Blood Lines

Ms. Nelson, you were one of the best. How many citations was it? Two?
    'No, sir. Three."
    'Yes, good job. I can't imagine civilian life suits you as well."
    'Not as well, no." She adjusted her glasses and forced the corners of her mouth up. "But it's been… interesting."
    'Glad to hear it."

    Vicki let the closing door cut off her smile and, shrugging her bag onto her shoulder, she crossed the outer office, conscious of disapproving eyes on her back. Give it a break, lady , she thought upon safely reaching the reception area, before I forget which side I'm on and stuff my white hat up your nose .
    The visit could pretty much be considered a wasted effort; if George Zottie was being controlled by the mummy, she couldn't see it. Which may mean nothing more than it's a subtle son of a bitch. God, what I wouldn't give for a nice simple divorce case right about now, one where you start out with a photograph of the bad guy …
    The elevator chimed and she hurried to catch it before someone called it away. At first, she thought the man who pushed his way out as the doors opened was drunk, but an instant later she realized he was actually unwell. His skin had a grayish cast, sweat beaded his upper lip and forehead. One long-fingered, exquisitely manicured hand crushed his cashmere overcoat toward his stomach, the other groped blindly at the air.
    Vicki ducked under the moving arm and deftly guided him toward a chair. Fortunately he wasn't much larger than she was as, during the moment between standing and sitting, his entire weight came down on her shoulders. He murmured something in a language she didn't know, but as his looks placed his ethnic background in north Africa, Vicki assumed it was Arabic.
    Recognizing his condition could be adding years to her estimate, she placed his age at somewhere between thirty and forty. His facial features were uninspiring-two eyes, a nose, and a rather thin-lipped mouth in the usual arrangement-but even sick and unfocused as he was, he had a perceptible force of personality.
    Attempting to hold him steady, Vicki jerked around at an unfamiliar noise behind her and saw that the receptionist had just finished pulling back the thick maroon curtains that covered a wall of windows. With a convulsive shudder, the stranger fixed his gaze on the view-gray skies, the Coroner's Building, made of more pink extruded concrete, and a little farther on Police Headquarters-and seemed to relax.
    Frowning, Vicki let the receptionist adroitly take her place as ministering angel. As far as she could see, there wasn't anything especially comforting out the… Then she had it. "He's claustrophobic, isn't he?"
    'Very." The young woman had undone the top two buttons of the overcoat. "The elevator is sheer terror for him."
    'Yet he still uses it…"
    'He's very brave." Her expression grew slightly misty.
    'That will be enough, Ms. Evans." The older woman from the inner office advanced purposefully across the dark gray carpet, lowered brows demanding to know what Vicki was doing so close to such an important visitor. "Please, Mr.
    Tawfik, allow me."
    Vicki left before she threw up. Although , she mused, as she rode down in an elevator that suddenly seemed a lot smaller than it had, if this thing causes that violent a reaction and he keeps using it, he is very brave. Or moderately masochistic . While she had no idea of what sort of diplomatic position the stranger held, she wasn't surprised at the reactions he'd evoked. Something about him, in spite of his condition, reminded her of Henry.
    'Is there anything I can get you, Mr. Tawfik."
    'No. Thank you." Keeping his gaze firmly locked on the window and the space beyond it, he forced his breathing to calm. Gradually his heartbeat slowed and the spasms that twisted his gut into knots eased and finally stopped. He pulled a linen handkerchief from the pocket of his suit, fingers still slightly trembling, and wiped the sweat from his face.
    Then he frowned at the two women hovering an arm's length away. "There was a third…"

    'Merely a visitor, Mr. Tawfik. No one for you to concern yourself about."
    'I shall be the judge of that." Even in his distress her ka had held a certain familiarity. A flavor he had not quite been able to identify. "Her name?"
    'Nelson," the younger woman offered. "Victoria Nelson. Mr. Zottie knew her from when she was on the police force."
    No. Her name meant nothing to him. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he had touched her ka