“It’s the truth,” she said. “MIS is an intelligence firm. It’s my understanding you have a talented team of digital investigators on retainer. If we had enough for an indictment, you’d know.”
He wasn’t surprised she knew about Clay, the tech expert MIS kept on-hand for background and the occasional hacking job. They paid Clay like they paid almost all of their freelancers: with a paycheck and an Employer ID number filed with the State of Massachusetts.
“What do you know about the death of Yael Dohan?” she asked.
He forced himself not to blink. “Very little.”
It was true. He knew that Ronan had killed the motherfucker after he’d been released on bail. Ronan had kept the details to himself.
“Tell me about your life,” Nick said. “Not your job — your life. What do you do when you’re not working?”
He’d meant for the question to be a lighthearted one, but he knew immediately he’d miscalculated. Her face froze, a combination of fear and sadness flashing across her features before she took a gulp of water.
She reached for her fleece. “We’ll have to finish this some other time,” she said. “I’m afraid I have to go.”
He hurried to stand as she scooted out of the booth. “I’m sorry. Did I — ”
She shook her head. “It’s fine. I really do have to go.”
They walked to the cash register and split the bill over Nick’s objections. He’d started to insist the meal was on him and had been silenced by her point that it wouldn’t look good for the subject of a potential investigation to treat an Assistant AG to a meal.
They emerged onto the sidewalk and Nick waited while Alexa pulled on her fleece and dug a knit cap out of her pocket. He had the feeling she was putting it on more as a kind of armor than because she was cold, had the sense that she was shutting down on him, that whatever had opened between them in the restaurant had been locked for good.
“Thanks for the help in the park,” she said.
He looked at her, aware that she was avoiding his eyes. “You okay? If I said something to — ”
“I’m fine.” She held out a hand and he shook it. “Thanks again.”
She turned, trotting off at a jog that favored her right leg, the limp she’d been trying to hide more pronounced now that her only objective seemed to be getting away from him as quickly as possible.
He replayed the conversation, searching for the moment it had gone wrong, the thing he’d said that shut her down, because he couldn’t for the life of him fathom how an innocent question about her personal life would make her run like a skittish cat.
He was still trying to figure it out when she disappeared around the corner. He stood there for a minute longer before turning away to head back to the house, wondering why of all the questions he’d wanted to ask her — questions about the AG’s interest in MIS — the one he’d most wanted to know was the one she hadn’t answered.
8
“Want to help me with the cake, honey?” Alexa’s dad asked.
“Sure.” She stood up and stretched. “Thanks for the awesome food, Mom. I’m going to have to work double time with Terri tomorrow to work it off.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” her mom said, stacking plates. “You could eat five meals and not need to work it off.”
It wasn’t true — Alexa knew her body, knew how much her health depended on her taking excellent care of herself, going above and beyond what most people had to do just to be mobile, to keep her pain at a level she could manage without medication.
But she knew her parents worried about her — not just about her physical health but about her happiness — and after all that had happened, she couldn’t really blame them.
They cleared the table on their way into the kitchen. Alexa’s mom rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher while her dad pulled the cake out of the fridge.
Alexa busied herself getting dessert plates and forks. Even after all this time, she couldn’t explain to her parents how tenuous her hold on normalcy felt, how seeing all the things that came so easily to other people — going up stairs and bending over to pick something up and walking on snowy ground — were reminders that she wasn’t like them. That she couldn’t afford to take her mobility, or even her life, for granted.
“More coffee?” her mom asked.
“No, thanks.” Alexa would need to be up early for her training session with Terri tomorrow. The last thing she needed was a night of tossing and turning.
Her mom poured herself a cup and they took their cake into the living room where they settled on the couch.
“I’m glad things are going so well at work,” her mom said. “What else is new?”