Free Bone Thief by Thomas O' Callaghan Page A

in the crosshairs, too. No?”
    â€œI’d say so. The flack is flying from the Mayor’s office on down. I’ll bet you at least three people will be reassigned before this is all over. I’m just praying I’m not one of them.”
    â€œSay a little prayer for me, will ya?”
    â€œYou’re insulated. I’ll be their number-one target.”
    â€œThe Mayor losing ground in the polls sure as hell doesn’t help matters, does it?”
    â€œThe pressure’s always relentless when politics is involved. But it’s not politics that’s gonna catch this guy. We are. This psycho is bound to slip up. They all do. And when he does, we’ll be there to nab him.”
    â€œThe son of a bitch.”
    â€œSo much for business. What’s going on in Margaret’s world?”
    â€œI started a new yoga class.”
    â€œOh, yeah?”
    â€œYeah. You ought to try it. It’s great for stress relief.”
    â€œDoes it come in pill form?”
    â€œNot yet.”
    â€œLet me know when it does. Extended-release capsules would be even better.”
    â€œReally. It wouldn’t hurt to consider it.”
    â€œBetween the job and Colette, I don’t have much time for anything extracurricular.”
    Margaret felt as though she had detonated a land mine. “Has there been any change in Colette’s condition?”
    â€œNone.”
    Driscoll hated that word. None . It was so final. So hopeless. Yet he knew it was the one word that succinctly summed up the chance of his wife ever regaining consciousness. Goddamn it! What he hated even more was his inability to do anything about it. He missed his wife terribly; the sound of her voice, her crooked little smile, the tilt of her head when she was in a seductive mood. Hell, speaking of none , he hadn’t had sex since the week before his wife’s accident. He remembered the mood of that night as though it were yesterday. He had worked a twelve to eight, and on his way home had stopped off at Hudson’s wine shop for a bottle of Mondavi Merlot, her favorite wine. It made her frisky, she told him. They dined on steak au poive, listened to Francis Albert Sinatra, and moved from the dining room into the bedroom, where they made ravenous love while Old Blue Eyes’s voice tiptoed in from the adjacent room, adding to the magic of their lovemaking. After the subtlety of murmurs and whispers, the pair fell asleep in each other’s arms. On awakening, Driscoll found himself alone in his bed. The smell of strong coffee filled the bungalow. He lumbered into the kitchen, where he found his wife preparing a breakfast of toast and eggs. What he would do to recapture that moment, to turn back time, to set things right, if only to say goodbye.
    The sound of a horn honking brought Driscoll back to the present. The Chevy inched forward in bumper-to-bumper traffic. The silence that had settled between Margaret and him was broken by Driscoll, attempting to close the door on his shattered dreams and slip back into the minutiae of life, hoping it would dispel his despair.
    â€œI don’t mean to downplay the yoga classes,” he said. “I’m sure they do wonders for you. But, if I had the time, working out in a gym would be more my style.”
    â€œI tried that. Too many Arnold Schwarzenegger wannabes in sweat-stained polyester. A total turnoff for me.”
    â€œTattoos on a woman.”
    â€œTattoos on a woman?”
    â€œYeah, tattoos on a woman. My total turnoff.”
    â€œC’mon. An intimately placed miniature tattoo wouldn’t do it for you?”
    â€œOK. I stand corrected. In just the right spot, a tiny rose or a miniature heart might.”
    â€œThank God! The man’s alive.”
    A smile creased Driscoll’s face.
    â€œSo, which is it?” she asked.
    â€œWhich is what?”
    â€œA rose or a heart?”
    Driscoll’s smile broadened. “It would depend