The Quiet Game

Caitlin and I run toward him, but I'm not about to try to grab his baton. In his present state he might not be able to distinguish between white faces quickly enough to spare me a concussion. Caitlin isn't so timid. She steps between Ike and his targets and holds up both hands, creating a sight arresting enough to paralyze the deputy. Ike lowers his baton and turns to me, his eyes filled with sweat.

"You'd best get out of here quick. Police won't be long."

Now isn't the time for extended thank-yous. I take Caitlin's arm and hobble toward the driver's door of the BMW.

"You're not driving," she says. "Give me the keys."

"I'm fine."

"You took at least ten blows to the head. Your nose is bleeding. I'm driving you to the hospital."

"My father can check me out when I get home. Get in the car!"

She scrambles over the driver's seat to the other side. I crank the car and pull slowly out of the lot. Ike's cruiser is already gone.

One circuit of the block takes me to Caitlin's green Miata, and I park in the street beside it. Double-parking is an old Natchez tradition.

"I can't believe you bit that guy," I tell her, rubbing the back of my skull. "You fight more like a bar girl from Breaux Bridge than a blueblood from Boston."

"When in Rome, right?" She slaps her thighs and yells, "Whoooooo, what a rush! That's the most fun I've had with my clothes on in a long time."

"Yeah, loads of fun," I mutter, but her excitement is contagious. Her face is flushed like a sprinter's, and her breath comes in short gasps.

"I assume that deputy was a friend of yours?"

"I'd say he's a friend of ours." I give her a hard look. "We still have a deal, right? No story about that little altercation in tomorrow's paper?"

"Absolutely. No story." She pokes me in the shoulder. "I told you I could hold my own."

"I'm afraid that was just the first round. It'll get a lot worse."

Her smile doesn't waver. "We can handle it." She gets out of the car and closes the door, then leans into the open passenger window. "Would you be furious if I asked a personal question?"

"Go ahead."

"Have you thought much about our kiss since last night?"

I'm glad for the dark. The black veil of her hair gleams in the window, framing her porcelain face, setting off her lips and eyes.

"Please tell me to drop dead if I'm out of line," she says quickly. "It's just… I've been thinking about it. It literally curled my toes. And I wanted you to know that."

A pulse of pure pleasure spreads outward from my heart. How do I answer? Yes, I've thought about it a hundred times, in a way that's not even thought but a constant awareness of how your mouth opened to mine, the coolness and knowingness of it-

"Would you like to go to Colorado with me tomorrow?"

She opens her mouth but makes no sound.

"I'm flying up to talk to the lead FBI agent on the Del Payton case in 1968. But part of your job will be baby-sitting Annie. She's coming along."

Caitlin is shaking her head in confusion. "Is this trip business or pleasure? Or a baby-sitting job?"

"I'm sorry-I didn't put that very well. It's business, but I'm taking Annie along for her safety, and we have a stop to make on the way. A place I can't take her."

"Where?"

"Huntsville, Texas. The Hanratty execution."

Her eyes go wide. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. You can be there when I interview the agent, but I need you to stay at the hotel with Annie during the execution."

"The hottest ticket in journalism this week, and I'm going to be babysitting?"

"They wouldn't let you in the witness room anyway. It's your call."

She purses her lips in thought. "I'm still not sure how to think of this. Do you want me to come?"

"Very much."

"Then I will. But what if Annie won't stay in the hotel without you there?"

"Then I'll skip the execution. I don't really want to see it anyway."

"She'll be fine with me. We got along great on the plane. Hey, what's this FBI agent's name?"

Caitlin's mention of that flight makes me remember her deception about her identity, and this makes me hesitant to confide Stone's name. I wipe my bloody nose on my shirtsleeve and look through the windshield.

"Penn, I could have the guy's life story before we ever talk to him."

She has a point. "Dwight Stone. Crested Butte, Colorado."

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Her eyes are almost mocking, but they hold more understanding than I have seen in a long time.

"The answer to your earlier question is yes. I've thought about it since last night."

A serene smile lights Caitlin's face.

"And I'd like to kiss you again."

Her smile broadens.

"May I?"

She leans through the window and across the passenger seat, her eyes not closed like last night but open, inviting me into them. Our lips touch, and a perfect echo of the warmth I felt last night rolls through me. This kiss is passionate but more intimate, the crossing of another boundary together. She pulls back and peers into my eyes, then closes hers and kisses me once more.

When she pulls away this time, she has a Charlie Chaplin mustache.

"You've got blood on your lip."