Page 56 of Second Alarm
"Come here."
"You come here."
"Fine."
I cross the kitchen in three steps and put my arms around her. She puts her face in my chest, and I put my chin on the top of her head, and she cries silently against my uniform. Then she pulls back, wipes her face with her sleeve, sniffs, and pulls herself together the way only Hanna Larsen can — with the sheer physical force of a decision — leaving only the faintest evidence of the tears.
"Okay."
"Okay."
"We're going to — "
The bunk room door bangs open.
We have a second and a half. We use it. Hanna steps back and I turn, very calmly, and resume drying a dish. Hanna turns to thecoffee pot, pours a cup — black, hers — without acknowledging that the coffee pot is empty and she's pouring nothing — and stands at the counter with her back to the doorway, shoulders a line of perfect professional calm.
Derek shuffles in wearing socks.
"Did somebody eat the rest of Harrison's sandwich?"
"No. It's in the fridge."
"Why is it in the fridge?"
"Harrison put it in the fridge."
"Harrison's a saint."
"Harrison's a saint," I agree.
Derek opens the fridge, straightens up with the container, and doesn't appear to notice either of us. He's half-asleep and entirely focused on the sandwich.
"Night, Brennan."
"Night, Derek."
"Larsen." He turns.
"Derek."
"Coffee?"
"Gonna try to sleep," Hanna says.
"With a full cup of coffee."
"Sniffing it."
"You're a strange woman."
"Thank you, Derek."
He shuffles out. The bunk door bangs closed.
Hanna breathes out. "We're going to get caught."
"Yeah."
