I opened the passenger door for him and took his crutch. He paused, half into the Jag.
“What is it? Are you hurting?”
He turned his head. His nose was wrinkled. “What the fuck did you have in this car?”
“Excuse me?” I leaned forward and took a sniff. “Oh. That was DB’s dinner.” I slid the crutch into the backseat, and Mark shook his head and settled himself in the car. I shut the door and went around to the driver’s side.
After I turned on the ignition, we exchanged glances, then almost in synchronization, we both pressed the buttons that slid down the windows.
Mark gave directions while I drove, and half an hour later, I pulled up to the employee entrance at the rear of the building that housed the Washington Bureau of Intelligence and Security.
“If you decide to come home sooner, call me.”
“You’ll come pick me up?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks, babe.” He leaned across the console and kissed me.