I automatically snap to attention as the Admiral dismisses us, and turn to walk out the door… but not before Harm gives me another one of his teasingly triumphant, flirty, and completely trademark raised-eyebrow grins. You know, the type that makes you want to whack him upside the head, and burst out laughing, all at the same time.
I’m telling you, he’s dead already.
And then, not two steps past Coates’ desk, Harmon Rabb does something I never, in my wildest dreams, imagined I’d ever see him do: he sticks his tongue out at me. The whole deal, complete with a dancing gleam in his eye, and a silly expression on his face.
I come to a halt, staring at him, surprised that my jaw didn’t hit the floor. What the heck did he put in his coffee this morning? I haven’t seen him this – what’s the word? – loose in years. However, I quickly recover from my preliminary shock, snap my jaw shut, and find my voice. “If we were related, I’d disown you,” I inform him, doing my best to appear angry.
He opts for the innocent look. “Why would you do that?”
I transfer to whine mode. “Harm, you already know how swamped I am! Not only that, but I shove aside all of my other cases to help you with Mr. Minnerly, and this is how you thank me?”
“C’mon, Mac, I have an even bigger load than you do. You said yourself that I have more than double the amount of reviews than everybody else. What was I supposed to say? ‘Thanks, Admiral, but I like getting only 4 hours of sleep a night’?”
I fumble for an answer. “Well, you could’ve offered to divide Singer’s cases between us, or something.”
He cocks his head ever so slightly, giving me a disbelieving look. “Mac.” The simple word tells me he isn’t buying it.
Dropping my gaze to the floor, I sigh in defeat. Already trying to mentally sort out a new work schedule to accommodate my recently added projects, I turn and prepare to head back to my office.
However, before I’m able to take a step, Harm stops me. “You want some help?”
I face him. “What about your Imes cases?”
“I’ve already got twelve of them completed,” he admits. Silence hangs in the air for a minute, then he prompts, “Well?”
If someone had told me a week ago that my best friend/ex-partner would be returning to duty, snapping out of his sour and reclusive mood in the process, and offering to spend time with me, I promptly would have handed him/her a shrink’s business card. But this is real, and right now, I’d be a liar if I said that the thought of a working dinner with Harm didn’t thrill me to my very bones. I take a deep breath. “OK, deal. 1900. My place. Bring dinner.”
He nods, and with a “See you then!” exits Jen’s office and heads through the bullpen, toward the hallway. Watching him, I notice a hint of that old, cocky swagger in his step. I smile to myself as I walk to my own office. My flyboy’s back… and better than ever.
