“Lewis?” she murmured.
“Right here,” I said.
“Let’s . . . let’s start over, okay? No big words or promises tonight, or tomorrow night. Let’s just start over.”
I kissed her again.
“Absolutely.”
She sighed. “A man who says yes instead of debating or arguing. A man like that deserves a back rub.”
“No argument here.”
So I turned over and stretched out, and she straddled my back, saying, “Christ, it’s cold doing this.”
“Then do it later.”
“Hush, I’m going to do it now.”
“Well, you could put some clothes on.”
Her soft yet strong hands paused on my shoulders. “Really? Did you just say you wanted me to get dressed?”
“Forget it,” I said. “You saw me, I’ve been drinking.”
“So you have.”
Paula’s hands were smooth and sure, and I just relaxed under her gentle weight and her moving hands, not wanting to think much of anything, just reveling in her touch, the sensation of the bed underneath, and the pleasant scent of long hours of lovemaking.
I was hard-pressed to recall such a wonderful time.
She murmured and moved her hands lower, and I was starting to zone out. Not falling asleep, mind you, just being in a comfortable daze, and that went on for a bit.
Then she stopped.
She stopped.
“Lewis?”
I guess I was groggy because I didn’t answer right away, and she slid off me, laid down next to me, and said, “Are you awake?”
“Yep.”
“Oh.”
I could smell her breath. It smelled of her and the wine.
Paula stayed quiet.
I was now wide awake.
“Paula?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, sliding her hand over my skin again. “I . . . I found a lump. Underneath your skin. Right below the right shoulder blade.”
Everything now seemed frozen in place, with me knowing that a dark and wide door was now opening up in front of me.
“Lewis.”
“Right here.”
“Did you know there was a lump there?”
“No,” I said. “I can’t reach back that far.”
Now my laggardness, my lack of energy, my feeling that something was off, now it all made sense.
I reached up and grabbed her and rolled her over in bed with me. Rain started, battering against my bedroom windows, even the one with the perfectly round hole in it. She kissed me and in a shaky voice said, “I remember the drill. You need to see a doctor, right away. Because of what happened to you, back at that training exercise when you were in the Department of Defense. It’s serious, isn’t it?”
I kissed her back. Thought of my dead coworkers that day in the high Nevada desert, remembered that sharp pang of survivor’s guilt that often just stirred itself inside of me, just to remind me of something.
Debts must be paid.
Always.
“That’s right,” I said.
“So shouldn’t you go to the ER now? I mean, I know it’s late, but every minute might count. Am I right?”
The March rain was coming down heavier. “Tell you what,” I said. “Will you stay here with me tonight, ride out the storm? And I’ll go in the morning.”
“You promise? First thing in the morning?’
“That’s right.”
She squeezed me tight. “Yes. Yes, I will.”
“Thanks.”
So the two of us spent the night that way, holding each other, as the outside storm battered my old house, still standing, still safe.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
For this, my tenth novel in the Lewis Cole series, I’d like to extend my thanks and appreciation to my fans and readers who have given me so much joy, encouragement, and feedback over the years. Thanks go as well to Portsmouth Police Chief Stephen DuBois and Superintendent Stephen Church of the Rockingham County (N.H.) Department of Corrections for their technical advice. I’d also like to thank my wife, Mona Pinette, and other members of my family, as well as the great staff at Pegasus Books: Claiborne Hancock, Jessica Case, Iris Blasi, Maia Larson, Katie McGuire, and Maria Fernandez. And, as always, thanks to Otto Penzler, truly the most interesting man in the world.
STORM CELL
Pegasus Books Ltd.
148 W 37th Street, 13th Floor
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2016 by Brendan DuBois
First Pegasus Books cloth edition November 2016
Interior design by Maria Fernandez
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part
without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote
brief excerpts in connection with a review in a newspaper, magazine, or electronic
publication; nor may any part of this book be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,
or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or other, without written permission from the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
ISBN: 978-1-68177-233-2
ISBN: 978-1-68177-279-0 (e-book)
Distributed by W. W. Norton & Company
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