Middle Of Nowhere

   "I'll be laughed off the fifth floor. You know that, L.T."

   "Not by me," he said, lifting the binoculars and sighting in through the semi-fogged windows of the indoor pool area. "She's still there."

   "I'll have to take a room in order to use the pool."

   "We'll expense it," he said.

   "And I leave my piece here, I suppose, on account I gotta change in some ladies' locker room or something. So you send me in naked," she said, referring not to the bathing suit but to the fact she would have to leave her weapon behind.

   "You go in naked," he suggested, spinning her meaning, "and I'm pretty sure they'll notice you."

   "Ha, ha," she returned.

   "Try not to get noticed, okay, Bobbie? And no heroics! Get inside, pull the room number, dip your toe and change your mind. Use your cellular the minute you can, but watch who's overhearing. I've got two in the hospital already. Okay, Bobbie?"

   "You owe me."

   "You watch," Boldt said, "you'll probably get asked out on dates as a result of this."

   "Yeah, to a spa! I can't believe you're serious. I can't believe you're making me do this!" She unclipped her belt holster and left her weapon behind with Boldt. They both knew he couldn't order her to do this; by unclipping her weapon, she had just volunteered. She pocketed her cellular.

   "Carry the phone with you. If it rings once and stops, we've made Flek, and I want you the hell out of there."

   "Got it."

   "And I mean it about no heroics."

   "No heroics," she repeated. Pausing with her hand gripping the door handle, she said, "Hey, L.T. It's heroic of me to just get into one of those gift shop suits. I'm telling you: You owe me."

* * *

It took Gaynes longer than Boldt had hoped. Registration, shopping for the suit, changing into it—Boldt kept checking his watch. By the time Gaynes came through a sky blue door wearing a yellow skin-tight Speedo a size or more too small, a rainbow set of Olympic rings running diagonally up her middle, Samway had come up the steps of the hot pool and stood there dripping wet. Boldt thought it was all for nothing. But then the teenager walked the short distance to the real pool and slipped down inside for the cooling effect, momentarily blocked from view by another woman drying herself off.

   As wolf-whistles carried loudly across the Special Ops walkie-talkies, causing Boldt to grin, Bobbie Gaynes walked casually relaxed toward the smaller hot pool and stood for a moment before setting down a pink towel. Boldt could tell from her numb hesitation, from his own familiarity with her, that something was wrong: too many towels; too many keys; no keys at all. Something wrong. He called over to Mulwright to see if the man had picked up similar feelings.

   "Who would'a thought she'd have a set of lungs like that?" Mulwright asked, exposing himself to the possibility of a future lawsuit. "Get a load of that! Who would'a thought?"

   For his own reasons, Boldt thought of Daphne at that moment—of waking up in her houseboat to find her there in her running clothes. He worried the kiss in Denver had ruined things between them. She seemed to be avoiding him. Had the kiss been his fault—not something they both wanted?

   He strained to locate Gaynes through the binoculars.

   Some of the women clearly knew each other or were at least comfortable chatting as they sat waist deep on the pool steps. Conversations carried on, in and out of the water. Most of the women were a little paunchy. Two of the thinner girls wore butt floss and postage stamps though even one of these showed cottage cheese in her hind cheeks. There wasn't much tan in the room, but there was plenty of cleavage. A room service waiter delivered what looked like iced teas.

   He watched as Gaynes seemed to study the towels and keys by the hot tub. He caught himself grinding his teeth: "Not too obvious," he wanted to call out across the distance that separated them. If he got another officer injured he would turn in his badge. He worried for her—wondering if there was any chance Samway had caught a glimpse of her during her interrogation at Public Safety.

   A creepy feeling wormed inside him. Perhaps he had taken too big a chance. If Samway recognized her— for whatever reasons—then all bets were off. He had stranded Gaynes there without her weapon—a fact of which he was painfully reminded by the gun on the passenger seat. He checked the binoculars in time to see Samway climb out of the lap pool. She tugged once on the thong, and crossed back over to the hot tub. A few older, envious eyes followed her as well as those of Special Ops.

   She swayed without trying, conditioned by all those hours on the stripper stage, provocative and sensual. She lowered herself into the hot water. Boldt watched as Gaynes turned to speak. "Be careful," he spoke quietly into the vehicle with only his ears to hear.

* * *

Bobbie said, "I moved the towels getting in," pointing behind Samway. "Sorry about that."

   Samway glanced back at the row of the towels and keys. "No problem."

   "Here for the seminars?" Bobbie asked her innocently.

   "No."