The Law Of Three: A Rowan Gant Investigation Read Free Page B

jaw line. Then I tugged at my goatee for a moment. The
action prompted me to remember that I’d recently noticed the dark
brown was being infiltrated by grey and white like a quickly
spreading fungus. I absently considered a dye job for a moment then
dismissed the idea as silly. I’d never been particularly vain
before, so there was no reason to start now.
    I reached behind with both hands and massaged
the back of my head for a moment, hoping that it might help quell
the ache.
    It didn’t.
    Picking up my coffee cup, I took a swig of
the remaining contents and noticed immediately that it had grown
cold. I guess I’d been a little more caught up in solitaire than
I’d realized. Oh well, it had kept my mind off the pain, at least a
little.
    I pushed back and quietly got up, then
carefully hooked around the small dining table where I’d been
seated. I aimed myself toward the orange glow of the light on the
coffeepot, using it as a beacon in the darkness. Since it was
presently residing on the counter in the closet-sized room that was
supposed to pass for a kitchen, I gave little thought to this being
a problem. However, since I still wasn’t used to the layout of this
apartment, in my single-minded quest for fresh java I cut my entry
through the doorway far too shallow.
    There was a loud thump, followed by me
quickly listing to one side, and then the ache in the back of my
head was pushed aside in favor of a new sensation. Of course, that
feeling was a sharp, and far more extreme, pain in my toe.
    I caught my breath, quickly swallowing the
yelp that I’d managed to stop midway in my throat, and then fought
to stifle a groan that quickly followed on its heels. A pitiful
sounding mixture of the two managed to escape anyway.
    Just for good measure, I stuttered a few
random selections from the big book of four-letter expletives,
passing them as quietly as I could through clenched teeth. Finally,
I half limped, half hopped into the kitchenette and leaned against
the counter.
    I’d been propped there for no more than a
minute when my muffled swearing was interrupted by a sleepy voice
at the doorway.
    “Row? Are you okay?”
    “Yeah,” I grunted with little conviction in
my voice. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
    I hadn’t heard her approach, not that I was
surprised. I was a bit preoccupied to say the least, and besides,
she was far more graceful than I would ever be. I grimaced, not so
much from the pain, but because waking Felicity was exactly what I
had wanted to avoid.
    “What are you doing up?”
    “Just attempting to break my toe,” I
muttered, turning my head and looking back toward her.
    “What happened?” my wife asked, her voice a
quiet blend of two parts sleep to one part concern, all underscored
by a faint Celtic intonation. “You’re sure you’re okay, then?”
    Felicity was second generation
Irish-American, and she had spent an enormous amount of time in
Ireland throughout her life. She was never completely free of the
lilt, though it was most pronounced whenever she was overtired,
under stress, or as in this case, half asleep. It almost always
came bundled with a rich and colorful brogue to match.
    “Yeah, I’m okay,” I told her as I focused on
her slight form. “Just stubbed it, that’s all.”
    She had propped herself in the doorway, using
the back of her hand for a pillow as she rested it against the
frame. In the dim light, I could see that her eyes were closed as
she yawned. A loose pile of fiery auburn hair sat atop her head in
a Gibson-girlish coif. Whenever she let the cascade of spiraling
tresses hang free, it would easily reach her waist. Her pale skin
seemed to almost glow in the darkness.
    She let out a heavy sigh and stretched
slowly. She was clad in an oversized t-shirt, but her tight figure
still managed to tug it into varying degrees of eye candy as she
languidly arched her back. How she managed to look this good even
when she had just climbed out of bed was something beyond