The elevator doors were closing, but Mick lengthened his stride and managed to slip inside. The accelerated movement caused some water to slosh out of the large vase of flowers he was carrying, soaking the lower portion of the sleeve of his jacket. Luckily, his stainless-steel Rolex was waterproof. The button for the fifth floor was already illuminated. Excellent. Fewer germs to pick up. Hopefully, this thing with Lois wasn’t anything too serious. Perhaps she had caught that flu bug that had been making the rounds and had gotten dehydrated. He propped his hip against the wall, tipped his head back, taking advantage of a rare moment of stillness. He had not slept well. Hadn’t had a good night’s sleep ever since Rachel had moved in. He’d come home at night, dog-tired, have a bite to eat, a shower, then slip between the fresh sheets and sink into his comfortable bed. However, sleep refused to come. His mind wouldn’t stop churning over the plethora of press and TV interviews he’d been slogging through for Retribution. Also, gnawing at his peace was the realization that he was rapidly becoming accustomed to the cozy creature comforts Rachel had imbued his house with. The troubling fact that he found he was looking forward to stepping through his front door. It bothered him that he would catch himself daydreaming about what treat she would have left out on the kitchen counter to greet him when he came home. After that first night, there had always been something: a plate of fresh cookies or brownies, a wedge of chocolate seven-layer cake, milk in the fridge to wash them down.