The Soul Catcher - Alex Kava [22]
Maggie smiled, watching Marco fawn over her, helping her with her coat, even taking the briefcase. He started to hang it from the brass hook beside their table, then thought better of it and leaned it carefully and safely inside their booth.
“What are you carrying around these days?” he complained. “Feels like a load of bricks.”
“Close. It’s a load of my new book.”
“Ah…yes, I forget that you are now a famous author as well as a famous shrink to the pundits and politicos.”
“I’m not sure about that famous-author part,” she told him as she smoothed her skirt with both hands and scooted into the booth. “I doubt that Investigating the Criminal Mind of Adolescent Males will make it onto the New York Times bestseller list anytime soon.”
Marco’s massive eyebrows rose, along with his hands, in mock surprise. “Such a large and weighty subject for such a small and beautiful woman.”
“Now, Marco, every time you flatter me like that I end up ordering the cheesecake.”
“Sweets for the sweet. Seems appropriate.”
This time Gwen rolled her eyes at him. He patted her shoulder and headed off to greet a pair of Japanese men waiting at the door.
“Sorry,” she said to Maggie. “We go through this every time.”
“It must pay off. He gave us the best booth in the place.”
Gwen sat back and took a long look at her friend. Maggie seemed pleasantly amused by the whole charade. Maybe it was simply the effects of the Scotch, because when Maggie had called earlier, she had sounded depressed, almost pained and stricken. She had told Gwen she was in the city and wanted to know if she had time for dinner. Gwen knew her friend had to be working. Maggie lived in Virginia, almost an hour away, in one of the District’s ritzy suburbs. She seldom drove into the city for recreation, least of all on the spur of the moment.
“How did the book signing go?” Maggie sipped her Scotch, and Gwen caught herself wondering if this was her first. Maggie noticed. “Don’t worry. This is my one and only. I need to drive home later.”
“The signing went well,” she said, deciding to bypass an opportunity to lecture Maggie about her newly acquired habit. The fact was, she worried about Maggie. She rarely saw her anymore without an accompanying glass of Scotch. “I’m always surprised how many people are interested in the strange and twisted minds of criminals.” She waved down a waiter and ordered a glass of chardonnay. Then to Maggie, she said, “I’ve been cabbing it all day, so I get more than one.”
“Cheater.”
Gwen was relieved that Maggie could still joke about it, especially after their last dinner together when Gwen had suggested Maggie needed the Scotch more than she wanted it. Gwen had gotten off with only a glare that told her to butt out. Useless, really. Maggie was stuck with her friendship, and with it—whether she liked it or not—came a buttinsky maternal instinct that Gwen couldn’t even explain to herself.
Gwen was fifteen years older than Maggie, and ever since the two met, back when Maggie was a forensic intern at Quantico and Gwen a consulting psychologist, Gwen had felt a protectiveness toward Maggie that she had never experienced before. She had always believed she didn’t have a maternal bone in her body. But for some reason she became the proverbial mama bear, ready to claw the eyes out of anyone who threatened to hurt Maggie.
Now Gwen shoved her menu aside, ready to play psychologist, friend and mother. She hadn’t learned how to separate those roles. So what if she never did. Maggie could use someone to look after her, whether she believed it or not.
“What brought you to the city? Something at headquarters?”
Maggie worked out of Quantico in the Behavioral Science Unit and rarely made it to FBI headquarters at Ninth and Pennsylvania Avenue.
Maggie nodded. “Just got back from visiting Ganza. But I was out at Arlington before that. Today was Agent Delaney’s funeral.”
“Oh, Maggie. I didn’t realize.” Gwen watched her friend, who was doing an excellent job of avoiding Gwen’s eyes, sipping her Scotch, rearranging