Tonya Muir - Exposure Season 1

And, with any luck, Kels, you’ll never have a sixth lover. If I have anything to say about it.

<fade out>

 We look like prunes.

Of course, that’s to be expected. We were in the shower for nearly an hour. Fortunately, hotels have endless supplies of hot water, so we’re not hypothermic prunes right now.

Kels has calmed down some. Music and food seem to have helped. I found a decent jazz station on the radio and had room service bring up enough food for a small army. Emotional scenes always make me ravenous.

After Robie had his first son, while Christian and Rene slept happily in the hospital room, he and I went to a nearby Denny’s and ate three Grand Slam breakfasts. Each. God, I was so sick after that. But, at the moment, I just couldn’t get enough in me. It was like all of my energy had been spent on this huge emotion, and it had to be replenished. Kinda like now.

Kels is bundled up in the hotel robe, her feet tucked under her, and her damp hair hanging loose around her shoulders. She is an absolute vision of loveliness. If this is what it means to be in a steady relationship, I like it. Just being with her calms me. I don’t feel as if I have anything to prove to her. And, because of that, all I want is to prove myself.

Geez, I gotta call Mama and talk this over soon, I think.

I hate seeing the preoccupied look on Kels’ features, though. And I think I know how to get rid of it.

I wander over to my suitcase and unzip it. There, where I had hidden it yesterday, is the robin’s egg blue of a Tiffany bag. We may be on a story, we may be in NYC, we may be facing anthrax exposure, but, dammit, we’re gonna celebrate our first Christmas together properly.

Hiding it behind my back, I go over and sit beside Kels. "You okay?"

"You’d think it wouldn’t bother me anymore," she sighs. "I’ve been browbeaten by that woman for thirty-two years now, and fought back for the last fifteen, and yet, she still can make me feel like crap."

"It’s because you love her, despite it all. You’re her daughter."

"Why couldn’t I have your mother?"

I smile and caress her cheek. "You can share mine, how’s that? And I’ll share yours. That’ll keep it from being quite so bad on you. How’s that for fair?"

She kisses my wrist. "I think you’re getting the short end of the stick. But, thank you."

"Nah, you can’t thank me until you open this up." Given the opening, I present the bag with a flourish. "Merry Christmas, Kels."

She blinks and stares at the bag in her hands for a long moment. I’m almost afraid she’s going to start crying again. Instead, she jumps out of her chair and hurries over to her suitcase.

I really hope to hell she’s not leaving.

My fears are allayed when she turns around with a brightly wrapped box and hands it to me. "Merry Christmas, Harper."

I take the box happily, glad she isn’t bolting, and glad she thought of me. This could be the best wrapped piece of gum and it wouldn’t matter. As long as she gave me something, it’s perfect.

"You first," I urge.

She, for once, doesn’t argue. She removes a flat, square, black, velvet box from the bag and looks at me expectantly. "This isn’t …?" her voice trails off. She knows it’s not a ring, based on box size. I assume she’s protesting the cost. Doesn’t matter. I have more money than I can spend. And I like spending it on her.

She opens the lid and gasps, her hand goes to her throat, where the enclosed necklace will soon lay against her skin. "It’s gorgeous, Harper. Thank you."

"You like?"

She nods and lifts it out of the box. It’s a sprouting diamond necklace, made of platinum, with two carat of total diamond weight. "Will you?" she asks.

"Be glad to." I step behind her and clasp the necklace around her throat, letting it fall gently against her skin. Leaning forward, I can’t help but kiss the base of her neck.

I step back around and smile at the sight. "God, you’re beautiful."

"Open yours," she replies, blushing.

I obey her, ripping open the package, not caring about saving the wrapping paper. I have never understood that weird custom either. I’ve yet to see someone reuse the paper. So, why the hell go to all that work? What I find inside is a Rolex.

I’ve always loved these timepieces. I know instantly the model – it’s a Rolex President – with a platinum case and baguette diamond markers for the hours.

We have a theme here: platinum and diamonds.

Hopefully that means we’ll last until our diamond anniversary. I could handle sixty years with this woman.

* * *

"Je suis desoleé, Mama!" I hear her protest when I return to our room.

Oooh, somebody’s in trouble and is having to apologize. I laugh at her as I close the door. She tosses her hands in the air exactly the same way her mother did in New Orleans.

"We’re working!" She pauses and listens, holding the receiver away from her ear. "I know, I know. But you know how it is." From the grimace Harper makes, I assume Mama doesn’t know how it is. "Yes, Mama, family comes first, second and last. I’m sorry. I was wrong. Je me suis bien trompeé." She hangs her head. "You know I love you, Mama."

I fall on the bed and try to muffle my laughter against the pillow. I’ve never seen such a hangdog expression on Harper’s face.

Harper reaches over and shakes me, using the waistband of my jeans to toss me around. I peek out to find her sticking her tongue out at me.

"Oui, Mama, Kels is here with me. You want to talk to her?"

I shake my head, she nods hers. Oh, I’m gonna hurt her.

"Attend, maman." She shoulders the receiver. "Okay, you smart ass, get over here and take your medicine too. I already had mine."

I push myself up on my elbows and take the phone from her. Harper, relieved to be off the firing line, leans back against the headboard, and stretches out her legs on the bed. Not being stupid, I crawl over and rest my head on her thigh. Immediately her hand is in my hair, stroking it. This is nice.

"Hi, Mama. Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas to you, douce fille. How is my daughter treating you this Christmas day?"

"Very well, Mama. You should see the necklace she gave me. Ooo la la." I feel Harper chuckle under me and she scratches the base of my neck.

"When are you and my baby coming home? It doesn’t feel like a holiday without you here. Robie is moping around without his playmate and we have a seat in the kitchen waiting for you."

I laugh at the scene described. I wish we were there. "Soon, Mama. We just need to finish up this story. Maybe we can at least stop by on our way back to Los Angeles." I roll over on my back and look up at Harper, to find her smiling and nodding enthusiastically. "We could take you and Papa and Robie and Rene out to dinner to celebrate the New Year."

"Good. We’ll expect you soon then. You kiss my baby girl for me and tell her I love her."

"Oui, Mama. Good-bye." I hand the phone back to Harper who closes it and sets it on the nightstand.

"You’re going to spoil her," she warns. "You give in once, you give in forever."

"Oh, come here, baby girl," I tease, holding open my arms. "Mama told me to give you a kiss."

I’m sure she had a different kind of kiss in mind, but I believe in improvising.

* * *

Other than a few, small Christmas trees on an occasional desk, you wouldn’t know it’s a holiday. The FBI field office is an absolutely flurry of activity when Harper and I arrive. Of course, besides our own personal nut flake, there are several hundred others that they’re looking for as well. APB’s keep coming over the wire, getting sent out to agents in the field and distributed to local law enforcement. We could very well end up with two or three stories before it’s over.

A sad commentary on my profession: while I hope to God that everything goes smoothly, and the only things Harper and I cover are the end of the year and then each other, I really wouldn’t be heartbroken to get a nice piece out of the chaos either. I can’t help but chuckle to myself, now how warped does that sound?

Hope for the best. Expect the worst. And be there to get it on film when it happens.

As I take my seat at the desk Kyle provided for us, I glance over at Harper who is once again attached to her cell phone, ranting at poor Jims about something. She is totally amazing to watch. She can get things done using the cell phone that would put Kissinger to shame.

"Jims, you’re a bright kid, regardless of what you do to your hair. You’ll find a way."

I watch her take that deep breath and hold it, before she lets it out slowly. Oh, he’s arguing with her. Dumb, Jimmy, just plain dumb, and you know it. I hope she keeps it down to a roar when she lets loose.

"Just do it!" She slams the cell shut. I think it’s her third one since she came to the station. They keep meeting an untimely demise at her hand.

I have discovered I do admire and love the way she works. She simply takes charge and gets things done. No questions, no arguments. Do it, and do it to her satisfaction, and you’ll be just fine. Do it wrong, and you will find yourself a permanent name on her list for a very long time. She has a long list and an even longer memory from what I can gather.

I’m absolutely sure that’s one of the reasons I fell in love with her.

Wow. Who’d have ever thought this day would come? I am in love with Harper Lee Kingsley. And I’m not insane. Well, at least, I don’t think so. Of course, I don’t think most insane people realize they’re bonkers, but I digress.

I came to this definite conclusion at the bottom of our shower this morning. And now all I have to do is find the guts to tell her. I think. I mean, I guess she deserves to know. It’s just I don’t want her to panic. She told me she does that if she thinks about these things too much. But, Hell’s bells, I simply need to find a way without scaring her off.

I wonder what that would be. Because I can’t imagine one. This is a woman who has spent her entire life going from woman to woman. I’ve had five lovers in my life, she had five lovers last week. Well, not last week, but probably the week before Thanksgiving that was true. The fact that she hasn’t left me already is amazing in and of itself.

To talk about being in love … I don’t know.

She growls a little, crossing her arms and staring down at me, her cue that I haven’t been paying attention. Oops, that’s bad too. Focus, Kels, you have to make sure there is a later so you can tell her.

"Sorry," I offer with a weak smile. "You were saying?"

"No, I was asking." She settles down across from me, sitting backward in her chair like Kyle did. Much sexier look on her.

Stop it, Kels! Damn!

"Yes?" I lean back, playing with a pencil, rolling it between my fingers.

"If you wanted to spread anthrax, how would you do it?"

Kyle answers, arriving on the scene, taking a seat on the corner of the desk. "It’s best spread through the air, but you two probably already know that. Just thought I’d let you know that our teams have had two sightings of the nutty professor."

"And?" I watch as she perks up immediately. She loves a hot story.

"He seems to be sightseeing. He’s been spending a lot of time at the Museum of Natural History, appropriately enough. He hasn’t made one furtive movement. Not yet, at least."

"Well, he’s got a few days." I lean forward resting my elbows on the desk tapping the pencil. "Maybe he’s trying to figure out the best way to deploy it."

"Makes sense."

She reaches out and takes my toy, laying it down next to me. I forgot she hates it when I do that. Nervous tic I picked up in college. I have a right to be nervous. I have a lot of reasons to be nervous. "Too damn bad the city is on high alert. I’d love it if you could snag him and bring him in for questioning," she tells the agent without so much as a look in my direction.

"Me too," Donovan agrees with a nod. "But, under the circumstances, until he does something to give us a reason there really isn’t anything we can do. Hell, every interview room I have here is already full." He sighs, a very frustrated sigh. "I know the NYPD is having the same problem. And, from what I hear, Rikers is already so full they’re trying to figure out what they’re gonna be doing with everyone else they arrest this week."