Stranded

ravine.
    The beam found what looked like a heap of rags. That is, until she saw hands sticking out from under the pile. Two hands. Only nine fingers.

CHAPTER 43

    WASHINGTON, D.C.
    Gwen convinced Kunze and the others to come to her Georgetown condo for their task force meeting. Yes, it was totally unconventional and bordering on unprofessional, but after spending so much time breathing prison air, she didn’t want to go back to Quantico and be stuck in that BSU conference room sixty feet belowground.
    She had played on Kunze’s vulnerability—probably also unprofessional of her. She knew he still felt guilty about putting her through yet another full-body search. But she had decided that if she was the outsider, she could make them meet on her terms. When she told Kunze she’d fix them all dinner, instead of arguing, he simply asked her what time she’d like them to be there.
    Racine arrived early, of course, because she wasn’t coming from Quantico. As a District homicide detective, her precinct was less than fifteen minutes away. Gwen put her to work in the kitchen. For some crazy reason, preparing, experimenting, and creating gourmet meals had always been a stress reliever for Gwen. Her kitchen was her sanctuary. She often forgot that one woman’s sanctuary could be another’s hell. Julia Racine could not lookmore uncomfortable. She appeared to be strangling the asparagus as she washed it.
    “I never noticed before how much these look like penises.”
    Gwen rolled her eyes and took the bundle away in one swift motion. She exchanged it for a red onion.
    “Chop,” she said and handed Racine a knife and a cutting board.
    “Crap. Cutting onions always makes me cry. Isn’t there something else you need done?”
    “Cut the top off first and do it under running water. Cold water.”
    Racine regarded her suspiciously, as if she were expecting a trick.
    “Seriously, it works,” Gwen told her as she turned back to deveining the shrimp.
    Out of the corner of her eye she saw Racine glance at the shrimp and wrinkle her nose. She must have decided chopping the onion wasn’t such a bad job. She went at the task without another complaint.
    “I’m surprised not to see Harvey and Jake. Don’t you usually take care of Maggie’s dogs?”
    “Ben has them. His backyard is much bigger.”
    “Ben? I thought they broke up?”
    Gwen stopped herself from saying that you couldn’t break up if you weren’t in a relationship in the first place. Maggie and Ben hadn’t even gotten there before they decided to “put the skids on,” as Maggie called it. But the two of them were still friends, good friends, and Gwen hoped that it might eventually be more. Instead of telling Racine any of this, Gwen shot her a warning look.
    Maggie and Racine had forged a friendship in spite of their differences and in spite of the fact that Racine had hit on Maggie shortly after they’d met. As far as Gwen knew, Racine livedwith a partner now, a journalist for the
Washington Post
, and she was even helping raise the woman’s daughter. Gwen didn’t need a degree in psychology to see that Julia Racine still had a thing for Maggie.
    Racine noticed the look and raised an eyebrow. “What? I’m just asking. I thought the baby thing ended it for them.”
    “I’m not gossiping about Maggie’s life.”
    “I understand.”
    But she was hesitating. She had something more to say.
    “I know you know,” Racine said, one hand on her hip.
    When Gwen met her eyes she noticed that Racine was biting her lower lip like this was a sort of confession. Oh, God, why did people always think they should be confessing to her? She was a psychologist, not a priest.
    “I know Maggie probably told you about two years ago. It really was just one kiss.”
    “So how was it?”
    “Excuse me?”
    She’d thrown Racine completely off and tried not to smile at the expression on her face. That’ll teach her, if she thought she was going to get absolution for her confession.
    “The kiss. How was it?”
    Racine smiled, definitely relieved, then said, “It actually was very nice.”
    “You know the most difficult affairs to get over are the ones that never happened.” Gwen let it sink in before adding, “They remain forever perfect in our minds. No bad memories to get in the way.”
    “So what are you saying?”
    “Enjoy it for what it was. Don’t invest in what might have been,” Gwen said.
    “Is that the kind of crap you tell your clients?”
    “Yes,