by Неизвестный
He stood, took her hands.
She kissed him lightly. “Sit. You shouldn’t be standing.”
“I’m fine, Kate.” But they sat down next to each other, hands entwined. “Well?” he asked, surprisingly impatient.
“I have two choices. I can quit, no repercussions except I can’t work in law enforcement or on a computer for two years. I’d be a civilian again. Or, I can be on probation and earn back my rank.”
“Probation?”
“I have to go through the Academy. Sixteen weeks.” She groaned. “It was hard the first time around.”
“You’re smarter now.”
“The tests didn’t throw me. Do you know how many miles I have to run each day?”
“You’re in great shape.”
“I was in better shape when I was twenty-three.”
“So that’s it? Go through the Academy again and you’re reinstated?”
“Well, I can’t go in the field for a year. They want me to teach e-crimes at Quantico.”
A huge weight lifted from Dillon’s heart. She was free. He’d been so terrified she’d go to prison, no matter what Quinn Peterson had told him.
“Jeff Merritt admitted he’d pulled backup off our meeting and then covered it up. He resigned.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Sixteen weeks is a long time. I’d only be able to see you on Sundays, if that.”
He kissed her. “I’ll be here every Sunday.”
“You would?”
He nodded. “I love you, Kate.”
She relaxed, rested her head on his shoulder.
“What do you want to do?” he asked her again.
She paused, thinking. “I’d like to go back. I think I have something to offer.”
“I know you have something to offer. When do you have to start?”
“Monday.”
“That gives us a week.”
“Enough time for a little vacation in San Diego. I think your family misses you.” She frowned. “How’s Patrick?”
Dillon looked over at a statue of a man he didn’t know. Possibly J. Edgar Hoover himself, or maybe a military war hero.
“He’s still in a coma.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Kate.”
She sighed uneasily. “Maybe not, but you love him and I hate that you’re hurting inside.”
“Patrick is strong. The doctor’s believe he’ll have a full recovery. Sometime.” But with each passing day, the chances he’d come out of the coma grew slimmer. “Lucy’s with him every day.”
“Do you think that’s okay? For her?”
“I don’t know. She seems to be holding it together. And maybe—maybe he’s the only one she can talk to.”
Kate leaned into him, swallowing heavily. Her tension filled Dillon’s own body and he shifted in his seat, forcing her to look him in the eye.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to take you from your family. They love you so much.”
“Do you love me, Kate?”
She stared at him, startled. “How can you ask me that? I told you I do.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes I did! I told you last night after we made love—”
“Actually,” he interrupted, “it was while we were making love and I don’t count that. Look me in the eye.”
She did. He saw worry there. But he also saw her love.
“I love you, but—”
“No buts. Tell me again.”
She started to smile. “I love you.”
“Good. Then we’ll make it work.”
“But—”
“Shh.”
“Dillon, are you sure?”
“I’ve been a forensic psychiatrist for eleven years. I’ve had my hand in some high-profile cases. I think I might be able to find a job on the East Coast. Besides, Lucy is starting Georgetown in two months. I think I’d like to be here while she is.”
Kate looked relieved. “Maybe it will all work out.”
“I know it will all work out.”
Dillon took her face in his hands, kissed her. “Let’s start our vacation right now.”
“You want to get a flight back to San Diego?”
“No, that can wait a few days. I want to get back to the hotel.” He kissed her again, holding her lips hostage for a long minute.
“Um,” she murmured. “That’s nice.”
“That’s an understatement.”
* * *