I wake to Simon and Garfunkel singing “Feelin’ Groovy” accompanied by a rather out of tune and nasal Weaver.

I can smell coffee and bacon and hear the muted rattle of dishes from the kitchen where the radio is playing. I pry open one bleary eye, feeling like I’ve been run over by a truck; I can’t remember a hangover this bad in years. Apparently, sobbing your guts out for hours is equivalent to drinking approximately 18 beers. Minus any illusion of fun.

I’ve slept on the sofa in the television room. I have a vague memory of crawling up on it and sticking my head under a pillow. The light in the room from the patio doors tells me it’s just barely daybreak.

The radio and Weaver launch into Dylan’s Tangled Up in Blue and I groan and throw an arm up over the pillow trying to block out both sun and sound. The woman may be hell on wheels in an ER and fantastic at surrogate motherhood to adults in the midst of a meltdown, but she can’t sing for shit. The combination of Dylan and Weaver is excruciating.

I doze off and wake next to voices. I tense recognizing Legaspi’s.

“Remind me to contact that plumber again. The upstairs bath has a leak in the shower head. Plink-plunk. Plink-plunk. All night.”

“And I thought the dark circles were because you missed me, couldn’t sleep without me.” Weaver’s voice is light and teasing and Legaspi snorts laughter.

“Well, you’re certainly chipper for someone who got less sleep than I did.”

“Some things rejuvenate a body more than sleep.”

“Uh, huh.” Legaspi’s voice is dry. “Maybe you went into the wrong line of medicine, Dr. Weaver.”

“Oh, no. Definitely not, Dr. Legaspi. Give me blood and guts and ruptured spleens any day. It was rather like tackling an amputation without anesthesia. Not my cup of tea at all.”

“The patient didn’t look so hot either. Or what I could see of her, anyway.”

Weaver clears her throat slightly and then there’s silence. I can feel every pore on my body opening in an attempt to soak up whatever it is they’re sending to one another within it; whatever look, thought, emotion or glance is contained within the smooth walls of that non-sound.

“Yeah,” Legaspi says, voice light and I hear a cup or mug thunk down on a hard surface, followed by a hard sigh and what sounds like a muffled groan, “I fucked up royally.”

There’s a softly murmured noise which eventually turns into a noncommittal, “More coffee?”

“Kerry, look at me.”

There’s a second or two of silence before Weaver says evenly, “You don’t need me to tell you that in this instance, yes, you screwed up. And even if you did, I wouldn’t. I know why. You know what buttons she pushes for you.”

“I’m not asking you to do any more than look at me.” The voice is level and clear and the crutch squeaks in tandem with the sigh Weaver heaves as she turns.

“I’m sorry,” Legaspi’s voice is low but very clear and level.

“I’m not the one you should be telling this to,” Weaver responds.

“Yes. You are. Because you’re the one I can say it to right now. Because I owed you this same apology first, so just let me say it.” There’s a steady rapping noise, like knuckles on a table before Legaspi asks, voice quiet, “What was it you said that got through to her?”

“All the things I should have told myself in Chicago.”

The chair squeals as one of them shoves it away, standing. I grip the pillow to my ears tighter not wanting to over hear what is obviously a very private, murmured conversation between them. There’s a bit of breathing and hushed conversation before Legaspi’s voice is raised as she utters a startled, “Oh shit! Is it 7:30 already? I’ve got to shower~~ What are you working today?”

“I’m taking a personal day, actually.”

There’s a moment of silence and then Legaspi teasingly says, “Ooooooh. A personal day. My, my… Dr. Kerry Weaver actually taking a personal day. I’m not sure but I may be jealous.”

There’s silence followed by giggling, then the rattle of dishes and silverware on tile and some rather provocative murmurs which cause me to pull the pillow off my head and listen, frowning. When there’s a distinct moan and sigh combination I clear my throat and call out in a rather grumpy, croaky voice, “Okay you two, keep it PG-13. I’m awake.”

“Oh dear, we woke the baby,” Legaspi says and I hear Weaver laugh before footsteps approach the back of the sofa.

A tousled red head appears and she smiles down at the slice of me she can see between the pillow and the sofa back.

“Good morning. How do you feel?”

I produce a noise which sounds like, “Unnnnnh” and she nods. “To be expected. I’ve got coffee…”

Legaspi and I do a brief little dance in the doorway of the kitchen before she stops trying to pass and bows me in, grinning. Weaver gestures at the coffee pot and the plate on the stove.

“I’ll be right back but go ahead and help yourself. I can make pancakes if you’d like.”

“Pancakes?” I hear Legaspi echo in an aggrieved tone. “Kerry you don’t make me pancakes~~” followed by more giggles which fade as they move upstairs.

I pour myself a cup of coffee and approach the newspaper laid out on the table top with trepidation. I sink into the chair there and feel a huge sense of relief that there is nothing about me on the front page then cringe when in very small print towards the bottom I see there’s a blurb advising a story on me can be found in section B page 4.

I feel queasy and I’m sitting there still, staring at the tiny blurb in gothic print when Kerry returns. Without looking she knows immediately what I’m staring at and snags the paper as she passes the table.

I sigh and set my cup down and lay my head down on my arms. “Did I not want to read that?”

“Nope. You didn’t.”

I groan and sit up as she crutches quickly back and puts a plate of scrambled eggs, two slices of bacon and a piece of toast in front of me.

“I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she responds. “But humor me. Eat the toast at least.”

I pick it up listlessly and take a bite before dropping it back on the plate.

“How bad?” I ask after a few moments. Her back is to me as she quickly rinses dishes before placing them in the dishwasher. She pauses without turning around and after a moment’s hesitation replies, “Bad.”

I snort. “Oh, c’mon Dr. CIA. Don’t sugar coat it for me. I can take it.”

She turns around and grins at me. “Dr. CIA?”

I nod, feeling the blush and smile sheepishly. She’s chuckling as she turns back around to the sink.

“Dr. CIA. I like that. I’d like that on a name tag actually.” She rinses a glass before placing it in the top rack, then pauses, listening. A second later she turns and smiles.

“Jinny.”

I hear the Harley’s growl then too and give up trying to get the coffee to my mouth; my hand is shaking visibly.

“She was terrified for you,” Weaver tells me quietly, wiping her hands on a dish towel and starting for the front door. “And she wasn’t happy when you didn’t put her on your visitor list.”

I gulp. “Is that a warning?”

“Let’s hope not,” she tells me. “I called her last night before you came down to let her know you were alright. She was so relieved you were out and okay that I’m hoping she’s forgot she was upset.”

Ugh. Me too. I take a deep breath, listening as Weaver unbolts and then opens the door. I can hear her boots clomp up the five steps to the porch and then a scraping noise as she rakes the soles on the mat outside the door before stepping in. Whatever they’re saying I can’t hear any more of than the low sibilant rush of whispered conversation and I’ve barely had time to register they’ve stopped when she stops inside the doorway and stands there gazing at me.

“Jinny, there’s coffee, toast, eggs. Just fix a plate and help yourself.” Weaver’s voice is decidedly casual and nonchalant. “I’m going to get a quick shower and get dressed.” She gives me some kind of furrowed brow pointed look from behind Jinny before she disappears but I haven’t got a clue what it meant or how to interpret it

I take a deep breath and meet her eyes, silent. I can’t tell what she’s thinking. She stands in the doorway, feet slightly apart, holding her helmet and stares at me, unsmiling and solemn. There are purple shadows beneath her eyes and she looks haggard and wrecked with her chin lowered as if she’s expecting a punch to the head.

I use my foot to push the chair next to me out from the table and she glances it, then walks stiffly over and sits, keeping the helmet in her lap and drumming on it distractedly with her fingers.

“How mad are you?” I finally ask and she looks up from her hands and shakes her head.

“You know, I don’t even know.” Her voice is calm and even. “I kept telling myself that if you would just be okay and we could get you out that I wouldn’t be angry at all. And then Kerry called and said you were here and I don’t know… I had some sort of belated temper fit. And now~~ You look like shit so half of me is wanting to put my arms around you and hold you and the other half wants to beat the crap out of you.”

I wince. “Well, if you do, could you skip the ribs and my head? Somebody beat you to them.”

She snorts, but it isn’t a laugh. “Yeah. Kerry told me. I can’t make you do it but I’d appreciate if you’d let her do the x-rays and the CAT scan.”

I’m about to protest when the guarded, wounded expression in her eyes as they flit over my bruises and scrapes hits home to me. When I meekly nod and murmur an “okay” she lifts her brows and half smiles.

“Well, that was easy.”

‘I don’t want to fight.”

“No? I don’t either. “ She stretches her legs out and sprawls back in the chair, fingers beating a cadence on the gleaming black dome as she gazes at me silently for a few moments before sighing and digging in her jean pocket.

She hands me a piece of paper and I unfold it curiously, searching her face for clues.

On it, in Jinny’s hand writing, I see what appears to be an email address for me at Earthlink; h_cooper_finn@earthlink.net. And directly below that the bemusing phrase “SPhearHead kicks ass”.

I snort and look up at her and shake my head, waiting for an explanation.

“That’s your new email. Courtesy of Mr. S’Phear.” She lays the helmet on the table and stands, stretching and indulging in a jaw-cracking yawn before pouring herself a cup of coffee. “And I’m guessing ‘SPhearHead kicks ass’ is your password.”

“He sent this to you?” My voice sounds slightly incredulous; S’Phear making contact with Jinny never entered my mind.

“I guess he did,” she says cryptically, shrugging before grinning for the first time. “It actually said I sent it to myself. I couldn’t figure out how the hell I’d sent myself email, thought I must have hit reply on a draft or something.”

“Good thing you didn’t just delete it.”

She snorts. “Well, the dude sent it ten times. I might accidentally hit reply on a draft and send something to myself once, but ten times? He must be under the impression I’m dense or something.”

“’SPhearHead kicks ass’,” I read again, grinning. “You got hacked, Exstead.”

She nods in agreement, sipping coffee eyeing me as I sit there staring at the piece of paper in bemusement.

“You should see your face right now,” she tells me. “You’re just itching to get to a computer now, aren’t you?”

“Well, if he made me an email address he must be sending me some email, right?” I shake my head, smiling and shrug. “I didn’t think he’d try to reach me. I knew he’d do what he could to get rid of everything on my computer when he saw I was in custody, but I didn’t think about anything beyond that.” I fan the paper back and forth, thinking.

“Yes,” Jinny says with a half-smile and an eye-roll. “Weaver’s got a computer.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Weaver actually has a Mac iBook. I feel utterly bewildered by the unfamiliar



keyboard commands but Jinny assures me she knows what she’s doing and with a few clicks has me on line.

“There you go,” she says, once I’m at the log in page for Earthlink. “Webmail. That’s what you want.”

That’s debatable, I think, watching her hand on the mouse and turning my face slightly so I can smell the scent of her as she leans over and reaches around me. A strand of dark hair swings loose and brushes my face and she reaches to tuck it behind an ear, so that the back of her hand skims my lips. She turns her head slightly and peers at me, then smiles.

“Hey, you.”

I’m very aware that Weaver is just outside the room but my body apparently doesn’t give a rip, or finds her presence some sort of added element of danger and complication because heat sweeps over me in a wave so intense it leaves me blinking and breathless. She sees it because her face goes soft and her mouth quirks upwards at the corners in a lazy smile as her pupils dilate.

She sinks to her heels beside the chair I’m in and clears her throat and after a moment I manage to do the same.

I log in on the orange, white and cream page in the space designated for checking webmail and am immediately taken to a split screen of tans and orange where I am informed I have three unread emails.

One is a Welcome to Earthlink! greeting from (duh) Earthlink. I open and scan it and crack up when I realize he’s set me up on Jinny’s account.

“No shit?” she asks, chuckling.

“You’re paying for my ISP right now.”

“That’s certainly generous of me.”

“Very.”

“We may have to discuss taking it out in trade, you know.”

I feel the blush slam up from my chest and slide my eyes sideways where she is coolly gazing at the computer monitor. She’s the picture of calm and interest~~ Except for the thump of pulse I can see hammering in her throat. I see it work as she swallows and adds, slightly hoarse and shaky, “But since we can’t do that now, don’t look at me like that.”

I jerk my eyes away, blushing harder and with slightly shaking hands move to the next email which has apparently come from me to me.

Congratulations Huckleberry.

You’ve achieved national infamy and I can’t think of a better pair of nuts to crack. Really enjoyed seeing you on the news. The French over-dub was hysterical.

Your laptop is now a paperweight. I didn’t get to perform with my usual finesse but it was more expedient to just shut them down. They were, as usual, sadly inept.

Am forced to relocate due to certain things beyond my control but don’t worry; I’ll be in touch.

S’Phear

It’s dated two days ago. For two days they had my lap top poking around in it. For two days they were trying everything they’ve got to track him down. He’s running. I blew through a stop sign because I had my head up my ass and now S’Phear is running.

I groan and rake a hand through my hair making Jinny turn, still crouched on her heels, to look at me in concern.

“Like they have a chance, even,” she tells me softly and I shake my head and clutch at my temples, sighing.

“It isn’t that~~ I know they don’t. They probably aren’t even anywhere near him. It’s just the idea of it. He’s had to leave his life behind because of my fuck up.”

“Coop, he’s a hacker. He knows the risks he runs and he made the choices a long time ago. He made the choices. You can beat yourself up over it if you’ll feel better, but it’s a little egotistical.” She gestures at the computer screen with a flick of her fingers. “Open that last one up.”

It’s to me from customerservice@dell thanking me for my recent order number 12369 of a Dell notebook and confirming my shipping address~~ I blink at the unfamiliar street and number in San Francisco, then turn to Jinny lifting my hands in puzzlement.

For two seconds she looks stunned, then snorts and grins up at me.

“Christ! This guy is scary.”

I wait as she shakes her head in disbelief before answering.

“That’s C.D.’s address.”

I’m still lost and shrug my shoulders, waiting.

“C.D. De Lorenzo. Investigator. I know you met her because she took the time to tell me how annoying you were. And you asked her about Magda or something.”

My brain kicks into gear as I mentally hear McCafferty’s door slam to with a pane-rattling crash. And the phone slamming down before the end of the conversation~~ Well, before my end of the conversation. C.D. had obviously said everything she had to.

“Amazon. Blonde. Hair cut like mine.”

“That would be her, yes.” Jinny studies me for a moment, silent. “Any idea why he’d send your new computer to her?”

“Because she’s safe? She’s someone I have access to but have never really even met so the odds are no one’s watching her?”

“He’s scary,” she repeats, then jerks her chin at the email from Dell. “When is your new computer scheduled to arrive?”

I glance at the monitor and then back at her.

“Today.”

“He’s really scary.”

I nod.

“You know, I am so tempted…”

“Don’t.”

“I just~~ I think I have to.” She insists, grinning and shoving herself to her feet.

“God, please, no. I’m asking you Exstead, as a friend. Don’t.”

“I mean, how many times am I going to get this opportunity? C’mon!”

I put both hands to my head and shove both forefingers into my ears, but can’t stop the answering grin from splitting my face. She rocks on her toes, beaming in anticipation.

“No,” I put in again. “Don’t. Have mercy on me. Have pity. I spent most of the night enduring shitty commercials and a Weaver monologue about shitty commercials.”

“Sorry honey,” she tells me with mock sadness before pasting a vacuous surfer’s smile on her face and cocking her head to the side and announcing in cheerful Keanu Reeves wide-eyed tones, “Dude, you’re gettin’ a Dell.”



End of 45