The Shadow Hunter

youth anyway? Does a woman fall apart at forty the way a car does when it hits a hundred thousand miles? Or is it just that you always need this year’s model even when the one you’ve got is still running fine?”
    “I couldn’t care less about Abby Sinclair.”
    “No? You were so vocal in your concern for her safety.” Her voice slipped into a lower register. “Are you sure you won’t get hurt? Aren’t you taking an awful risk, you poor, brave thing?”
    “I think her safety is a legitimate concern. Of course, I realize that in the larger picture it’s only
your
safety that counts. The slightest threat to you is a national emergency—”
    “The slightest threat?” She sat up straight, her hair falling around her shoulders. “Is that what you think Raymond Hickle represents, a
slight
threat?”
    He wouldn’t back down. “Under the circumstances…”
    “You mean the circumstances of being stalked and harassed and terrorized night and day?”
    “I mean the circumstances of being surrounded by armed bodyguards night and day.”
    “Devin Corbal was surrounded by armed bodyguards when his stalker shot him.”
    Howard spread his hands. “Well, if you don’t trust Travis to protect you—”
    “This isn’t about Travis.”
    “So what the hell is it about?”
    Abruptly she let her head fall back on the pillow. “What do you think?”
    Finally he took the three steps that brought him to her bedside. He stood looking down at her. “What am I supposed to do, Kris?” he asked softly. “What do you want me to do?”
    “What I want…” She rolled her head in his direction, swept a tangle of hair from her face. “What I want is for you to look at me the way you look at those other women. Younger women.”
    “I do, all the time.” The words sounded false even as he pronounced them.
    “Do you? When was the last time we…?” Weariness overtook her. “Oh, never mind.”
    He knew that if he took no action now, she would hate him in the morning. She had asked him as plainly as she could, as openly as pride would allow.
    “It’s been too long,” he murmured. It was the closest he could come to an apology.
    She looked at him, wariness and hope mingled in her expression. “Yes.” Her tone was neutral, giving him nothing.
    Now was the moment for him to kiss her. Now was his opportunity to heal the breach between them.
    He couldn’t.
    “It’s this craziness with Hickle,” he said dully. “Once that’s past and things are back to normal, we’ll be the way we were. We have to wait it out, that’s all.”
    “Is that what we have to do?” Kris whispered.
    “Just until this is all settled and we can breathe again.”
    She didn’t answer.
    “I think I’ll fix something to eat,” Howard said, though he wasn’t hungry. “Can I bring you anything?”
    She shook her head slowly. “I’m going to sleep.”
    “That’s the best thing. Rest. Put everything out of your mind.” He reached out and clumsily stroked her hair, his nearest imitation of affection. “It’ll all be behind us soon.”
    She was silent.
    Howard left Kris in the bedroom and went downstairs, wishing it was still possible for him to love his wife.

12
    Hickle couldn’t sleep.
    He rolled over and stared at the glowing dial of his bedside alarm clock. The time was 2:19. He had to get up in three hours. His shift started at 6 a.m, and he was always punctual.
    The smart thing to do was just close his eyes and relax. Sleep would come, if he let it. He was sure it would.
    Instead, hating himself, he slipped out of bed and picked a pair of pants and a shirt out of his laundry basket, pulling them on. Then he removed the screen from his bedroom window and crept onto the landing of the fire escape.
    His new neighbor’s bedroom shared a wall with his own. The landing afforded access to her window. He approached, bending low. Her bedroom was dark, the window shut, the Venetian blind closed. But the blind was old and warped, and through gaps in the horizontal slats he could dimly make out Abby Gallagher, asleep in her bed, limned by moonlight.
    He knelt, pressing his face close to the window, watching her sleep.
    She was pretty, all right. She reminded him of Jill.
    Of course, they looked nothing alike. Jill had been taller and blond and almost severe in her beauty. She had looked a little likeKris, now that he thought about it. Funny how that had never occurred to him before.
    Abby, smaller, dark-haired, was not at all like Jill