Angels Fall

look at him. I could hand-feed him the soup du jour and not know the difference. I don't see how I'll ever… Oh my God."
    He saw it, too. In fact, he saw the bear a good ten seconds before she noticed it lumbering along. "He's not interested in you."
    "And you know that because you're a bear psychic?" It seemed so unreal she wasn't really scared. At least not actively. "God, he's really big."
    "I've seen bigger."
    "Good for you. Um, we're not supposed to run."
    "No. That would just entertain him until he caught up. Just keep talking, keep moving, just a little detour. Okay, he sees us."
    All right, she thought, starting to get really scared. Hello, bear. "And that's good?"
    She remembered the illustration in her guidebook of the suggested position for playing dead during a bear charge. It looked something like the child's pose in yoga.
    She could do that, no problem. She could easily fall right down on the ground, because if it charged, her legs were going to buckle anyway.
    before she could test the guidebook's veracity, the bear gave them a long look, turned its tail and walked away.
    "Mostly they're shy," Brody commented.
    "Mostly. Excellent. I think I need to sit down."
    "Just keep moving. Your first bear sighting?"
    "That close up and personal, yeah. I forgot to think about them." She rubbed a hand between her breasts to make certain her abruptly drumming heart stayed where it belonged. "To be bear-aware, like it says in my guide. Kinda breathless," she said and tapped her fingers to her chest again. "I guess he was beautiful, in a terrifying sort of way."
    "One thing. If there was a dead body nearby that he could scent, he'd have been more aggressive. So that means it's either not around here, or buried deep enough."
    Now she had to swallow, hard and deep. "More pleasant images for me. I'm definitely having that wine. A really big glass of wine."
     
    SHE FELT SAFER when she was back in the car. Safer, and ridiculously tired. She wanted a nap as much as she wanted the wine. A dim, quiet room, a soft blanket, locked doors. And oblivion.
    When he started the car she closed her gritty eyes for just a moment. And slid off the edge of fatigue into sleep.
     
    SHE SLEPT QUIET LY. Brody thought, not a sound, not a movement. Her head rested in that nook between the seat and the window, and her hands lay limp in her lap.
    What the hell was he supposed to do with her now?
    Since he wasn't entirely sure, he drove idly, taking impulsive detours to extend the trip back to town.
    She handled herself better than she gave herself credit for. At least that was his opinion. A lot of people wouldn't have gone back through what she had. He figured most would consider their duty done and over by reporting the crime.
    She didn't.
    Maybe because of what she'd lived through before. Or maybe it was just the way she was built.
    Checked herself into a psych hospital, he mused. And from the tone of her voice, he understood she thought of that as a kind of surrender.
    He saw it as courage.
    He also figured she considered her travels since Boston a kind of flight. He thought of it more as a voyage. Just as he considered his time since leaving Chicago. A flight was just fear and escape. A voyage? It was a passage, wasn't it? He'd needed that passage to dig in and do what he wanted, to live by his own terms, his own clock and calendar.
    From his point of view. Recce Gilmore was doing pretty much the same thing. She just carried a lot more baggage with her on the trip.
    He'd never been in fear for his life, but he could imagine it. Imagining was what he did. Just as he could imagine the panic of lying in pain and confusion in a hospital bed. The despair of doubting your own sanity. Add it all up, it was a lot for one person to handle.
    And she'd roped him in, which, wasn't easy to do. He wasn't the type to try to mend the broken wing of a baby bird. Nature took its course, and the less people interfered with it. the better.
    But he was sucked in now, and not just because he was a degree of separation away from witnessing a murder. Though that would have been enough.
    She pulled at him. Not her weaknesses, but the strength she struggled to find and use to fight them back. He had to respect that. Just as he had to acknowledge the low simmer of attraction.
    He never would've said she was his type. The mending steel of spine under the fragile shell. It made her needy yet, and he had no patience for needy women. Usually.
    He liked them smart and