The
Streets Of New YorkThe
Streets Of New York© Sidney McCabe
Author's note: Flynn Malone appears with kind courtesy of Lisa R. (Go check out the incredible 'Comes the Dawn' at The Kidnation; you'll thank me for it.)
Baby, you've been going so crazy
Lately nothing seems to be going right
"So this is the Big Apple..." Nan remarked as she looked around, her broad, East London accent at odds with the yellow taxi cabs whizzing by and the skyscrapers looming directly behind her. She gave Jimmy a nod of approval. "I like it."
Jimmy just smiled at the incongruity before him. It wasn't only the accent that set her apart; she was dressed head to toe in casual black, right down to the Doc Martens on her feet, with a true Londoner's penchant for tasteful black ensembles. The only splash of color was the bright Union Jack patch on her t-shirt. She would never have worn anything with the British flag at home--deeming it a fashion statement for tourists--but here in a strange country, it seemed to be a security blanket of sorts, or even a badge of pride.
"I still can't believe you're wearing black today," was all he said. "Haven't you paid any attention to the weather? This isn't England. It's hot here. And there's a little thing called humidity--"
Nan snorted. "It's seven in the morning, Jimmy. There's still a bit of breeze out. Anyway, you're the one who suggested we walk to work today, not me. We could have taken a taxi with Noah and Ike, but oh no, Mr New York City wants to walk to work. And stop acting like England's some sort of summer paradise; it gets hot there, and we rough it. None of this poncey air-conditioning you have here. Anyway, I'm perfectly comfortable at the moment."
"Yeah, at the moment."
They continued down the street in silence. Jimmy had forgotten the feel of an early morning in Manhattan. Men and women in business suits were already out in full force, briefcases swinging importantly from one hand, cell phones in the other. Street vendors were setting up for the day; joggers were winding their way through the early morning traffic; there was a distinct smell of coffee and car exhaust permeating the air.
Jimmy chomped on his bagel with gusto, loving the texture and feel, and most of all, the familiar taste. You couldn't get bagels in England; it had been ages since he'd had one. God, it was good to be back home.
Home?
Shrugging uncomfortably to himself, Jimmy stopped that thought before he could pursue it further. To distract himself, he shoved the bagel in Nan's face. "Try this."
"Ugh." She made a horrible face. "What the hell is that?"
"It's a bagel, Nan," he said, enjoying the look of disgust on her face. "You know, bread."
"I'm perfectly aware that that circular bit of cardboard is what you insist on calling a bagel," she replied witheringly. "I meant, what's that ghastly white stuff on top?"
"This?" Jimmy pointed to the thick pile of vegetable-flavored cream cheese currently sitting atop his 'Everything' bagel. "That's cream cheese, woman! It's a little taste of heaven, I promise you."
Nan wrinkled her nose in response. "Ugh," she said again. "I'll just take your word for it." She sipped again at her tea and yawned.
"Tired?" Jimmy asked solicitously.
She nodded and ran her hands over her face, trying to wipe away the exhaustion. "Do I look it?"
"Yeah, but it's okay," he offered with a sympathetic smile. "It's only your first day here and your brain thinks it's five hours later than it really is."
"Which means my poor body thinks it didn't get to sleep till three in the morning," Nan agreed.
"Give yourself a few days. You'll get into the swing of it. New York's got a lot of the same energy London does."
Nan nodded thoughtfully, sidestepping a sectioned-off construction area as she sipped at her tea. "I've noticed that. It's rather comforting, really. But it's a different sort of energy. Much more frenetic."
"Nan?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you think you're up for today?"
She glanced over at him and their eyes met, a look of mutual understanding passing between them. They were both thinking of their conversation last night as they had lain in their hotel room in the darkness, listening to the cars and the voices on the street.
"Yes, I'm sure, Jimmy. I promise." And Nan flashed him a smile that set his heart at ease, if only for a while.
She knew all about his marriage to Rosemary, of course; he had confessed that during their unforgettable, drunken night at the pub the week they met. In the past year and a half he had told her more--about meeting Rosemary for the first time and falling in love with her. He had explained in great detail their hasty courtship, the realization that he could never love Rosemary as much as she loved him, the deterioration of their marriage and his resolve to repair it, and then the final, cruel blow when she left. Nan knew of the pain and rage Jimmy had felt after his wife had gone.
Feeling a rush of sympathy, Nan moved closer to Jimmy as they walked, and took him by the hand. "It'll be okay, Jimmy. Really."
Rosemary Burke's arrival was a stunning jolt to the equilibrium of Nan and Jimmy's relationship. They had long ago settled into a steady rhythm of cohabitation, each of them slowly but surely dismantling the walls they had built around themselves after years of hurt and heartache. Their day-to-day life in London was full and exhausting and happy, with never a dull moment; whether they were working on the latest case, tracking down Nan's rebellious young cousin Paul, shopping for furniture in Notting Hill, or fielding questions on marriage from Nan's indulgent great-uncle and grandfather, every day seemed to offer yet another new take on the word 'happy'. They bickered often, but it was merely an extension of their fiery personalities, rather than any actual dissatisfaction; they had weathered changes in the LMPF, the move to a new flat closer to Nan's family, and the stroke that Nan's grandfather, Will, had suffered this past Christmas. Despite all that, the past year and a half had been incredibly happy for them both.
Jimmy felt the warm pressure of Nan's hand in his and reminded himself that they had been through worse than Rosemary Burke could dream up for them. As they walked, Jimmy's mind went back to shortly after his initial arrival in London, when he had begun to work with AMIT on a case involving Julian Westward, an investment millionaire with a penchant for blackmail and murder. The man had developed an obsession with Nan and had spirited her away in the dead of night, leading to days of heartbreaking worry for Jimmy and Nan's family, as well as for the other officers who were like family to Nan.
After a frightening period during which Nan was believed to be dead, she had finally been found, altered physically--with visible scarring on her face, as well as a persistent limp that months of physical therapy had not altered--but most of all spiritually. For months afterward, she had been a completely different Nan, frightened of every shadow, afraid to be left alone, plagued by nightmares involving Julian Westward holding a gun to her head.
Slowly but surely, and thanks in no small part to Jimmy's persistent love and attention, Nan had climbed back out of her shell and emerged once more as the Nan they all knew and loved, though she was now a trifle thinner and a great deal more cautious than she had once been. Jimmy thought back to those hard weeks as Nan recovered, and reminded himself that after that, the two of them could face anything.
They reached the steps of the precinct, and, ever-careful of propriety, dropped each other's hands. Climbing the stairs, they pushed through the doors and into the station, teeming with officers uniformed in the NYPD's stark, navy blue. There was a buzz in the air, and as Nan and Jimmy strode down the halls toward the STF meeting room, they were aware of an electrical undercurrent surging around them. Their suspicions were confirmed upon entering the meeting room. They immediately found the STF officers moving back and forth in what looked to be organized madness. Lou was rifling through a file cabinet, yanking out files and placing them in a haphazard piles, all the while murmuring to herself, "France...France...find 'France'...Aha!"
Kid was on the phone, barking orders impressively despite his pleasantly hazy Yorkshire accent. "Listen, McManus, I know this is short notice, but the team room must be ready by this afternoon...Look, I don't think you understand, mate--Look, get me your superior on the line...I don't care if it's bloody Father Christmas, so long as he's above you...You bet I'll hold." Grunting in impatience, Kid slapped the phone against his palm and returned it to his ear. "I'm in hell," he breathed, to no one in particular. "I didn't know they had hold music in hell."
Teaspoon was on another phone, and Rosemary on yet another. Other officers were gathering up papers and stuffing them in boxes, as if preparing to evacuate. Nan was staring at the scene with puzzlement written clearly across her features--to her it looked as if they were refugees gathering their belongings before being shoved out the door--but Jimmy was just grinning. He knew perfectly well what was going on. It was a slightly more frantic version of scenes he had borne witness to countless times with AMIT.
"I believe we have a Code Red on our hands, Nan," he remarked with a laugh.
Realization dawned on her, and she turned to him with a broad smile, rubbing her palms together. "D'you mean we're being sent out?"
"I'd say so. And if Kid's clearing a team room for us to have this afternoon, I'd say we're out of here pretty soon."
"Truer words were never spoken." The voice behind them was new to them both. When they whirled around they were face to face with a tall, lanky detective with freckles across the bridge of his nose and a straight-forward handsomeness that made him look as if he belonged in a catalogue advertising sweaters and warm winter coats. He flashed them both an easygoing smile and stuck out his hand. "Shane Rowling. I was out of the office yesterday, so I missed the introductions; but using my keen detective skills, I figure you must be Anna Kenworthy," he said, grinning at Nan, "and judging from the lack of an English accent," he said, turning to Jimmy, "you must be James Hickok."
"Nan," Nan replied, just as Jimmy added, "Call me 'Jimmy'."
"Nan and Jimmy," repeated Shane with a nod, committing the information to memory. "We got word just a few minutes ago. We're being sent to the twenty-eighth precinct, over on the Upper West side. A couple of fires have been linked to Elizabeth France and Frankie James."
The names had absolutely no effect on Nan other than causing mild curiosity, but Jimmy's face lit up at Shane's declaration. "Elizabeth and Frankie?" he exclaimed. "You're kidding me!"
"Nope." Shane's face reflected the same boyish grin. "One fire in the city, the other in Brooklyn; both properties linked back to Elizabeth France, which as you know--"
"Is tantamount to linking them to Frankie James," supplied Jimmy gleefully.
Nan laughed at their enthusiasm. They were like two little boys and she was certain that at any moment they were about to start bouncing on their heels. "I'm clueless," she said, "and I don't care for that feeling. Just who are Elizabeth France and Frankie James, and why are the names enough for you two to start dancing around the office?"
Shane and Jimmy turned to her, glaring indignantly. "We," Jimmy pronounced carefully, "were not dancing."
"Right." Nan snorted. "So who are they?"
Her words were met with a sharp request for attention from Rosemary at the front of the room. "All right, everybody, listen up!" she called, her voice carrying easily over the din of voices. Talk died away and all eyes turned to Rosemary, who stood with Teaspoon by her side. She was fixing each officer with a sharp gaze as she waited for absolute quiet. When all was still, she spoke again, "Since we have some new officers working with us today, I thought it would be wise to bring everyone up to speed on just who Elizabeth France and Frankie James are, and just why we're so desperate to catch them."
Crossing the room to stand with Lou, Nan listened attentively, trying to dissuade her skin from crawling at the sound of Rosemary's grating voice.
"They're two of New York's criminal elite," Rosemary continued, self-importance swelling every word. She spoke with the rhythm and cadence of someone who had practiced this speech a hundred times. "Ten years ago, Frankie James was just New York's answer to the Artful Dodger--a pickpocket first, and then a petty thief, and soon he had a small circle of thieves surrounding him, and before we knew it, he was the leader, and even the highest on the totem pole seemed to fear him."
As Rosemary continued to wax dramatic, mixing metaphors and instilling affectation into every word, a clearer picture of Elizabeth France and Frankie James began to form in Nan's mind. Frankie was ruthlessly ambitious; he had started at the bottom and worked his way to the top out of sheer necessity. He wanted nothing less than to be the most powerful and feared criminal leader in New York's underworld, and he had succeeded, probably beyond his own expectations.
The lowly thieves he had gathered around him were slowly picked off, one by one, dying mysteriously, or disappearing without a trace, until only one was left--the hardest and most merciless of them all: Elizabeth France. No one knew for certain if that was her real name, of course, just as no one knew for certain if Frankie James's name was real. The validity of the names wasn't important, at any rate; what was important was the power those names implied.
With Elizabeth at his side, Frankie had quickly grown in power. Soon he owned restaurants and clothing boutiques, jewelry stores and nightclubs. He had ties with the ruling bosses of many of the Mafia families, he contributed money and pulled strings in politics, starting with mayoral campaigns and steadily working his way up to gubernatorial campaigns. In short, there was nothing in New York City that Frankie James had not touched--but always from behind the protective shield of Elizabeth France, who, according to all reports, was as frightening, if not more so, than Frankie himself.
Nan saw it all immediately--the dark, shadowy presence of Frankie hidden behind Elizabeth, who seemed to stand out in sharp, fierce contrast. She saw them spreading their power and influence, sometimes slowly and gently, sometimes quickly and overwhelmingly, over those who were weaker.
Frankie and Elizabeth had been on the NYPD's Most Wanted list for years now, and had recently been added to the FBI's after their suspected involvement in the election of New York's Senator Mitchell Grandison. The two had been studied like specimens under a microscope, and still very little was known about either of them. A composite sketch had been made of Elizabeth, but no one had the slightest idea what Frankie looked like. He could have been tall or short, round or thin, redheaded or blonde, handsome or ugly; despite much speculation, no one knew. His face was as much a mystery as his rapid ascent to the highest circles of New York's criminal world, and Elizabeth was his only link. A line from a movie Nan had once seen flashed through her mind: 'One cannot be betrayed if one has no people.'
"In summation," finished Rosemary, head still swiveling around to be certain everyone was paying attention, "the NYPD--specifically, the STF--has been working toward Frankie James's capture for years now, and so far he has successfully evaded us. He's clever, he's dangerous, and he's elusive--three things that are working very much in his favor, and very much against ours. Somehow he's always managed to stay at least three steps ahead of us, and the minute we're on his trail, he's gone, and he's covered his tracks so well we haven't got one damn clue to go on. But now..." with a delighted chuckle, Rosemary slapped a stack of files down onto the table nearest her, tapping them with her forefinger. "Now we just might have him...Two fires in the past two weeks, the first in Manhattan, the second in Brooklyn, and they've both just been linked back to Elizabeth France."
There was a brief pause as each officer tried to digest this rapid flow of information. Even those who were all too familiar with Frankie and Elizabeth looked a bit dazed.
Then Teaspoon spoke up, shrugging in his easy-going way as he took in the expressions of his officers. "We might be close, folks, and we might not, but there's a damn good chance that we can get him this time. Majors and Waddell are putting us on the case."
"One question, Teaspoon," Buck ventured slowly, pointedly leaving Rosemary out of his respectful request. "We're obviously looking at this as arson, but are you saying we're looking at Frankie as the suspect? I mean, are we saying that a guy like Frankie James builds up an empire that puts Al Capone to shame, covers his tracks so well that for ten years it's all the NYPD can do to prove he even exists--and suddenly he's stupid enough to stick his neck out? And not only that, but he's stupid enough to torch his own property? Property that can be traced directly back to Elizabeth France? I don't buy it. I'm sorry, Teaspoon, but that sounds like a fool's errand to me."
While Rosemary scowled at Buck in frustration, Teaspoon was unable to stop the grin from spreading across his face. By God, he had trained these boys good. They questioned everything, even authority. It did a man proud.
Coughing to cover up the laughter that threatened to escape, Teaspoon replied, "The bottom line, son, is that no connection between Elizabeth France and Frankie James has ever been proven--in large part because we've never been able to pin that man down. Any connection right now is purely arbitrary; it would never hold up in a court of law. We've got to follow any leads that might take us to Frankie, because those leads might give us the proof we need. And I honestly wouldn't put it past that man to rid himself of a restaurant or two, if he thought they were bringing him down. Maybe the proprietors got a bit outta hand, and he had to rein them back in. A man like that, Buck, there's just no telling what he might do if he thought he had to do it. We've got to follow whatever leads we can get. If we wind up catching the actual perpetrator in the process, as well as Frankie, then so much the better."
The officers around him had remained still and silent. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Even Nan, Noah, and Ike, who had never heard of Frankie or Elizabeth until ten short minutes ago, were quietly brimming with anticipation.
"The twenty-eighth precinct is where Hugh Russell's office is located," Teaspoon said. "The case will be in Rosemary's hands, and mine, but Russell will be overseeing our work and observing Rosemary in an official capacity." He paused, and the grin finally won over his face. "Well? What are you waiting for? Let's move 'em on out, troops."
Nan caught Noah's eye across the roomful of officers. They both flashed each other grins of terror and elation before setting about helping the others pack up. Their thoughts were swarming with frenetic energy, too excited to concentrate on any one of the many new things they were now being faced with.
Their first case with the New York Police Department's Special Task Force had begun.
The 28th precinct was situated in Manhattan's affluent Upper West Side, mere blocks away from Central Park. The STF was ushered into the spacious team room where they immediately began to set up camp, looking as if they were moving in for the duration. Ike, Cody, and Joe Anello had seized control of three of the computers and were typing furiously, searching the NYPD's intranet sites, pulling up the latest information on Frankie and Elizabeth. Teaspoon and Rosemary were exchanging heated words over who should have the rights to the one available office, and the other officers were trying not to trip over each other as they each vied for the best desk.
Searching around him, Kid looked
from face to face, realizing that Lou was nowhere to be found. He grabbed Buck's
arms as he swept past with a load of boxes in his hands. "Buck, have you
seen Lou?"
Buck shrugged. "Not in the past ten minutes, no."
"Are you sure?"
"It's kind of a madhouse right now, Kid, I'm sure she'll turn up."
"She wasn't feeling well when we left the house this morning." Kid's brow furrowed.
"I wouldn't worry about it," Buck assured him. Then he grimaced under the weight of the boxes. "Look--Kid, I've gotta--"
Kid realized Buck was straining to remain upright under the load he carried. "Oh, sure, sure. Sorry. I'll just go--I'll just go look for her."
Running a hand through his sandy curls, he spun on his heel and headed out of the team room, leaving Buck to shake his head as he went. It was funny the way Kid was always looking out for Lou, worrying over her if given the slightest opportunity. He was obviously crazy about her--as evidenced by his decision to pack up and move to another country to be by her side--but his constant worry and caution seemed to be trying Lou's patience these days. Lately she had been looking peaked, with dark circles under her weary brown eyes and a constant expression of fatigue tightening her mouth. Some of the officers had overheard her exchanging heated words with Kid, who had only seemed puzzled at her anger. After a blissful year of cohabitation, Buck wondered if 'love's young dream'--as Ike had once called them--were beginning to wear on each other.
Outside the team room, Kid began his search for Lou, concern darkening his eyes. She had been tired and cranky that morning, and when he had innocently told her he was finished with breakfast and was going to clean his teeth, she had snapped, "'Brush' your teeth, Kid, brush your teeth. Not 'clean' them, 'brush' them. You're not in England anymore, you know."
He had been too stunned to reply, and she had merely softened, hastening an apology and kissing him. He had kissed her back to show her she hadn't upset him, but he couldn't hide the bewilderment he felt; the bewilderment he had been feeling a lot lately.
Along with the sudden weariness that seemed to be sapping Lou of her usual energy and vitality, and her recent loss of appetite, she had become inordinately irritated with any mentions of England. She didn't always snap at him, but her jaw would tighten and she would immediately change the subject. Kid was perplexed; Lou had her moods like anyone else, but these sudden swift changes in temperament were puzzling. When paired with the physical changes, it was enough to set Kid's heart racing with worry.
He found her in the lounge area, chatting with another STF officer, Abbie Narducci, and a young man about his own age who seemed vaguely familiar. He was had thick, dark red hair and a broad smile, and he was standing close to Lou's side, gazing at her with affection shining from his dancing eyes. Lou was talking and laughing, reaching out occasionally to tap the man's arm or shoulder for emphasis. She seemed livelier than she had in days. As Kid drew closer, his stomach twisted in knots. He tried to tell himself he had no reason to be nervous, but the easy chemistry between this man and Lou was evident.
"Louise?" he asked hesitantly as he stopped just behind her.
Abbie grinned at him. "Hey, Kidwell!"
"Kid!" Lou twirled around, laughing and grabbing his arm, her eyes shining as she looked at him. "I'm so glad you're here. I have someone I'd like you to meet." With one hand still on Kid, she reached for the man next to her and said, "This is Flynn Malone. Flynn, this is Andrew Kidwell."
Flynn's face lit up with obvious pleasure. He grabbed Kid's hand and shook it enthusiastically. "It's great to meet you."
Kid smiled faintly in reply and nodded, but could not yet muster a return greeting. That was why he had seemed familiar--a faded, yellowing photograph of a teenage boy with that same red hair and wide smile was framed and sitting on Lou's desk at home. Flynn Malone. The name had nagged at Kid's consciousness for nearly a year now. A friend of Lou's from her childhood in the orphanage, whose family had taken her in and treated her as their own. A young man she had grown up with, who had been her friend and companion and protector...who had been her first kiss.
Kid swallowed hard, telling himself it was ridiculous to be jealous of a kiss that had been shared more than ten years ago. Ten years ago he had been kissing Dorie Simmons behind the school gymnasium; should Lou be jealous of that? Ridiculous. The trouble was, when Lou had told him about Flynn, even after all this time her voice had been heavy with affection for the young man who had been her first love and her most loyal friend. They were seldom in contact these days, and Flynn had married his college sweetheart two years ago, but it was clear from everything Lou said that the bond she shared with Flynn Malone wasn't one that could be broken by trifles like time and distance.
Now Kid smiled back at Flynn and tried to conjure up even the tiniest bit of enthusiasm in response to the other man's friendly greeting. Lou was still gazing at her old friend with happiness practically bursting from her eyes; despite the wedding ring adorning his left hand, Abbie eyed him with an appreciative glance.
Flynn Malone was tall, with wiry muscles and a handsome, ruddy face. The dark red hair, coupled with the merry green eyes and smattering of freckles seemed to suggest that he had only recently stepped off the boat from Ireland. Upon closer inspection Kid noted that Flynn's wedding ring was not a traditional, simple gold band, but instead was a silver Claddagh ring from Ireland, the crown pointed down to indicate he was taken. Kid knew, from Lou's stories, that Flynn was second-generation Irish-American, but he hadn't expected him to look the part as much as he did.
"Flynn's representing the Bureau of Fire Investigation," Lou told Kid. "He's been assigned to work with the STF on the Frankie James case."
"It's been quite a while, but I'm always glad for the chance to work with Teaspoon Hunter and his merry men," quipped Flynn with a laugh. "Speaking of which," he motioned to the hallway, "should we head on over to Sherwood Forest?"
Kid cracked a grin then, letting Flynn's inherent friendliness put him at ease. His guard was still up, but it was impossible not to relax around this man. Abbie and Flynn began to lead them out of the lounge and down the hall, with Lou and Kid trailing at their heels.
"Are you feeling all right, love?" Kid asked her quietly.
Lou glanced up at him, a flash of apprehension crossing her features. "Yeah, fine."
"I just wondered...I mean, you were a bit green at the gills this morning."
"I'm fine, Kid," she said sharply.
"Okay." Kid beat a hasty retreat from this turn in the conversation. "So...Flynn Malone," he said and then stopped, hoping she would take her cue and pick the subject up from there.
Lou just nodded in reply, smiling to herself.
"I reckon you didn't expect to see him here," pressed Kid, feigning a chuckle.
"Well," a smile played at the corners of Lou's mouth, "I kind of hoped I would. The Bureau officers kind of rotate in cases like this; I heard through the grapevine it might be Flynn's turn." She paused, laughing softly. "I'm glad it was."
"He's a great bloke," Kid said.
"Yeah, he is."
"You're glad to see him."
"Of course I am." Her tone was pleasant. "I told you I hated that he and I lost touch. I mean, it was inevitable really--His job takes up his time, and my job takes up mine, and then he married Leslie...I know these things happen--we both know--but it doesn't make it any easier. He's my friend. I missed him."
She sounded so plaintive that it touched Kid deeply. Obviously she had missed Flynn more than she had let on, and suddenly he was grateful that they had met up again like this. He was willing--more than willing--to push his own insecurities aside if it meant that Lou was happy. "We should have him over for dinner sometime."
"You mean that?"
"Sure I do. His wife as well." Pleased that they were back on friendlier ground, Kid unwittingly made a tactical error. Continuing, he said, "Provided you're up to it, of course."
"What does that mean?"
They had reached the team room. Abbie and Flynn had slipped in ahead of them, and now they were alone in the hall. The door shut in front of them with a loud clatter, and they turned to one another.
"What did you mean by that, Kid?"
"You've not been feeling well, that's all. And you've been--you've been a bit tetchy."
"'Tetchy'?"
"You know...irritable."
Anger lit up Lou's eyes and she poked Kid in the shoulder. "If you mean irritable, why not just say 'irritable'?"
"Well, this is a perfect example," he retorted. "Suddenly, a year later, you can't stand the way I talk?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm not being ridiculous. You've been acting really strangely this past fortnight, Lou--oh, excuse me, these past two weeks." Kid kept his voice at a carefully controlled level. He wasn't angry, he truly wasn't, but he was getting fed up. "First you were mopey and moony, and now you're biting my head off at every given opportunity." He paused, softening, reaching out to grasp her elbows in his hands. "Look...love...if you're not feeling well, just tell me. Maybe you need to take some time off, or--"
"I'm feeling fine." Lou's body relaxed at Kid's touch. She glanced up at him sheepishly. "I think it's just this heat…and stress. You know I get can get pretty keyed up. I've been running around trying to arrange things for Jimmy and Nan and Ike and Noah; I've been organizing the team room, gearing up for the next investigation. You know how I am..."
"I know, love." Relieved that yet another spat had been avoided, Kid drew her into his arms, tightening his hold around her. "You're knackered--excuse me, exhausted--"
"Kid, stop," protested Lou, slapping him across the chest with a laugh. "I'm sorry I said that. I love those cute little words you use in place of the real ones--"
"Okay, now you're just being condescending."
Giggling, Lou pulled away from Kid's embrace and smoothed her hair down, glad their bickering hadn't grown into a full-blown argument. She had felt testy and irritable lately, but she hadn't realized it had gotten to the point that Kid was actually worried about her. Lou sighed to herself. She was just feeling so damn tired these days. The simplest hike through Manhattan streets left her winded, she couldn't bear the thought of most of her favorite foods, and if she wasn't in bed by nine, she was a wreck the next day.
At first she had told herself she
was merely getting older, that she no longer had the boundless energy she had
once possessed; but as the days passed, she began to notice a steady routine
to her body's aches and pains and nausea. The thought terrified her, but she
was almost positive she was pregnant.
