Tropical Storm

Chapter Five

“DAR, WHEN ARE you leaving?” Maria stood in the doorway, her bag slung over her shoulder. It was Friday night, at the end of one of the worst weeks the secretary could remember. She watched her boss with concern. The dark-haired woman was seated behind the large wooden desk with the fading sun behind her. “Dar?”

“Hmm?” The executive glanced up from her monitor, giving the woman a wry look. “I’ve got to finish up this damn financial report, Maria. It’ll be a few more hours yet.” Her desk was scattered with fanfold reports, most of them custom, most of them with her login displayed prominently on their top sheets, indicating she’d run them herself. “It’s called burying the bodies, Maria. I’ve got to hide two rank disasters, and still make the numbers come out right. I think I’ve got one covered, but if Travel and Transportation doesn’t come up with their numbers in about an hour, I’m going to have to drive down there and beat them out of them with a baseball bat.”

She sat back and reviewed the spreadsheets for the dozenth time. It was like building a puzzle that had too many pieces. You had to pick which one you used, and the pickings were getting ugly tonight.

Of course. Dar glanced at the folder containing the Associated files. It would be easier just to claim the entire account as new business in the applicable areas, and de-structure the cost side by disbanding the company.

Easier, and it would make the numbers work on top of it, allowing her to go home after almost thirty-six straight hours of working on the project.

She wouldn’t need to hide anything else, and T and T’s numbers wouldn’t matter.

In fact, twice she’d done just that, her fingers hovering over the Submit keys, and then she’d backed off, for reasons she really didn’t quite have a handle on. Maybe it was the persistent optimism of Kerry’s notes, as the young manager worked and reworked her numbers, getting closer and closer to the goal Dar had set. A goal which was probably irrelevant by now, unless a miracle happened.

She knew she should just call the damn woman, and tell her to give it up…go home, and just reconcile herself to the unpleasant reality of the situation, but every time she punched the Dial button, her eyes fell on the latest of Kerry’s plans, and she stopped, and went back to searching her spreadsheets yet again.

The phone buzzed, and she slapped it. “Yeah?”

Duks voice came through the line. “T and T’s numbers just processed.”

Tropical Storm 47

He shuffled some papers. “They suck.”

Dar closed her eyes as she hit the Refresh on her page, and did not open them until she heard her hard drive stop churning. The bottom line blinked at her, and she felt an overwhelming weariness settle on her shoulders. “We need to fire someone over there,” she commented tiredly.

“Mmm,” Duks agreed, his voice sounding equally tired. “Too late for this quarter, though. I’ll make you a list of my favorite candidates for the Burger King line.” The VP Finance, one of Dar’s closest allies, was a pragmatist if anyone was.

“Thanks, Dukky,” the tall woman replied. “All right. Is Mariana still there?” Mariana Sartis was the VP Personnel, who worked hand in fist with Dukky, and, some said, was sleeping with him. Dar didn’t care and thought they made a cute couple, but company rules were company rules.

“She’s right here.”

“I’m going to have to cut all of Associated loose, Mari,” Dar said quietly.

“You might as well start setting up the packets. Queue the work lists to me.”

“All right, Dar,” the lightly accented voice answered. “They never really transitioned, so it’s just a matter of W4 notification.”

“I know, bastards won’t even get two weeks.” Dar exhaled. “Let me go finalize this. You’ll get an update in a little while.”

She hung up the phone and stared at the screen, pulling her alternate plan to the foreground and processing it. The bottom line flickered, then resolved, and she gave it a little nod. “Sorry, kid.” She took a deep breath, and picked up the phone, dialing a number and waiting. Anyone who thinks it’s all glamour never had to do this, she mused, then straightened as the phone was answered, and she heard Kerry’s soft voice.

“Associated Synergenics, Kerry Stuart.”

“Ms. Stuart.” Dar paused to gathered her thoughts.

“Oh, hello.” Kerry cleared her throat. “Listen, I know you’re getting close to your deadline, but I think I’ve got it. It took forever but I finally found some slack in the facilities budget.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Stuart. It’s just not going to fit in with our plans,” Dar said quietly. “It was a good try, and you were on the right track, but it’s not going to be possible.”

Dead silence stretched out for a moment. “You son of a bitch.” Kerry’s voice was strangled, with either rage or tears, Dar couldn’t tell. “I hope you go straight to hell, because that’s exactly where you belong.” The phone slammed down, and the line went dead.

Dar quietly replaced her receiver and let her hands fall to her thighs. It certainly wasn’t the first time she’d been told that, and probably wouldn’t be the last, but after thirty-six hours with no sleep, her emotional defenses were in tatters, and it hurt. It got past her carefully cultivated and hardened attitude, and she let her head rest against the high-backed chair with her eyes closed tight as the silence of the mostly empty building settled over her.

Finally, she got up and opened her top drawer, taking her keys out and throwing her jacket over her shoulders. She had till midnight to close the books. Right now, all she wanted to do was find some empty space, and salt air.

48 Melissa Good KERRY SLAMMED HER chair back and stood, pacing over to the wall and staring at it. She let her anger build until it was at the breaking point, then she let it loose, slamming her fist against the drywall surface with a crunch.

The painful shock raced up her arm, and she pulled her hand back to see a baseball-sized dent in the wall that did little to release her fury.

“Lowdown piece of godforsaken—I can’t believe she did that,” she fumed, letting her head come to rest against the abused wall. “A whole week of killing myself, for nothing. For nothing!” She knew she didn’t have to worry about anyone hearing her, as she was alone in the building. She’d sent the rest of the staff home early, hinting that she might have good news for them on Monday.

It had been going so well. Her last two drafts had gotten cautious praise from Dar, and she’d allowed herself to hope that she’d actually be able to pull this off. Everyone had left in a good mood, and she’d heard several groups planning get-togethers out in the Grove or at Bayside, which was one of her own favorite spots.

She sat down on the edge of her desk and felt like crying. Then she decided she was just too tired and too mad to do even that. “Might as well get out of here.” She picked up her things and left her desk the way it was, covered with draft proposals and stacks of reports, not even looking back as she shut the door.

For a while, she just drove around aimlessly, taking I 95 down past the city center to see the lights come on as dusk dropped over the city. The sun setting in the west sent a wash of tropical orange light across the tall buildings, reflecting off the glass-mirrored surface. The sky was layered with clouds, and each layer took on a different pastel shade—from burnished orange, to pink, to lavender—as they spread across the horizon.

Kerry pulled off to the side near the interchange ramp, ignoring the bustling traffic and opening the top of her Mustang convertible as the warm, damp breeze blew in. The sunset painted its hues as she watched, the dusk in the east causing the lights to emerge while the last rays put stripes across the highway. It smelled like rain, and the breeze cooled, brushing humid tendrils across her arm where it rested on the windowsill. It was beautiful, and now the tears came, and she let them, rolling down her face as a snatch of music blew by, rich with a Caribbean beat.

She sat there until the sky darkened and the orange phosphor lights kicked on, bathing the highway in a surreal light and dimming the stars overhead. Then she reluctantly started her engine and pulled out into traffic, debating a moment, then choosing an exit a few minutes later and turning east.

The lights dimmed as she headed out over Rickenbacker Causeway, crossing Virginia Key and passing the old Dinner Key auditorium. She’d attended a dawn Easter mass here last year, and it held fond memories for her as the rising sun and the fresh spring air had brought new meaning to the holiday.

Kerry traveled across the second long bridge out to Key Biscayne, the first in the long chain of barrier islands which guarded the Florida coastline and extended down to the last one, Key West, which was the southernmost point Tropical Storm 49

in the United States. Out here, even the ecology was different, and Kerry had taken a liking to the beachfront Crandon Park, which she now pulled into and got out of her car.

The sand was soft and crunched gently under her shoes as she trudged toward the water, passing a jungle of sea grapes which rustled in the evening air. The ocean made a soft hissing as it ran up onto the shore, the onshore breeze bringing a heavy salt tang to her nose as she found a weathered bench and dropped onto it.

It was so different here. She sighed and took in a deep breath of the thick air. She could see the soft white of the breakers over the sandbar just offshore and the blinking lights of ships coming into the port. A green and red path lined the navigation channel to her north, and right now a cruise ship was making its stately way in, riding across the waves like a well-lit castle. Here there were so many different kinds of people, and attitudes. You don’t like the culture? Wait five minutes, was a local saying. It was a mixture of Caribbean and South American, native and immigrant, exotic and bedrock Old South.

She could, in a drive of an hour, visit a western rodeo, an Indian reservation, Little Havana, Little Haiti, Old Florida, or the glittery vista of Miami Beach.

So different, so much more open and accepting than the closed world she’d grown up in.

Her fingers played idly with the rough wood, rubbing large grains of sand between them as the salt air left a perceptibly dry feel on her skin. She stared between her feet, leaning over and picking up a brown and white speckled shell, perfectly shaped, which sat in the palm of her hand, its gently ridged surface rippling under her fingertips.

Maybe she could find another job. If she did it quickly, she could say it was intentional, and by the time her parents figured out what had happened, it would be over with, and she’d be settled into a new position. Who knew?

Maybe she’d find something even better than what she had. Robert would give her an excellent recommendation, and Susan had mentioned a recruiter, one she really liked.

But first she had to get through Monday, and she held no illusions that little Ms. Cruella de Bitch would help them out in any way. They’d probably find the goon squad there again in the morning, making sure they didn’t steal the pencils on their way out.

Remembering her friends’ optimistic voices was a very lonely feeling. She hoped they’d forgive her for raising their hopes and not being able to deliver what she’d promised herself she would. That final plan would have worked too.

Yes, there were cuts, fifty-one people in fact. But one hundred and seventy two would have been kept, and been productive. She’d made sacrifices everywhere, including training, office furniture, benefits and prospective raises, the new phone switch they’d been planning, and the subsidizing of the snack machines. It would have been tight, and not as comfortable as it had been, but…

But.

Kerry threw the shell into the wind, watching as it dropped into the thick, cream-colored sand. All for nothing. She walked to the water’s edge, letting the lapping tide darken the toes of her shoes and stared out at the uncaring 50 Melissa Good Atlantic until a large, fat raindrop struck her arm. With a sigh, she turned and made her way back to the car, the scent of rain hitting the sun-warmed pavement rising around her as she reached it.

She was all the way across the causeway and had picked up the highway before she glanced down and spotted her gas gauge. A soft curse emerged as the red light winked at her implacably, and she looked around for the nearest exit. “Damn.”

Northeast 2nd Street was the closest choice, and she headed down the ramp, turning left as she got to the light and moving down the quiet, back streets on the verge of the city. She had to stop at the next light, and the engine sputtered. She glanced around, then headed through the light as it turned green, but it sputtered again, then died, and she wrestled the car over to the side of the road as she lost power steering.

“Just my day.” She sighed and let her head rest against the wheel, listening to the rain drum down on the convertible roof. Outside, dark forms ran to take cover in the overhung doorways of the silent buildings, their occupants gone home for the day. To her right loomed the highway, and she could hear cars rushing by, leaving the city proper to its transient nighttime denizens.

She considered where she was, and realized there were no gas stations within several miles of her. Even those closest would mean a walk through the rain across the tracks, or through downtown, not the best of choices for a young woman alone at night.

Another thought hit her. She’d left the office without her briefcase, which meant she didn’t have her wallet, any identification, or her credit and ATM

cards. She dug through her change tray and discovered she had exactly three dollars and sixteen cents, sufficient for enough gas to get her back to the office, but not enough for a cab to get to the gas, and her Filofax with numbers for everything, including AAA, was sitting on her desk.

She let out a breath, then dug out her cell phone. A quick try to Colleen’s house went unanswered, and the two or three she knew from memory of her work colleagues did the same. Of course. It was Friday night. They were all out.

She looked at the phone in disgust, then realized a piece of paper was stuck to the clip in the back. She pulled it out and stared at the number written on it, then let it fall to the seat beside her. She drummed her fingers on the console, then leaned forward and peered through the rain, to where several of the dark figures were standing, seemingly watching her.

Her eyes went to the piece of paper again, and she picked it up. “Well, that bitch owes me a phone call to the auto club, at least,” she muttered, then dialed the number. “I’ll call her stooge and have him send over a couple of gallons of gas.”

It rang four times, and she almost hung up before the ringing stopped, and a crackle indicated an open line.

“Hello.” The quiet voice was almost unrecognizable.

Kerry hesitated, startled, and then cleared her throat. Oh damn. Doesn’t it just figure this is her blasted number? “Hi…um, never mind.” Unable to go through with asking for help from a woman she’d just told off an hour and a Tropical Storm 51

half ago, she hung up.

The rain drummed harder, and she almost missed the soft sound of her phone ringing. Surprised, she glanced down at it, then pressed the talk key.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Stuart?” Dar’s voice was more familiar now, and held a cool, questioning tone. “Is there something you wanted?”

Well, Kerry sighed, a t least she’s not telling me off. “This is kind of stupid, and I…well, I didn’t know this was your phone, really. I was just looking for someone to make a call for me. I’m…I don’t have my phone book with me.” It felt very awkward.

Momentary silence from the other end. “So, what’s the number?”

Kerry hesitated. “Well, I don’t…I don’t know, is the problem. I’m kind of stuck, and I need the auto club.” She bit the bullet and went on. “Look, I ran out of gas, and I just need them to bring me a few gallons so I can get back to the office.”

“Oh.” Dar seemed to consider this. “Where are you?” Kerry told her.

“That’s not a good area,” the executive commented.

“I know,” Kerry answered. “It’s pretty creepy right now.” She paused.

“Thank you for not hanging up on me.”

Another long silence. “Until I process my work list on Monday, you’re still an employee of mine. You used my company cell phone. Something happens to you now, and you’ve got grounds for a pretty big lawsuit.”

Kerry was at a loss for words. “Wh-why would you assume I’d do that?”

“You assume the worst of me, I figure I should return the compliment,”

Dar replied. “Hold on, I’m getting the number.” The sound of a second phone was barely audible in the background.

Kerry was too tired to be angry. “All right. Well, thank you for making the call for me,” she answered softly. A motion caught her eye, and she glanced out of the windshield, which was fogging a little from her breath.

“Um.” The group of shadowy forms had switched doorways, and were now just opposite her. “Maybe you better call the police instead.”

“Why?” Dar’s voice sharpened.

“Oh…my god!” Kerry ducked as the bat hit the glass of the passenger-side window, scattering shards over her body. Hands reached and grabbed her, and the cell phone was torn from her grasp. She twisted, hearing Hispanic curses, and gasped as fingers gripped her upper arm, dragging her toward the shattered window. Her shirt ripped, and she felt rain against the bare skin of her chest, then cruel fingers grabbed her bra strap and yanked it.

A hand entangled itself in her hair and pulled sharply, and she was forced to let go of the steering wheel she’d had a death grip on. Water was now pelting in the open window and she could smell dirt, and alcohol, and old, stale garlic.

The roar of the rain grew louder, and she fought against the hands, her body scraping over broken glass as flashes of lightning suddenly lit up the scene. She heard a crunch, then a scream, and one grip loosened. She twisted hard against the other, and heard an odd cracking noise, then the hands were gone, and she was panting in terror, curling up in a ball in the front seat and covering her head with her arms.

52 Melissa Good A light hit her closed eyes, and she heard the lock work on her passenger side door. A gust of wind and rain blew in as it opened, and she huddled down further in the seat, biting her lip hard and tasting blood inside her mouth. Then there was a hand on her arm. Gentle, not grasping.

“Hey.”

Kerry felt a shock course through her, and she lifted her head, opening her eyes to see pale blue ones gazing back at her, outlined in the light of a powerful hand lamp. “Oh. It’s you.”

Dar blinked, and removed her hand. “Yes, it is.”

“Where…” Kerry glanced around fearfully, searching for her attackers.

“Where did they…”

“They’re gone,” Dar replied quietly. “Maybe they didn’t like getting wet.” Kerry let out a shuddering breath. “Oh my god.” She slowly uncurled and picked up a piece of the shattered glass, then let it drop. “Perfect end to a perfect day,” she murmured softly, exhausted. “But thank you…for coming along and scaring them off.”

Dar flexed a hand out of Kerry’s line of sight, wincing at the soreness.

“No problem.” She glanced up at the weather, then at the slumped form across from her. There was glass everywhere, and she could see a lot of scraped skin where Kerry’s shirt was ripped open. “You all right?”

Kerry looked up from her shaking hands and their eyes met briefly.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “That was just an amazingly sucky thing to have happened.”

Dar’s lips pressed thinly together. “All right, come on over and get in my car. I’ll call the cops.” She waited for Kerry to open her mouth to protest, and put a hand up when she did. “Look, I’ll just wait for them to get here, then I’ll be out of your sight. I know I’m not your favorite person right now.”

“Don’t.” Kerry put a hand on her arm. “Please don’t call the police.” She raked shaking fingers through her damp hair. “I have a friend who can fix this. I don’t want reports and all that.”

Dar studied the pale fingers curled around her wrist, then lifted her eyes to Kerry’s face in mild puzzlement. “All right.” She gazed at the smaller woman. “You need to get those cuts taken care of, though.”

Kerry gazed down at her arms tiredly. “I’ll take care of them.” She self-consciously tugged the shreds of her shirt around her, and looked up at Dar.

“I guess I just need those couple of gallons of gas.”

The tall, dark-haired woman stared pensively at her for a moment, then gave her head a little negative shake. “No. I have a better plan,” she announced. “I’ll get your car towed wherever you want it, and I’ll drive you home.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” the blonde replied softly. “But thank you for offering.”

“You’re not asking, and I’m not offering,” Dar answered. “You need it done, and I’m insisting.” She pulled a cell phone from her back pocket and flipped it on, dialing a number from memory. “John?” she queried, when a voice answered. “It’s Dar. I need a pickup and tow.” After a long pause, she said, “No, not me this time. Northeast 2nd and Flagler. A forest green Tropical Storm 53

Mustang ragtop.” She listened to the query from the other end of the line.

“Hang on.” She glanced at Kerry. “Where do you want it?”

Kerry debated, then surrendered and gave her address, which Dar repeated into the phone carefully. “Tarp the passenger-side window, it’s cracked,” she added, then hung up. “Okay, let’s go.”

“You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?” Kerry said with a sigh.

“I usually don’t, so no,” Dar told her crisply. “Come on.” She eased out of the passenger side and waited for Kerry to gingerly emerge from the driver’s side door into a thick blanket of warm rain.

Kerry shielded her eyes from the downpour, wincing as she put weight on her left leg. “Ow.” She grabbed hold of the doorjamb and gingerly flexed her leg. “Damn.”

Dar circled the car. “What?” She reached out, then let her hands drop in some confusion.

“Banged my kneecap on the steering wheel.” Kerry grimaced. “Must have twisted something.” She cautiously put weight on the leg again, then threw her arms out in reflex as it threatened to collapse under her. “Son of a—” Dar grabbed her, holding her steady until she caught her balance again.

“Watch it.”

“Yeah. Sorry,” Kerry muttered in an embarrassed tone. “I’m fine.”

Dar sighed and walked her over to the Lexus, which was parked haphazardly facing the Mustang, its lights illuminating the scene. She opened the door and guided Kerry inside, then shut it carefully behind her and walked around to the other side. As she got in, she glanced over at her unwilling passenger. Kerry was huddled against the door, her arms wrapped around her, a shell-shocked look on her pale face. She plucked aimlessly at the torn pieces of her shirt with faintly shaking fingers.

“Here.” Dar reached behind her and pulled out a dark blue sweatshirt, which she handed to the younger woman. “Put that on. The air gets a little chilly in here.”

Kerry stared at the shirt. “No, it’s okay.” She moved back a little. “I’m fine.”

“Look, pretend you don’t hate my guts for about another forty-five minutes, and this’ll be over, all right?” Dar snapped, her temper frayed at the edges. “Just put the damn thing on.”

Pale green eyes gazed back at her. “I don’t.”

“What?” Now that the adrenaline had drained out of her, Dar was wishing for a few sweatshirts herself, along with a mug of hot milk and a couple of other creature comforts she hadn’t had a in a long time.

“Hate you.” Kerry reached out and took the clothing from her. “I’m sorry.

I’m just a little out of my mind right now.” She turned the shirt right way around and pulled it over her head. “Thanks.” She looked down at the shirt. It had the word Navy embroidered across it in gold, and was lightly scented with Dar’s perfume.

It was strangely comforting. She wrapped her arms around herself, exhaling as the dry cotton warmed her skin, and closed her eyes, wishing it all 54 Melissa Good was just a nightmare she’d eventually wake up from.

Maybe she was in shock. Certainly, her thoughts were going every which way, as the shaking slowly subsided and she tried to reconcile herself to what had just happened. Jesus, they could have… Her mind swerved away from the thought, and she glanced over at the car’s other occupant, outlined in the luridly orange light of the streetlamp, deep in thought herself.

The profile was strong, and yet there was a surprising vulnerability to it that vanished as Dar felt the attention and straightened up. Kerry reached out instinctively and put a hand on Dar’s wrist, waiting for those pale eyes to focus on her. “Thanks,” she said again. “Even if you rescued me for legal reasons, I appreciate it.”

Dar studied her briefly, her expression unfathomable. Then she blinked, and her gazed shifted a little. “That was really my personal cell phone,” she remarked. “But you’re welcome.”

Kerry stared at her in puzzlement, and after a brief moment, they both sort of half shrugged. Dar started the car in silence and pulled away from the curb.

STILL IN A DAZE, Kerry slowly walked into her office. As they pulled onto the highway, she’d remembered that all her things were still there, so Dar had nodded and driven her there without comment.

Now, Dar entered behind her, and Kerry noticed for the first time that she certainly wasn’t in one of her power suits. Water-stained jeans and hightop sneakers, along with a hooded sweatshirt minus its sleeves, painted a very different picture than the one her mind remembered from their previous encounter.

She looks a lot younger, for one thing. Kerry suddenly realized the executive wasn’t much older than she was. Her tanned skin seemed to absorb the light, and the pitiless fluorescents revealed nicely toned muscles in her arms and shoulders which rippled softly as she moved around the office.

Dar’s eyes stopped as she reached the desk, and she studied the piles of paperwork strewn forlornly across it. A look of regret crossed her face, and she lifted her gaze to meet Kerry’s. “I know you did a lot of work on this.”

Kerry perched on the edge of her desk, and thumbed through a printout.

“I almost wish I hadn’t. I felt like I was coming so close…” She let the papers fall and looked up. “Why did you let me do that?”

“You were close.” Dar sat down on the chair next to Kerry’s and let her forearms rest on her thighs. “It’s complicated,” she replied quietly. “A lot of things just wouldn’t fall into place, and I needed numbers.” She shifted. “It was the last thing I threw out.” She reached over and nudged the report. “One last set of reports came in, and I just couldn’t do it.”

Kerry circled her desk and sat in her chair, pushing the overlong sleeves back on the sweatshirt. “So, we just become numbers,” she commented softly.

“I don’t think I understand that very well.”

A shrug. “It’s what we all are.”

“Mmm,” Kerry murmured. “Even you?”

Dar nodded wearily. “If it’s any consolation, I’m very sorry.”

Tropical Storm 55

Kerry looked at her pensively. Dar had changed in her eyes. She no longer appeared to be the icy cold, practical executive. This was a person. One who under other circumstances she might have liked. “Me too,” she replied.

“I’ll probably end up going home to Michigan. I’ll miss a lot of things here.”

Dar looked up. “There are other jobs out there. We might even have something you might…”

Kerry shook her head. “No.” She took in Dar’s puzzled expression. “It’s complicated.” She played with a pencil on her desk, turning it over and over.

“You know, it’s really too bad, Ms. Roberts, because in another place…another time, I think you and I might have been friends.” She glanced up regretfully, and was captured in blue eyes that unexpectedly swallowed her whole.

But it only lasted an instant, and then Dar was sighing and standing up.

“Maybe.” She ran a hand through her dark hair. “But right now, we should get you home,” the executive stated. “I have to run back by my office and finalize things.”

Kerry played with her pencil, biting on the eraser for a moment before looking up. “Can I come look at your numbers?” Her eyes fastened on Dar’s face, knowing she’d caught Dar by surprise. “I’m sorry.” She managed a half grin. “I don’t give up easily.”

Dar inhaled sharply at the sudden and unexpected challenge. She was exhausted, they were both drenched, Kerry was injured. It was late. It was insanity to even consider, insanity even for Kerry to have asked, or more like, presumed. She found those intense green eyes watching her intently and saw those lips twitch into a friendlier shape and… What the hell.

“Sure.” Dar wasn’t sure that voice was even hers. What the hell am I doing?

Then she thought about it. Well, what could it hurt? The kid’s sharp, and maybe a fresh set of eyes… “I’ve got some first aid stuff there for those cuts.”

The hint of a smile turned into a full one, if only for a brief moment, and it transformed Kerry’s face. “You wouldn’t happen to have some coffee there too, would you?”

Dar relaxed a little. “We do.” She indicated the door. “I think it may even stop raining.” She paused, as thunder rolled overhead. “Okay, maybe not.”

Kerry flipped off the lights as they left, and she limped after Dar with her briefcase slung over her shoulder. “How much wetter and more miserable can I possibly get?”

Dar almost chuckled as she shook her head. “Guess we’ll find out.”