Time freezes for the span of several heartbeats. I feel the weight of his stare, the power of my attraction to him. I sense the importance of this moment, the discomfort between us.

We’ve slept together before in the course of an investigation. We work well together despite our personal relationship. But this is my first consulting gig, and it feels different. It feels . . . premeditated.

“I don’t want to screw this up,” I say after a moment.

“You won’t,” he says quietly. “You can’t.”

“Maybe we should just take it slow.”

He nods and steps back. Some of the intensity leaches from the moment, and I can breathe again.

Bending, he brushes his mouth against mine. “Careful with that headboard.” He walks to the door and turns to face me. “Get some rest, Chief, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

I stand there vibrating and breathless for a full minute after he closes the door, not sure if I’m relieved he’s gone or disappointed I let him go.

Finally, I turn on the television, find the local news, and listen with half an ear as I unpack my clothes and put them away. I try to focus on the case as I set up my laptop and log onto my e-mail account. But the encounter with Tomasetti has left me unsettled. Combined with thirty-six hours without sleep, I can’t concentrate and I’m too tired to be productive. I answer a few e-mails and head for the shower.

The truth of the matter is, I don’t know where our relationship is heading. I enjoy being with him, working with him. My trust in him is absolute. I respect him on every level, and I believe those sentiments run both ways.

The long-distance aspect of our relationship has worked for both of us. We’re too independent for anything too cozy. But I know that no matter how hard we try to keep things simple, relationships have a way of becoming complicated.

There are times when I think I love him. I want to be with him when I’m not. He’s constantly in the periphery of my thoughts. When something amazing happens, he’s the one I want to share it with. I honestly don’t know if that’s good or bad. Truth be told, it scares me. I can’t seem to get past that little voice in my head that tells me what we have is too good to last.

I know my own heart, but so much of Tomasetti remains a mystery. Three years ago, he was married and had children. I don’t know if he was happy or discontent or, like the rest of us, somewhere in between. He rarely speaks of his past. But I know he loved them. I know he loved another woman and had children with her. And I know the loss of them nearly killed him.