I'd like it better," he said in a soft voice, "if it was on the floor."
Minutes later, they were entwined in the sheets, out of breath and laughing like teenagers. Sex with Jane was always like that. Exciting. Youthful. Fun.
After dressing, Jane retreated to the bathroom to fix her hair and makeup. "Camouflage on," she said when she returned. "Now let's get going."
" Yes, ma'am."
He heard her whispering, "Six plus eight plus two…"
"Are you doing that numerology thing again?" he asked with a grin.
Jane had gone to a psychic fair when she'd found out she was pregnant, and a numerologist had given her a lesson in adding dates. Ever since then, whenever something important came up, she'd work out the numbers to determine if it was going to be a good day or not. She even made Marcus buy lotto tickets on "three days," which she said meant money coming in. They hadn't won a lottery yet, but he played along anyway.
"What is it today?"
She smiled. "A seven."
"Ah, lucky seven." He arched a brow at her. "So I'm going to get lucky?"
"I think you already did, mister."
They 'd been late for the awards banquet, which didn't go over too well since Jane was the guest of honor, the recipient of a Best Programmer award for her latest video game creation at BioWare. When Jane had stepped up on the stage to receive her award, Marcus didn't think he could ever be prouder. Until the night Ryan was born.
Ryan …the son I killed.
Marcus gave his head a jerk, forcing the memories back into the shadows―where they belonged. He picked up the can of shaving cream. His eyes rested, unfocused, on the label.
To shave or not to shave. That was the question.
" Nah, not today," he muttered.
He hadn 't shaved in weeks. He was also overdue for a haircut. Thankfully, they weren't too strict about appearances at work, though his supervisor would probably harp on it again.
The alarm on his watch beeped.
He had twenty minutes to get to the center. Then he'd get back to hiding behind the anonymity of being a faceless voice on the phone.
Yellowhead County Emergency Services in Edson, Alberta, housed a small but competent 911 call center situated on the second floor of a spacious building on 1 st Avenue. Four rooms on the floor were rented out to emergency groups, like First Aid, CPR and EMS, for training facilities. The 911 center had a full-time staff of four emergency operators and two supervisors—one for the day shift, one for the night. They also had a handful of highly trained but underpaid casual staff and three regular volunteers.
When Marcus entered the building, Leonardo Lombardo was waiting for him by the elevator. And Leo didn't look too thrilled to see him.
" You look like your dog just died," Marcus said.
" Don't got a dog."
" So what's with the warm and cheerful welcome? Did the mob put a hit out on me?"
Leo, a man of average height in his late forties, carried about thirty extra pounds around his middle, and his swarthy Italian looks gave him an air of mystery and danger. Around town, rumormongers had spread stories that Leo was an American expatriate with mob ties. But Marcus knew exactly who had started those rumors. Leo had a depraved sense of humor.
But his friend wasn 't smiling now.
" You really gotta get some sleep."
Stepping into the elevator, Marcus shrugged. "Sleep's overrated."
" You look like hell."
" Thanks."
" You're welcome." Leo pushed the second floor button and took a hesitant breath. "Listen, man…"
Whenever Leo started a sentence with those two words, Marcus knew it wouldn't be good.
" You're not on your game," Leo said. "You're starting to slip up."
" What do you mean? I do my job."
" You filed that multiple-car accident report from last night in the wrong place. Shipley's spent half the morning looking for it. I tried covering for you, but he's pretty pissed."
" Shipley's always pissed."
Pete Shipley made it a ritual to make Marcus 's life hell whenever possible, which was more often
Minutes later, they were entwined in the sheets, out of breath and laughing like teenagers. Sex with Jane was always like that. Exciting. Youthful. Fun.
After dressing, Jane retreated to the bathroom to fix her hair and makeup. "Camouflage on," she said when she returned. "Now let's get going."
" Yes, ma'am."
He heard her whispering, "Six plus eight plus two…"
"Are you doing that numerology thing again?" he asked with a grin.
Jane had gone to a psychic fair when she'd found out she was pregnant, and a numerologist had given her a lesson in adding dates. Ever since then, whenever something important came up, she'd work out the numbers to determine if it was going to be a good day or not. She even made Marcus buy lotto tickets on "three days," which she said meant money coming in. They hadn't won a lottery yet, but he played along anyway.
"What is it today?"
She smiled. "A seven."
"Ah, lucky seven." He arched a brow at her. "So I'm going to get lucky?"
"I think you already did, mister."
They 'd been late for the awards banquet, which didn't go over too well since Jane was the guest of honor, the recipient of a Best Programmer award for her latest video game creation at BioWare. When Jane had stepped up on the stage to receive her award, Marcus didn't think he could ever be prouder. Until the night Ryan was born.
Ryan …the son I killed.
Marcus gave his head a jerk, forcing the memories back into the shadows―where they belonged. He picked up the can of shaving cream. His eyes rested, unfocused, on the label.
To shave or not to shave. That was the question.
" Nah, not today," he muttered.
He hadn 't shaved in weeks. He was also overdue for a haircut. Thankfully, they weren't too strict about appearances at work, though his supervisor would probably harp on it again.
The alarm on his watch beeped.
He had twenty minutes to get to the center. Then he'd get back to hiding behind the anonymity of being a faceless voice on the phone.
Yellowhead County Emergency Services in Edson, Alberta, housed a small but competent 911 call center situated on the second floor of a spacious building on 1 st Avenue. Four rooms on the floor were rented out to emergency groups, like First Aid, CPR and EMS, for training facilities. The 911 center had a full-time staff of four emergency operators and two supervisors—one for the day shift, one for the night. They also had a handful of highly trained but underpaid casual staff and three regular volunteers.
When Marcus entered the building, Leonardo Lombardo was waiting for him by the elevator. And Leo didn't look too thrilled to see him.
" You look like your dog just died," Marcus said.
" Don't got a dog."
" So what's with the warm and cheerful welcome? Did the mob put a hit out on me?"
Leo, a man of average height in his late forties, carried about thirty extra pounds around his middle, and his swarthy Italian looks gave him an air of mystery and danger. Around town, rumormongers had spread stories that Leo was an American expatriate with mob ties. But Marcus knew exactly who had started those rumors. Leo had a depraved sense of humor.
But his friend wasn 't smiling now.
" You really gotta get some sleep."
Stepping into the elevator, Marcus shrugged. "Sleep's overrated."
" You look like hell."
" Thanks."
" You're welcome." Leo pushed the second floor button and took a hesitant breath. "Listen, man…"
Whenever Leo started a sentence with those two words, Marcus knew it wouldn't be good.
" You're not on your game," Leo said. "You're starting to slip up."
" What do you mean? I do my job."
" You filed that multiple-car accident report from last night in the wrong place. Shipley's spent half the morning looking for it. I tried covering for you, but he's pretty pissed."
" Shipley's always pissed."
Pete Shipley made it a ritual to make Marcus 's life hell whenever possible, which was more often
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