oe cranked the steering wheel and flipped a U in the middle of Gabrielle's street. The right tire hopped the curb as he tore at the nicotine patch at his waist and chucked it out the window. He shoved his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and dug around in the glove compartment until he found a pack of Marlboros. He lipped a cigarette from the pack and lit it with his Zippo. A cloud of smoke billowed toward the windshield, and he took another long pull. His jaws were clenched so tight his teeth felt as if they would shatter, and he didn't know how he would explain the new dent in the Chevy. The dent that was exactly the size of his foot. He'd love to kick his own ass, if it were humanly possible.

The biggest arrest of his life, and he'd missed it. Missed it because he'd been having sex with his confidential informant. It didn't matter that maybe technically she hadn't been his informant at the moment of penetration; he'd been on duty and dispatch hadn't been able to contact him. There would be questions. He didn't have the answers. None that he wanted to give, anyway. Questions like Where the hell have you been, Shanahan?

And what could he say—"Well, Captain, since the arrest wasn't supposed to go down until three, I thought I had plenty of time to have sex with my informant!" Joe scratched his forehead and took another drag. "And hey, she has the most incredible body, after I made love to her once, I got greedy and had to have sex with her again. And that second time was so phenomenal I thought I needed a precoital thump to restart my heart. And captain, you have not had a shower until you've been soaped up and scrubbed down by Gabrielle Breedlove." And if he admitted that, he'd probably have to turn in his badge and become a security guard.

Another cloud of smoke filled the car as Joe exhaled. There was a chance no one would discover his affair with Gabrielle. He certainly didn't feel the need to broadcast the incident or unburden his conscience. But she might, and then he was screwed. When the case went to trial, he could just imagine Kevin's defense attorney grilling him with questions like Isn't it true, Detective Shanahan, that you've had a sexual relationship with your informant, my client's business partner? And isn't this just a case of jealousy perpetrated against my client?

Maybe Kmart needed someone to watch their stores at night.

It took Joe fifteen minutes and another cigarette before he pulled the Chevy into the police lot. He clenched his hands into fists and shoved them in his pants pockets, controlling his anger. The first person he encountered on his way to the booking room was Captain Luchetti.

"Where the hell have you been?" Luchetti barked, but there wasn't a lot of bite behind his words. The captain looked about ten years younger than he had the day before, and he actually smiled for the first time since the Hillard theft.

"You know where I've been." Joe and the other detective had spent hours last night and early this morning poring over every detail and every move the department planned to make. They'd made contingency plans. Plans they'd obviously used without him. "I was at Ms. Breedlove's warning her of Carter's arrest. Where is he?"

"Both Carter and Shalcroft are wrapping themselves in Miranda. Neither are talking," Luchetti answered as they continued down the hall toward the interrogation rooms. For the past week and a half, the air inside the building had been grim and thick with tension. Now everyone Joe passed, from detective to desk sergeant, wore a great big smile. Everyone was breathing again, but not Joe. Not with his ass so close to the wringer.

"Do you smell flowers?" Luchetti asked.

"I don't smell anything."

The captain shrugged. "Dispatch couldn't get a hold of you."

"Yeah, I guess I didn't have my pager on me." Which was basically true. His pager had been in his pants, and his pants hadn't been on him. "I don't know how that could have happened."

"Me either. I don't know how a detective of nine years could get caught without his communication. When we learned Carter changed the meeting time and you couldn't be reached, we sent a patrol unit over to that shop on Thirteenth. The officer reported that he knocked on both front and back doors, but no one answered."

"I wasn't there."

"We sent someone over to her house. Your police vehicle was parked out front, but no one answered the door."

Holy shit. He hadn't heard anyone knocking, but of course, at certain key moments, he wouldn't have heard a marching band passing two feet from his bare ass. "Must have been when we stepped out to get some breakfast," he improvised. "Ms. Breedlove drove."

Luchetti stopped as they entered the division room. "You told her about Carter, and she felt like breakfast? She felt like driving?"

Time to change tactics. He looked the captain in the face and let go of the anger he'd held in reserve. "Are you busting my balls about this? The Hillard theft is the most important case the Property Crimes Division has ever seen, bar-fucking-none, and I missed being in on the arrest because I was baby-sitting an informant." Letting out some of the rage felt good—damn good. "I worked hard on this and put in a hell of a lot of overtime. I had to put up with Carter's bullshit every day, and I wanted to slap the cuffs on him myself. I deserved to be there, and the fact that I wasn't just pisses me off. So if you're trying to make me feel like shit, you can forget it. You can't make me feel worse."

Luchetti rocked back on his heels. "Okay, Shanahan, I'll let it drop unless it comes up again."

Joe hoped to God it wouldn't. There was no way he could explain about him and Gabrielle. He couldn't even explain it to himself.

"Are you sure you don't smell flowers?" Luchetti asked and sniffed the air. "Smells like my wife's lilac bushes."

"I don't smell a damn thing." He knew it. He knew he smelled like a girl. "Where's Carter?"

"Number three, but he's not talking."

Joe walked to the interrogation room and opened the door. And there sat Kevin, one hand cuffed to the table.

Kevin looked up, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a sneer. "When one of the cops told me an undercover detective had been working in Anomaly, I knew it had to be you.

I knew from the first day that you were a loser."

Joe leaned one shoulder into the door frame. "Maybe, but I'm not the loser who was caught with Mr. Hillard's Monet, or the loser who filled his house with stolen antiques. I'm also not the loser facing fifteen to thirty in the state pen. That loser would be you."

Kevin's already pale complexion blanched a bit. "My attorney will get me out of here."

"I don't think so." Joe moved aside to let Chief Walker enter the room. "No lawyer alive is that good."

The chief sat across the table from Kevin with a bulky folder filled with paper, some of which Joe knew had nothing to do with Kevin. It was an old police ploy to make a criminal think he had a thick police file. "Shalcroft is being more cooperative than you," Walker began, which Joe figured was just as likely to be a bald-faced lie as the truth. He also figured once Kevin faced the enormity of the evidence against him, he would flip quicker than a dancing poodle. If nothing else, Kevin Carter was an avid self-preservationist. No doubt he'd eventually give the names of the thief he'd used to steal the painting, and everyone else involved.

"You should give some serious thought to cooperating before it's too late," Joe suggested.

Kevin sat back in his chair and cocked his head to one side. "I'm not talking. Screw you."

"Okay, then think about this instead, while you're in a comfy jail cell, I'm going to be at home, grilling up steaks and celebrating."

"With Gabrielle? Does she know who you really are? Or did you use her to get to me?"

Guilt settled in his belly. Guilt and the same wave of protectiveness he'd felt the night he'd watched Gabrielle hang from that balcony. It caught him off guard and pushed him away from the door. "Don't you talk to me about using Gabrielle. You used her for years to give yourself a legitimate front." What he felt churning in his gut was more than just a sense of duty to protect his informant, but he wasn't in the mood to get in touch or get introspective.

Kevin turned away. "She'll be fine."

"When I spoke with her this morning, she didn't seem fine."

Kevin turned back, and for the first time, something besides arrogance and belligerence flickered behind his eyes. "What did you tell her? What does she know?"

"What she knows is none of your concern. All you need to know is that I was in Anomaly to do my job."

"Yeah right," he scoffed. "When you had Gabe shoved up against a wall and had your tongue down her throat, it looked like more than a job to me."

Walker looked up, and Joe forced an easy smile. "Some days were better than others." He shrugged and shook his head, as if Kevin was just spouting off. "I know you're really pissed at me right now, but I'm going to give you some advice. You can take it or tell me to screw myself again, I don't care either way, but here it is: You're not the type of guy who really gives a shit about anyone but you, and now isn't the time to develop scruples. Your ship is going down, my friend, and you can either save yourself or drown with the other rats. I suggest you save yourself before it's too late." He looked Kevin over one last time, then he turned from the room and walked to the holding cells.

Contrary to what the chief had told Kevin, William Stewart Shalcroft wasn't cooperating in the least. He sat cooling his heels in the cell, staring out the bars, the light overhead casting his bald head in a grayish light. Joe watched the art dealer and waited for the adrenaline rush. The surge that always came when it was time to scam a scammer, to get a guy to talk even though you've just told him not to talk or you'll use everything he says against him. The rush didn't come. Instead Joe just felt exhausted. Mentally and physically spent.

The high energy filling the station kept him awake and alert the rest of the day. Listening to the details of Kevin's and Shalcroft's arrest, then listening some more as the story was hashed and rehashed from beginning to end kept his mind occupied and kept him from thinking too much about Gabrielle and what he intended to do about her.

"Did someone bring flowers in here?" Winston asked from across the aisle.

"Yeah, smells like it," Dale Parker, a rookie detective, added.

"I don't smell a damn thing," Joe barked at his coworkers, then buried his nose in paperwork. He spent the rest of the afternoon smelling like a lilac bush and waiting for the ax to fall on his neck. At five o'clock, he grabbed the pile of paper on his desk and headed home.

Sam waited on his perch by the front door. "Hello, Joe," he greeted as soon as Joe walked in.

"Hey, buddy." Joe tossed his keys and the stack of paper on the table in front of his couch, then let Sam out of his aviary. "How was television today?"

"JER—ry JER—ry," Sam screeched as he hopped out of the wire door and flew to the top of the oak entertainment unit.

Joe hadn't allowed Sam to watch Springer for several months. Not since he'd picked up bad language and repeated it at inopportune moments.

"Your mama's a fat hoe."

"Jeezus," Joe sighed and sank down on the sofa. He'd thought Sam had forgotten that one.

"You behave," the mimic perched on the television admonished.

Joe leaned his head back and closed his eyes. His life was headed straight to hell. He'd just about flushed his career, and there was a real possibility that his job was still in jeopardy. He was up to his ass and elbows in paperwork, and his bird had a trashy mouth. Everything was out of control.

Without the distractions of his job, he thought of Gabrielle, of the day he'd first arrested her. His opinion of her had done about a one-eighty in less than a week. He respected her, and he felt real bad that she'd probably been right about her business. Her name and her shop were now connected to the most infamous theft in the state. She probably would have to close it, but thanks to her slick little lawyer, she wouldn't lose everything. At least he hoped she wouldn't

And then he thought of her soft mouth on his and her hard nipples grazing his chest Her touch on his back and abdomen. His penis in her hand as she rubbed him across her smooth stomach, back and forth right across that belly ring. He'd almost embarrassed himself right there on her silky skin. He could still see her beaded earrings nestled in her hair as he looked down into her face, still feel the warmth of her body beneath him.

She was beautiful with her clothes on. She was amazing with them off. She'd rocked his world, blown his mind, and if she were any other woman, he'd be trying to figure out a way to talk her out of her clothes again—and again. He'd be in his car, on his way to her house, trying to get her to straddle naked in his lap.

He liked her. Okay, he more than liked her.

He liked her a lot. But liking a woman a lot wasn't love. Even if a relationship with her wasn't as complicated as hell, she wasn't the type of woman he could see himself settling down with. He didn't want to hurt her, but he had to stay away from her.

Taking a deep breath, he combed his fingers through the sides of his hair, then dropped them to his lap. Maybe he had nothing to worry about. Nothing to feel guilty over. She might not expect anything. She was a big girl. A smart girl. She probably knew that making it in her bed, on her floor, and in her shower had been a big mistake. She was probably dreading the thought of seeing him again. They'd made each other feel good for a couple of hours, real good, but it couldn't happen again. She had to know that too. She had to know there wasn't a possibility of any sort of relationship between them.

With the curtains drawn and the lights out, Gabrielle sat alone in her darkened living room and watched the five-thirty local news. The Hillard theft was once again the top story, only this time Kevin's picture flashed on the screen.

"A local man was arrested today in connection with the biggest theft in the state's history. Businessman Kevin Carter…" the newscast began. Film footage showing the front of Anomaly ran as the broadcast continued. It showed police carrying out Kevin's Nagels, his computer, and his files. They'd emptied his desk and had searched the store for stolen property. She knew everything they'd touched, because she'd been there. She'd gotten dressed and driven to her store, and she'd watched them do it. Her and Mara and Francis and her lawyer Ronald Lowman. Standing side by side. Everyone but Joe.

Joe hadn't come back.

The story continued through the first segment and into the second. A photo of William Stewart Shalcroft appeared in one corner, and Kevin in the other, as a police spokesman answered questions. "With the help of an informant," he said, but failed to mention her name and that she was innocent, "we've had Mr. Carter under surveillance for some time…" He continued, then the report moved to the human interest side, and Mr. and Mrs. Hillard appeared and thanked the Boise P.D.

Gabrielle pressed the off button on the television remote and tossed it on the couch beside her cordless telephone.

Joe hadn't called, either.

Her life was falling apart in Technicolor for the whole world to see. Her business partner, a man she trusted enough to consider a very close friend, was a thief. The news channels hadn't mentioned her name, but anyone who knew her probably assumed she was guilty by association. She and Ronald had briefly discussed her options, such as closing the store and reopening under a new name, but she didn't know if she had the heart to start over again. She'd think about it once the shock wore off and her head cleared.

The telephone on the couch beside her rang, and her stomach tumbled. "Hello," she answered before it had a chance to ring twice.

"I just saw the news," her mother began. "I'm on my way over."

Gabrielle swallowed her disappointment. "No, don't. I'll come over to your house in a while."

"When?"

"Later tonight."

"You shouldn't be alone."

"I'm waiting for Joe," she said, then she wouldn't be alone. After she hung up with her mother, she ran a bath. She added lavender and ylang-ylang and set the phone beside the tub, but when it rang again, it wasn't Joe this time either.

"Did you watch the news?" Francis began.

"I saw it." Gabrielle hid her disappointment for the second time. "Listen, can I phone you back? I'm expecting Joe to call me."

"Why don't you call him?"

Because she didn't have his home number and he wasn't listed in the telephone book. She'd checked—twice. "No, I'm sure he'll call when he gets off work. Until then, he probably won't be able to talk to me about the case." Or about them. About what would happen now.

After Francis hung up, Gabrielle got out of the tub and dressed in a pair of new khaki shorts and a white T-shirt. She left her hair down because she thought he liked it best that way. She didn't even try to tell herself she wasn't waiting by the phone. No matter how hard she tried, she would never be that good a liar. With each tick of the clock, her nerves wound a bit tighter.

At seven-thirty, a handicapped man selling lightbulbs had the misfortune of calling. "No!" she screeched into the receiver. "I've had a really bad day!" She pressed the disconnect button and sank onto the couch, certain she'd just created the worst karma imaginable. What kind of woman yelled at a disabled man?

The kind of woman whose life was in shreds and who should have been more concerned about her business than her love life but wasn't. The kind of woman whose nerves were raw. The kind of woman who knew in her heart and in her soul that if she could just hold on to Joe, everything would be okay.

She didn't even know his telephone number. If she needed to speak to him, she had to call the police station, or leave a message on his pager. She'd made love to him, and he'd touched her heart like no man had ever touched her before. He'd touched her body and stirred a response like nothing she'd ever experienced. It was more than sex. She loved him, but not knowing what he felt for her tied her stomach in knots. The uncertainty drove her crazy and was worse than anything she'd ever felt in her life.

They'd made love, then he'd run out of her house like he couldn't get out fast enough. And yes, she knew he hadn't had a choice. In the rational part of her mind, she knew leaving the way he had hadn't been his decision, but he hadn't kissed her good-bye. He hadn't even looked back.

The doorbell rang, and she jumped. When she looked through the peephole, Joe stared back at her from behind his mirrored sunglasses. Her breath caught in her throat, and a pain settled in her heart as if she'd swallowed air.

"Joe," she said as she swung the door open. Then she was incapable of uttering another word past the emotion clogging her chest. Her hungry gaze took him in all at once, from the top of his dark hair, black T-shirt and jeans, to the tips of his black boots. She slid her gaze back up to his intensely masculine face, with his characteristic five o'clock shadow and the fine lines of his sensual mouth. A sensual mouth he'd pressed to the inside of her thigh less than twelve hours ago.

"Did you see the news?" he asked, and there was something in his voice, something in the way he stood, that set off warning bells in her head. "Have you talked to your lawyer?"

Finally, she found her voice. "Yes. Do you want to come inside?"

"No, that's not a good idea." He took a step backward to the edge of the steps. "But I did want to talk to you about what happened between us this morning."

She knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth. "Don't say you're sorry," she warned, because she didn't think her heart could take hearing his regret, as if what they shared together had been a mistake. "Don't tell me that it never should have happened."

"Not saying it doesn't make it right, Gabrielle. What happened was my fault. You were my confidential informant, and there are strict policies and procedures concerning how I treat you. I broke those rules. If you would like to speak with someone in internal affairs, I can give you the name of who to contact."

She looked down at her bare toes, then back up into her reflection in his glasses. He was talking about rules again. She didn't care about rules or policies or speaking to anyone but him. He was talking about what they'd done but not how he felt. He might not love her, but he had to feel the connection between them.

"I was wrong, and I am sorry."

That admission hurt, but she didn't have time to dwell on the pain. If she didn't tell him, he would leave not knowing what was in her heart. If he still left, she wouldn't always wonder whether his knowing would have made a difference. "I'm not sorry. You don't know this about me, but I don't believe in indiscriminate sex. I can hardly expect you to believe that after what happened this morning, but I have to have deep feelings for someone."

His lips formed a straight line, but she'd gone too far to turn back now. "I don't know how this happened," she continued. "Until a few days ago, I didn't even know I liked you very much." With each word she uttered, creases appeared on his forehead. "I've never really fallen in love before. I mean, I thought I was in love several years ago with Fletcher Wiseweaver, but what I felt for him doesn't compare with my feelings for you. I've never felt anything like this."

He took off his sunglasses and massaged his temples and forehead. "You've had a real bad day, and I think you're confused."

Gabrielle looked into his tired eyes, the brown irises like rich, dark chocolate. "Don't treat me like I don't know what I'm feeling. I'm an adult, I don't confuse sex and love. There's only one explanation for what happened today. I'm in love with you."

He dropped his hand, his features turned blank, and an awkward silence filled the air.

"I just told you I'm in love with you. Do you have any reaction to that at all?"

"Yes, but none I think you want to hear."

"Try me."

"There's one more explanation that makes more sense." He rubbed the back of his neck and said, "We had to pretend to be boyfriend and girlfriend. Things got real hot, real fast, and we got all wrapped up in it. The lines got blurred and confused and we started to believe it. We took things too far."

"Maybe you're confused, but I'm not." She shook her head. "You're my yang."

"Pardon?"

"You're my yang."

He took a step backward down the stairs of her porch. "Your what?"

"The other half of my soul."

He shoved his glasses back on his face and covered his eyes once more. "I'm not."

"Don't tell me you don't feel the connection between us. You have to feel it."

He shook his head. "No. I don't believe in all of that entwining of souls stuff, or seeing big red auras." Taking another step back, he stood on the sidewalk below her. "In a few days you're going to be real glad I'm out of your life." He drew a deep breath into his lungs and let it out slowly. "Take care of yourself, Gabrielle Breedlove," he said and turned away.

She opened her mouth to call to him, to tell him not to leave her, but in the end she held on to the last shred of pride and self-respect she had and stepped into her house, closing the door on the image of his broad shoulders walking away from her and out of her life. Her chest felt as if it were caving in on her heart, and the first sob broke from her throat as she grasped the T-shirt over her left breast. This wasn't supposed to happen. Once she found her yang, he was supposed to know her, recognize her. But he didn't, and she'd never imagined her soul mate wouldn't return her love. She'd never imagined how bad it would hurt.

Her vision blurred, and she leaned her back against the door. She'd been wrong. Not knowing had been better than knowing he didn't love her.

What was she supposed to do now? Her life was in total chaos—real upheaval. Her business was a wreck, her partner was in jail, and her soul mate didn't know he was her soul mate. How was she supposed to go on living her life as if she weren't dying inside? How was she supposed to live in the same city, and know he was out there somewhere and didn't want her?

She'd been wrong about something else too; uncertainty wasn't the worst thing she'd ever felt in her life.

The telephone rang, and she picked it up on the fourth ring. "Hello," she said, her voice sounding hollow and distant in her ears.

There was a short pause before her mother spoke. "What's happened since we spoke last?"

"You're psychic, you tell m-me." Her voice broke, and she sobbed, "When you told me I would ha-have a passionate dark ha-haired lover, why didn't you tell m-me he would break my heart?"

"I'm on my way to pick you up. Throw some things in a suitcase, and I'll drive you up to stay with Franklin. He could use your company."

Gabrielle was twenty-eight, would be twenty-nine in January, but running home to her grandfather had never sounded so good.