Deadline (Sandra Brown)

these days.”
    “It’s good for you.”
    “Stress reliever?”
    “So they say.”
    “Maybe,” Headly mumbled. “At least it gives me something to look forward to each day.”
    “You’ve got plenty to look forward to.”
    “Yeah. Old age and dying.”
    “Better not let Eva hear you talking like that.”
    Headly grumbled something unintelligible into his tumbler as he took another sip.
    Dawson said, “Don’t be so negative. Give yourself time to adjust. It’s been less than a month.”
    “Twenty-five days.”
    “And counting, obviously.” Dawson sipped the liquor. He wanted to chug it.
    “Hard to come to a dead stop after being in the Bureau all of my adult life.”
    Nodding sympathetically, Dawson felt the warmth of the bourbon curling through his gut, settling his nerves, which the pill hadn’t yet had time to do. “Your retirement doesn’t become official until…when?”
    “Four more weeks.”
    “You had that much vacation time saved up?”
    “Yep. And I’d have just as soon sacrificed it and stayed on the job for as long as possible.”
    “Use this time as a period of adjustment between your demanding career and a life of leisure.”
    “Leisure,” he said morosely. “Soon as my retirement is official, Eva’s got us booked on a two-week cruise. Alaska.”
    “Sounds nice.”
    “I’d rather someone pull out my fingernails with pliers.”
    “It won’t be that bad.”
    “Easy to say when you don’t have to go. Eva’s ordered me a prescription of Viagra to take along.”
    “Hmm. She wants you to make up for all the nights you couldn’t come home?”
    “Something like that.”
    “What’s the downside? Knock yourself out.” Dawson raised his glass.
    Headly acknowledged the toast and, after a moment, asked, “So, how’d it go with Dragon Lady?”
    Dawson told him about the meeting and the story Harriet had assigned him.
    “Blind balloonists?”
    Dawson shrugged.
    Headly leaned against the back cushion of his chair and studied him for an uncomfortable length of time.
    Irritated by the scrutiny, Dawson said, “What? You got a comment about my hair, too?”
    “I’m more concerned about what’s going on inside your head than what’s growing out of it. What’s the matter with you?”
    “Nothing.”
    Headly just looked at him, not having to say anything.
    Dawson left his chair and moved to the window, flipping open the shutters and looking out onto the well-manicured patch of lawn. “I talked to Sarah when I passed through London.”
    The Headlys’s daughter was older than he, but, while growing up, the two families had spent so much time together that they’d been much like brother and sister, grudgingly caring about each other. She and her husband lived in England, where they worked for an international bank.
    “She told us you’d ‘passed through’ without staying long enough to go see them.”
    “Flight schedule didn’t allow time.”
    Headly harrumphed as if he didn’t accept that as a plausible excuse to forgo a visit. And it wasn’t.
    “Begonias are thriving.”
    “They’re impatiens.”
    “Oh. How’s the—”
    “I asked you a question,” Headly said with annoyance. “What’s the problem? And don’t tell me ‘nothing.’”
    “I’m fine.”
    “Like hell you are. I watched a zombie movie on TV last night. You’d fit right in.”
    Dawson sighed over his godfather’s tenacity. He didn’t turn around, but he propped his shoulder against the window frame. “I’m tired is all. Spend nine months in Afghanistan—trust me, it’ll wear you out. Hostile terrain. Temperature extremes. Bugs that bite. No booze. No women except for the service members, and hooking up with one of them is tricky. A good way for both partners to get into some seriously deep shit. Hardly makes getting laid worth the hassle.”
    “You’ve had time since you got back to find an obliging lady.”
    “Ah, but there’s a problem with that.” He closed the shutters, turned around, and grinned. “You got the last great girl.”
    The levity fell flat. The worry line between Headly’s thick eyebrows didn’t relax.
    Dropping the pretense, Dawson returned to the chair, spread his knees, and stared at the floor.
    Headly asked, “Are you sleeping?”
    “It’s getting better.”
    “In other words, you’re not.”
    Dawson raised his head and said testily, “It’s getting better. It’s not easy jumping back into the thick of things, returning to an ordinary