“I was seventeen,” he said. “I was in Madras visiting my father. This was after my parents split up. My father was an engineering consultant for a company that installed shallow-water wind generators. The company rented him a bungalow with a sea view but it was in a dicey neighborhood, the security was bad. Thieves broke in one night. They killed my father. Me, I was stupid enough to try to defend him.” He covered her hand with his. “They were carrying knives.”

If the scar was a knife wound they must nearly have gutted him. “That’s terrible … I’m so sorry.”

“A neighbor heard the scuffle and called the police. I lost a lot of blood—it was kind of touch and go for a while. My mom flew over and took charge, pulled some strings, made sure I got the right kind of medical care.”

Sandra wondered if that was why he ended up at HPD: outrage at the crime, a sense of the police as belated saviors. Southern India after the Spin: “I heard it was pretty bad over there for a few years.”

“Not much worse than Houston,” Bose said. But he was uncomfortable talking about it, and she dropped the subject and let herself drift toward sleep.

*   *   *

It was strange to wake up next to him in an unfamiliar bed, the morning already gone, diesel-scented air seeping in through the poorly sealed motel windows. She sat up and yawned. Bose was still asleep, lying on his back and breathing in a rhythm as regular as waves breaking on a beach. The salty, delicate odor of their lovemaking still clung to the sheets.

She would have liked to lie here indefinitely—and she guessed she could; she was functionally if not officially unemployed; she had nowhere to go—but some Calvinist impulse caused her to pick up her watch from the bedside table. Noon, a little past. The day half wasted. Shocking.

She left the bed without disturbing Bose and used the shower. Her only clothes were the jeans and shirt she’d worn yesterday, and they weren’t especially fresh, but they would have to do.

When she came out of the bathroom he was awake and grinning at her. “Breakfast,” he said.

“It’s a little late for breakfast.”

“Lunch, then. I called Ariel’s room. Orrin’s still groggy but he’s feeling better. They’re going to the motel coffee shop. Maybe you and I can sneak away for something a little nicer? Then come back here. We’re booked for another night, but I can arrange a ride for Orrin and Ariel before dark.”

Yes, Sandra thought. And then? Once the Mather sibs were safely out of town … what then?

*   *   *