round midnight, Gabrielle shoved the lingerie Joe had dumped on her duvet to the floor and crawled into bed. She closed her eyes and tried not to think of him standing in her room, his broad shoulders filling out his hacked-up shirt, a pair of crotchless panties dangling from his finger. He was a throwback. A girl's anachronistic nightmare. He made her more angry than any man she'd ever known. She should hate him. She really should. He made fun of her beliefs and now her art, and - yet no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't dislike him. There was something about him, some thing drawing her to him like the faithful to Mecca. She didn't want to go, but her heart didn't seem to be listening.

If there was one person on this planet Gabrielle knew inside and out, it was herself. She knew what worked for her and what didn't. Sometimes she was wrong, like when she'd thought she'd wanted to become a masseuse, only to discover she needed a more creative outlet. Or when she'd taken classes on Feng Shui and learned that planning the design of a room to achieve perfect peace and balance gave her a stress headache.

As a result of the different paths she'd taken in her life, she knew bits and pieces about a lot of different things. Some people might interpret that as flighty or irresponsible, but she saw it differently—more like a willingness to take risks. She was unafraid to change direction midstream. She was open-minded about almost everything. Except the notion that she should allow her heart to become involved with Joe. A relationship between them could never work out. They were too different. Night and day. Positive and negative. Yin and yang.

He would be gone soon, out of her life. The thought of never seeing him again should have made her happy. Instead, it made her feel empty and kept her up most of the night.

The next morning she jogged her usual two miles before she returned home and got ready for work. After her shower, she pulled on a pair of white panties with little red hearts and the matching bra. The set was made of islet and was one of the few items from Francis's store that Gabrielle actually wore. She brushed her hair out, and while it dried, she applied her makeup and hooked a pair of long beaded earrings in her ears.

Mondays were Kevin's day off, and she'd be alone with Joe until noon, when Mara would arrive. The drought of spending time alone with him scared her even as excited little butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She wondered if he'd spend his time searching Kevin's files again behind the closed office door like he had last week. Or if they'd think of something for him to build or fix. And she wondered if he'd wear his tool belt hung low on his hips.

Gabrielle's doorbell rang, followed by a heavy knock she recognized. She shoved her arms through her white terry cloth robe and tied the belt as she walked to the door. She pulled her hair from beneath the robe and released the deadbolt. Instead of his usual jeans and T-shirt, he wore a navy suit, crisp white shirt, and a burgundy-and-blue tie. Mirrored sunglasses concealed his eyes, and he held a sack from the same deli on Eighth where he'd bought her sandwich Friday. The other hand he'd shoved in the front pocket of his pants. "I brought you breakfast," he said.

"Why, are you feeling bad about making fun of me last night?"

"I've never made fun of you," he said with a completely straight face. "Are you going to invite me in?"

"You've never asked before." She moved aside so he could pass, then shut the door behind him. "You always just barge your way through."

"Your door was locked." He set the paper sack on the table in front of the couch and pulled out two muffins and two cups of coffee. "I hope you like cream cheese muffins," he said as he reached for his sunglasses and shoved them into the inside pocket of his jacket. Then he glanced up at her through tired eyes and tore the plastic, lids from the top of the Styrofoam cups. "Here."

Gabrielle didn't like coffee, but she took it anyway. He handed her a muffin, and she took that, too. For the first time since she'd opened the door, she noticed the tension bracketing the corners of his mouth. "What's wrong?" "You should eat first. We'll talk in a minute." "First? How can I possibly eat now?" He slid his gaze across her cheeks and mouth, then back up to her eyes. "Late last night an art dealer from Portland made contact with Kevin. His name is William Stewart Shalcroft."

"I know of William. Kevin worked for him." "Still does. At three o'clock this afternoon, William Stewart Shalcroft will arrive on Delta flight two-twenty nonstop from Portland. He and Kevin made plans to meet at a lounge in the airport, exchange the Hillard painting for cash, then Mr. Shalcroft plans to rent a car and drive back to Portland. He'll never make it to the Hertz counter. We'll arrest both of them as soon as they make the exchange."

Gabrielle blinked. "You're kidding me, right?"

"I wish I were, but I'm not. Since the night of the theft, Kevin has had the painting in his possession."

She heard him. His words were quite clear, yet they didn't make sense. She couldn't have known Kevin for so many years and been so wrong about him. "There has to be a mistake."

"No mistake."

He looked so sure, sounded so adamant, that the first inkling of uncertainty settled in her brain. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"We put a wire on his home phone, and we have him on tape setting up the meeting with Shalcroft."

She looked at Joe, at the exhaustion and strain heavy in his brown eyes. "So, it's all true?"

"I'm afraid so."

And for the first time since he'd cuffed her and hauled her to jail, she allowed herself to believe him. "Kevin stole Mr. Hillard's Monet?"

"He contracted someone else for the actual theft."

"Who?"

"We don't know yet."

She grasped at the answer. "Then isn't it possible that the 'actual' thief is the only thief?"

"No. The theft of a major piece of art like a Monet takes time to plan and a whole underground web of contacts to execute. It starts with a rich collector and works its way on down. We think they've been planning this theft for at least six months, and we don't believe this is the first and only time Kevin and Shalcroft have been involved together. We believe they've been conducting this sort of operation since Kevin worked for Shalcroft in Portland."

Everything Joe said was possible, but incredible to reconcile with the Kevin she knew. "How could he be involved in such a horrible mess?"

"Money. A lot of money."

Gabrielle glanced at the muffin and coffee in her hands. For one confusing moment, she'd forgotten how they'd got there. "Here," she said, setting them on the table. "I'm not hungry." Joe reached for her, but she moved away and slowly sank to the edge of the couch. She sat with her hands in her lap and stared across the room.

Everything in her house looked the same as it had a moment ago. The clock on the mantel silently ticked off the minutes while her refrigerator hummed in the kitchen. An old pickup truck drove past her house, and a dog barked down the street. Normal everyday sounds, yet everything was different now. Her life was different now.

"I let you work in Anomaly because I didn't believe you," she said. "I thought you were wrong, and I built up this whole fantasy in my head where you'd have to come and tell me how sorry you are th—that," her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. She didn't want to cry or fall apart or make a scene, but she didn't seem to have any control over the tears filling her eyes. Her vision blurred, the printing on the coffee cups smeared and ran together. "That you'd have to apologize for arresting me that day in the park, and for making me betray Kevin. But you weren't wrong about Kevin."

"I am sorry." Joe sat beside her, his feet wide apart, and he closed his big, warm hand over one of hers. "I'm sorry something like this had to happen to you. You don't deserve to be caught up in any of this."

"I'm not perfect, but I've never done anything to earn this kind of bad karma." She shook her head, and a tear spilled dowrr her cheek to a corner of her mouth. "How could I have been so blind? Weren't there signs? How could I be so stupid? How could I not know my business partner is a thief?"

He squeezed her hand. "Because you're like eighty percent of the population. You don't suspect everyone you meet of criminal behavior. You don't walk around suspicious of every-one."

"You do."

"That's because it's my job, and I have to deal with the twenty percent running around like idiots." He brushed his thumb across her knuckles. "I know you probably can't see anything good coming from this right now, but you'll be okay. You've got a real smart lawyer who made sure you'd get to keep your store."

"I don't believe my business can survive this." A second tear slipped from her eyes, then a third. "The theft of that painting is still making news. When Kevin's arrest is reported… I'll never be able to recover from something like that." With her free hand, she wiped the moisture from her face. "Anomaly is ruined."

"Maybe not," he said, his deep voice sounding so confident that she almost believed him.

But they both knew her business would never be the same. She would always be tied to the theft of the Hillard painting. Kevin had done that. He'd done that to her, and it was nearly impossible to reconcile Kevin the art fence and the man who'd always brought her rose tea when she hadn't felt good. How could that dichotomy exist in one person, and how could she have thought she knew Kevin so well, yet not really have known him at all? "Do the police think he also has those stolen antiques I was shown the day I was arrested?"

"Yes."

A horrible thought struck Gabrielle, and she quickly looked at Joe across her shoulder. "Do you still think I'm involved?"

"No." He raised a hand and brushed her moist cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I know you aren't involved."

"How?"

"I know you."

Yes, just as she knew him. Her gaze moved over his face, the slight hollow of his cleanly shaved cheeks and smooth jaw. "How could I be so dumb, Joe?"

"He fooled a lot of people."

"Yeah, but I worked with him almost every day. He was my friend, but I guess I never really knew him. Why didn't I feel his negative energy?"

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and forced her to sit back with him against the couch cushions. "Well, don't feel bad, a person's aura can be real tricky."

"Are you making fun of me?"

"I'm being nice."

A sob caught in her throat, and she looked at him. First Kevin and now Joe. Wasn't anyone who and what she thought? "Why am I always so gullible? Francis tells me all the time that I'm too trusting. It gets me in trouble." She shook her head and tried to blink back the moisture in her eyes. Joe's face was so close she could see his whiskers beneath his tan skin and smell his aftershave. "Some people believe you draw positive or negative events toward you, that you attract the people you deserve."

"Sounds like bullshit to me. If that were the case, you'd only attract aura-seeing, karma-fearing, lapsed vegetarians to you."

"Are you trying to be nice again?"

He smiled. "If you don't know, then maybe I need work."

She looked into his handsome face she knew so well, into his intense eyes with their brows that were usually lowered when he looked at her. At his straight nose and the deep furrow that bowed his top lip. At his smooth skin that would begin a gradual shadow around noon. "My last boyfriend was an aura-seeing, karma-fearing vegetarian. Only he wasn't lapsed."

"Sounds like a ball of fire."

"He was boring."

"See, that's because you're a woman who lapses." His thumb swept another tear from her cheek as his gaze moved over her face. "You need a man who appreciates wild, unruly women. I went to parochial school and have a deep appreciation for lapsed girls. In fourth grade, Karla Solazabal used to roll up the waist of her plaid skirt and show me her knees. God, I loved her for that."

And she loved him for trying to cheer her up. "What's going to happen now?" she asked.

His gaze sobered. "Once Kevin is arrested, he'll be booked into—"

"No," she interrupted him. "Am I still your confidential informant until after the trial?"

"No, you're released from the agreement. Since you didn't know anything, I'm sure you won't even need to testify at trial."

His answer settled next to her heart like a hot briquette. She would not ask if he ever intended to see her again, or if he would call now that she wasn't his pretend girlfriend; She wouldn't ask, since she wasn't sure of the answer. "When do you have to go?"

"Not for a while yet."

She slid her hand up his arm, across his shoulder, to the side of his head. She wouldn't talk about what might happen later, or tomorrow, or next week. She didn't want to think about it. Her fingers brushed his wool collar and combed through his short, spiky hair. A flash of hunger lit his eyes, and he lowered his gaze to her mouth.

"Whatever happened to Karla?" she asked.

He brought a palm up to the sides of her throat and slid his fingers beneath her terry cloth robe. "She's a state legislator." His thumb tipped her chin upward as his lips lowered to brush hers once, twice, three times. He eased her into a soft kiss that seemed to pour through her like sunshine in August, warming her from the top of her head, down her spine, to the pit of her stomach. Hot tingles spread between her legs and thighs, the backs of her knees and the soles of her feet. The inside of his slick mouth tasted of mint and coffee, and he kissed her like she tasted sweet and very, very good to him.

She tilted her head to one side to give him better access, and he drove her against the back of the couch and made love to her mouth with his lips and tongue and hot juices. His warm palm slipped beneath her robe, and he slid his fingertips along the smooth edge of her bra, his touch grazing the swells of her breasts. Her skin grew tight, and she reached for the knot of his tie. He didn't stop her, and she pulled at it until the striped ends hung down his chest. She suckled his tongue as she unfastened the tiny button at his collar. Her fingers worked downward until the dress shirt lay open, then she pulled the ends from his pants. Between their bodies, her hands found his hard abdomen. He sucked in his breath. The fine hair tickled her fingers as she combed them up his stomach and flattened her palms over each male nipple. His muscles hardened beneath her touch, his flesh puckered, and he groaned deep in his chest.

He'd behaved this way the night she'd given him a massage. He'd acted like he wanted her, then he'd asked her about Elvis and he'd left. He'd made leaving look easy. "Do you remember the other night when I gave you the massage?" she asked.

He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the floor. "I'm not likely to forget that massage."

"I wanted you and I thought you wanted me, too. But you left."

"I'm not going anywhere." His gaze met hers as he carefully placed his firearm and holster on the floor by his jacket.

"Why now?"

"Because I'm tired of fighting it. I want you so much I ache, and I'm tired of going home with a killer hard-on that no amount of cold showers can cure. I'm tired of lying awake, picturing you naked like I was sixteen again. Imagining my face in your breasts, and you and me having wild sex. It's time I stopped thinking about it so much and got busy." He flexed his wrists and worked at the buttons there. "You were telling me the truth about those birth control pills, weren't you?"

"Yes."

He tore at the shirt and threw it toward his jacket. "Then it's time I make love to you," he said and came at her, wrapping her in his arms as his mouth swooped to take possession. He ran a hand down her back to her behind, then he gently pushed her to the couch positioning her so that she lay on her back. He knelt on one knee between her thighs, his other foot was planted on her floor, and he pulled back to look down at her with hungry eyes. Gabrielle's robe lay open, exposing her right leg and hip and the slope of her left breast. He untied the belt and moved aside the terry cloth material. His hot gaze touched her everywhere. Lingered on the thin triangle of islet and hearts covering her crotch, then slowly up her abdomen to the stiff underwires of her bra, pushing her breasts together.

"Do you remember the night I walked into your backyard and found you floating in the kiddie pool?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"I wanted to do this." He leaned over her and placed his palms beneath her shoulders. He lifted, then nestled his face in her cleavage. He placed soft kisses between her breasts as she ran her hands across his bare shoulders and down his smooth back. She wrapped one leg around his waist and pressed into him. A low groan tumbled deep in his throat as he pressed back, shoving his hard erection against her crotch. Everything in her consciousness focused on him, the pleasure of his touch, and the dull ache between her legs. His soft kisses made her insane for more, and she arched her back, pressing the fullest part of her breast to his lips. He lifted his gaze to hers and smiled, then he opened his mouth and sucked her through her thin bra. He drove her wild with the slow, undulating rhythm of his hips. Through the narrow strip of her panties and the wool of his pants, he turned her liquid inside. Her skin burned, her nipples tightened, and she dug her fingers into his shoulders and ground against him. He slid his hand from beneath her shoulder and grasped her thigh. Stopping her.

"Slow down, honey, or I'll embarrass myself right here, before the really good part begins."

"I thought this was the really good part."

His quiet laughter filled the space between their lips. "It gets better."

"How?"

"I'll show you, but not on the couch." He stood, drew her to her feet, then pulled her from the room. "I like a bed where I can spread out while I work." They made it as far as the dining room, where she paused to kiss the side of his throat. She tasted his cologne and she slid a hand across his flat abdomen, down the front of his pants, and found the long hard length of him. Then before she knew what he was doing, he picked her up and set her on top of the cool table. Her hand knocked the telephone, and it crashed to the floor. Neither cared.

"The first time I saw you, you jogged past me on the greenbelt, and I thought you had the sweetest legs and ass this side of heaven. I thought you were about the best-looking woman I'd ever seen." He sat in a ladder-back chair and kissed the inside of one calf.

"You thought I was a felon."

"Didn't mean I was opposed to seeing you naked." He pressed his lips to the inside of her knee. "Didn't mean I wasn't looking forward to a strip search. Doesn't mean I don't know what a lucky son of a bitch I am."

Gabrielle's gaze took in his hair and the smile he brushed against her inner thigh. Passion smoldered in his dark eyes as the tip of his tongue touched the mole a few scant inches below the elastic leg band of her panties. Her breath caught in her throat and he held her there, suspended, turning her insides hotter, and making her wonder what he would do next. "Or taste you right here," he said and softly drew her skin into his warm mouth. Every pinpoint of desire in her body intensified and burned, making her jumpy at the same time as it held her frozen in place. His hand slipped up the inside of her thigh to the islet covering her crotch. His thumb brushed her through the thin material, and he lifted his head and looked up at her.

"How does that feel?"

"Good, Joe."

He scooted the chair as close to the table as possible. "This has driven me insane." He wrapped one arm around her waist, then he dipped his head and sucked her shallow navel just below her belly ring. His grip on her upper thigh tightened while his thumb continued to lightly stroke her through her moist panties. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, shutting out everything but the exquisite pleasure of his hand and his mouth kissing a wet path up her stomach to the inside slope of her right breast. He drew her sensitive skin into his mouth, then pushed aside one cup of her bra and took her nipple into his hot, wet mouth.

Gabrielle moaned and arched her back, lost to the erotic pull of his lips and the smooth texture of his tongue. He slipped two fingers beneath the elastic leg band of her panties and touched her slick flesh, caressing her exactly where she wanted it most, at the place where every sensation pooled and intensified. She tried to close her legs to hold the pleasure of it in, but he stood between her knees. Then cool air brushed across the tip of her moist breast, and she heard him whisper her name. Her eyes fluttered open, and his face was so close mat his nose brushed hers.

"Gabrielle," he said again, and then he kissed her, as soft and sweet as the first. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he stood with her in his embrace. Looking into his deep brown eyes, her heart swelled with so much emotion she couldn't hide from it anymore. She'd never been very good at hiding anyway.

The hooks of her bra released, and the thin scrap of material fell away. She pressed her naked breasts into his chest and slid one hand down his side and across his smooth back, over the dip in his spine and the hollow of his waist where he'd stuck a nicotine patch. She loved touching him, feeling his flesh beneath her hands. Her fingers slid around his woven leather belt, and she unbuckled and unbuttoned until his pants lay open. Then she pulled back and looked at him. She easily pushed his pants down his thighs and gazed at a pair of white boxers with the words joe boxer on the waistband. He kicked his shoes and trousers aside, then tore at his socks until his feet were bare. He took her hand, and this time they did make it to her bedroom.

Her feet sank in the thick white carpet as her gaze moved up his powerful calves to the scar marring his hard thigh. "I can massage it for you," she offered, her voice sounding thick to her own ears as she brushed the scar with the tips of her fingers.

He reached for her hand, moved it up a few inches, and blatantly pressed her palm to the thick ridge of his erection. "Massage this."

"Well, I am almost a professional," she said and slipped her hand beneath the waistband of his shorts and wrapped his hot, hot flesh in her palm. She closed her fist around him and lightly stroked from the base of his rock-hard penis all the way to the smooth, plump head. Her other hand pushed his boxers down his thighs, and she was free to look at him. For the first time to see his powerful body, to view him as an artist who had a deep appreciation for beauty, and as a woman who wanted to make love to the beautiful man who made her heart swell.

She took a step closer, and her nipples brushed his chest. The hot tip of his erection touched her belly, and within her grasp, she rubbed the length of him against her flat stomach and navel. A clear drop of semen smeared her skin as she kissed the hollow of his throat, his shoulder, and the side of his neck. She slid one hand up his chest and looked into his heavy-lidded eyes. "So, when do I get the really good part?"

He nuzzled the side of her throat and groaned, "As soon as you let go of it."

The second she released him, he picked her up beneath the armpits and tossed her on her bed. "Take off those panties," he ordered as he crawled across the duvet to join her in the middle. He helped her pull her underwear down her legs, pausing to kiss her hip, before he pitched her panties over his shoulder, then knelt between her knees. His gaze stared into hers, then lowered to between her thighs. His fingers caressed her belly, her hips, and her slick, sensitive flesh, bringing her close before he stopped and rested his weight on one forearm. "Are you sure you're ready for the really good part?" he asked and brought the broad head of his penis into place.

"Yes," she whispered, and he shoved the long, hard length of him into her. Her eyes widened, her breath caught in the top of her lungs, and she cried out. Then he withdrew and buried himself even deeper.

"Holy Mary mother of God," he groaned and cupped the sides of her face in his palms. He kissed her, his tongue plunging into her mouth as he thrust slowly into her body. She wrapped one leg around his waist, planted her other foot by his knee, and moved with him, matching the rhythm of his pumping hips. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and kissed him back, matching his greed and passion. With each thrust he propelled them closer to climax. And with each thrust, he stroked a place deep, deep inside until she could no longer breathe, and she tore her mouth from his and sucked air into her lungs. The pressure built, and her grasp on his shoulders tightened.

"Joe," she whispered, wanting to tell him how she felt, but there were no words. She wanted to tell him that she'd never felt anything so good and dizzy and hot. She looked up into his tense, strained features as he drove into her, and she wanted him to know she'd never felt so incredible, that he was incredible, and she loved him. That he was her yang, but then he reached beneath her bottom, tilted her pelvis up, and increased the sensation of each thrust, forcing her toward climax. Her heart pounded in her ears, and every ounce of her body, mind, and soul was focused on the slick parts of them where they were joined. She opened her mouth, but all she was capable of uttering was the word yes, followed by a long, satisfied moan.

"That's right, come for me," he whispered, and it was as if the sound of his voice triggered her long, hard fall. Her body tensed and arched as orgasm hit and took over completely. The power of it shook her and squeezed him within her tight body while he plunged harder and deeper. It went on and on, the sensations rolling through her until at last an anguished groan tore from his chest and his harsh breath whispered across her temple. He drove into her one last time, then stilled.

In the aftermath, the only sound was the catching of breath and a siren wailing off in the distance. Every place their skin touched, it stuck together, and a bead of sweat slid down Joe's temple.

A smile slowly curved the corners of his lips.

"That was amazing," she said.

"No," he corrected, pausing to plant a kiss on her mouth, "you are amazing."

Gabrielle unwrapped her leg from his waist.

He grasped her thigh as if he thought she planned to move away and he didn't want her to go. "Do you have someplace you need to be?"

"No."

"Then why don't you just stay where you are, and I'll just stay were I am?"

"Right here? Naked?"

"Uh-huh." He combed his fingers through her hair, and his hip slowly moved. He withdrew, then buried himself, and the sensation all coiled and built again. "I want more of the really good part. How about you?"

Yeah, she wanted more. She wanted a lot more of him, but beyond wanting Joe, she wasn't ready to face the world outside her house. Not yet. She hooked her leg over his waist again, and they started slow, with light, lingering touches, but things turned too hot too quick and somehow they ended up on the floor, rolling around on top of all those naughty pairs of underwear she'd thrown there the night before. She finally landed on top astride his hips.

"Put your hands behind your head," she ordered.

Suspicion shone in his eyes, but he did as she asked. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to blow your mind."

"That's a bold statement."

Gabrielle just smiled. She'd taken six months of belly dancing, just enough to know how to roll and undulate real good. She raised her hands high in the air and rotated her hips as she swayed. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the feeling of him touching her deep inside. "You like this?"

"God—d da—mn!"

Her smile grew, and with him buried deep inside, she blew his mind.

"Are you sure I don't smell like a girl?" Joe asked for the third time as he stood in her dining room and pulled his boxers to his waist.

Gabrielle buried her nose in his neck. After they'd picked themselves up off her bedroom floor, she'd dragged him into the shower and revived him with a loofah and a special bar of her homemade lilac soap. He'd stopped complaining about the girly smell when she'd knelt before him and soaped him up real good. "I don't think so," she said as she stepped into her panties, then hooked her bra in place. He smelled like Joe to her.

She folded her arms beneath her breasts, leaned her behind against the table, and watched him button his pants around his waist. The overhead light caressed the russet waves of his wet hair.

"I don't want you to answer the telephone today," he said as he walked into the living room and reached for his shirt and jacket. "At least not until after three. Kevin might try and contact you after his arraignment—I would suggest you don't talk to him." He shoved his arms into his shirt and buttoned the wrists before he worked on the front. "And be sure you eat something healthy. I don't want you getting sick."

What was it with him and food? Gabrielle watched him from the distance of the dining room, loving him so much it hurt. She didn't know how it had happened, but it had. He wasn't the type of man she'd thought she wanted, but he was the man for her. She felt it in the quick beating of her heart and the horrible flutter in her stomach, and she knew it in her soul. It was more than great sex. More than mind-blowing orgasms. He was her male to his female. Positive to negative.

There was only one little spot of potential misgiving on her otherwise blissful euphoria. She wasn't certain if he realized it too.

He shoved one hand into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out his pager, and glanced at the display. "Maybe you should stay with your mother for a few days. Shit. Where's the phone?"

Gabrielle pointed to her feet, where it lay sprawled across the floor. He grabbed his jacket and shoulder holster and walked back into the dining room. With one hand, Joe scooped up the telephone. With his thumb, he pressed the disconnect button, then pushed the seven digits.

"Shanahan," he said as he set his holster and jacket on the table. "Yeah, my pager was in my car… what can I tell you? I just found the telephone off the hook." He shoved the tails of his shirt into his pants, then reached for the jacket. "Tell me you're bullshitting. It's not even noon!" With the telephone cradled between his ear and shoulder, he pushed his arms through the sleeves. "When was that?… I'm on my way," he said and dropped the receiver back in the cradle.

"Shit!"

"What?"

He glanced at her, then sat on the ladder-back chair and pulled on his socks. "I can't even believe this is happening to me. Not on top of everything else."

"What?"

Joe covered his face with his hands and scratched his forehead as if his skin was way too tight. "Damn," he sighed and dropped his hands. "Carter and Shalcroft changed the meeting time. They were arrested fifteen minutes ago. Dispatch tried to contact me, but couldn't." He stood and shoved his feet into his shoes.

"Oh."

Grabbing his holster, he raced for the door. "Don't talk to anyone until I talk to you again," he said over his shoulder. He yelled a few more obscenities, then ran from her house without even saying good-bye.