Total Rush by Deirdre Martin Page A

how much she loved them. Time passed, and their tea grew cold. Eventually, to Sean’s relief, Gemma fell asleep.
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    â€œSean?” Gemma reached out to touch the body slumbering beside her. But there was only a tangle of sheets and an empty pillow. Concerned, she switched on the light. The clock on the nightstand read 4:00 A.M. Maybe he was in the bathroom?
    She waited a few minutes, determined not to immediately assume the worst. Donning her kimono, she made her way out into the silent living room and turned on the light.
    That’s when she saw it.
    A note in the mouth of the stuffed wildebeest.
    Back killing me.
Went to sleep on my own rock hard mattress.
    She stared at it for a long time, then crumpled the note and let it drop to the floor. Picking up the wildebeest, she trudged back to her bedroom. The two cups of tea were still sitting there on the nightstand. Clutching the stuffed animal to her, she lay atop the covers, curling up in a ball. There were lots of ways to keep pain at bay; holding on tightly to something was one of them. It wasn’t what she’d imagined holding through the night, but Sean had left her with no choice.

CHAPTER 06
    â€œBirdman, you gonna take that lasagna out or what? It’s startin’ to smell like that warehouse fire on Forty-third.”
    It was Sean’s turn to cook and he was making lasagna, tossed salad, and garlic bread. But Leary was right: He’d totally spaced on the lasagna, which now smelled more than well-done. Grabbing a pair of oven mitts, he hustled to the oven and opened the door. A wall of heat smacked him in the face, along with acrid smoke. The top of the lasagna was charred.
    â€œWay to go, Chef Boyardee. Your head up your ass tonight or what?”
    â€œShoulda stuck with crunching numbers, boyo.”
    â€œUp yours,” Sean called over his shoulder good-naturedly. His head was up his ass, it was true. But right now, his primary concern was salvaging dinner. He peeled the top layer off the lasagna and brought the rest to the table.
    â€œYou expect us to eat this?” Lieutenant Peter Carrey asked. Carrey had been with the FDNY for twenty years and was highly respected.
    â€œYeah, really,” Leary echoed. “It’s dryer than an AA meeting.”
    â€œYou’d know all about that, Mikey, wouldn’t ya?” Sal Ojeda ribbed.
    â€œDamn straight. I’ve been free of Irish handcuffs for years.”
    Bill Donnelly looked at him questioningly. “Irish handcuffs?”
    â€œBeer in each hand.”
    Everyone laughed.
    Sean sat down beside Leary, who was eating like a man breaking a fast. “Not bad considering you burnt it to shit,” he commented.
    â€œThanks,” Sean said, taking a mouthful. Carrey was right: The lasagna was dry, but it wasn’t inedible.
    â€œSo what’s up with you?” Leary asked curiously. “You’ve looked like a zombie since you got here.”
    â€œAh, it’s nothing.”
    â€œC’mon, Sean.” Leary draped an arm around Sean’s shoulder. “Tell Uncle Mikey all your problems.”
    Sean hesitated. If he spilled, he wouldn’t just be telling “Uncle Mikey,” he’d be telling everyone on his shift. But maybe the more opinions he got, the better. “I met this girl, right?” Wolf whistles started immediately. Sean rolled his eyes. Maybe he didn’t need more opinions.
    â€œGo on, my son,” said Leary solemnly, folding his hands on his chest in imitation of a priest hearing confession.
    â€œShe’s kind of unusual.”
    â€œâ€˜Unusual,’” Bill Donnelly snorted. “What the hell does that mean? She got three tits?”
    Laughter erupted around the table.
    â€œNo, she’s into herbs and stuff. She’s a vegetarian.” No way was he going to tell them she was a witch. Not now, at any rate.
    â€œLots of people are vegetarians these days,” probie Ted