He hung up his coat and gun, went into the kitchen, saw Cindy at the table exactly as he’d pictured her.
Her head was bent over her laptop, eyes obscured by the blond curls falling across her face, fingers dancing over the keys. She paused, turned, lifted her face for a kiss, and, after getting a peck, said, “Everything okay?”
“Had a completely terrible day is all.” Cindy said, “Did anyone die?”
“No.”
“Shots fired?”
He laughed. “Has to be a shooting for it to be a bad day?”
“Then — can you tell me about it later, Richie, because I’ve got to get this done.”
“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll see you in bed.”
Conklin opened the fridge, got out a couple of frozen dinners, put them in the microwave. While the microwave turned the turkey dinners into something resembling hot meals, he went into the bathroom and got in the shower.
Nothing like hydrotherapy at the end of the day. He thought about Jacobi saying if Rich didn’t walk away from his front door, he was going to throw some shots through it.
That scene was followed by Brady chewing him out, chewing Lindsay out too, saying that they had royally screwed the pooch and were off the surveillance detail.
And he thought about Lindsay being a bitch and accusing him of cheating on Cindy, which was the last thing he’d ever do in his life.
Yes, it had been a crap day. All the way around.
Conklin got out of the shower, put on a pair of shorts, and went to the kitchen, where Cindy was still absorbed in whatever she was doing that left almost no time for him.
He pulled the plastic film off the dinners, asked, “What are you working on?”
“The Chron website. They gave me a blog.”
“A blog, huh?”
“Tons of mail coming in on Revenge. Do you have anything I can use?”
“Negative,” said Conklin. “Whatever is less than negative.”
“Okay,” Cindy said, tapping at the keys.
“Jeez, don’t quote me, Cindy. I’m off duty.”
“I wasn’t quoting you.”
“Good.”
Conklin sat down at the table, cleaned his plate, guzzled half a liter of Pepsi, and then finished off a half-full container of double chocolate ice cream, scraping the bottom with his spoon.
He watched Cindy as he ate. Her attention never broke. Bomb could go off across the street, and unless there was a story in it, she wouldn’t move.
He stood up, tousled her hair.
“I’m almost done,” she said.
Conklin went to bed. He was dozing when Cindy finally came into the bedroom and took off her clothes in the dark. She slid under the sheets without touching him.
Her breathing slowed and then deepened.
“Cindy?”