Chapter 10: Rule Two

"You're soaked," I said.

"I walked."

"From where?"

"The hotel."

"That's forty blocks."

"It was raining," Thatcher said, as if that explained it.

I stepped back from the door, and he stepped in.

He ducked his head under the low kitchen light and stood on the mat dripping, with his hands still in his pockets.

Lacey's door was shut, and her fan was running.

I handed him a towel.

He looked at it.

"I came to tell you something," he said.

"Dry off first."

"It's about the lock."

"You can say it with your hair wet, or you can say it with your hair dry."

He sighed and bent his head.

I put the towel over it and rubbed.

It was the first time I had touched his hair, and it was an accident, in the sense that it was a towel.

His hair was thick and cold and soaking, and under my hands I felt him go completely still.

His eyes closed.

A sound came out of his throat, low and short, and he stopped it as soon as he heard it.

He's tired, I told myself. It's been a long day. He's had a very long day.

"The lock," I said.

"My mother's security man was in your apartment," Thatcher said from under the towel.

"Last week. Twice. He photographed your shelves."

I stopped rubbing.

"Why?"

"She says it's for your protection. She says she worries."

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