Lane leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and rubbed her temples.  Someone really needed to help that guy learn to tell time.

“I’ll go wait by the elevator for him,” Meg said as Lane heard the office door close.  There was no need to wonder how Meg would recognize Mick.  Lane knew she just would.  Meg’s patience was going to pay off sooner than anyone expected.

“Thanks, Meg.” Lane heard the velvet voice before she heard the door to her office open.  “Come on, you’re out of here.”

Lane opened her eyes to see the Detective picking up the rolling briefcase that held her laptop.  She grabbed her purse and sunglasses and followed Mick McGuire.

“Meg, I’m on my cell.  Call me if anything comes up.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”   Lane ignored Meg’s Cheshire cat smile as she walked out.

As the elevator doors closed, Detective McGuire turned to Lane.  “I’m driving you home.  We can get your car in the morning.”

She opened her mouth to protest but since she knew she had no business behind the wheel, she didn’t speak.  It was strange, her head may be pounding, but for some reason, her mind never stopped processing.  Lane couldn’t remember what the weather forecast was for over night.  She was glad she was in the habit of putting the top up on her BMW convertible every time she had to leave her car outside.  The elevator doors opened and they walked through the lobby into the afternoon sunshine.  Lane quickly put on her sunglasses.  With her headache subdued, Lane could see that Detective McGuire was driving a black Ford Excursion.  No wonder she’d needed a push earlier.  She was tall, but the pencil skirt of her suit restricted movement a bit.  He opened the door. She stepped up on the running board, reached in for the handgrip, and climbed in.  Detective McGuire put her briefcase and laptop in the back seat and got behind the wheel.  They rode in silence.  Once parked in the driveway, he reached down to the console and picked up Lane’s keys.

“Which one is for the front door,” he asked as he separated the house keys from the car keys.

“Use the key pad.  The code’s 6-8-1-5-4,” she told him and motioned to the pad near the garage door.  Lane sat motionless while he opened the garage door, then got out and rushed inside to the powder room and closed the door.

The house was a 2500 square foot ranch and the detective easily found the den.  He put the briefcase on her desk, then, walked down the hall to what was obviously the master suite.  It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to survey the room, see on which side of the bed the phone and alarm clock were located, and deduce where Lane slept.  He walked over to the bed and pulled the covers back, and discovered a Nebraska Cornhuskers football jersey neatly folded and tucked under the pillows.

Two migraines in three days, this was a new record for her.  Lane exited the powder room.  Eyes closed, she felt her way down the hall to her bedroom.

“Go, change.  You’re going to bed.”  The velvety voice swam toward her.

She squinted one eye open to find Detective McGuire had made his way into her bedroom where he now stood, as he held out the nightshirt he’d obviously found under the pillow.

Lane went into the master bath and stripped out of her clothes.  When she returned to the darkened bedroom, she found the Detective sitting on her bed.  He stood when she entered the room.  He held the covers up as she slipped into bed.  The detective pulled the coverlet over her, walked around to the other side of the bed, and sat down.

“We’ll talk when you wake up.”

Lane didn’t have the strength to argue.  Figuring that neither the BC nor the Tylenol was going to do her any good now that they’d been flushed, she’d taken two muscle relaxers, a BC and two Sudafed tablets when she was in the bathroom changing.  She wondered how Mick knew which side of the bed she slept on and fell asleep thinking, well, after all, he is a detective.

Lane rolled over on her left side, pulled her knees up, and pushed her feet toward the cool sheets on the unoccupied side of the bed.  She woke with a start when her feet ran into mass of resistance. The mass was a six foot four inch 210-pound detective who sat on top of the covers as he read her backlit e-reader in the nearly dark room.

“How are you feeling,” the velvet voice said.

Lane closed her eyes as she recalled the events of the afternoon.

“Better.  I’m feeling much better.  No headache right now, no nausea.  Just don’t bounce on the bed.  I can tell it’s in the wings just waiting for a chance to make a comeback.” Lane rolled onto her back and propped pillows behind her. Mick sat nearly motionless as he watched Lane maneuver into a sitting position

“Ah, a good sign.  A change in altitude and no throbbing.”

“Feel good enough to talk?”  What was with this guy, hadn’t they chatted enough over lunch?

She closed her eyes.  “Talk?  Sure, what about?”

“How long have you been having these headaches?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him.  “Since I was a teenager.”

“Have they gotten more frequent or more intense lately?  Have you seen someone for them?”

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose as she thought, what is it with this guy?  Who had elected him her Father, Husband, caretaker, or whatever he thought he was? It occurred to Lane that she’d had more headaches in the three days since she’d met the Detective than she had in the three months before.  Coincidence?  She thought not.

“Yes, Maybe and No in that order,” she said firmly.  She hoped he would understand that while she appreciated the fact that he’d gotten her home, she was a big girl and she really didn’t need a keeper.

“Look, Mick.  Now that I’ve slept with you so to speak, I hope that I may use your first name.  I’ve had severe headaches since I was a teenager.  They’re brought on by various stimuli.  Usually the onset can be attributed to allergies and sinus problems, but they can be brought on by stress or tension.  There’s no arguing that since I met you, I’ve had more headaches than even I would normally have in three days.  However, there’s also no disputing that I’ve had a little more stress and tension in my life since I met you.  I think the headaches are understandable.”   She finished her rant and began massaging the back of her neck with both hands.

Mick turned toward her.  “You’re right.  I’m sorry I’ve contributed to your tension. Here, let me do that.”  He reached over and began massaging her neck and shoulders.

“Lane, the headaches you’ve been having just remind me of my wife.  Her name was Gloria.  She died four years ago from a brain tumor.  It started with severe headaches that she ignored for too long.  By the time she went to the doctor and was diagnosed, the cancer had spread and was inoperable.”  When he’d finished speaking, he’d moved from rubbing her neck and shoulders to massaging her back.  The tension had gone and so, for the first time in days, had her headache.

“Oh, you are amazing.” Lane moaned just as Ben walked in.

“Hey, Mick, how’s our girl doing?”

Lane had never thought jealousy was an attractive trait, still, she’d have expected a different reaction from the man who was her significant other and who had just caught her in bed in the arms of another man.

“Ben, I think she’s much better than she was when you called.  She says her headache’s gone now.”

Ben walked around the bed, bent down, and kissed Lane on the cheek.

Mick stood.  “I can see you’re in good hands now, I’ll be going,” Mick said as he walked toward the bedroom door.

“Wait,” Ben said and then looked at Lane. “Mick and I could go pick up your car, grab something for dinner, and bring it back.  Is that all right with you?”

Lane nodded.  Although she was rarely speechless, this scene had her dumbfounded and she had no idea why.