Mourn not your Dead

sucker— that’s how I think of them—or if he is, he only takes his security from a select few. His father, and perhaps Lucy.”
    Kincaid thought of the scene he’d witnessed in the bar. “Madeleine, how do you think early emotional, and probably sexual, abuse would affect a young man’s responses to sex?”
    “I’m no psychologist.” She bit into a slice of green apple.
    “But you’re probably more perceptive than most.” He gave her an encouraging smile.
    “If you’re talking about Geoff, and considering his history I assume you are, I’d say there are two likely avenues. He might become an abuser himself. Or...” She gazed into space, frowning, as she thought. “He might associate sex with failure and abandonment.”
    “So that he’d never take that risk with someone he cared about?”
    “I wouldn’t take my word for it. That’s pure amateur speculation.” Pushing her plate away, she sat back and cradled her wineglass.
    “Tell me more about what you do in your professional capacity, then,” Kincaid said, still nibbling. “Do you treat injuries with massage therapy?”
    “Sometimes. It’s not just a relaxation technique—it stimulates the body’s lymphatic system to function more efficiently, and that speeds up toxin disposal and healing.” Madeleine spoke directly, almost earnestly, and without what he was beginning to recognize as her self-protective veneer of amusement.
    “I’ll take your word for it. I hope you’ll be around if I should ever need your ministrations. You must have been a godsend to Claire when she had that bad break.” He tossed it in casually, hoping Madeleine wouldn’t read the stab of guilt he felt at this betrayal of their mutual trust.
    “The collarbone gave her hell. It’s surprising how much trouble a silly thing like a clavicle can be.” She smiled easily at him.
    As much as it went against his inclination, he let it slide. There were other sources of information, and pursuing it now wasn’t worth the loss of Madeleine’s confidence. “I broke mine when I was a kid. Fell off a chair, of all things, but I don’t remember it. My mum says I was a right little pain in the bum about it—wouldn’t keep my sling on.”
    They talked on, refilling their glasses as Madeleine opened a second bottle of wine, and he told her things about his childhood in Cheshire that he hadn’t remembered in years. “I was lucky,” he said at last. “I had loving parents, a safe and stable environment filled with the love of learning for its own sake. I see so much—so many kids never have a chance. And I don’t know if I could give a child what my parents gave me. This job’s not conducive to family life... ask my ex-wife.” He tried on a grin and glanced at his watch. “Bloody hell. Where did the time go?”
    “Would you make the same choice again, between a relationship and your job?”
    Pausing with his glass halfway to his mouth, he stared at her.
    “There is someone, isn’t there?” Madeleine asked, and her green eyes held him like a vise.
    He put his glass down, the wine untasted. “Was. I thought there was. But she changed her mind.”
    “How do you feel about that?”
    “You know,” he said with certainty.
    “Say it anyway.”
    He looked away. “Pissed as hell. Betrayed.” His mouth had gone dry from the wine, and he rubbed a hand across it. “It was so good—we were so good together. How could she slam the door in my face?” He shook his head and stood a bit unsteadily. “I think I’d better go before I get maudlin on you. And I think I’m well over the limit. It’s not gone closing time quite yet—hopefully Brian will take pity and put a poor copper up for the night.”
    He raised the dregs of wine in his glass to her. “You are a witch, Madeleine. You’ve bewitched me into crying on your shoulder, and I can’t remember when I’ve inflicted that on anyone—and you’re still as enigmatic as the bloody Cheshire Cat.”
    Madeleine saw him to the door, and just before closing it she reached up and touched his cheek. Using his name for the first time, she said, “Duncan. Everything will sort itself out. Be patient.”
    The light narrowed to a slit, disappearing with a click as the door shut, and Kincaid found himself alone in the dark.
     
    BRIAN GAVE HIM A BED WITH GOOD GRACE, AND AS KINCAID carried his bag up and undressed it came to him that he hadn’t answered Madeleine’s question. What if Gemma were to change her