When Camille reached the Irish Pig sandwich shop almost exactly 40 minutes later, Tommy already had been busy. The wrappers of two sandwiches and several bags of chips were strewn about the table. He'd just finished firing off a text message as she approached.
"My girl," he said, placing down the phone. "I just wanted to make sure she had everything she needed for work."
"You two seem close."
"You have no idea," he said. "So, I meant to ask, did you and Mueller flip a coin this morning?"
The young detective's hand went to her mouth. "It was not like that," she said as she tried to suppress a smile.
"You really flipped a coin, didn't you?"
Camille made a few stuttering sounds. "We both wanted to come. But one of us needed to stay back and provide top cover. And I really did want to thank you for the night at the warehouse. We are both very, very happy I came to find you today. Thank you so much for everything you did for this kid."
Tommy sat smiling and said nothing in response to her kind words, but it had been a long and busy day. "You really should eat something," he said. "We worked right through lunch."
The line at the counter had more than a dozen people in it, and she hesitated.
"I've got a can of whoop-ass waiting for me when I get back, in the form of Lieutenant Ted Silva. I'm not sure how much he believes Mueller's story. Going off-radar briefly during an important investigation to follow up on a tip is one thing. Popping up after six hours in New Jersey, without reasonable explanation, is another."
"Popping up with a missing kid in New Jersey," he corrected.
"That might save one ass cheek, but the Louie's a 25-year detective who sees every single hole in a story. And the case against Madison for abducting her hasn't gotten any better. The local PD is going over the barn as we speak. Either way, if I come dragging in too late, he's going to have an apoplexy."
"Let's go, then." He held up a bag. "I grabbed a couple for the road."
At that point, they both heard Camille's stomach growl.
"Just in the nick of time, too."
The two got up and moved to the door. Outside, Tommy expressed surprise at the sudden chill in the air. "Looks like we have some rain blowing in." He began fishing through the bag and, once in the car, pulled out a club sandwich and gave half to Camille. The rest returned to the bag.
She growled, took a huge bite, and lay the sandwich in its paper on the seat divider. "That is so good," she said, rolling her eyes until nothing was visible but the whites. "Thank you so much."
The day had been hectic, and she'd been incredibly focused in recent days, forgetting about food and sleep, disregarding everything other than finding that young girl. Now, with the crises past, the exhaustion from the last three days' search weighed upon her. Certainly, the specter of the reaming to come hadn't escaped her. Who could forget that?
But at that moment, exhausted or not, she was most conscious of the man sitting in the car seat next to her. While on the trail, it was a thing she'd been able to set aside, a thought she'd been able to forego. But now, seated mere inches from him in the close environment of the car, she was mindful of how shamelessly gorgeous he was.
The first time she'd met Mr. Haas, more than two weeks earlier, she'd had to fight the urge not to stare. He was, she'd realized, the most strikingly beautiful man upon whom she'd ever laid eyes: black hair, perfect cheekbones, a chin and jawline any male model would shiv a beloved family member to possess. His eyes were that shade of deep brown that was almost black.
She'd never imagined such a fetching man could exist, but early that morning events had become even more perplexing. At his apartment, it wasn't that he was just more beautiful than memory served. No. He was more beautiful, but there was something else, something inexplicable. It was as if she was looking at a different person entirely. In fact, when he'd met her at his apartment door, that had been her first assessment, that she'd stumbled on an even more handsome brother or a sexier roommate.
It wasn't until he'd greeted her, and the two spoke, that she'd realized it was the same person. But his appearance was—well, it was different from what she recalled in virtually every aspect. The man she'd met that morning, the same one beside whom she now sat, was some years older, several inches taller, his hair was three or four shades lighter and finer, and his face shape was .... What could she say? There were similarities, but it simply was not the same face. And the eyes? Now a startling blue.
It might have been her own eyes playing tricks. The last weeks had been stressful. It may have been that he'd somehow changed his appearance. But Camille was a keen observer. There was not a hint of makeup or other alterations. And at six-foot-one, she possessed a peculiar sensitivity to male height.
Like his great strength and immunity to injury, this must be another of his idiosyncrasies. But what an exquisite man he was. Were there others like him?
These stirring thoughts, combined with the cooler air, caused a shiver to run through her. Suddenly, her body reacted in an uncharacteristic, and moderately embarrassing, way. Oh, fucking great, she chided herself.
She realized he was looking over at her.
"You okay?"
"I'm good," she said with a slight squeak in her voice. She took another bite and started the car. The sandwich was good. As they pulled out of the parking spot, she ventured a question.
"How did you know no one was in the house?" she asked.
Tommy shrugged. "I just did." It was clear he would say no more.
"But how did you know where to look in the barn?" Camille had all but given up when they'd found the barn apparently empty.
A few seconds lapsed, and she thought he again might put her off.
"Mostly because I could smell her," he said finally. "I knew the second we hit the barn she was there, and alive. And the tractor had been moved recently ...." He again shrugged.
The young detective struggled to hide her amazement, but also could feel the post-adrenalin crash deepening. She turned the car out onto the road and sped northeast. This was all too much. She held her breath and asked the question that had been with her for nearly three weeks.
"Where do you come from?"
"Not from Mars," he said. "My parents were normal folks, just like yours ... just like everybody else's."
She smiled a little sheepishly. "You hear so many things," she said. "I guess I don't know where to begin—can we? Begin?"
"Begin talking about people like me?"
"Yeah."
"Sure," was his casual reply. "But I'd rather not talk about myself."
"Okay," she said, biting her lip but asking nothing. She searched for what to say.
"What do you want to know?" His tone was friendly and comforting.
"Why ... how did you ... how do people like you get the way you are?"
"We're the way we are born," was his reply. "Look, the government didn't make us. We didn't crash land as refugees from another planet. We're not the products of laboratory experiments gone awry. Everyone who's ever had a 'Gift,' or 'skill,' or 'superpower'—whatever you call them—was born that way. Sometimes these Gifts express later in life, sometimes sooner."
"But why don't people know more about you?" she asked in a rush.
"A lot of reasons. Nowadays it's because the government doesn't want you to know ... and because people don't want to know, not really."
Out of the blue, traffic began to back up, and a light mist started to fall. Within moments, the flow of vehicles had come to a crawl. They hadn't even travelled a mile. Looking ahead, Camille saw a long line of brake lights.
"Hold on." Tommy pulled out his phone and checked traffic and weather. He blew a quiet raspberry. "I think we're in a wee gridlock. It looks like a truck overturned on the ramp ahead."
"Oh, damn." She was exhausted.
"Pull over here," he said, indicating a large church to their right. She saw what he meant, and within a minute they were in the parking lot of a large church with an enormous metal canopy that formed a carport in front of the building.
"We're not going anywhere for an hour or more," he pointed out. "We might as well relax."
She pulled under the canopy and shut off the engine. The two sat there in silence as the mist became rain. When Camille finished the last of her sandwich, Tommy fished the other half and a can of soda out of the bag and handed them to her. She looked at the two as if they were holy relics and took them gratefully. There was more silence as she ate.