused face of the dark-haired woman who had just strolled up behind them, otherwise Olivia Benson, Captain of the Special Victims Unit. "I don't know, Liv. Can my daughter...uh...'hang out' with your son?"

Benson leveled a fond look at Noah. "You'll stay within earshot?"

Noah restrained from rolling his eyes. "Yes, Mom."

She smiled at him then. "Would you like to buy Olivia a frozen hot chocolate or another drink?"

"Yes, Mom-thank you," he said with a grin blossoming on his round face under his untidy mop of dark hair as she acknowledged one of his favorite treats. She handed him a folded bill. "I want the change."

"Yes, Mom," he returned, laughing, then took Olivia's hand. As they turned away, he called back, "Yes, Mom!"

Benson stifled a smile. "What was that for?"

"You'll think of something," Noah assured her cheekily, and the adults laughed.

As the children moved away, they heard Olivia say, "Is your Mama like that, too, always fussing?"

"Well, in Mom's case," he said gravely, "she has to. Some gang members attacked her back in January. I was there, it was pretty scary-"

When they were out of earshot, Alex observed, "I think she's about to hear a long story."

"And I think she has a little crush on Noah," Benson said lightly, settling gratefully into the chair Deakins pulled up for her.

Bobby groaned, "Not yet. She's only nine!"

Deakins gave a belly laugh and nudged Alex, "I see it hasn't taken him long to sound like the father of a daughter."

"And you went through it with three girls," teased Alex.

"They start early these days," countered Benson with a small grin. They rarely saw her dressed this informally, in a forest-green soft chambray blouse with open collar, dark jeans, and blue running shoes, her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, but Alex regarded her with some concern at the weary expression on her face.

While the adults chatted, Noah directed Olivia to the queue for the bookstore café while telling her of his mother's battle with the BX9 gang, censoring much of the violence, then continued chatting about a new case his mother was working on, this involving internet crime. The line for beverages was long but moving well, and Noah made sure to check the menu board for his favorite iced drink. Olivia finally tugged on his arm and pointed to a chair nearby. "May I go sit there?"

"Sure," Noah said, "but don't move. My mom and your folks would kill me if I let anything happen to you."

"Surely they wouldn't kill you," Olivia said, her eyes mischievous.

"Your dad's awfully big," Noah returned, widening his eyes. "I wouldn't risk it."

"I promise," Olivia replied, and sank into a chair that was backed by a small section of wall adjacent to the magazine department. The day had begun early and they had been on the go since then.

A few seconds later, a female voice said sweetly, "You must be Olivia," and the girl looked up to face a smartly-dressed woman in a cerise blazer and skirt, the outfit finished with red high heels, her blond hair sleek in a short cut. Olivia thought that she might be close to Alex's age or maybe younger (so hard to tell with adults!), and she spoke with a faint accent that she remembered that her maman had referred to as a "Southern" one, meaning the American South. The woman snagged a free chair from one of the café tables and sat beside her.

"I knew your parents," the woman added confidingly, "when they worked for the NYPD." Here she rummaged in her purse and withdrew her cell phone.

Olivia felt slightly more at ease hearing this, but remained on her guard, ready to rejoin Noah if need be. She wondered if Ana had been right the day they had talked about the blog-would someone want to interview her? "Were you also a police officer?" she asked politely.

"Oh, no," the woman replied, "I was one of their media contacts."

"Oh," said Olivia.

"I understand that Mr. and Mrs. Goren are your guardians now because your parents passed on," the woman remarked soberly. "I'm sorry to hear about your parents."

"Thank you," was the deferential answer; she took care to gauge her response. Better to say too little than too much, she'd heard Maman say once.

"So you were brought up in France?" the woman asked.

"Oui, madame."

"Well, aren't you cute! Now, didn't your father already have another-"

"Hey!" came a yelp, and Olivia's glance shot to her right. Noah was standing there, a paper cup with a lid and straw in each hand, his eyes wide, looking outraged. "You stay away from her!"

As if by magic, a tall man with a lean, rugged face and shaven head was at Noah's side, giving the woman a black look at her unwelcome presence. She met his eyes nervously while ignoring a scowling Noah, and fluttered her free hand before explaining boldly, "Now, Detective Stabler, I'm just talkin' to this precious little girl, tellin' her I was sorry to hear her parents had passed."

Elliot Stabler smiled thinly and narrowed his blue eyes with a gimlet stare. "Ms. Yancy, if you wish to interview Ms. Olivia, I suggest you talk to her parents first. Bobby Goren doesn't deal well with those who take advantage of the people he loves. And Alex Eames is Mama Bear personified. You don't want to go up against her."

"Well, I-I-" the woman stammered, then collected herself and bridled slightly. "I don't see what your problem is, Detective Stabler. I'm looking for a simple human interest story, the Gorens being named guardian of this darlin' little child, and I just wanted to chat with her."

Stabler took two deliberate steps forward, not breaking eye contact. "Talk to the parents, or leave, Ms. Yancy."

Faith Yancy stood up, looking indignant. "You never change, Detective Stabler! You've never had any respect for the fourth estate."

Stabler said grimly, "I have a lot of respect for the fourth estate, Ms. Yancy. What I don't have respect for are attention hounds like you." He thumbed toward the back door of the bookstore. "You might want to make yourself scarce. There's a Major Case reunion nearby and I don't think any one of them will be happy to see you."

Yancy straightened her shoulders, then looked down at Olivia and said, "Well, it was nice to meet you, honey."

And then she flounced past Stabler with an acid glare, her chin in the air, and vanished.

Olivia looked quizzically at them. "Who was that?"

Noah handed her one of the cups. "A television reporter. Mom respects reporters, but she says Ms. Yancy's no reporter, she's a muckraker." When Olivia still looked puzzled, "You know, she does stories to make people look bad." Then he gave Stabler a grin. "Thanks, Elliot."

"Aw, you would have taken care of her yourself if you didn't have your hands full," Stabler grinned.

"Olivia, this is Elliot Stabler. He and Mom used to work together, and they're collaborating on a case right now."

Olivia shook hands with the tall man gravely, and he smiled and said, "Glad to meet you, Olivia. We'd better get back before your folks and Liv start to worry."

They worked their way to the autograph tables where Benson spied them first. Alex looked at her sideways, stifling a smile, because it seemed, at least to her, that her friend colored a little before relaxing again.

"Hi, El," Benson said with a smile, then narrowed eyebrows at Alex.

"Mom," Noah said soberly, "that Faith Yancy was trying to talk to Olivia," and he saw Bobby's head snap toward the girl so quickly that he finished in a hurry, "um...and I told her to stay away and Elliot drove her off."

Elliot spread his hands. "Hey, I just threatened to sic Eames on her."

"Thanks, Stabler." Bobby's face was flushed. "That woman is a menace. I can't believe she's still on the air."

"Some people like her brand of television," Benson answered grimly, but gave Noah a thumbs-up.

Olivia sat down beside Alex. "I still don't understand what happened."

"After we get finished we'll explain," Alex reassured her. "Let's enjoy being here with our friends right now."

Olivia shrugged, then finally sipped at the drink. "Hou la, what is this?"

"It's frozen hot chocolate," Noah explained. "You know, hot chocolate...but...iced," and Olivia looked at him, baffled, but enjoyed the chocolate treat thoroughly.

Now Mike Logan threaded his way back through the crowd to slap Stabler on the back. "Hey, man, I saw you give Yancy the bum's rush. Good for you!"

Bobby looked sideways at Olivia, who glanced up from her chocolate with a troubled quirk of her mouth. "Why don't we drop it, Mike?" he suggested quietly, and Logan, after one glance at the little girl's face, gave a decisive nod. "Say, kid, what happened to your tutor tonight?"

Olivia had figured out weeks ago that Logan's use of the word "kid" was affectionate, and only made a face. "Zes invited her to dinner. I don't know why she thought that would be more fun than coming to the signing tonight."

Benson smothered a grin, then bent over close to Bobby's ear and whispered, "I don't think you have to worry about that crush quite yet," giving Alex a big wink.

Some time later, the two women ran into each other just as Alex exited the ladies' restroom and Benson was approaching the door, and the former took a deep breath. "I was hoping I'd be able to catch you for a few minutes, Liv. You in a hurry?"

Benson shook her head. "Just wanted to hit the bathroom before we got back on the subway." She inclined her head toward the wall of the corridor next to the restrooms; the passage led to the employee break room/lockers, and they both turned into the narrow hall, where Benson leaned back against the cool wall painted in shades of green and indigo, her head lightly resting on concrete. "I didn't think I'd make it tonight; I almost called Lucy to see if she could possibly bring Noah instead. But Fin cornered me in my office and read me the riot act-said I could either come here or go home; but no way was I staying-said I needed some downtime."

"Good for Fin. You look exhausted. Is this the case that's Angie's List for hired killers?"

Benson said sourly, "Not funny, Alex."

"It's the only way I can wrap my mind around it," Alex replied, scowling. "It's grotesque. Bobby said one of the vics was a homeowner's association president? And that the people who arranged the hit were HOA members? What the hell? It's one thing when the criminals off each other and leave civilians alone, bad enough when civilians get caught in the crossfire. And now I have to consider...what? I'm bringing up a daughter in a world where your neighbor can anonymously hire a hit on you because she hates your dog barking? It's terrifying."

Benson asked soberly, "How'd you hear about the HOA vic? Is Bobby working on this case with the FBI?"

Alex shook her head, still looking troubled. "Scuttlebutt from one of the agents in Hartford. Penelope told him not to work anything during the book tour. She wants us to concentrate on Olivia. He's already cut down on his workload- What?" she finished, because a small smile had appeared on Benson's lips.

"I just realized," Benson chuckled, and it was evident that she wanted to change the subject. "Sunday was your very first Mother's Day."

Alex took the hint. "Which we both would have forgotten about if it hadn't been for Ana. We overheard her telling Olivia about the gift she and Carlos had bought for her abuela, and Olivia was upset. Her whole world fell apart a month ago, Liv, and there she was, sniffling to Bobby that she didn't have a Mother's Day gift for me. It made my heart hurt. She tries so hard...I'm afraid some part of her thinks we'll send her away if she doesn't please us."

Benson bit her lip. "Poor kid. There are so many things I never had to go through because Noah was tiny when I took him in. What a contrast to the girl I saw out there, all bright-eyed and bouncing."

"She's good at covering her feelings, but Bobby's equally good at sensing her mood. I'm learning her tells. And she is doing better. The nightmares seem to have stopped, although she's still waking up at night. Bobby or I-Bobby mostly; I guess my 'mother radar' hasn't quite turned all the way on yet-read to her. He sings to her, Liv. It's the sweetest thing I've ever seen. And Donna's been a big help. She came with us to register Olivia for school-although the school wasn't a hard sell. Sister Rosamund at St. Gregory's is Auntie Mame in disguise. She showed Olivia all her favorite classes and the topper was going outside and seeing the juniors launching model rockets. Hooked for good."

"So did she buy you something for Mother's Day?" Benson asked with a grin.

"Bobby made sure she had the chance. He made the excuse to me that 'they had to run to Joelle' for embroidery floss for a project Olivia was working on. We had dinner at Onorato's-a very nice Italian restaurant-and Olivia presented me with a travel set for my cosmetics. He said she picked it out herself, and insisted it be gift wrapped." Alex gave a little smile. "How about you?"

"Noah decided the best gift he could give me was peace and quiet, so I was allowed-read that as 'practically forced'!-to sleep late, then he made me breakfast. The McCanns-his half-brother's family-had taught him how to make pancakes from pancake mix and scrambled eggs when he stayed there at Christmas. I'd hardly recovered from that surprise when he told me he'd saved his allowance so we could order takeout from our favorite Chinese place-whatever I liked, even if it were lobster-and that we were 'going to hang around in our pajamas' and watch any movie I liked." She laughed. "So we did. And I was glad for the rest."

"Sounds wonderful," Alex sighed. "I cannot tell you how happy I am to be on the road with no more prep. Remember this, don't forget that, is the other thing packed. My Google Keep looked like a Rollodex. We had dinner with my sister last night and all I could do was moan that I was glad it was over." She fixed wry eyes at Benson. "But I feel like a heel for complaining about it to you when you've got this shit case, and even after Noah's 'spa treatment' day, you still look like you haven't had a decent night's rest in weeks. So this whole case boils down to one perp?"

"That's what Amanda says, and I'd trust her with my life. Oh-did I tell you that she and Carisi are expecting a baby?"

"No! Fast worker, isn't he?" Alex teased, eyes dancing, and Benson smiled, then her cheek twitched and she looked down.

"Liv," said Alex after a minute, "you know when I joke with you...especially in connection with Elliot...it is just that? Partners, good friends forever, or something else-so long as it's best for you. I remember being worried...I got to be so independent after Joe died, and I didn't want to lose that-being in another relationship scared hell out of me. But it turned out to be the right thing-for me. You do what's best for Liv. But, please-take some down time."

"After this case is complete. I promise." Benson took her hands and squeezed them. "Hopefully we'll have it wrapped up soon, get the damn website down, and then maybe Noah and I can go to the beach for a couple of days-"

"A week, lady," Alex admonished. "I'll bet you have three times that built up in comp time." She paused, then warned. "Or else I'll have a word with Fin!"

"Now you're really getting down and dirty," Benson chuckled, and the two abandoned their refuge to head back to the book-signing area.

. . . . .

— Penelope Saltonstall, Donna Hogarth
...MMS
...May 16, 2023

How was the book signing tonight, dearling?

I didn't go. I had a dinner invitation.

Would that be from the handsome publisher you mentioned in your last text?

Funny, I don't recall saying he was handsome, so I'll assume you've done your research as usual. As a matter of fact...Mom, he took me to Sardi's!

Oh, I love Sardi's. Your father took me there several times. Were there any celebrities there?

"To be honest, I didn't notice. I've never talked with anyone in the publishing business before. Zes talked about the family legacy, how they pick which authors to represent the Hastings House brand...it goes back to the 1880s."

"The original Quentin Hastings opened the business in 1880, although they didn't have their first national bestseller until the 1930s, when senior editor Belle Becker discovered the authors of two of their most popular novels, one which is still in print."

"You have done your research."

"Have you ever known me to do anything less?"

"Mom, you are as bad as Bobby."

"Thank you, dearling!"

. . . . .

"Good morning, Dr. Allyson."

"Good morning, Olivia," and her therapist gave her a cheerful smile over their Zoom connection. "Where are you today?"

"Boston. Papa says we'll see some of the landmarks from the American War for Independence once I'm done speaking with you. The tea party ship, and the Boston Massacre site, which is on something called The Freedom Trail, and there's also a Black Heritage Trail. Did you ever read the poem about Paul Revere, Dr. Allyson? We did in one of my English classes, but Papa said he never finished his ride, and in Boston I would learn the true story! Did you know that?"

"I believe I've read that somewhere. It sounds very exciting. I've never been to Boston. But you're looking a little...sad this morning? Are you still having nightmares?"

"No, but last night I couldn't sleep again. Papa came in to read to me."

"Did it help you sleep?"

"It always does...but-"

"Do you feel comfortable telling me what's troubling you, Olivia?"

"Papa and Mama..." She sighed, fidgeting. She was in her bunk room, in a chair under the upper bunk-when the lower bunk was raised, it formed a study area, and was where Donna would tutor her through the months of the tour. To enliven the blue, lilac, and green swirled walls, she and Donna had used removable adhesive to fasten all sorts of photos and maps to the wall and cupboards, including the large U.S. map that marked out their itinerary. Finally, she stared into her laptop screen earnestly.

"Papa and Mama rescued me from Madame," she continued. "If I have nightmares Papa or Mama or both get up to sit with me. Or Papa reads to me when I can't sleep. Last night Mama came in, too, and we sat together while he read." She paused. "Sometimes he sings me my song."

"I'm glad to know they care about you."

Olivia looked embarrassed. "They do. But...I...I don't love them."

Dr. Allyson steepled slender fingers, resting her chin on her fingertips. "Did you suddenly expect 'love' to turn on once they brought you home?"

Her mouth parted in surprise. "But aren't I supposed to love them?"

The therapist said gently, "Love isn't an obligation, Olivia. It isn't something you can schedule, and it doesn't happen overnight, or like the flicking of a switch. It's a deep feeling that develops over time." She paused, then stressed, "If you don't feel love, it's nothing to feel guilty about. After all, it's only a little over a month since your parents died."

"I try to say thank you to them when they do something nice," Olivia admitted anxiously, "because I am happy they helped me."

"That's a very thoughtful thing to remember. You've made a fine start. Don't rush the rest. How has your journey been so far?"

"There hasn't been much of it. On Monday night, we visited Aunt Lizzie and Uncle Steve. Tuesday morning Mama and Papa had an interview on a television chat show. The host was very rude to Mama and I could tell it made Papa angry. She said the host expected her to...Papa called it 'toe the party line,' and when she didn't, you should have seen that man's face..."

. . . . .

- Boston, MA; May 18, 2023 -

"Hello, you two!" A pause. "You one?"

"Holly?" Alex glanced up, startled, from the long conference table which had been arranged for their afternoon signing in the open foyer of Liberty Books. It had been papered in pale blue and red to match the covers of the books, and printed placards stated the titles and authors on opposite ends of the table, next to stacks of their books. To her surprise, Holly Lewin, their editor at Hastings House, had arrived, strands of her silver-threaded long dark hair wisping from her usual bun secured with a pencil, her freckled face broad with a smile, wearing her typical outfit of loose-sleeved shirt (this one red with blue piping) and a long blue denim skirt over bunchy blue socks and red sneakers.

"I had to come to your first out-of-town signing," she said happily. "The line's already out the door!"

"So you're trying to match our book covers?"

"Why not?" She pivoted to the right and left. "Where's Bobby?"

"Checking out the books, where else?"

"And I was hoping to meet the munchkin...where's Olivia?"

"She'll be at the signing tonight," Alex told her, "so we sent her off to the Boston Children's Museum with Donna. They'll be back for dinner-can you stay that long?"

Holly laughed. "My train from South Station isn't until eight. I think I can manage."

Alex asked Fred Martino, their liaison at Liberty Books, if he could find an extra chair, which he provided quickly. "You have five minutes, Mrs. Goren. Aleda will be bringing some water and snacks for both you and Mr. Goren, but we need to sit him down-"

"You're probably going to have to go find him, too," Alex warned, and Fred gave a good-natured grin and hurried off. Two minutes later, Bobby returned with several books on his arm. "I was watching the time, Eames. I'd p-planned to pick these books up anyway, so I figured I'd buy them he- Holly? Nice to see you!"

"Not enough books in that bus of yours?" the editor asked whimsically, checking out his haul after receiving a hug from him: a book on Revolutionary War sites, Your Child and the Internet: Pros and Pitfalls, and a copy of The Next Exit. "You do realize," and she tapped on the last book, "there's an app for this?"

"We could...get out of cell tower range," he said archly, and Alex laughed.

Fred came bustling back a few minutes after Aleda, a cheerful woman in a powered wheelchair, had arrived with provisions. "Showtime, folks." He checked the stack of books flanking both of them, also that there were enough marking pens for each, then spoke into his cell phone.

Presently a friendly woman's voice came over the store loudspeaker. "Good evening, folks, and welcome to our weekly signing event. This week we have a two-for-one special: husband-and-wife team Robert Goren and Alexandra Eames, signing their respective books The Refuge and Ice Blue. If you've not yet joined the queue, it begins in the mystery book department. Talk to Aleda Frankel if you'd like a special signature. There are copies of the book for purchase at the signing table."

Holly said cheerfully, "And you're off!"

. . . . .

There was a pause in the line as a woman on crutches approached, and Bobby surveyed the queue winding through the Cambridge bookstore, suddenly smiling. "Now there's a familiar face!"

"Where?" Alex asked, attempting to see what had captured his attention. Olivia had been busy typing on her laptop but also glanced up.

"The man in the red shirt," Bobby said, then gave a broad smile to the woman on crutches, who handed him The Refuge, breathily telling him how much she was looking forward to reading it. He scanned the sticky note on the front that had inscription instructions, then wrote in an almost intelligible scribble, "To Darla-may books always be your friends. Robert Goren."

"Who is it?" Alex whispered before a couple approached her with Ice Blue. The man in question was tall and slender, with silver-and-snow white hair in handsome contrast to his russet-toned skin. While he was dressed informally in an open-collared red shirt and blue jeans, he still exuded an air of authority while also having a twinkle in his dark eyes. Behind him was a younger man in his late thirties, with lighter-toned skin and oddly familiar hazel eyes, wearing a three-piece gray suit, blue shirt, and a tie in shades of gray, blue, and pale violet. Then she turned her attention to her next customers, giving them a bright smile, and started to chat with the couple; the woman turned out to be a retired Boston police lieutenant.

Olivia kept her eye on the pair, then leaned back behind Alex to hiss, "Papa. Papa?"

Bobby glanced sideways, and the woman in line whose book he was autographing smiled. "That's okay, Mr. Goren. Speak with your little girl first."

"Thank you, madame," Olivia said to her. "Papa! Is that Donna's father and brother?"

"Yes." Bobby flashed a smile. "Good catch!"

"I'll tell Donna!" the girl said gleefully; she wasn't allowed a cell phone yet, but she did have a text function on the laptop.

Bobby wrote, "To Rihannon–may books always be your friends. Robert Goren." Alex soberly signed her next volume, "To Jeff-peace and justice. Alex Eames."

Olivia's eyes kept sliding to the double glass doors of the Mariner Bookshop, their venue that evening. Eventually, she smothered a grin as the two men approached; the older man boomed out as soon as he came abreast of Bobby, "Hello, old friend!" and extended his right hand held up from the elbow with the palm open.

Bobby stood up to return the dap, and they grasped hands vigorously. "Matt, how are you?"

"I am doing good, Bobby Goren, I am doing good. And married life agrees with you, by the look of it."

"Alex has always made me more agreeable," was Bobby's truthful reply.

The younger man with him met Olivia's eyes, winking, for the child was suddenly grinning broadly. Suddenly two hands came from behind him, covering his eyes. "Guess whooooooo?"

The older man turned, recognizing the miscreant with an amused snort. His younger companion sing-songed, "I would say that's my dorky little sis-ter." Then Charles Saltonstall wheeled and gave Donna Hogarth a big hug, at which act Olivia began bouncing up and down in her chair. "Mama, Mama, look!"

Alex caught her in a hug, whispered to her, and Olivia calmed down, but still wriggled in her seat. Donna looked at her semi-sternly, reproving, "All right, Tigger, settle down," making the child giggle.

Bobby grinned. "Alex, if you hadn't guessed by now, this is Matthew Hogarth. Matt, this is Alexandra Eames."

Alex shook hands the more conventional way. "I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Hogarth."

Hogarth flashed a smile. "From Bob or from Penny?"

"Penny," Alex said with emphasis, feeling odd using the nursery form of Penelope Saltonstall's name, "was very complimentary."

"I'm glad," chuckled Hogarth. "And this dude arm-wrestling with his sister-" and both Charles and Donna, who were doing exactly that, stopped in mid-grip with wide eyes as if they were two small children caught in the act rather than both in their late 30s, at which Olivia giggled once more, "is our son, Charles Howard Saltonstall-Hogarth, Esquire."

"It's a draw," Charles told Donna, and she grinned back and hissed, "Is not," then he extended his hand to Alex, then to Bobby. "You know, Dad, we're holding up the line here."

"That we are," and both men excused themselves to the people behind them, received their signatures, then moved aside along with Donna, and as Bobby greeted his next fan, he heard Charles ask, "Did you drive all the way from Kittery for the book signing?"

"Are you kidding?" Donna grinned. "I'm part of the entourage. Didn't Mom tell you?" She inclined her chin toward Olivia. "She found out Bob and Alex needed a tutor for their daughter and thought of me."

"And Mom also realized Dad and I would show up for this." Charles shook his head. "She's done it again," then grinned and hugged her once more. "Good for you. So you're in for the whole book tour?"

"Twenty-six-at least-cities by tour bus. Fun, huh? Look," Donna said, "Bob and Alex's session has another 45 minutes to go. Can you stick around and come have coffee afterwards?"

"Dad?" Charles said with amusement. "Not able to entertain himself for an hour in a bookstore? Surely you jest."

Alex looked up from finishing another autograph. "Only an hour? Bobby plans day-long expeditions." Then she smirked as Bobby pushed her foot under the table.

"Reen's here, by the way."

"Man, I haven't seen Reenie in ages..." and brother and sister moved away to chat.

A little over an hour later, they sat in the big booth of a restaurant on Brattle Street along with Irené Fournier, Donna's best friend since childhood. Olivia's eyes were at half-mast by then, but she cuddled between Alex and Bobby, listening as Hogarth said expansively to the latter, "...pity you missed the salad days of Harvard Square, Bob-there was a time you couldn't turn a corner around here and not find a bookstore: Wordsworth, the Science Fiction and Fantasy bookstore-"

Charles checked his Apple watch. "Ten minutes, Don. I think that's a new record."

Donna sputtered, and her father gazed at them over his wire-rimmed eyeglasses. "Have some respect for an old man, offspring, and let me tell my story."

Charles leaned back against the booth's plush red seat. He'd removed his suit jacket and tie, looking utterly relaxed. "What was that comic book store he always talked about?"

"Million Year Picnic," Donna caroled, her eyes alight.

"Got all his Marvel comics there," Irené chimed in. "X-Men. Spiderman. The Hulk."

Hogarth tried to look stern but failed. "Now you see, this is what happens. In your long and illustrious career, you speak with and advise mayors, governors, and the Prez, but this is the respect your kids and their peers give you-" By the time he finished, he was laughing, as was everyone else, so that even a half-asleep Olivia smiled, and when Alex whispered to her, "Who knows, maybe in ten years you'll be telling the same stories about us," Olivia regarded her with searching eyes, then snuggled closer to her.

Now Alex saw Hogarth's eyes soften as she kissed the girl's forehead and wondered if he was recalling Donna's childhood. It made her think of Penelope Saltonstall, always prim and proper in her business suits and bound hair, in a different light: as a doting mom, in a t-shirt and shorts or a light shift as her mother had worn in warm weather, her blond hair pulled into a ponytail, cuddling Donna in her arms while Charles showed her a flower or a bug he'd found in the yard.

"Lookit, Allie!" she could remember nine-year-old Lizzie saying, holding out something small and red in the damp palm of her hand. "Lookit what I found on the back stoop. Know what it is?" And her four-year-old self crowing "Ladybug!" and her mother saying, "That's right, Alex!" until the spell was broken by baby Jack wailing from his crib.

"Now take the ladybug outside, Lizzie," her mother said, her voice tender in Alex's memory, "and let the poor thing go. Take Allie with you."

"You're a million miles away, Eames," Bobby's voice said in real time.

"It seems like it," she said, smiling at their dinner companions, "but just 53 years."

. . . . .

Bobby had chuckled at Donna, waiting for Irené. "You look like...um...one of the fathers in an old movie, back in the days when they didn't allow men in the delivery room, pacing back and forth."

"Sorry." And she had slowed her aimless pacing in the expansive front room of the tour bus. It was set up like a typical family room in a specialty recreational vehicle, with kitchen apparatus on the right side of the bus (sink, three-burner stove, full-size refrigerator, and pull-out pantry, plus cabinets up and down), and a deep, wide plush-fabric sofa, a bolted-down stand for Bandit's birdcage, and a meal/additional seating area with a removable table lined up on the left side behind the driver, everything done in soft browns and tans with highlights of teal. The ceiling-mounted flat-screen TV had been pushed up and out of the way and Michael Agostino was leaning back in the armchair-like driver's seat with his feet up on the console, paging through the history book Bobby had bought that afternoon.

Suddenly someone rapped "shave and a haircut" on the door of the bus, Donna called out "Hold on," and with an expert hand motion Alex swooped an indignant Bandit from Bobby's shoulder and popped him back into his cage.

"Okay!" called Donna merrily, and the door had opened a tiny crack. "Bird safe?" was the query, acknowledging the warning placard on the bus door.

"Pissed," grinned Donna, as Bandit glared at her from his food dish, "but safe."

Then Irené Fournier had been captured in a big hug by her best friend and given a kiss, whereupon she spun Donna around as if they were two ten-year-olds again. Next, Donna presented her with a smile. "Everybody, this is my best friend for almost forever, Irené. Reenie," and she indicated them in turn, "Bob Goren, Alex Eames, Olivia Pepin, Sam, Bandit, and Michael Agostino."

Irené had shaken hands with them-including Sam-then bowed over the birdcage, "Hi, Bandit. Sorry I spoilt your fun."

Bandit eyed her, then piped up, "Hi!" and returned to eating.

She was slightly taller than Donna, with thick black hair in a long braid down her back, a very oval face with shining dark eyes, and a winsome smile. When Olivia, who sat next to Sam on the floor working a cross stitch, had glanced up at her appraisingly, Irené checked out her project and said, "C'est très joli, Olivia."

The child gasped. "Parles-tu français?"

Irené grinned. "Mais oui, Mademoiselle."

Olivia had burst into a torrent of French, abandoning both Sam and the cross stitch to hug Irené. Alex could understand what sounded like 'I haven't spoken French in a month' and smiled when Donna sidled next to her and Bobby and explained quietly, "Reen's about as French as anyone can be without coming from France. Her father is Québécois and her maman is from Martinique. I remember her pépère-her grandfather-teaching us French songs when we were smaller than Olivia."

Donna had remained behind with her friend when they finally headed to the bookstore for the evening signing, but before they left, Alex whispered to Irené, "Thank you for making Olivia's day."

. . . . .

Alex looked up from her reading, puzzled. "I haven't heard that ringtone before."

As with Bobby's use of the vintage FBI television series theme for Penelope Saltonstall, Alex knew he had tagged each of his contacts with a unique ringtone; Knight Rider, for instance, was his car expert friend Lewis calling. By the way Bobby snatched his phone, then said, "I need to take this in private," and pushed himself out of bed, she knew it had to be urgent.

As he made for the door, she said casually, "If you need to disappear into the Batcave, let me know, okay?" and he signaled a wry thumbs-up before he vanished.

She picked up her e-reader, but after she had scanned the same paragraph six times, Alex finally expelled an impatient breath, setting the gadget down to wait, which was only a few minutes, but she could tell he'd had to collect himself first. He padded back to bed, set the phone back on its charger, then turned to her.

"That was Stabler-he wanted to make sure you heard from someone who was there that Liv is okay...she was released from the ER an hour ago, but she was wounded this afternoon in, as Elliot put it, 'some podunk town in Ohio.' They tracked their Shadowerk perp there, and the bastard put out a hit on both Liv and Elliot. They were ambushed as they ate-the would-be assassin used bear repellent to get past their guard and shot Benson in the hip. Stabler pulled his sidearm but was blinded by the spray, so Liv was the one who fired and took the guy down."

"Nothing says it like teamwork," Alex tried to quip, but her face was grim.

"But she's fine," he repeated. "Stabler, on the other hand, sounded like hell-but then h-he'd already had to phone the McCanns so Noah would know she was okay."

"I don't envy him that call." Then she asked, "So they've sent her home?"

"She'll take a redeye in a few hours, with a police escort. Stabler says his team has a hit on the perp. They're questioning his mother in the morning. Rollins was right. Alienated young man, no friends, hates the world."

They were in each other's arms by that time, and she sighed. "I keep wondering how we're going to be able to protect Olivia-Liv and I talked about this in the city-but we can't do it forever, can we? We can love her, and teach her the right things: kindness, fair play-"

"Hopefully give her all the tools she needs to make wise decisions, but protect her totally? No. The same with Ana and Carlos and the other kids. At some point we'll just have to take it on trust."

"I'll text Liv tomorrow, see how she is," Alex said, moving back toward her side of the bed. "Did Elliot say how long she's supposed to be off duty?"

"Two weeks."

"I give it two days, tops," Alex predicted.

. . . . .

Date: May 22, 2023
To: Elizabeth E. Hogan (eehogan at nycnet .net)
Subject: Mom Stuff
From: Alex Eames (alexandra .v .eames at xfinity .net)

Dear Liz,

Olivia has surprised me again. I was restless last night-got up for some orange juice, only to see a light under her door. Michael falls asleep immediately-he says it's Marine Corps training-and Donna wears a sleep mask, so neither was bothered.

It was after midnight, but Olivia was trying to write three separate e-mails about our stay in Philadelphia to her half-brother, her friend Renata at school, and her old nanny, so we had to have a quick heart-to-heart about her being able to do her schoolwork, join us at the signings, go sightseeing, and still stay healthy. We finally decided she could write about her day on the blog, then send each person an e-mail with a very brief personalized note, and a link to the blog entry. So we cut and pasted what she had written to the blog, and then she wrote three quick notes with the link and was finished. She didn't admit to me until it posted online that she was afraid what she wrote wasn't "good enough" for the blog because Bobby and I were "professionals"! If she only knew how many times Holly had me edit and re-edit, and that was after Bobby had suggested a certain change of phrase, or rearranging the narrative in a different order. I could write a report to the Chief of D's that would be praised for its conciseness and compliance with NYPD standards, but bringing 1PP to life so that an audience would want to read it was another matter altogether. Talk about impostor syndrome!

Incidentally, guess who showed up in Philly today to "make sure our book signing event went okay" since we had to change stores after the original location canceled (a catastrophic sprinkler accident). If you said "young Mr. Hastings," you've earned your detective's badge for tonight. However, I don't think it was Bobby and me he was looking after. I'll keep you posted.

Love,
Allie

. . . . .

Date: May 22, 2023
To: Irené Fournier (frenchfille at yorkcounty .net)
Subject: History and His Story
From: Donna C. Hogarth (themaineinstructor at yorkcounty .net)

Dear Reen,

I don't know why I try to teach history to Olivia when Bob gives it to her naturally one gulp at a time. :-) We drove past downtown Pittsburgh yesterday; when he spotted the big lighted sign for KDKA, he immediately pointed out the sign and told her that it was the first commercial radio station in the United States, and this probably would have led to a discussion of the Golden Age of Radio had not more historic scenery appeared.

But once Bob had seen the itinerary for the book tour, he pulled or bought books that pertained to our route. Since he'd just finished Buck's Life on the Mississippi and we were passing the confluence of the Allegheny and the Monongahela ("sail-in' down the O-hi-o"-I have the song from The New Mickey Mouse Club burned into my brain still), this segued into a chat about flatboats and river commerce. This explains why tonight we watched Disney's hoary old film Davy Crockett and the River Pirates while learning the truth about Davy Crockett (including that he loathed being called "Davy"), Mike Fink, and keelboats/flatboats in general.

At bedtime, however, instead of reading to her, I heard Bob telling Olivia about "The Shadow" and know at some point on the road we'll be listening to how "the weed of crime bears bitter fruit..." It will make an interesting alternative to John Denver, which is Michael's preferred driving music.

Zes Hastings showed up in Philadelphia on Monday because of the screwup that happened with the bookstore shift, to make sure everything worked out at the replacement venue (the original store had a water leak). I'd hoped we'd be able to eat at City Tavern on Tuesday because I loved watching Walter Staib's A Taste of History, but it's still closed and doesn't show signs of reopening soon. Zes suggested Reading Terminal Market, which turned out to be a fabulous idea since it's like Faneuil Hall and everyone could have what they liked; well, we liked it so well that we had supper there, too, and shared a variety of foods: Cajun, Penn Dutch, ribs, Italian hoagies, Chinese, Thai-I'm hungry just thinking about it. They have a couple of meat and seafood markets, too, so we took away fudge, fresh sausage, scallops, bread, chocolates, cheeses, and cookies.

On the sightseeing front, we went to Independence Hall, saw the Liberty Bell, and also visited the Marian Anderson House and Admiral Dewey's flagship "Olympia" (you remember: "Damn the torpedoes; full speed ahead" guy).

As Olivia keeps telling people, "Read our blog."

Yours now very hungrily,
Donna

. . . . .

Date: May 29, 2023
To: Olivia M. Benson (olivia .m .benson at nypd .org)
Subject: Get Well Soon (and a Mom Story)
From: Alex Eames (alexandra .v .eames at xfinity .net)

Liv-

Thanks for the return text. Glad to know you are feeling better. Am not surprised you're already back to work. "Relax" is not in your vocabulary. ;-)

Remember that I was concerned that Olivia was working too hard to please us? Since we returned from Paris, we've had the same morning routine: Bobby gets up to make breakfast, then when almost done raps on Olivia's door with a "rise and shine." Five minutes later, even though we're still in pajamas, she's popped out the bedroom door dressed and ready to meet the world.

Yesterday morning Olivia replied, "Deux secondes!"

Two seconds? And then I saw him grin like a fool.

He explained, "It's the French child's equivalent of 'In a minute!'"

About three minutes later he called again. "Time to get up, Olivia."

"Deux secondes!"

Michael and Donna waited to see what we'd do. Bobby plated the scrambled eggs, then walked to the bunk room door, rapped on it, and said "Olivia, since you're not interested, should I give your breakfast to the dog?"

In deux secondes, two big eyes were peering out. "You wouldn't."

He just smiled. "Everyone else is ready to eat."

"I'll be out in a minute," she promised (and was). (She'd been reading, of course.)

I think she's a bit more comfortable now. Baby steps.

Get well soon,
Alex

. . . . .

- Chicago, IL; May 30, 2023 -

He had come upon them before they knew it.

Bobby was already pleased because his elderly Aunt Agnes, his father's younger sister, had been able to attend their afternoon signing at Mysteries and More, a new bookshop on Chicago's famed Michigan Avenue, a few doors down from the now-defunct Marshall Field. She'd arrived with her son Sandy, a widower and father of Paul and Molly. Paul had remained on the family farm to care for the livestock, while Bobby was looking forward to seeing Molly, who was studying criminal law at California State at Long Beach, at the Los Angeles signing.

The crowd had thinned momentarily as the figure approached, so the four of them could clearly hear the man's deep baritone voice pronounce, "There you are, Bob Goren, with the prettiest lady in the room."

Bobby's grin blossomed even though he made no move to turn around. "And she stuck around, heaven only knows why."

"Maybe," Benjamin Siler answered with a smile, "because He always knew you needed her."

If someone had crossed Ron Carver's dapper style with an ascetic face, Alex decided when she turned to greet him, that would have been Ben Siler. Even in a button-down Oxford-cloth shirt with an open neck revealing a cross made from nails on a pewter chain, dark cords, and Dockers sans socks, he looked like he stepped out of a swanky men's catalog. Balding, with spiky silver eyebrows, his face lit up with pleasure as Bobby added, "I am, in fact, with three special ladies tonight. Alex, Donna, Olivia, this is Benjamin Siler, the voice of reason in my former FBI office trio. Ben, my wife Alex Eames, our daughter Olivia, and this is Olivia's tutor, Donna Hogarth, Penelope's daughter."

Siler blinked. "Saltonstall has...a daughter?"

Donna kept smiling to herself throughout the rest of the signing at the astonished expression on Siler's face; her mother had told her once that he was unflappable, but as they chatted between signatures, his droll face kept her amused.

At the end of the line, a familiar male voice said, "Sorry I don't have a book for you to sign."

Alex looked up, poker-faced. "Hello, Zes. I didn't realize you were going to be in town for the signing."

"Something totally different this time," he said carelessly, dropping into the chair next to Donna. "Dad asked if I would handle the branch office reviews this year. Better me traveling than him, he said. Spent the day shaking hands and looking at sales records. Thought I would hunt up more amiable company for dinner. Pretty day, though."

"We went for a cruise on Lake Michigan this morning," Olivia told him eagerly.

Zes grinned. "I take it you had fun."

Donna teased, "Well, if keeping her from falling overboard was fun."

"That isn't fair," Olivia objected, "I was too close to the edge only once."

Bobby put his head down opposite hers. "Once was too many times, Olivia."

"But I saw a fin, Papa!"

"Are all of you up for a unique dinner tonight?" Zes asked casually. "You can come along, too, Mr. Siler. The more the merrier, and six is a good number for a party at the place I have in mind." Donna started to say something, and he added, "Please? It's my favorite place to eat in Chicago, and no fun to eat at alone."

Siler gave him an appraising look, flickered a glance at Bobby, then grinned at Alex. "I'm up for it."

Ninety minutes later, they were seated around a lit brazier in the center of their table at the whimsically-named Seoul Patch Grill, with a black-aproned young woman at their side. She said brightly, "I'm Seo-Jun and I'm your server for this evening. Does everyone know how this works?" Alex, Olivia, Donna, and Ben shook their heads, and Seo-Jun beamed a smile. "Here is the list of the meats we offer and a description of what they are. We bring you the meats you request and one or more of you will cook the meats to your liking."

Alex leaned backward with a grin. "Leaving that one to Bobby, thanks."

"I'll cook, too, if no one else volunteers," Zes said. "In another life I was Gordon Ramsey."

Olivia sputtered with laughter at the idea, but when the first serving of meat came-Bobby having recommended the bulgogi beef and Siler putting in a vote for shrimp-it became Goren vs. Hastings at the grill. Donna obligingly stripped the shrimp of their tails and legs to hand off to Zes while Bobby expertly flipped the strips of beef for the table, including a well-done serving for Siler, at which Bobby quipped, "Need to have that cow completely dead, do you, Ben?" The first round created a friendly rivalry between Bobby and Zes, as they soon competed to see who could finish servings of bulgogi pork and more "Hawaiian" beef first. Zes even attempted a showman-like flip of the metal meat tongs emulating a Japanese steakhouse chef, which resulted in his dropping the tongs into the flaming brazier and their retrieval using a second set of tongs. Donna made a face at him, but he only chuckled and carried on.

They tried almost everything on the menu-Bobby and Donna even sampled the squid; Alex had taken one look and said, "Sorry, I don't eat anything that stares back"-but the beef bulgogi was the strong favorite. Olivia smiled, replete and sleepy, and asked coaxingly, "Maybe you can make some when we get home, Papa?"

As they exited, Zes asked, "Anyone for a nightcap?"

Siler laughed. "Not me, man. I'm still a working stiff. All this food I've eaten, I hope I make it through my shower before falling asleep."

Alex said fondly, "This one," and she indicated Olivia, who was leaning sleepily on Bobby, "needs her bed, and so do we." She flipped the keys of the tour bus to Donna. "I have the spare. You two have fun."

Donna smiled, whispered to Olivia, "Good night, kitten," and strolled away with Zes.

"Aren't you being slightly blatant?" Bobby asked with amusement when they were gone.

"Bobby," Alex said with an indulgent smile, "Holly and I have talked a lot about the publishing business since Hastings House picked up the options for our books. Branch office reviews are held annually...but only after end of fiscal year."

He laughed deep in his throat, alerting an almost dozing Olivia. "What's so funny, Papa? What's end of...fiscal..." Here she yawned. "...year?"

"September 30, dearest," Alex said, patting her arm.

"This an ongoing thing?" Siler asked, and Bobby said, "Since we left Connecticut," and the other man chuckled. "A man on a mission, eh?" A pause. "He's...okay, right? Not that either of you would condone harassment..."

"She's enjoying his company," Alex answered, smiling, "I can assure you. We've already talked."

Satisfied, Siler gave Alex a farewell hug and shook Bobby's free hand. "Nice seeing you guys. Keep in touch!" Then he added soberly, "Remember what I said, Bobby."

"Read our blog," Olivia reminded with a sleepy wave of her hand.

. . . . .

He was withdrawn as they prepared for bed.

Alex loved their "nest" at the rear of the tour bus. The main bedroom had been designed for tall, burly football players; their en-suite bathroom, although small, had a shower tall enough for Bobby and plenty of room for his shoulders when he turned to rinse. In fact, with judicious maneuvering (they had already tried it), she could fit inside with him. The bed was a queen-sized, extra-long version, with storage underneath already filling with a jumbled combination of books and other souvenirs.

"What's up, Bobby?" she finally asked gently as he finished brushing his teeth. "Does it have something to do with what Ben said before he left?"

He gave her the knowing little smile she understood. "Yeah."She tilted his head at him. "Anything I can help with?"

"Finish up," he said, cupping her face with his hand. "Then we'll talk."

Five minutes later she was in her tank top and shorts, barefoot, hair pulled back with a soft scrunchie. She expected to find him reading, but instead, he was seated at the foot of the bed in sleep shorts and a very faded Rolling Stones t-shirt, feet restless, fingers tapping on his thighs. She sat beside him cross-legged, caressing his right arm with her fingertips. Without prompting, he began, "When I got up to use the restroom-"

"Ben was there," she said. "I shagged Liv down the same way."

He nodded. "He waited for me as I washed my hands..."

. . . . .

"So you heard the news about Cavanaugh, I know. I figured Penelope would have told you first."

Bobby had regarded his old partner curiously as he thoroughly lathered his hands, then rinsed. "I have no idea if I was told 'first.' I was told."

"Never did understand what was with that dude," Siler said, shaking his head. "What did you finally figure out about him?"

Waving his hand under the motion sensor multiple times for enough paper to wipe his hands, Bobby finally shrugged. "He was a promotion slut, Ben. Climbing the old ladder. Didn't care who he stepped on to get there."

"Yeah, but why?"

Irritated, Bobby had scrunched the wastepaper and lobbed it into the mouth of the wastebasket. "How the hell would I know?"

Siler shrugged. "You're the profiler, man. I mean, you profiled all the UNSUBs. Helped us get under their skins, let us know why they worked the way they did. Thought you might have given him the once-over to see if you could make it easier on yourself."

Once that they were in the hallway outside the restrooms; Bobby had wheeled to face his old partner. "Why would I waste my time? He was a shit supervisor who didn't let us do our jobs properly, and when we did do them, he made sure he got the credit instead us."

Siler threw up a placating hand. "Hey, man, calm down."

"He abused us, Ben," retorted Bobby, his face scarlet. "And he was rude to Alex last year in D.C. and harassed us both. Again, why would I waste my time?"

"Bobby, man, I'm not saying he was a just human being," responded Siler, puzzled. "He was a lousy supervisor, and had a crappy personality. I just think it's odd that you never tried to suss him out." He gave Bobby a pat on the shoulder. "I'm sorry I brought it up, man. I didn't realize he was still under your skin."

Bobby had swallowed, then took a breath. "Sorry, Ben. Didn't mean to go off on you."

"I know you didn't," Siler said, smiling. "Let's get back to that nice family of yours."

. . . . .

"I agree with you," Alex said shortly, recalling their encounter with Cavanaugh the previous year. "I thought Ross was bad enough when he took over from Jimmy. But at least Ross was for solving cases, not using highly-trained Federal employees as steppingstones for his career moves. Cavanaugh made his own bed, let him lie in it."

"Maybe Ben was right, though," he said reluctantly. "I disrespected him-"

"Because he disrespected you first. Please don't add another boxcar to your guilt train, Bobby. You keep it long enough as it is."

He gave a wry, sideways smile. "He's right about one thing, though. Harry is still under my skin."

"Just like a hookworm," Alex answered sourly.

He chuckled, then rose to open the bedroom door at the sound of scratching. Sam shouldered his way in, revealing low, flickering light from the living area where Michael was still awake watching television. Olivia had gone to bed long ago, cuddling her little stuffed fox, replete with bulgogi.

"What's wrong, Sam?" he asked, and the collie nudged him under the arm and whined until Bobby sat down to pet him. "You came for me? You always seem to know."

"I hope Michael's not waiting up for Donna," Alex said, yawning, then crawled between the sheets, "because I'm pretty sure she's not coming back tonight."

"I think he's just watching Colbert before bed. He's figured out the rest." And Bobby slid into bed beside her, bowing his head to kiss her neck. Sam remained sitting at the foot of the bed, watching them with bright eyes while patting one big paw on the mattress in mute appeal. They exchanged glances.

"All right, bud, if you want to be kicked every time one of us rolls over-"

"Wuff!" the dog uttered with satisfaction as he heaved himself on the end of the bed and lay down.

"Furry foot warmer," Alex said as Bobby switched off the light.

"But who'll warm my heart?"

"Oh, I think I know just the lady for that job-"

. . . . .

From "On the Road with Gorens"
May 30, 2023

Olivia: Mr. Hastings, our publisher, treated us to a Korean steakhouse tonight. They bring you the meat and you have to cook it yourself over a real fire on the table. Papa and Mr. Hastings cooked; if it was a contest I think Papa won. The food was delicious! My maman said I should try all foods, but I did not try the squid because Mama said it was staring at her.

Alex: Definitely no squid. Otherwise, five stars all the way.

Bobby: I've had the real thing, but Seoul Patch Grill was a thumbs-up for dinner for all of us. However, Olivia, I think Zes and I tied.

Comments:

Donna Hogarth: A good time was definitely had by all. Very much enjoyed meeting Mr. Benjamin Siler.

Quentin Hastings VI : An outstanding evening in good company. Thanks!

. . . . .

— Penelope Saltonstall, Donna Hogarth
...MMS
...May 31, 2023

...went out for drinks at a little club.

What time did you get in, dearling?

Not telling, Mom.

. . . . .

— Donna Hogarth, Irené Fournier
...MMS
...May 31, 2023

So, what goes with Zes? He turn up again in Chicago?

With an almost convincing story of being there on business. He even took us all to dinner before we went out for the evening.

He's safe, isn't he?

Don't worry, Alex has already asked me if he's a problem. He's not. Besides, I all but asked him to join us in Columbus. Since he's a James Thurber fan I asked if he'd ever been to the Thurber House, and that it was a shame he wouldn't be there-

What happened after dinner?

Oh, he knew a great little club, not too noisy. Techno, some hip-hop, a kind of retro disco that was weird...had a drink, a few dances, the last one to his hotel...

Don!

Hey, I had condoms in case he didn't.

. . . [Irené is typing]
AND?

😀 😮 😉 He'll be joining us after we leave Nashville, too, I think. I asked if he knew a good place to zipline in Tennessee...

Zipline! Are you crazy...
.

.