London Bridges

getting smaller and smaller, until he disappeared as I turned the corner of his street. I could still feel Alex’s little body pressing against mine. I can still feel it now.

Chapter 99
    A LITTLE BEFORE eight that night I sat alone at the dimly lit bar inside the Kingfish Café on Nineteenth and Mercer in Seattle. I was lost in thoughts about my youngest son—all of my children, really—when Jamilla rolled into the restaurant.
    She had on a long black leather car coat, with a dark blouse and black skirt, and she smiled brilliantly when she saw me sitting there at the bar, maybe looking as good to her as she did to me. Maybe. The thing about Jamilla is that she’s pretty but doesn’t seem to know it, at least to believe it. I had mentioned I was coming to Seattle, and Jam said she’d fly up to have dinner with me.
    At first I hadn’t been sure it was a good idea, but that was wrong, all wrong. I was incredibly happy to see her, especially after leaving Alex.
    “You look good, Sugar,” she whispered against my cheek. “But you do seem a little beat-up, darling. You’re working too hard. Burning the candle down.”
    “I feel a lot better right now,” I told her. “You look good enough for both of us.”
    “I do? Well, thank you for saying that. Believe me, I needed to hear it.”
    The Kingfish, as it turned out, was a totally democratic restaurant: no reservations, but we were seated quickly at a nice table along the wall. We ordered drinks and food, but mostly we were there to hold hands and talk about everything that was going on in our lives.
    “This thing with Little Alex,” I told Jamilla about midway through dinner, “it’s the worst torture for me. Goes against who I am, everything I learned from Nana. I can’t stand to leave him here.”
    Jamilla frowned and seemed angry. “Doesn’t she treat him well?”
    “Oh no, no, Christine is a good mother. It’s the separation that kills me. I love that little boy, and I miss him so much every day I’m away from him. I miss the way he talks, walks, thinks, tells bad jokes, listens to mine. We’re pals, Jam.”
    “And so,” Jamilla said, holding my eyes with hers, “you escape into your work.”
    “And so”—I nodded—“I do. But that’s a whole ’nother story. Hey, let’s get out of here.”
    “What do you have in mind, Agent Cross?”
    “Nothing illegal, Inspector Hughes.”
    “Hmmm. Really? Well, that’s a shame.”

Chapter 100
    YOU’VE HEARD THE SAYING
get a room?
Well, I already had one at the Fairmont Olympic on University across from Ranier Square, and I couldn’t wait to get there. Neither of us could. Jamilla whistled under her breath as we walked into the impressive lobby. She stared up at the engraved ceiling, which must have been forty feet high. There was an actual hush inside the large, overdecorated room at a little past ten when we arrived.
    “Italian Renaissance decor, big ol’ antique chandeliers, five stars, five diamonds. I’m wonderfully impressed,” Jam said, grinning. As always, her enthusiasm was exhilarating.
    “Every once in a while you just have to build in a treat, you know.”
    “This is definitely a treat, Alex,” Jamilla said, and gave me a quick kiss in the lobby. “I’m really happy you’re here. And that I’m here, too. I like
us
a lot.”
    It kept getting better from there. Our room was on the tenth floor and it was everything it needed to be—bright, airy, plush, with a king-size bed. We even had a view of Elliott Bay with Bainbridge Island in the distance, and a ferry just leaving the waterfront in the foreground. The sights and scenes couldn’t have been any better if I’d planned them out in elaborate detail, which maybe, just maybe, I had.
    About that king-size bed at the Fairmont Olympic.
It was covered with a gold-and-green-striped comforter—a duvet?—I’m always slightly confused about what distinguishes the two. We didn’t bother to remove the comforter/duvet. We just fell onto it, laughing and talking, happy to be there together, realizing how much we’d missed each other.
    “Let me make you a little more comfortable, Alex,” Jam whispered as she pulled my shirt out of my pants. “How’s that? Better?”
    “And I’ll do the same for you. Only fair,” I said to her. “Tit for tat.”
    “Well, yes, I do like that tat of yours.”
    I began to unbutton Jamilla’s blouse and she continued unbuttoning my shirt. Neither of us was in a hurry. We knew better than