"Which makes me wonder why, especially with Maxwell. He was a junkie for years — surely it would have had some effect on his body."
"You'd think so. You doing a trace on the prescribing doctor?"
"Izzy's handling it now. Why didn't you mention all four victims were adopted?"
"Why were you going through the files?" he countered. "You're supposed to be handling the kite murders."
"You can't have it both ways, chum. Either I'm helping you or I'm not."
"You do what I tell you to do. And right now, you're my research assistant, nothing more."
His face was remote, eyes cold. She felt like strangling him. God, the man was aggravating. As he no doubt intended.
"Why are you here, Assistant Director? Planned to leave me another nice note, did you?"
His arms flexed, as if he were clenching his fists. "You left the safe house more than an hour ago. Where the hell were you?"
"Having coffee with a friend."
"You have no friends."
"Obviously not." An edge of bitterness crept into her voice. She took a deep breath and crossed her legs. Warmth still tingled where their knees had touched. She scratched at it irritably.
"That's not..." Gabriel looked away from her gaze. "Next time, report in first."
"Yes, sir." This time she resisted the urge to salute.
His anger washed over her, a blanket that briefly smothered. She shuddered and leaned back, trying to get some fresh air.
Concern flitted briefly through his hazel eyes. "You okay?"
"Yes. Fine." She rubbed her forehead briefly. She really had to go see a doctor. Not only about the headache, but the weird sensations that kept washing over her.
Izzy choose that moment to reappear. "You have a five-fifteen appointment with the animal quack, sweetness."
"Thanks Izzy."
Gabriel gave her com-unit a somewhat disgusted look. But then, he wasn't into cartoons. Or com-units with character. "You're visiting a vet? Why?"
"Dog's sick." She'd be damned if she'd tell him the truth. He'd probably go interview the vet himself and leave her here in this shoebox doing another inane task.
"You don't have a dog."
"I will tonight."
He studied her thoughtfully. "The crosscheck came up with her name, didn't it?"
"Yeah." She rubbed her forehead again, and waited for the axe to fall.
He was silent for a few seconds. Then he sighed and rested his palms on the desk. "When are you going to see a doctor about that headache of yours?"
Consideration when she'd expected an axe was definitely cause to be wary. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you've had that headache for the last few days. I think it's time you got it checked out."
"I will." She barely kept her irritation in check. Lord, it was bad enough that he was ordering her around at work. Now he was trying to run her private life, as well.
"When?"