"Kava, Alex - Maggie 02 - Split Second" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kava Alex)

"Oh, bless you." Gwen didn't wait for an invitation to come in. She took off to roam through the rooms.
"My God, Maggie, this house is wonderful."
"You like my designer?"
"Hmm...I'd say brown cardboard is you, simple and unpretentious. May I check out the second floor?" Gwen asked, already making her way up the stairs.
"Can I stop you?" Maggie laughed. How was it possible for this woman to sweep into a place and bring a trail of energy as well as such warmth and delight?
She and Gwen had met when Maggie had first arrived at Quantico for her forensic fellowship. Maggie had been a young, naive newbie who hadn't yet seen blood except in a test tube, and had never fired a gun except during training on the firing range.
Gwen had been one of the local psychologists brought in by Assistant Director Cunningham to act as a private consultant and to help profile several important cases. Even back then she had a successful practice in D.C. Many of her patients were some of the elite of WashingtonЧbored wives of congressmen, suicidal generals and even one manic-depressed White House cabinet member.
However it was Gwen's research, the many articles she had written and her remarkable insight into the criminal mind that had attracted Assistant Director Cunningham when he first asked her to be an independent consultant for the FBI's Investigative Support Unit. Though Maggie learned quickly that the assistant director had been attracted to Dr. Gwen Patterson in other ways as well. A person would have to be blind not to see the ongoing chemistry between the two, though Maggie knew firsthand that neither had acted upon it, nor ever intended to.
"We respect our professional relationship," Gwen explained
vet. Her UVA T-shirt soaked in the bathroom sink. She might never be able to remove the bloodstains. The T-shirt was old, stretched and faded, but she had an odd attachment to it. Some people kept scrapbooks, Maggie kept T-shirts.
Her years at the University of Virginia had been good ones. It was there she discovered a life of her own outside of being her mother's caretaker. It was where she had met Greg. She glanced at her watch, then checked her cellular phone to make certain it was on. He still hadn't returned her call about the missing carton. He'd make her wait, but she wouldn't let herself get angry. Not tonight. She was simply too exhausted to take on one more emotion.
The doorbell chimed. Maggie glanced at her watch again. As usual, Gwen was ten minutes late. She tugged at her shirttail, making certain it hid the bulging Smith & Wesson tucked into her waistband. Lately, the gun had become as common an accessory as her wristwatch.
"I know I'm late," Gwen said before the door was fully open. "Traffic was a bitch. Friday night and everyone's trying to get the hell out of D.C. for the weekend."
"Good to see you, too."
She smiled and pulled Maggie in for a one-armed hug. For a brief moment Maggie was surprised by how soft and fragile the older woman felt. Despite Gwen's petite and feminine stature, Maggie thought of her as her own personal Rock of Gibraltor. She had leaned on Gwen and depended on her strength and character and words of wisdom many times during their friendship.
When Gwen pulled away, she cupped Maggie's cheek in the palm of her hand, attempting to get a good look at her.
"You look like hell," was her gentle assessment.
"Gee, thanks!"
She smiled again and handed Maggie the carton of long-necked Bud Light she carried in her other hand. The bottles were cold and dripping with condensation. Maggie took them and used the action as an excuse to keep her eyes away from Gwen's. It had been almost a month since the two women had seen each other, though they talked on the phone regularly. On the phone, however, Maggie could keep Gwen from seeing the panic and
to Maggie once, making it clear she didn't want the subject brought up again, though this was long after Gwen's stint as a consultant had ended. Maggie knew that Assistant Director Cunningham's estranged marriage probably had more to do with their hands-off policy than any attempt to remain professional.
From the first time Maggie met Gwen, she had admired the woman's vibrancy, her keen intellect and her dry sense of humor. Gwen refused to think inside the box and didn't hesitate to break any of the rules while still appearing to be respectful of authority. Maggie had seen her win over diplomats as well as criminals with her sophisticated but charming manner. Gwen was fifteen years older than Maggie, but the woman had instantly become a best friend as well as a mentor.
The doorbell chimed again, and Maggie's hand reached back and grabbed her revolver before she could stop herself. She glanced up the stairs to see if Gwen had witnessed her knee-jerk reaction. She smoothed her shirttail over her jeans and checked the portico from the side window before she disarmed the alarm system. She stopped and looked out the peephole, examining the fish-eye view of the street, then she opened the door.
"Large pizza for O'Dell." The young girl handed Maggie the warm box. Already she could smell the Romano cheese and Italian sausage.
"It smells wonderful."
The girl grinned as though she had prepared it herself.
"It comes to $18.59, please."
Maggie handed her a twenty and a five. "Keep the change."
"Gee, thanks."
The girl bounced down the circular drive, her blond ponytail waving out the back of her blue baseball cap.
Maggie set the pizza down in the middle of the living room. She returned to the door to reset the security system just as Gwen came rushing down the steps.
"Maggie, what the hell happened?" she asked, holding up the dripping T-shirt, splattered with blood.
"What is this? Did you hurt yourself?" Gwen demanded.
"Oh, that."
"Yes, oh that. What the hell happened?"
Maggie quickly cupped a hand under the dripping T-shirt and grabbed it away, racing up the stairs to drop it back into the sink. She drained the red, murky water, tossed in more detergent and ran fresh water over the fabric. When she looked up in the mirror, Gwen was standing behind her, watching.
"If you're hurt, please don't try to take care of it yourself," Gwen said in a soft but stern voice.
Maggie met her friend's eyes in the mirror and knew that she was referring to the cut Albert Stucky had sliced into her abdomen. Maggie had slipped away into the night, after all the commotion had ended, and tried to discreetly dress her own wound. But an infection had landed her in the emergency room a few days later.
"It's nothing, Gwen. My neighbor's dog was injured. I helped take it to the vet. This is the dog's blood. Not mine."
"You're kidding." It took a minute for relief to wash over Gwen's face. "Jesus, Maggie, you just can't keep your nose out of anything that involves blood, can you?"
Maggie smiled. "I'll tell you about it later. We need to eat, because I am starving."
"That's new and different."
Maggie grabbed a towel, wiped her hands and led the way back downstairs.
"You know," Gwen said from behind her, "you need to put on some weight. Do you ever eat regular meals anymore?"
"I hope this isn't going to be a lecture on nutrition."
She heard Gwen sigh, but knew she wouldn't push it. They went into the kitchen, and Maggie pulled out paper plates and napkins from a carton on the counter. Each grabbed a cold bottle of beer and returned to the living-room floor. Already Gwen had kicked out of her expensive black pumps and thrown her suit jacket over the arm of the recliner. Maggie scooped up pizza as she noticed Gwen examining the open carton next to the rolltop desk.
"This is Stucky's, isn't it?"
"Are you going to rat me out to Cunningham?"
"Of course not. You know me better than that. But I am concerned about you obsessing over him."
"I'm not obsessing."
"Really? Then what would you call it?"