CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
PEOPLE HAD WARNED Tom that the weather in this area would be unpredictable, but this was bleeding ridiculous. Four days ago, he’d gone for a run at the college, and it had been sixty-five degrees. Buds on the trees, all that.
Today, it was snowing. And despite four years in this country, Tom still hated driving in the snow. He’d fishtailed on his way into the Village and nearly rear-ended Honor’s little Prius, which was parked on the street, rather than in the driveway, for some reason that only women would fathom.
He got out of the car and headed inside, a clot of snow falling down his collar as he opened the door. “Get off me, Ratty,” he said when the dog attacked.
“She’s not a rat,” Honor said. She was pouring herself a glass of wine, still in her incredibly uptight navy blue suit and ugly shoes. Why on earth Honor Holland wasn’t slutting it up and showing off her wares was a mystery. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her. “How’s your eye?”
“Fine.” They hadn’t talked too much since two days ago, aside from apologizing to each other repeatedly (and ineffectively, he thought), he for putting her in an uncomfortable situation, she for drawing blood.
Held up at gunpoint. Never told anyone. Christ. Every time he thought of it, the red haze descended. He wanted to kill the bloke who’d done it, picking a woman with a complete lack of street smarts. Which, of course, was exactly what muggers looked for. Didn’t change the red, though. And it didn’t make Tom any more able to say the words that were stuck in his chest. Don’t ever get hurt again. Don’t ever take chances. Don’t get sick. Don’t leave. Don’t die.
He sighed.
“What do you feel like for dinner?” she asked.
“I don’t care. Want me to cook?”
“I don’t mind.”
“Neither do I,” he said. “Go on, sit down, relax. You look tense.”
She bristled. “I’m not.” She picked up Spike and kissed the dog’s head.
“Good.” Conversation was clearly not their strong suit.
They were better at sex. At least, so far as he could recall. It had been a bloody long time. Fucking weeks. Or, more appropriately, not-fucking weeks.
The doorbell rang, causing Ratty to burst into a flurry of brain-hemorrhaging barks. Yark! Yark! Yarkyarkyarkyark! “I’ll get it,” Honor said, taking the dog with her.
Tom opened the refrigerator and surveyed his options. Living with Honor meant the larder was much better stocked than when he lived here himself, though he always tried to have some snacks on hand for Charlie. Now, though, they were swimming in food. Chicken, beef, lettuce, tomatoes, oranges, spinach, cottage cheese, Parmesan, yogurt, hummus. And lots of good wine, as well.
“Tom? Um, Pooky?”
He turned at the wretched nickname. Honor’s face was blotchy, and her eyes were a little too wide. She stood in front of another woman. “This is Bethany Woods. She works for Custom and Immigration Services.”
Bloody hell.
“Hallo there,” Tom said, smiling. Bethany was somewhere in her forties, a stout, sturdy woman with tight black curls and severe glasses with rhinestoned corners. “Tom Barlow, lovely to meet you.”
“Hi,” she said. “This is an unscheduled visit courtesy of the U.S. government. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Tom said. “To what do we owe this honor?”
Bethany gave a tight smile. “We’ve had a tip that you and Ms. Holland might be about to commit marital fraud.”
Tom glanced at Honor, who looked like she was about to vomit. “Fraud? How so?” he asked. “Have a seat, Bethany, sorry. Would you like a glass of wine or a cup of tea?”
“No, thank you,” she said, giving him a quick scan. The Janice, as he thought of it.
“Please sit, at any rate. Darling?” He held a chair for Honor, who hesitated, then sat stiffly.
“Dr. Barlow,” Bethany said, “we’ve contacted the college where you work and discovered they have no plans to renew your green card.”
“Right,” Tom said. Honor was biting her lip. Another second, and there’d be blood. He took her hand under the table and gave it a warning squeeze. Ratty snarled, earning a significant look from Ms. Woods.
“Records show that your marriage license has been filed,” she continued, “and a few days ago, someone called our office anonymously and said that you two barely know each other.”
Now who in the bloody hell would do that? Honor’s father, perhaps? The man had yet to look Tom in the eye. Droog, perhaps jealous that Honor hadn’t chosen him instead of Tom? Probably not him; he was good bloke.
“Well, it was fast,” Tom said. “I’ll give you that. But we’re getting married because we love each other. Right, darling?”
“We love each other,” she parroted, her voice squeaking. He squeezed her hand again, and she gave him a panicky look.
“Glad to hear it,” Bethany said briskly. Again, her eyes scanned him up and down. “Be that as it may, you’re aware that marital fraud constitutes a fine of up to a quarter million dollars and a ten-year jail sentence.”
Honor swallowed with a dry click, and her little dog whined, wagging her tail and scrabbling to get at Bethany. So far, the only person Ratty seemed to hate was Tom.
“Lots of times, the U.S. citizen will do it to help out a friend,” the woman continued, extending a finger to Spike, which the dog promptly licked. “Are you a sweet baby? You are? Are you? You’re so cute! Yes, you are! What’s your name? Huh? What’s your cute little name?”
“Spike,” Honor breathed.
“Oh, I love that. Yes, I do! I love it! Anyway, Ms. Holland, helping out a friend doesn’t make marital fraud any less illegal.”
“This isn’t one of those situations,” Honor said. Her hand was clammy.
“Great. Then I’m sure you two won’t mind if I separate you and ask you some questions.”
“Of course not,” Tom said. “Do we, Honor?”
“Nope,” she squeaked.
Bethany smiled tightly. “Good. Mind if I see your upstairs before we get started?”
“Not at all.” Tom stood up and smiled, offering his hand to the woman. She took it, her face coloring slightly.
“This is a cute house,” she said.
“We like it,” he said.
Thank God Honor had brought some things in, because the place was looking vastly improved from when Tom had been here alone. Pictures hung on the wall, the sofa had pillows, there were matching towels in the loo. It looked, in other words, like a real home, not just a temporary place to crash.
“How long have you two been together?” Bethany asked. “Spike, you said her name was? Spike, how long have Mommy and Daddy been together, huh, cute baby? Hmm?”
Dear God. “A couple of months,” Tom said. “One of those instant-attraction situations.”
“Right,” Honor croaked.
“Spike! Is this your ball? Is this your ball? Go get it!” Bethany tossed the ball. It rolled under the chair. “I’ll get it for you, babykins! Yes! I will!”
As the woman got down to retrieve Babykins’s ball, Tom turned to Honor and gave her a quick kiss. “Get a grip,” he whispered against her mouth.
“Okay,” she whispered back, but her eyes were darting everywhere. He kissed her again, more slowly, cupping her head in his hands, her hair soft and feathery. She smelled so clean and simple, so good. After a second, her hand went to his chest, and her mouth softened.
They might have to pretend to be madly in love, but he didn’t have to pretend that kissing her was incredible. She had this way of melting into him, his brittle little bride, and seemed...helpless when he kissed her. Soft and sweet and a little surprised.
“And the upstairs?” Bethany asked. “Come on, Spikey! Upstairs!”
“Right this way,” Tom said, stepping back from Honor. Spike barked once, in love with Bethany Woods.
Thank God Honor was a bit anal retentive about neatness, because the bed in Charlie’s room was perfectly made, and not so much as a slipper or a pair of earrings gave away the fact that she slept in here every night. Smart girl. She’d anticipated this. He owed her one. More than one, that was certain.
“Who does model airplanes?” Bethany asked, surveying the half-finished Stearman on the bureau.
“My unofficial stepson,” Tom said. “Um, I was engaged to his mum a few years ago, but she died. Her son and I are still close, though.” Another lie.
“That’s beautiful,” Bethany said. “What a nice guy you are. Is he so nice, Spike? Huh? Hmm?” She picked up the little dog and kissed her.
“Thank you,” he said, ignoring Honor’s shallow panting. She really needed to calm down. So did Bethany, for that matter, he thought as Spike licked the woman’s mouth. Disgusting.
Bethany walked into Tom’s room and opened the closet. Again, well done, Honor. Her clothes made it seem like it was her room, too. “So when’s the wedding?”
“Soon,” Honor said.
“We thought about eloping,” Tom said, “but her family want to be there, and she’s got to get the poofy dress and all that. And I want her to be happy, of course.” He looked at her. “You’ll make a beautiful bride, darling.”
“I love weddings,” Bethany said.
“You’re welcome to come to ours,” he said. Honor gave a squeak, then covered it with a cough, and Bethany smiled and meandered into the bathroom. Opened the cupboard and nodded.
“You’re laying it on a little thick,” Honor breathed.
“She’s eating it up,” he whispered back. “Would it kill you to smile? We’re supposed to be in love.”
“I’m not good at faking.”
“Yeah, that’s obvious. Follow my lead. Darling.”
“Honor,” Bethany said briskly, back in business mode, “would you mind staying up here and answering these questions?” She opened her enormous purse and pulled out a sheaf of papers.
“No problem,” Honor said. She started to go into Charlie’s room, then did an about-face and went into his room instead.
Bethany’s eyebrow raised.
Bollocks.
Back down the stairs they went, returning to the kitchen. “If you don’t mind, we’ll wait for Honor to come back down with her answers,” Bethany said, scooping up Ratty.
“Not at all. Are you sure you don’t want some water? Or that wine?” He smiled again. “I imagine we’re your last stop of the day.”
“When you put it that way, sure. Why not? White if you have it.”
“We certainly do. Honor’s family are winemakers. We’ve got all sorts of lovely choices. Gewürztraminer? Pinot gris? Chardonnay?”
“Chardonnay is great.”
“Wonderful.” He poured her a generous glass and handed it to her. “Do you mind if I start dinner?” he asked.
“Go right ahead,” she answered.
Tom pulled off his sweater, revealing the Henley-style T-shirt he wore underneath. Ms. Woods flushed, staring at his Union Jack tattoo. “Can’t forget where I’m from, can I?” he asked with a wink.
“And you have another one?” she asked, taking a sip of her wine and pointing to his other arm.
“I do, yes. Bit a youthful mistake.” He pulled up his left sleeve and showed her the Celtic circle, which had absolutely no meaning to him but had seemed incredibly cool when he was seventeen. Was he whoring it up a bit for the sake of Ms. Woods?
Yes.
“What happened to your eye?” she murmured.
“Funny story,” he said, and told her about the class and Honor’s ring. “It’s better now. The doctor did a nice job stitching it up, don’t you think?” He leaned down so she could inspect it, then smiled.
“You poor thing,” she said, her voice husky. Spike growled.
“How long have you worked for Immigration, Bethany?” he asked.
“Fourteen years,” she answered. “You’re right, this wine is wonderful.”
“Great.” He got out some chicken, grabbed a handful of parsley and a few cloves of garlic and started chopping. “You must have quite a lot of stories,” he added.
Cooking, he’d noted over the years, was a strangely intimate activity. Some of his best conversations with Charlie had been in the kitchen as he’d cooked, back in the day. With Melissa, too, who’d always appreciated not having to put dinner together after a workday.
It worked with Bethany, too. “We see all sorts of things,” she said, taking another sip of wine. “These visits, we call them bed-checks. Make sure the couple is really living together and not just faking it. You know, is her stuff in the bathroom, or is it just his? Do they actually know each other, or are they complete strangers? You’d be surprised how many people think they can pull off this kind of thing.”
“Really.”
“There was this one time,” she began, and with that, she started on a story about a green-card ring in which couples would try to make it appear they’d been together for months by Photoshopping pictures, pasting their heads onto other people’s bodies. “So in one picture, she weighs maybe a hundred pounds. In the next, supposedly on the same skiing trip, she’s double the size. Can you believe that? Can you, Spike?”
Tom smiled. “Funny,” he said.
“It is funny,” Bethany said. “Stupid, but funny. At least you two haven’t lied about how long you’ve been together.” She drained her wine. “How did you meet, anyway?”
“We met at O’Rourke’s,” he said, nudging the chicken. “The little bar in town here. I saw her, and I thought, ‘That’s her, Tommy, mate. That’s your wife.’ Felt like I’d been hit in the head with a sledgehammer.” He grinned. “That sounds like a cheesy pickup line.”
“No. Not at all. It sounds romantic, doesn’t it, Spikey baby?”
Honor came back into the kitchen, looking sweaty and rumpled. “All done,” she said, handing over the papers.
“Right, right,” Bethany said. “Boy, that smells good. I’m starving.”
“Would you like to stay?” Tom asked. Honor shot him a murderous look.
“I’d love to!” Bethany answered instantly. Behind her, Honor threw up her hands.
“Lovely. Darling, set the table, won’t you?”
She did, rattling the plates and nearly dropping the couscous. He gave her a warning look, but she seemed incapable of relaxing.
“You’re a great cook,” Bethany said, falling upon dinner like she’d just got back from forty days in the desert. “This is fantastic. Can I give Spike a bite?”
At least Bethany was happy. Honor, on the other hand, pushed her food around and remained silent until he gave her a sharp look. She took a few bites. Was not doing a great job convincing Bethany they were madly in love.
“Okay!” Bethany announced, pushing back her plate. “What I like to do here is ask you the same questions Honor has already answered and see how well your answers match.”
“Fire away,” he said. Kicked Honor under the table, as she looked as if her dog had just been bulldozed in the street. Speaking of, where was Ratty? Peeing in another of his shoes?
“What’s Honor’s favorite color?”
Shit. He had no bloody idea. Most of her clothes were... “Blue,” he said.
“Specifically?”
“Dark blue.”
“Navy. I’ll give it to you.” Bethany smiled at him with a little wink. “When is her birthday?”
“Oh, shit, this is where most husbands screw up, isn’t it?” He gave Honor a grin. She didn’t return it, her eyes open too wide. “January 4.” Thank you, Honor, for your anal-retentive dossier.
“Good job!” Bethany leaned across for a high five, her eyes dropping again to his Union Jack. “Where does she fall in birth order in her family?”
And another shit. Let’s see, there was the sex-addicted sister, who looked older but acted younger, the sister whose husband was the cop...younger, he thought, but what about the brother? “She acts like the oldest, don’t you, sweetheart? Everyone goes to her with their problems. And she’s quite bossy.” He smiled. She still looked ready to puke. “She’s in the middle.”
“Correct,” Bethany said, not noticing that he’d fudged the answer a bit. “Her favorite TV show?”
He grimaced. “Those dreadful medical dramas about tumors and the like. Horrible.”
Bethany smiled at him. “I have to agree. Okay, next question. What would Honor say is your biggest vice?”
He cocked an eyebrow. Honor closed her eyes. “Drinking. Wait till she meets some of my mates back home.”
“Drinking is correct, Tom.” Bethany gave him another high five. “And what contraception do you use?”
He choked on his water. “Right.” Took a second to answer. “We’re hoping to start a family very soon. So none.”
“That’s not what she said.”
He looked at his bride-to-be. “Darling? I thought we’d talked about this.”
“I, uh, yes. Just, you know.” She was sweating, her forehead shiny with it.
He took her hand and tugged her onto his lap, where she sat like a brick. “I thought you wanted babies right away, sweetheart,” he said, squeezing her knee to hopefully clue her in.
“Yeah, well, I don’t...um. Definitely. Soon. But maybe we could be married for a few months before we toss the, um, pills.”
“I can’t wait,” Tom said. He tried to pull her in for a kiss, but she was clenched. He leaned his head against her shoulder instead and smiled at Bethany. “Any other questions?”
“Nah,” Bethany said. “I think you guys are really cute. Where’s Spikey? Aren’t they cute? They’re cute!”
Thank the Christ child. In about five minutes, then, he was going to pour a very generous glass of whiskey. Just one, mind you, but generous.
He stood up, having to push Honor off his lap, then gripped her hand in his. “Well, this was lovely, meeting you. Thank you, Bethany.”
“Thanks for dinner!” she said, pulling on her coat. “This was really nice. Most people can’t wait for me to leave.”
“Really?” Tom said. “Can’t imagine why.”
“Good luck to you both.” Bethany shook their hands hard, smiling at them.
“Thanks,” Honor said, letting out a massive breath. He gave her a quick glare, then turned back to Bethany. Walked her to the door, dragging Honor behind him, and opened it.
Bugger.
A foot of snow had piled up.
“Oh, crud,” Bethany said. “I don’t know if I can drive home in this. My tires are completely bald, and it’s an hour and a half to my house in good weather.”
Tom closed his eyes for a second. “Not to worry,” he said. “You can stay here for the night. Right, darling?”
* * *
HONOR FELT LIKE her head was about to explode. She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her face looked wind-burned, she’d been blushing so long.
That woman had been here for four hours. Four hours of Tom kissing her ass, playing Devoted Fiancé, four hours of Honor trying to lie when all she could hear was ten years in prison. Which, yes, she already knew, but it had a different ring to it when said by a federal agent!
Finally, Bethany had yawned (hugely) and said a fond good-night to Tom, who looked like he was going to hug her.
“See you kids in the morning,” she said. “Don’t make too much noise, okay?” A gruesome wink that made Honor die a little inside.
And now she had to sleep with Tom.
Got to sleep with Tom.
Under normal circumstances—normal for them—the idea would have made her nervous enough, if rather thrilled. With a federal agent across the hall, she was close to losing control of her bowels.
How had Tom known her favorite color was navy blue? And that thing about how she acted like the oldest...was he right?
“Is the bathroom free?” Bethany asked.
“Um, just a sec,” Honor said. Too bad she didn’t have sleeping pills. She could drug all three of them.
She opened the door, smiled at Bethany and went into Tom’s room and closed the door.
“Do you think you could possibly act a little less like a piece of wood?” he whispered.
“What?”
“You sat there like a lump, Honor.”
Four hours of stress had taken their toll. “It’s better than stripping down to distract her,” she hissed. “Think I didn’t notice that? Were you going to do a little Magic Mike number if she kept asking questions?” The water turned on in the bathroom.
“One of us had to talk, Pooky.”
“Do you think it’s going to help our case if she says, ‘Groom seems like a man-whore’?”
“I didn’t strip. I took off my sweater. And since you seemed to be struck mute, someone had to keep her occupied.”
“Look,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I got hung up on the fact that there was a federal agent in my house who got invited to dinner and a sleepover!”
“Lower your voice, she’s coming out.”
“Good night!” Bethany called.
“Good night!” they chorused merrily back, then resumed glaring. Spike, at least, was comfortable; she jumped onto the bed and curled up on a pillow, yawned and closed her eyes.
The radiator ticked on. “Bedtime, darling,” Tom said.
She was starting to hate that particular endearment, as he had never once used it with sincerity. That being said, he had a point. “Sure.” But she had to change into her pj’s. “Um, can you close your eyes?” she whispered.
“I have seen you naked, you realize.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not going to tonight.”
“Fine.” He pulled his shirt over his head, all predatory male grace, tossed it in the corner, then unbuttoned his pants.
Right. She should probably turn around.
And she would. Soon. Anytime now. Definitely by tomorrow.
That was quite a beautiful male body. A boxer’s body, arms curved with heavy muscle, broad chest lightly covered in hair, the hypnotic washboard abs. She remembered how it had felt to trail her fingers over that part of his anatomy, that night when she’d been a sex kitten, when she’d been so unlike herself.
Tom cocked an eyebrow, and she turned away, feeling her face ache with heat once more this night.
A second later, she heard the bedsprings creak. “Okay, close your eyes,” she whispered.
“Done.”
“Really?”
“Honor, for the love of God, would you just get into bed, please?”
She glanced back. He was sitting in bed, eyes closed, that beautiful, rippling torso begging for a thorough examination. His bruised eye and tattoos gave him an unbearably appealing bad-boy look, and his Saint Christopher medal somehow underscored his ridiculous sex appeal. Who would’ve thunk Honor Holland would have such a guy ordering her into bed, regardless of the circumstances?
She turned back and undressed, jacket, skirt and sweaty blouse going over the back of the chair. At least she wore nice underwear. Not that Tom would see, since he’d closed his eyes like a good boy. She unhooked her bra, pulling on her flannel pj’s as fast as she could.
When she turned around, Tom’s eyes were open, and he was looking steadily at her. No smile.
The air seemed to thicken, and Honor’s heart banged against her ribs.
Would that she was closer and could read the expression in his eyes. Or just kiss him.
“Come on, then,” he said, pulling back the covers.
She was never going to sleep tonight.
And she hadn’t been sleeping well since she moved in here. But now, she was vibrating with nervousness, tingling with awareness, tightening with lust and utterly terrified of being sent to jail, all at the same time.
About that lust, the eggs said, adjusting their binoculars to get a better look at Tom.
She went to the unoccupied side of the bed and slid in. “Good night,” she said, turning away from him.
Tom turned off the light and lay down on his back.
“We’ll have to offer her breakfast,” he murmured. “Think it’d kill you to be hospitable?”
Honor rolled over to face him, the light from the street allowing her to see his face in profile. “Tom,” she whispered, “what if we get caught?”
“We won’t, so long as you stop acting like a criminal, darling.”
“I can’t help it!”
“You said you knew all this before,” he pointed out, his voice quiet. “You’re the one who told me you were fine with the risks.”
“I know, but—”
A knock came on the door, and Honor jolted closer to Tom. “Yes?” they called in unison, his arms going around her.
Bethany opened the door. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said unconvincingly. “Oh, hi, Spikey-snooks! Are you all comfy there?”
Honor’s face was right up against Tom’s neck. It was a nice place to be. Or it would be, if she wasn’t in ventricular tachycardia. Thank you, Death in the E.R.
“Do you need anything, Bethany?” Tom asked.
“Um, I just wondered if I could get a glass of water.”
For God’s sake.
“Absolutely,” Tom said, starting to get out of bed, but Honor pulled him back.
“Help yourself,” she said. “Glasses are next to the sink.”
Bethany paused, then sighed. “Great. Sleep well.”
The door closed. “Water, my ass,” Honor whispered. “She just wanted to see you without your shirt.”
“At least someone does,” he grumbled.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard for you to fake a little affection if we were sleeping together.”
It dawned on her that she was still pressed against Tom. Intimately. In fact, if she weren’t swathed in flannel, the eggs would be quite happy, let’s put it that way.
“I thought we were waiting till we got married,” she whispered.
“I find that very hypocritical,” he muttered. “Since you’ve already boffed me three times.”
“One night. With three, um, sessions.”
He didn’t answer.
If he kissed her now, she’d offer no resistance. She was exhausted from stress, not to mention weak-willed and lustful. And the years were precious. Besides, the memory of his weight on top of her, the hard, thick slide of—
“Tell me about being mugged.” His voice was quiet.
“What? Oh. Um, why?”
“Because I want to know.”
She swallowed. “I already told you.”
“Yes. But I was busy yelling.” He pulled her closer, so that her head was on his hard and utterly wonderful shoulder. Her hand had nowhere to go other than his chest, and she felt his heart thudding, such a lovely, secret pleasure, that feeling, the marvel of the human body.
Bethany’s footsteps sounded on the stairs. The door to the other room opened and closed.
“I was walking home from the library,” Honor whispered. “My roomie and I had a little apartment about three blocks off campus, and it was only about ten, so I figured it was safe.” Wrong on that count. How many times had her father fussed over the fact that she was in a big city? Warned her about walking home alone?
“All of a sudden, some guy had me by the arm, and he shoved me into this doorway and told me to give him my purse. He had a gun, and I remember looking at him and thinking I had to remember his face, but I couldn’t. The details kept sliding away, like my brain couldn’t quite grab on to what was happening.” She paused, remembered fear making her knees tingle. “So he asked for my money, and I threw my purse over his head and ran. To a police station.”
Tom’s hand covered hers, and Honor’s throat was suddenly tight. “That was very clever,” he said, his voice just a soft rumble.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“Why didn’t you ever tell anyone?”
She hesitated. “I did. I meant I never told anyone in my family. It was over, and they would’ve just worried. But I told the police. And, um, a friend.” She winced.
“Brogan?”
It was the first time Tom had gotten the name right. “Yes.”
“And was he...what’s that word you Americans like so much? Supportive?”
“Of course. He was very nice.” She paused. “He’s a nice man.”
“I’m sure.” Tom’s voice was mild, but it suddenly felt awkward, lying this way. Her neck felt stiff, and the shoulder under her head seemed to have turned to granite.
“Did they ever catch the man who did it?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. And thanks for asking about it.”
“Right. I’m an engineer, after all. It didn’t make sense, your hauling off and hitting me like that. I figured there was a cause and effect going on.”
A car drove past on the street below.
She wanted to say something more, to address the stew of feelings that seemed to roil and change between them like a Midwestern storm. But maybe that was just her. Maybe Tom wasn’t feeling much of anything, just an engineer who liked to understand how things worked.
“Sleep well, Honor,” he said.
“You, too.”
Honor turned on her side, away from Tom, and closed her eyes, but it was a long time before sleep wrapped her in its soft embrace.