His gaze narrowed, and her smile brightened.

The sister set the bottle back down and winked at Joe. "How long have you two known each other?"

"A few days," he said, giving the back of her hair a slight tug, which she supposed was meant to remind her to let him do the talking.

The sisters glanced at each other. "It looked like more than a few days to me. That was a serious kiss. Did it look like a serious kiss to you?"

All the sisters nodded to each other. "It looked like he was trying to eat her whole. I'd say that was a kiss a man gives after three weeks. Definitely more than a few days."

Gabrielle laid her head against Joe's and confided, "Well, we may have known each other in a previous life."

The women in his family just stared.

"She's kidding you," he assured them.

"Oh."

"When you were over at the house the other day," his mother began, "you didn't mention a girlfriend. You never said anything."

"Gabrielle is just a friend," Joe informed his family. He gave her hair another slight tug. "Isn't that right?"

She leaned back, purposely gave him a blank look, then said, "Oh! Oh, yeah. That's right."

His brows lowered, and he warned the women in front of him, "Don't get ideas."

"Ideas about what?" one of the sisters asked, her eyes wide and innocent.

"About me getting married anytime soon."

"You're thirty-five."

"At least he likes girls. We used to worry that he was going to turn out gay."

"He used to put on Mom's red heels and pretend he was Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz."

"Remember when he skipped into the wall and had to have stitches in his forehead."

"That was hysterical."

"Jesus, I was five," he gritted through his teeth. "And you girls made me dress up like Dorothy."

"He loved it."

"Girls, you're embarrassing your brother," Joyce admonished.

Gabrielle removed her arm from around Joe's waist and hung her wrist over his shoulder. Beneath his tan skin, his cheeks were suspiciously red, and she tried not to laugh. "And now that you're no longer a cross-dresser in red heels, you're a good catch?"

"And now that he isn't getting shot at anymore," a sister added.

"He's a great guy."

"Loves children."

"And pets."

"He's really good to his bird."

"He's pretty handy with tools."

As if so much praise could not go unpunished, one sister turned to the others and shook her head. "No he's not. Remember when he took apart my Paula Pitter Pat to see what made her walk?"

"That's right. He never could get that one leg back on. She'd just fall on her side and wiggle."

"Yeah, Paula couldn't pitter-pat after that."

"Well," a sister said above the rest, reminding them all they were supposed to be selling Joe's better qualifications, "he does his own wash."

"That's right, and he doesn't turn his socks pink anymore."

"He makes decent money."

"And he-"

"I have all my teeth," Joe interrupted, grinding out the words. "I don't have hair on my back, and I can still get a hard-on."

"Joseph Andrew Shanahan," his mother gasped and covered the ears of the closest child.

"Don't you women have someone else to bother?" he asked.

"We better go. We've made him cranky." As if the sisters didn't want to jinx a good thing, they quickly herded their children and said their good-byes practically on top of each other.

"It was nice to meet all of you," Gabrielle told them just before they moved deeper into the park.

"Have Joe bring you to dinner sometime next week," Joyce got in before she too walked away.

"What was that about?" he asked. "Were you getting even with me for yesterday?"

She dropped her hand from his shoulder and rocked back on her heels. "Oh, just a little bit."

"How does it feel?"

"I hate to admit it, but it feels really good, Joe. In fact, I never thought revenge could actually feel this good."

"Well, enjoy it while it lasts." Now it was his turn to smile. "Paybacks are a bitch."

Chapter Ten

Joe watched his sisters and mother quickly disappear into the crowd, and his brows drew together. They'd let him off easy. Usually, when he got "cranky" they went in for the kill. He didn't know why they hadn't dragged out any more timed remember-when stories, but he suspected it had to do with the woman by his side. His family obviously believed Gabrielle really was his girlfriend, no matter what he'd said about it, and they'd fallen over each other to make him seem like a real good catch in her eyes. Which surprised him, when he considered that just one look at Gabrielle should have been enough to convince his family that she wasn't his type of woman.

He glanced at her, at her beautiful face, her wild hair, and smooth bare stomach that made him want to fall to his knees and press his open mouth to her flat belly. She'd wrapped her gorgeous body up in an outfit he could easily shred with his hands, and he wondered if she'd done it on purpose just to drive him crazy.

"You have a nice family."

"They weren't being nice." He shook his head. "They were just tricking you into thinking they're nice in case you're their future sister-in-law."

"Me?"

"Don't be too flattered. They'd be happy with just about any woman. Why do you think they said all that stuff about me loving children and pets?"

"Oh!" Gabrielle made her big green eyes go all wide with surprise. "Was that you? Except for the cranky part, I didn't know who they were talking about."

He grabbed the paper sack he'd brought from the deli. "Be nice or I'll tell Doug you want your colon cleansed."

Soft laughter spilled from her lips, catching him by surprise. He'd never heard her genuine laughter before, and the feminine sound was all sweet and breathy and so pleasant it curved the corners of his lips into an unexpected smile. "See you tomorrow morning."

"I'll be here."

Joe turned and wove his way through the festival to the lot where he'd parked his car. If he weren't careful, he might end up liking her more than was wise. He would see her as something other than a means to an end, and he couldn't afford for her to become anything more than his confidential informant. He couldn't afford to see her as a desirable woman, as someone he wouldn't mind stripping naked and searching with his tongue. He couldn't afford to mess up this case any more than he had already.

His gaze scanned the crowd, subconsciously looking for the dopers. The crank users, the puffy-eyed pot smokers, and the jumpy, swivel-headed heroin addicts. All of them thinking they were maintaining, controlling their buzz, when the buzz was so obviously controlling them. He hadn't worked narcotics for almost a year, and there were times, especially when he was in a crowd, when he still viewed the world through a narc's eyes. It was what he'd been trained to do, and he wondered how long that training would stay with him. He knew homicide cops who'd been retired for ten years and still looked at everyone as either potential murderers or victims.

The beige Chevy Caprice was parked on a side street next to the Boise public library. He slid behind the wheel of the unmarked police car and waited for a mirdvan to pass before he pulled out into traffic. He thought of Gabrielle's smile, the taste of her mouth, and the texture of her skin beneath his hands. He thought of the smooth thigh he'd glimpsed between the part in her dress. The heavy ache of desire pulled at his groin, and he tried not to think of her at all. Even if she weren't a kook, she was trouble. The kind that would get him busted back to a patrol cop working graveyard. That kind of trouble he didn't need; he'd barely survived the last internal affairs investigation. He didn't ever want to go through that again. Not for his job. Not for anything.

It had been less than a year, but he knew he would never forget the Department of Justice inquest and interviews and why he'd been forced to answer their questions. He'd never forget chasing Robby Martin down a black alley, the blast of orange fire from Robby's Luger and his own returning shots. For the rest of his life, he knew he would never forget lying in an alley, the cool grip of his empty Colt.45 in his hand. The night air ripped apart by screaming sirens and the whirl of red, white, and blue bouncing off trees and the sides of houses. The warmth of his blood seeping through the hole in his thigh, and Robby Martin's unmoving body twenty feet away. His white Nike running shoes vivid in the darkness. He'd never forget his disjointed thoughts tick-tick-ticking in his head as he'd shouted at the boy who couldn't hear.

It wasn't until much later, as he'd lain in the hospital, with his mother and sisters weeping on his neck, his father watching him from the end of the bed, his leg immobilized by a metal brace that looked like something a kid would build with an Erector set, that the evening slowed and played over and over in his head. He'd second-guessed every'move he'd made.

Maybe he shouldn't have chased Robby down that alley. Maybe he should have let him go. He'd known where the kid lived, maybe he should have waited for backup and driven to his house.

Maybe, but it was his job to chase the bad guys. The community wanted drugs off their streets-right?

Well, maybe.

If Robby's name had been Roberto Rodriguez, chances were no one but the boy's family would have cared. Might not have even been the top story on the television news, but he'd looked like a someday senator. An all-American boy. An all-American Caucasian boy with straight white teeth and an angelic grin. The morning after the shooting, the Idaho Statesman had printed Robby's picture on the front page. His hair shining like a surfer dude, and his big blue eyes staring out at readers over their morning coffee.