DRIVE WEST

FOUR - Say My Name, Johnny (Part 2)

"The way their bodies moved together could put a restless baby to sleep through the night; their movements wrote a lullaby."

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He turned her in a way that controlled her imbalance, before bringing her back to his level. She was but a pawn to his skill.

"You can dance."

He smiled, "Two years ago I had a special mission in Moscow. The Bureau paid for my dance lessons."

She bobbed her head, impressed.

Her left arm rested on his shoulder, while his' met the lower part of her waist. Their other hands met each other at the side of their bodies.

The live band played Fitzgerald and Armstrong's rendition of Dream a Little Dream of Me, and their bodies, nearly touching, found a honeyed harmony in the rhythm.

"Don't be upset. You know Peaches is a wild card. She's unpredictable, you did what you could." He told her.

Monday looked over his shoulder at the others dancing too, "We shouldn't be talking about the case." She whispered under her breath.

He agreed with a subtle nod.

She looked up at him secretly, and then quickly looked away. She couldn't help but notice the quiet but captivating smell of cologne his neck bestowed. Noticing the gel in his perfect hair. Noticing how his suit was perfectly tailored to his body. In a way, at that moment she realized she carried a certain admiration for Apollo Knight.

"I wanted to..." She wet her lips and then looked up at him again, building courage, "I'm sorry about Teresa."

He didn't look at her and there was a small pause.

"I brought Feyre with me to watch the cameras in the perimeter." He admitted, suddenly.

"What?"

"I assigned her to this case. She's outside waiting for us in a black van a couple of miles away."

Monday didn't react to that as much as she thought about how she felt about it.

Apollo didn't give her time to digest the new information; he looked down at her and moved a lock of hair from her face, which caught her of guard and made her hold her breath. With a hint of a smile on his lip, he justified, "Peaches is looking. Lean your head against my shoulder."

She slowly inclined her head to him, hooking her forehead, chin, and nose, like a fitting corner jigsaw-puzzle piece, to his neck. The way their bodies moved together could put a restless baby to sleep through the night; their movements wrote a lullaby.

They danced in silence for some time, until Monday brought her head back up. "I said I was sorry about Teresa."

"I heard you."

Another pause. "Did I irritate you?"

"No." He replied right away. Their eyes met each other very simply, with candid innocence, "I don't think you would be able to irritate me even if you tried."

Monday turned a shade of pink. "Is she still looking over here?"

He subtly let his gaze investigate and then lowered his head back to her, "Yes."

Her eyebrows snapped together, "What are you doing with hands, then?"

His eyes darted to check with certain despair, "My hand is on your waist."