And a dark-haired woman with a bright smile.
“Hannah?”
“Yes.”
“You still wear your ring.”
Owen looked at his left hand.
Simple silver band.
“Sometimes.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No.”
Celeste answered quickly.
“Of course not.”
He studied her.
“You married?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
“Engaged twice.”
Owen looked surprised.
“Twice?”
“Apparently I am good at almost marrying people.”
“What happened?”
“First one liked my last name more than me.”
“Second one liked competing with me until I became more successful.”
Owen winced.
“Efficient summary.”
“It took years to make it that efficient.”
He nodded.
Celeste looked at Hannah’s picture.
“How long?”
“Three years.”
“Cancer?”
He looked toward her.
“How’d you know?”
“You said promise.”
“People usually make a lot of promises when illness gives them time.”
Owen considered.
“Pancreatic.”
“Eleven months.”
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded.
“Thank you.”
A moment passed.
Then Celeste said:
“My father died when I was twenty-seven.”
Owen looked at her.
“Heart?”
“Plane crash.”
He said nothing.
She continued:
“Small aircraft.”
“Mechanical failure.”
“After that, I started reading every maintenance report anyone put near me.”
“That explains why you described the warning light as red.”
She laughed.
“Very useful, yes.”
Owen smiled.
Then:
“Maybe Ellie would like you.”
“That seems dangerous.”
“She already does.”
“That seems more dangerous.”
They looked toward the stairwell.
Neither said what was forming between them.
Not yet.
At 9:14, Celeste’s phone rang.
Her general counsel.
She stepped outside.
Owen watched through the office window.
Her posture changed during the call.
Shoulders squared.
Expression hardened.
She returned five minutes later.
“What?”
Owen asked.
“The possession cancellation was overridden.”
His face went blank.
“What does that mean?”
“Collections says the directive came from executive finance.”
“Above your assistant?”
“Yes.”
“Above you?”
“No one is above me operationally.”
“Then why?”
“Someone is using standing authority that predates my cancellation.”
Owen stared.
Celeste reached for her coat.
“I have to go.”
“Celeste.”
She turned.
“If people show up tomorrow…”
“They won’t.”
“You said that already.”
The words hit.
She nodded.
Fair.
Owen continued:
“I have a daughter upstairs.”
“I know.”