Eleventh Hour

walked beside Nick toward their car, “Captain DeLoach said that he told his son he wouldn’t keep quiet anymore and his son hit him. I wonder what he meant by that?”
    “I’m beginning to think we should try the Oracle at Delphi.”
    He laughed. “Not a bad idea.”
    “I just realized, I’m really hungry. Do you think we could stop at a Mexican place on the way back to LA?”
    “Sure can.”

    Dane walked into Nick’s connecting room at the nicely updated Holiday Inn, not far from Premier Studios on Pico.
    She was on the phone. She hadn’t heard him, she was so intent on the call.
    He stopped cold. Who was she speaking to?
    “Listen,” he heard her say, “I’m calling from the Los Angeles Times. My editor asked me to check out for sure whether he was traveling west. Does his schedule include either San Francisco or Los Angeles?”
    She sensed him, there was no other word for it, and whipped around. She met his eyes, and quietly eased the phone back into the cradle.
    “I can get the number from the hotel clerk, but it would be easier if you just broke down and told me what’s going on.”
    Nick felt a corrosive fear leap to life. She wanted to cover up with a dozen blankets or run as fast as she could.
    “Go away.”
    He sat down beside her on the queen-size bed, picked up her hands, and held them between his. She had nice hands, short nails, no rings. The skin was smooth again. Her hair was half-dry and she was wearing a bit of lip gloss. Nice mouth, too. No, he wouldn’t go there. He said, looking at her straight in the face, “Listen to me, there’s a lot going on here, and on top of it all, here you are scared out of your mind about—whatever. Why won’t you let me help you? My brain can handle more than one thing at a time. I can multitask as well as a woman. Come on, trust me, Nick.”
    She suddenly looked very tired, and flattened, yes, defeated. She looked desperately alone.
    Very slowly, he pulled her against him. He felt the panic rise in her, but he didn’t do anything at all but hold her, give her what comfort he could. He said against her damp hair, which smelled just like his, since they both had used the hotel shampoo, which had a girlie-girl smell, floral and soft, “You’ve seen firsthand that there’s lots of bad stuff and bad people in the world. But you know what? Some of it we can actually do something about. We’re going to catch the man who killed all those people, my brother included.” He stopped. If and when she was ready to tell him about herself, then she would. Maybe it was all a matter of trust. So be it. No more pushing. He said only, “I’m here for you, Nick.”
    “Yes, and so is the murderer, and he’s already tried to have me killed. I want to leave, Dane. You don’t need me anymore.”
    “It’s too late, Nick.” He raised his finger and lightly touched it to the Band-Aid that covered the bullet graze. “That’s the whole point. Milton failed so the guy who hired him will try again, count on it. You need me, if for nothing else, as a bodyguard.”
    “Everything is rotten,” she said. “All of it, just plain rotten.”
    “I know. But we’ll take care of things. Trust me on that. Hey, rotten is my stock-in-trade. I get a paycheck because of rotten. It gives me motivation.”
    She fell silent. She didn’t move either, just let him pull her close and hold her. She felt the core of steadiness in him, felt how solid he was, physically, and his heart, that was solid, too. She knew he was a rock, that once this man gave his word, you could bet the bank on it.
    She thought of Father Michael Joseph, his face identical to Dane’s, but he was dead now. She knew Dane was alone with that and she knew he was battling each hour, each day, just to get through. Here she was leaning on him, and he was comforting her. Who did he lean on?
    “I’m all right,” she said, slowly pulling away from him. She looked at him then and lightly laid her palm against his cheek. “You are an estimable man, Dane. I am so very sorry about your brother.”
    He closed down, and his face went blank, because he had to hold himself together.
    “I would appreciate it,” she said, standing, straightening the sweater he’d picked out for her the previous Friday, a lovely V-necked sweater, deep red, that she was wearing over a white blouse, “if you wouldn’t try to find out who I was speaking to.”
    She saw in his eyes that he wasn’t going to ask the front desk. At