9

His single hope all the way home was that Maggie had not come over after all, but one quick look through the garage door windows shot that down. Her Bronco with its "SHE-PIG" license sat parked in his side. I'm dead.

He crossed his fingers and silently climbed the outside steps. Maybe she had fallen asleep waiting and did not realize how late he was.

No such luck. The door opened even before his key touched the lock. Maggie stood in the opening, fully dressed.

Garreth opened his mouth. Only no words came out except a guilt-stricken: "Maggie . . ."

"Garreth!" She threw her arms around him. "Where the hell have you been?"

He gaped at her in surprise. "You're not angry?"

"Angry? Of course I am. I'm furious. I've been frantic. My god, you feel like ice. Come in and get out of those clothes and into a hot shower this instant." Hauling him in by the shirt front, she shut the door and began unbuttoning his uniform shirt. "When you didn't come home, I called the office. Doris said you'd left ages ago and she was worried because you'd left both your jacket and slicker and when she looked out at the parking lot, your car was still there, too. Where did you go?"

The scent of her blood curled around him, bringing up the taste of the girl's blood in his mouth. He pulled loose and bolted around her for the bathroom. "Just walking. Did Doris tell you about the accident I worked tonight?"

She followed him. "She told me. Walking where, for god's sake? I got dressed and drove all over town, too. You weren't anywhere."

The smell of her was making him dizzy with longing. He shut the door between them. "I ended up in the cemetery."

"Again? Why? Isn't that what we have each other for, to talk to and work out these job stresses?"

"Yes, but . . . I forgot you were here."

As soon as the words were out he wanted to kick himself. Open big mouth; insert big flat foot. An ominous silence answered from the other side of the door. Garreth stripped off his clothes and jumped into the shower.

The bathroom door banged opened. Magpie jerked back the shower curtain and turned off the water. "You forgot I was here?" she said quietly.

He grimaced. "I'm sorry."

The blue eyes bored into him. "What else happened besides the accident?"

"I don't know what you mean." He could not talk about the writer and bloodmobile with her.

Her lips tightened. "Okay, you want to shut me out, I guess I can't do anything about it."

The hurt in her voice ran through his gut like a knife. "Maggie, I'm not—"

"Yes you are," she said sadly. "You always do. Somewhere in every one of our conversations there's a wall and part of you is shut away on the other side. You're very skilled at putting up diversions to hide the wall, like when you worm out of dinner invitations, but I see it anyway. I keep hoping that one of these times we'll mean enough to each other that the wall will come down. But maybe not."

He hugged himself. "Maggie, I'm sorry." He wanted to hug her, to take her in his arms and soothe her hurt and somehow make it up to her for not loving her as well as she deserved, but the scent of her blood beat at him. He was afraid to touch her. "I don't know what else to say."

She sighed. "I don't either, Garreth. Maybe until we do—"

"Maybe what we both need is sleep," he interrupted. "There's that movie in Bellamy you've been wanting to see."

"Witness."

"Yes. Why don't we go Monday, just have a good time, and then we can talk afterward."

She stared hard at him for several minutes before replying, but finally she nodded. "All right; we can try."

When she had gone Garreth turned the cold faucet and leaned back against the stall with the icy water pelting him. We can try. Her tone held no optimism. He bit his lip. He was going to lose her. It would be better for her, but . . . he would lose one of his fragile ties with humanity, and he would have nothing to come home to but the apartment and the ghosts waiting there.

Lane's laughter echoed in his head.