“Ready, Rachel? I’d like your opinion on the lab that was broken into.” His eyes flicked past us to the closed nursery door before coming back to us, his smile fading as he noticed Ceri’s tension. I was such a coward. “You want me to look at a crime scene? That’s a switch,” I said”

“Ready?" Tove asked without looking at me. He started walking before I answered."Duncan, you don't need to come with us," I told him as I hurried after Tove. Duncan followed me the way he always did, but he slowed."It's probably best if he does," Tove said, tucking his hair behind his ears."Why?" I asked, but Duncan smiled, excited to be included."We need someone to test on," Tove replied matter-of-factly, and Duncan's smile instantly faded.”

“You coming?” he asked her, leaning in through the door. And then he finally really looked at me. He came to a complete halt—not just his body, but his energy. His eyebrows went right up. “Oh,” he said. I sort of flicked my hem at him, assuming what I fondly considered an enigmatic look. “This okay?” I asked. “Oh,” he said again, stepping inside the house. The screen door hit him when it closed. “Yeah. Yeah, that works.” It kind of looked like he was beginning to sweat.”

“And don't pay attention to Christina. Your face doesn't look that bad." He smiles a little. "I mean, it looks good. It always looks good. i mean--you look brave. Dauntless." His eyes skirt mine, and he scratches the back of his head. The silence grows between us. It was a nice thing to say, but he acts like it means more than just words. I hope I am wrong. I could not be attracted to Al-- I could not be attracted to anyone that fragile. I smile as much as my bruised cheek will allow, hoping that will diffuse the tension.”

“That was close,"he said, helping himself to coffee.Yeah, you almost opened the door to Morelli."I wasn't talking about Morelli. I was talking about us."That too," I said.Ranger sliced a bagel and looked for the toaster.It's broken,"I told him.He truned the boiler on and slid the bagel into the oven.That's surprisingly domestic for a man of mystery," I said to him.He looked at me over the rim of his coffee mug. "I like things hot.”

“You need me, just whistle," he said as he arranged his ball cap over his eyes against the sun leaking through the frost-emptied branches."You're not coming?"Lifting the brim of his cap, he eyed me, "You want me to?" he asked blandly."Not really, no."He dropped the brim and laced his hands over his middle. "Then why are you bitching? It's a crime scene, not a grocery store.”