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Authors: Alison Bruce
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By the time we re-crossed Toronto, stopped for lunch, and got caught in a construction slow down, it was late afternoon. We were headed east on Highway 401. I didn’t know where we were going, but I hoped we wouldn’t be driving much longer. My wound wasn’t happy with all the sitting. I was sore and the kids needed to use the washroom.
“Can we stop?” Boone asked.
“Can you hold on a little longer?” Merrick countered. “I’m hoping to check into our hotel in time to go swimming.”
“Hotel?” asked Hope, rousing from her bored stupor.
“Swimming?” asked Boone.
“We’re stopping in Belleville for the night and the hotel has a pool.”
“And tomorrow?” I asked.
“Ottawa.”
Good. Presumably, there was lots of security in the nation’s capital. Theoretically, it should be a safe place to stay—since we weren’t politicians.
“We could visit Max,” Boone said, bouncing on his seat in excitement. “Max is my best friend. He moved to Ottawa last year when his father changed jobs. We chat online but I haven’t seen him since forever.”
“No,” Merrick said gently. “It isn’t safe enough. You can’t even tell Max that you’re in Ottawa.”
“Where are we staying in Ottawa?” Hope asked, forestalling Boone’s complaints.
Merrick touched his finger to his lips. “Shh. It’s a state secret.”
The silly part was it might be true.
* * *
You would have thought I’d feel safe now that we were out of town and I knew I had an armed guard in the room. No. Again, I woke up in the middle of the night sure I’d heard someone trying to break in.
Nothing.
I carefully slipped out of bed. There were no cots to be had, so Boone was sharing a bed with Merrick and Hope was in with me. Hope turned over, pulling the covers with her, but otherwise was undisturbed. When I returned from checking the locks and using the washroom, Merrick was up on one elbow, waiting for me.
“Nightmare?”
I nodded.
“Tea?”
I thought about it. It was almost three in the morning. I should try to get back to sleep. Try was the operative word. First, I’d have to wrestle the covers back from Hope without waking her. Then I’d have to convince myself it was safe to close my eyes.
“I’m going to make tea,” Merrick whispered, pushing himself upright and swinging his legs to the floor. He put the bedside lamp on low and passed me my book. “Read. The distraction will help.”
A better distraction was Merrick in Mickey Mouse pyjamas. I watched him make tea, admiring his broad shoulders—hiding behind my book when he turned around. It was totally inappropriate of me to act on my thoughts, but I figured I could be forgiven for imagining the sensation of having my hands sandwiched between the hard muscles of his back and the soft flannel of his pyjama top.
“You must be feeling better,” he commented, as he delivered my tea. “Your colour is returning. So tell me, do you prefer me in straight plaid or plaid with Mickey Mouse?”
Merrick noticed too much for my peace of mind. “It’s the flannel,” I said, scowling at him. “It’s disarming. If you remember, it calmed me when I lost it at the hospital.”
He sat down on the edge of my bed. I scooted over a couple of inches to give him space.
“I remember. The effect of flannel on you is so profound I am tempted to start wearing it by day.”
I grinned. “With or without the dark suit?”
“Everybody knows that dark suits are required by universal plainclothes police policy unless the officer is undercover. It’s worse in the United States. There the suits have to be black, particularly if you work for the federal government. You might have noticed my suits are navy or charcoal grey. That’s a Canadian touch.”
He did silly with a perfectly straight face. I could do that too.
“If you want to wear flannel, maybe you should go undercover as a lumberjack. That’s okay.”
He squeezed my knee and got up.
By the time we re-crossed Toronto, stopped for lunch, and got caught in a construction slow down, it was late afternoon. We were headed east on Highway 401. I didn’t know where we were going, but I hoped we wouldn’t be driving much longer. My wound wasn’t happy with all the sitting. I was sore and the kids needed to use the washroom.
“Can we stop?” Boone asked.
“Can you hold on a little longer?” Merrick countered. “I’m hoping to check into our hotel in time to go swimming.”
“Hotel?” asked Hope, rousing from her bored stupor.
“Swimming?” asked Boone.
“We’re stopping in Belleville for the night and the hotel has a pool.”
“And tomorrow?” I asked.
“Ottawa.”
Good. Presumably, there was lots of security in the nation’s capital. Theoretically, it should be a safe place to stay—since we weren’t politicians.
“We could visit Max,” Boone said, bouncing on his seat in excitement. “Max is my best friend. He moved to Ottawa last year when his father changed jobs. We chat online but I haven’t seen him since forever.”
“No,” Merrick said gently. “It isn’t safe enough. You can’t even tell Max that you’re in Ottawa.”
“Where are we staying in Ottawa?” Hope asked, forestalling Boone’s complaints.
Merrick touched his finger to his lips. “Shh. It’s a state secret.”
The silly part was it might be true.
* * *
You would have thought I’d feel safe now that we were out of town and I knew I had an armed guard in the room. No. Again, I woke up in the middle of the night sure I’d heard someone trying to break in.
Nothing.
I carefully slipped out of bed. There were no cots to be had, so Boone was sharing a bed with Merrick and Hope was in with me. Hope turned over, pulling the covers with her, but otherwise was undisturbed. When I returned from checking the locks and using the washroom, Merrick was up on one elbow, waiting for me.
“Nightmare?”
I nodded.
“Tea?”
I thought about it. It was almost three in the morning. I should try to get back to sleep. Try was the operative word. First, I’d have to wrestle the covers back from Hope without waking her. Then I’d have to convince myself it was safe to close my eyes.
“I’m going to make tea,” Merrick whispered, pushing himself upright and swinging his legs to the floor. He put the bedside lamp on low and passed me my book. “Read. The distraction will help.”
A better distraction was Merrick in Mickey Mouse pyjamas. I watched him make tea, admiring his broad shoulders—hiding behind my book when he turned around. It was totally inappropriate of me to act on my thoughts, but I figured I could be forgiven for imagining the sensation of having my hands sandwiched between the hard muscles of his back and the soft flannel of his pyjama top.
“You must be feeling better,” he commented, as he delivered my tea. “Your colour is returning. So tell me, do you prefer me in straight plaid or plaid with Mickey Mouse?”
Merrick noticed too much for my peace of mind. “It’s the flannel,” I said, scowling at him. “It’s disarming. If you remember, it calmed me when I lost it at the hospital.”
He sat down on the edge of my bed. I scooted over a couple of inches to give him space.
“I remember. The effect of flannel on you is so profound I am tempted to start wearing it by day.”
I grinned. “With or without the dark suit?”
“Everybody knows that dark suits are required by universal plainclothes police policy unless the officer is undercover. It’s worse in the United States. There the suits have to be black, particularly if you work for the federal government. You might have noticed my suits are navy or charcoal grey. That’s a Canadian touch.”
He did silly with a perfectly straight face. I could do that too.
“If you want to wear flannel, maybe you should go undercover as a lumberjack. That’s okay.”
He squeezed my knee and got up.
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