Eleventh Hour

She still hadn’t come to a decision about what to do. She knew she couldn’t be a homeless person forever; it wasn’t any sort of solution at all, but what she would do, she just didn’t know yet. “You made a deal. Keep your questions to yourself.”
    He shrugged, and she knew he was irritated, probably more than irritated. He changed lanes to avoid being stuck behind an eighteen-wheeler. He looked over at her, his expression serious. “I’m sorry, but the shit will hit the fan. It’s coming. Okay, no more questions, but when you’re ready to tell me, just let me know.”
    She said nothing, just stared at the dashboard.
    “I want to thank you, Nick, for the way you’ve stuck with me over the last days. It’s—it’s been difficult, and you really helped me.”
    She nodded. “It’s hard to believe that so little time has passed. It’s been very hard for you.”
    “Yes.” He was silent, to keep control. Damnation, it was so hard. He said, “It’s been difficult for you as well.”
    She said, surprising him, “I remember when my father died—it was in a hunting accident—some idiot took him for a deer up in northern Michigan. Death like that, so sudden, so unexpected, you just can’t figure out how to deal with it.”
    “Yes,” Dane said, eyes on the road in front of him. “I know. How old were you when your dad died?”
    “Nearly twenty-two. It was really bad because my mom had died just two years before. Sure, I had lots of friends, but it’s just not the same thing.”
    He said slowly, “I never really thought of you as a friend.”
    She felt a punch of hurt at his words. “I would have thought that we’ve been through enough to be friends, haven’t we?”
    “You misunderstand me,” Dane said. “No, I didn’t think of you as a friend precisely, I thought of you as someone who was there for me, who understood, someone important.”
    She was silent for a moment, but to Dane it seemed an aeon had passed before she said, “Maybe I agree with you.”
    Dane smiled as he slowed for a car coming onto the freeway. “Hey, you got any relatives at all?”
    “Yes, two younger brothers, both Air Force pilots. They’re in Europe. All these questions. Are you trying to trip me up? Is this one of your famous FBI strategies to make a perp spill her guts?”
    “Nah. If I wanted to interrogate you, I’d be so subtle, so consummately skilled that you wouldn’t even be aware of what I was doing.”
    “I’ve also got two uncles who drill for oil in Alaska.”
    “I’m sorry about your folks.”
    “Thank you. I think they were both surprised when I ended up with a Ph.—Well, that’s not important.”
    Yeah, right, he thought. “What do you think of Savich and Sherlock?”
    “Sherlock showed me a photo of Sean. He’s adorable.”
    “Sean is nearly a year old now, running all over the place, jabbering a language that Savich claims is an advanced code used in rocket science. I’m Uncle Dane, only it doesn’t come out that way.”
    “They’ve been here less than twenty-four hours—it’s like I’ve known them for much, much longer. Sort of like you, only not exactly.”
    “I know what you mean.”
    “How long have you been an FBI agent?”
    “Six years now. I came out of law school, went to a big firm, and hated it. I knew what I wanted to do.”
    “A lawyer. I wouldn’t have guessed.”
    “You mean I don’t look slimy?”
    “Close enough.” A lawyer, that was all she needed. Both a lawyer and an FBI agent. She’d nearly spilled the beans about her Ph.D. It looked like he didn’t even need to exert himself particularly to get information out of her.
    Nick didn’t tell him anything more about herself, eventually just looked out her window at the passing vegetation that was getting greener as they gained altitude.
    They finally arrived at Bear Lake. Set amid groves of pine trees, up a beautiful long sloping lawn that stretched up about fifty yards from Bear Lake, was a lovely old two-story building of weathered wood, each room featuring glass doors and a small terrace that gave onto the lake. There were several piers that went some fifty feet out into the calm blue water, where half a dozen canoes and several powerboats were tied up. Lovely white-painted chairs and benches were scattered over the manicured lawn. But it was winter, and even though it was in the high fifties today, no one was outside to appreciate it.
    They left their rented cherry-red Pontiac Grand Am in a