“Ten-four,” Deborah said.
And I couldn’t help saying, “I feel so official when you say that.”
“What does that mean?” she said.
“Nothing, really,” I said.
She glanced at me, a serious cop look, but her face was still young and for just a moment it felt like we were kids again, sitting in Harry’s patrol car and playing cops and robbers—except that this time, I got to be a good guy, a very unsettling feeling.
“This isn’t a game, Dexter,” she said, because of course she shared that same memory. “Kyle’s life is at stake here.” And her features dropped back into her Serious Large-Fish Face as D E A R LY D E V O T E D D E X T E R
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she went on. “I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, but I care about that man. He makes m
e feel so— Shit. You’re getting married and you still won’t ever get it.” We had come to the traffic light at N.E. 15th Street and she turned right.
What was left of the Omni Mall loomed up on the left and ahead of us was the Venetian Causeway.
“I’m not very good at feeling things, Debs,” I said. “And I really don’t know at all about this marriage thing. But I don’t much like it when you’re unhappy.”
Deborah pulled off opposite the little marina by the old Herald building and parked the car facing back toward the Venetian Causeway. She was quiet for a moment, and then she hissed out her breath and said, “I’m sorry.”
That caught me a bit off guard, since I admit that I had been preparing to say something very similar, just to keep the social wheels greased. Almost certainly I would have phrased it in a slightly more clever way, but the same essence. “For what?”
“I don’t mean to— I know you’re different, Dex. I’m really trying to get used to that and— But you’re still my brother.”
“Adopted,” I said.
“That’s horseshit and you know it. You’re my brother. And I know you’re only here because of me.”
“Actually, I was hoping I’d get to say ‘ten-four’ on the radio later.”
She snorted. “All right, be an asshole. But thanks anyway.”
“You’re welcome.”
She picked up the radio. “Doakes. What’s he doing?”
After a brief pause, Doakes replied, “Looks like he’s talking on a cell phone.”
Deborah frowned and looked at me. “If he’s running, who’s he going to talk to on the phone?”
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J E F F L I N D S A Y
I shrugged. “He might be arranging a way out of the country. Or—”
I stopped. The idea was far too stupid to think about, and that should have kept it out of my head automatically, but somehow there it was, bouncing off the gray matter and waving a small red flag.
“What?” Deborah demanded.
I shook my head. “Not possible. Stupid. Just a wild thought that won’t go away.”
“All right. How wild?”
“What if— Now I did say this was stupid.”