"I was a Prince. A royal bastard."
The corners of the detective's mouth twitched. "Well, you're a royal bastard, that's for sure." He fought his way back to a more equal footing, ignoring the suspicion that a more equal footing was allowed him. "Why isn't anyone ever a fucking peasant?"
"Anyone?" Henry asked, brows rising.
"You, Shirley MacLaine... Never mind." He leaned back against his car and sighed. "Look, she doesn't need both of us."
"So why don't I just go home? I don't think so."
"What can you give her?"
"Now? In her grief? The same things you can."
"But I can give them night and day. You only have the night."
"Then why are you so worried about me being here? Surely you have the advantage. Mind you," Henry continued, his tone thoughtful, "I left sanctuary for her, risked the sun in order to be at her side. That should count for something."
"What do you mean, count for something?" Celluci snorted. "This isn't a contest! Man against... " His eyes narrowed. "... romance writer. We're supposed to be here for her."
"Then maybe," Henry starting moving toward the building, "we'd better work a little harder at remembering that."
Goddamned patronizing son of a bitch! Fortunately, longer legs allowed Celluci to catch up without having to run. "So we concentrate on her until this is over."
Henry half turned and looked up at him. "And after?"
"Who the hell knows about after?" Stop looking at me like that! "Let's get through this, first."
Listening to the pounding of Celluci's heart, Henry nodded, satisfied.
It took Vicki a moment to realize what the pounding meant.
The door.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The police at the door. The pattern was unmistakable. She frowned at the dark apartment and stiffly stood up. How long? Eyes useless, in spite of the spill of light from the street, she groped her way to the phone desk, then along the wall to the door.
Celluci scowled down at Henry and raised his hand to knock again. "You're certain she's in there?"
"I'm certain. I can feel her life."
"Yeah. Right."
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Her fingers scraped across the light switch and she flicked it on, her eyes watering in the sudden brilliance. Her mother always used hundred watt bulbs.
"I don't care how much more energy it burns, it's more important that you can see when you come home. I can well afford it and the environment can go hang."
Her mother had always used 100 watt bulbs.
The lock stuck, halfway around.
"I told her to get this fixed," she growled as she fought to force the tumblers down. "God-damned stupid piece of junk."
Bang. Bang. Bang.
"Keep your fucking pants on!"