After the mask, they tried Gabrielle's toner and conditioning oil. By the time Francis left, both women had clean pores and a healthy glow to their skin. Gabrielle baked a veggie pizza for dinner, and sat down in front of the television to eat. With remote in hand, she surfed the networks looking for an episode of Crocodile Hunter. She wanted to see what Francis found so fascinating about a man who wrestled reptiles, but the doorbell rang before she'd had a chance to check out every channel. She set her plate on the coffee table, and moved to the entryway. Just as her hand reached for the knob, Joe stormed in, blowing past her like a funnel cloud. The scent of sandalwood and early evening breeze swept inside with him. He wore a pair of black nylon shorts with a Nike swoosh on the butt. The sleeves had been hacked out of his Big Dog T-shirt, and the arm-holes hung almost to his waist. His white socks were slightly dingy, his running shoes old. He looked macho and rough around the edges, just like the first time she'd seen him, leaning against a tree in Ann Morrison Park, smoking like a chimney.

"Okay, damnit, where is it?" He stopped in the middle of her living room.

Gabrielle shut the door and leaned back against it. Her gaze moved up his powerful calves and thighs to the scar marring his tan flesh.

"Come on, Gabrielle. Hand it over."

She raised her gaze to his face. He was about three hours past his five o'clock shadow, and he eyed her from beneath lowered brows. At one time, she would have thought him menac-ing, intimidating, and a big old bully. Not anymore. "Don't you have to have a warrant or writ or something before you can barge into a person's house?"

"Don't play games." He shoved his hands on his hips and cocked his head to one side. "Where is it?"

"What?"

"Fine." He tossed his wallet and key on the table beside her plate, then he proceeded to look behind her couch and in the coat closet.

"What are you doing?

"I leave you alone for one day, and you pull something like this." He sailed by her on his way to the dining room, where he quickly glanced around, then continued into the hall, his words trailing after him. "Just when I begin to think you have a brain, you go and do something so stupid."

"What?" The sound of his steps led to her bedroom, and Gabrielle quickly followed. By the time she got there, he'd opened and closed half her drawers. "If you tell me what you're looking for, I might save you some time."

Instead of giving her an answer, he threw open her closet doors and pushed aside her clothes. "I warned you not to protect him."

He bent at the waist, affording Gabrielle a nice view of his very nice backside. When he straightened, he had a box in his hands.

"Hey, put that back. That contains my personal stuff."

"You should have thought of that earlier. As of right now, you don't have personal stuff. You're in so deep, I don't even think that little weasel of a lawyer you hired can help you." He dumped out the box on her bed, and dozens of bras, panties, bustiers, and merry widows spilled across her duvet. He stared at her lingerie, and his eyes got wide.

If Gabrielle hadn't been so annoyed, she would have laughed.

"What in the hell?" He reached for a pair of black vinyl panties-crotchless, of course. They dangled from his index finger as he inspected them from all angles. "You've got underwear like a hooker."

She snatched the panties from him and tossed them with the others on the bed. " Francis gives me lingerie from her store. I don't really care for most of it."

He picked up a cherry red corset trimmed with black fringe. He looked like a kid with a whole assortment of his favorite candy spread out in front of him. A kid with cheeks tinged blue from a heavy five o'clock shadow. "I like this one."

"Of course you do." She folded her arms beneath her breasts and rested her weight on one foot.

"You should wear this."

"Joe, why are you here?"

Reluctantly, he tore his gaze from the undies on her bed. "I got a call that Kevin passed you something in a FedEx tube."

"What, is that what all of this is about? He wanted me to see some old movie posters he bought on the Internet."

"So, he was here?"

"Yes. How did you know about that?"

"Damnit." He tossed the corset on the bed and walked past her out of the room. "Why'd you let him in?"

Gabrielle followed close behind, her gaze pinned on the little curls brushing the nape of his neck. "He's my business partner. Why wouldn't I let him in?"

"Gee, I don't know. Maybe because he's a fence and involved in art theft. You figure it out."

Gabrielle hardly heard a word he said. Panic brushed aside all other thought as she followed him past the bathroom to the end of the hall. She grabbed his arm and pulled, but it was like trying to stop a bull. She dashed in front of him and spread her arms, blocking the doorway to her studio. "This is my private room," she said, her heart stopping and her head pounding. "You can't go in there."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Come up with something better."

On such short notice she couldn't. "Because I said."

He grasped her upper arms in his strong hands and moved her out of his way.

"No, Joe!"

The door swung open. A prolonged moment of silence hung in the air, during which Gabrielle prayed to any god listening that somehow the studio had changed since she'd been in there earlier that day.

"Sweet baby Jesus."

She guessed not.

Slowly he walked into the room, until he stood an arm's length away from the life-sized painting. Gabrielle wanted nothing more at that moment than to run away and hide, but where would she go? She glanced over his shoulder at the canvas, at the early evening sunlight pouring through the sheer curtains, bleaching a patch of light on the hardwood floor, and lighting up the portrait with a sort of ethereal glow. She hoped he wouldn't recognize himself.

"Is that," he asked, pointing at the painting, "supposed to be me?"

There was no hope now. She'd been caught. She might have a problem with proportional hands and feet, but she'd had absolutely no trouble with Joe's penis. There was only one thing to do-brave it out and hide her embarrassment as best she could. "I think it's very good," she said and crossed her arms beneath her breasts.

He looked back over his shoulder at her, his eyes a little glassy. "I'm naked."

"Nude."

"Same damn thing." He turned back, and Ga-brielle moved to stand beside him.

"Where are my hands and feet?"

She tilted her head. "Well, I haven't had time to paint them yet."

"I see you had time to paint my dick, though."

What could she say? "I think I did a good job with the shape of your eyes."

"And my balls too."

She tried once again to divert his attention upward. "I captured your mouth perfectly."

"Are those supposed to be my lips? They look puffy," he said, and she supposed she should be grateful he was no longer critiquing his genitals. "And what in the hell is the big red ball? Fire or something?"

"Your aura."

"Uh-huh." He turned his attention to the two paintings leaning against the far wall. "You've been busy."

She bit her top lip and didn't say anything. At least in the painting of him as a demon, he was clothed. The other, well…

"Didn't have time to paint the hands or feet on those either?"

"Not yet."

"Am I supposed to be the devil or something?" -

"Or something."

"What's with the dog?"

"It's a lamb."

"Oh… it looks like a Welsh corgi."

It looked nothing like a Welsh corgi, but Gabrielle didn't argue. First of all, she never explained her art, and second, she could overlook a few tactless comments and blame them on shock. She imagined it might be a bit disturbing to open a door and find a nude portrait of yourself staring back at you.

"Who's that?" he asked, pointing to the painting of his head and David's body.

"Don't you know?"

"That is not me."

"I used Michelangelo's sculpture of David as my model. I didn't know you had chest hair."

"Is that supposed to be funny?" he asked, incredulous, as he shook his head. "I never stand like that. He looks queer."

She hoped he meant queer as in strange, but she doubted it. "He's preparing for his battle with Goliath."

"Damn," he swore and pointed to David's groin. "Look at that. I haven't packed anything that small since I was two."

"You're fixated on your genitals."

"Not me, lady." He turned and directed his finger at her. "You're the one sneaking around painting pictures of my bare ass."

"I'm an artist."

"Yeah, and I'm an astronaut."

She'd been willing to forgive his rude criticism, but only up to a point, and he'd just stepped over the line. "You need to leave now."

He crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight to one foot. "Are you kicking me out?"

"Yes."

Undiluted machismo curved the corners of his mouth. "Do you think you're big enough?"

"Yes."

He laughed. "Without your hair spray, little miss bad ass?"

Okay, now she was mad. She shoved his chest and knocked him a step backward. The next time she pushed, he was ready for her and didn't budge. "You can't come in my house and bully me. I don't have to take this from you." She pushed again, and he grabbed her wrist. "You're an undercover cop. You're not my real boyfriend. I would never ever have a boyfriend like you."

His smile flatlined as if she'd insulted him somehow. Which was impossible. He'd have to have human emotions to feel insulted. "Why the hell not?"

"You're surrounded by negative energy," she said as she struggled to pull free of his grasp but couldn't. "And I don't like you."