Page 40 of Foxed Up

"Wow," said Eli, his eyes round. "I want to be you when I grow up."

Jon, who had moved to stand behind his son, squeezed Eli's shoulders and laughed softly. He sounded so happy.

I was really glad he'd convinced me to give him another chance. My heart had been breaking without him. Being with him...trusting him, hoping again...it felt soright. Would that change someday, and the end be worse than I could have imagined? I pushed that thought aside; if we were really going to try, then I couldn't be thinking about failing.

After breakfast, I rode along with father and son as Jon dropped Eli off for school. I was quiet, soaking in what it felt like to be part of their routine. It seemed manageable. I like my space, and I like quiet and neatness and room to read, to breathe, to let down my hair. But this was nice, too. Being part of their routine felt like a gift.

I had the feeling I was going to be welcome more often in the future. If we could all just stay calm about it, this could be excellent. I didn't have to be with them every moment, but if I was able to be part of their lives, I would cherish that.

Jon and I could really be together. Staying over was a big sign of commitment; it meant a lot to me. And Eli seemed to accept me, too.

"Bye, Dad, bye, fox," said Eli, giving me a wave and a naughty little grin.

"That'sWallace," corrected Jon.

"He can call me fox. I don't mind." I smiled at Eli and returned his wave. He was trying to get my goat, but I really didn't mind. I knew, from the way he'd clung to me last night, thatfoxcould never be anything but a compliment coming from him. It had helped to hug me: I was something warm and small and soft and not dangerous.

I turned to Jon and smiled when we were alone together in the car. "Thank you for having me over. It was wonderful." That wasn't quite all I wanted to say. But it felt like an appropriate reaction.

"You saw a bit of the worst...and brought out some of the best," said Jon. He drummed his hands on the wheel. He had those wrinkles on his forehead that meant he was pissed off, worried, or worried and pissed off.

I waited patiently.

"You sure I can't change your mind about going undercover?"

"I already agreed to it," I reminded him. "And you know my reasoning."

"You barely got through the interview. What are you going to do when he makes you get up on stage and...dance?" The last word he said through gritted teeth. I'm sure if he could have strangled the steering wheel, or Dave McCann, he would have done so gladly.

"I don't know," I admitted. "It's more important that I learn what I can than that I'm a convincing erotic dancer."

"I'm sure you'd be convincing if you felt safe doing it," said Jon. "It's not that."

"Is that a hint I should dance for you sometime?" I teased him gently.

He was not to be distracted. "No, it's a reminder this kind of thing is dangerous and you shouldn't be risking yourself. You're supposed to be a consultant, not in the thick of it."

"That hasn't always worked out before, either," I reminded him, sobering at the memory of hunting for a kidnapped girl and her abductor. That had been taxing, to say the least. But in the end we'd been instrumental in finding and freeing her, and I wouldn't change my involvement. Would she have been found at all otherwise? Perhaps — and perhaps not. Even on a personal level, there had been benefits that nearly outweighed the costs for me. Jon and I had ended up closer as a byproduct of that difficult time.

His current expression said he would never be convinced this was okay. He was completely against it. But he didn't try to say another word convincing me to back out. I was sad to be parting with him on such terms, but I didn't know how to make it any better. It was going to be difficult for me either way, and clearly he wasn't finding it a cakewalk either.

We were just so recently not breaking up; I was trusting him again; he was respecting me. What could either of us say without damaging this tricky balance?

Nothing, that's what. We drove in silence.

He'd been told as well he wasn't allowed in the building today, which I'm sure didn't make it any easier to swallow. The police captains were worried that his presence two days in a row — at the same time as I arrived, or very nearly — would alert someone that this was an undercover operation.

Of course, Jon's look, attitude, and presence screamed "cop" a lot more than mine ever could, even when he tried to hide it, so I could see the point. At the same time, it was disheartening to know he wouldn't be there, my partner, my lover, my friend. I was truly on my own now.

He let me off just before a bus stop, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles were pale. "Be safe," he said, looking like he was trying not to grit his teeth.

"I will," I promised.

I love you. I thought it, but I wasn't brave enough to say it. It was still not easy to put my heart out there in the bright relentless light of day. And if he used it against me, said "If you love me don't go," I would probably cry. Neither of those events was tenable.

I hopped out and grabbed my duffel bag. It was reasonably in character for me to have a battered duffel bag with what would look like all my worldly goods in it. I hoped. I had a change of clothes, some clean underwear, a couple of wrinkled dollars, and several candy bars.

"I love you," said Jon, just like that, out of the blue, practically in public. "And I'm glad you're my boyfriend." Jaw tight, he pulled away from the curb and left me staring after him.