Brazen Virtue

of the boy’s face. “And the way you’re shaking it’s the best thing that could’ve happened to you.” The boy was already weeping as Ben took out his cuffs. Annoyed and out of breath, he looked up at the cashier. “You want to call the cops, sweetie?”

    Ed came out of the hardware store with a bag of hinges, a half-dozen brass handles, and four ceramic pulls. The pulls were a real find, as they’d pick up the color in the tile he’d chosen for the upstairs bath. His next project. Since the car was empty, he glanced across the street and saw the black and white. With a sigh, he set the bag carefully in the car and sauntered over to find his partner. He took one look at Ben’s shirt, then at the kid sobbing and shaking in the back of the patrol car.
    “See you got your coffee.”
    “Yeah. On the house, you bastard.” Ben nodded to the uniform, then with his hands stuffed in his pockets started back across the street. “Now I’ve got a frigging report to fill out. And look at this shirt.” He held it away from his skin where it had plastered, cold and sticky. “What the hell am I supposed to do about these coffee stains?”
    “Spray ’N Wash.”
    I T WAS NEARLY SIX when Ed pulled into his driveway. He’d hung around the station, dawdled at his desk, and scrounged for busywork. The simple fact was, he was nervous. He liked women well enough, without pretending to understand them. The job itself put certain limits on his social life, but when he dated, he was usually drawn to the easygoing and none-too-bright. He’d never had his partner’s flare for gathering females in droves or juggling them like a circus act. Nor had he ever experienced Ben’s sudden and total commitment to one woman.
    Ed preferred women who didn’t move too fast or push too many buttons. It was true he liked long and stimulating conversations, but he rarely dated a woman who could give him one. And he never analyzed why.
    He admired G. B. McCabe’s brain. He just wasn’t sure how he’d deal with Grace McCabe on a social level. He wasn’t used to a woman asking him out and setting the time and place. He was more accustomed to pampering and guiding—and would have been appalled and insulted if anyone had accused him of chauvinism.

    He’d been a staunch supporter of the ERA but that was politics. Though he’d worked with Ben for years, he wouldn’t have blinked twice at a female partner. But that was business.
    His mother had worked as long as he could remember, while raising three sons and a daughter. There had been no father, and as the oldest, Ed had taken over as head of the house before he’d reached his teens. He was used to a woman earning a living, just as he was used to managing her paycheck and making the major decisions for her.
    In the back of his mind had always been the thought that when he married, his wife wouldn’t have to work. He’d take care of her, the way his father had never taken care of his mother. The way Ed had always wanted to take care of her.
    One day, when his house was finished, the walls painted and the garden planted, he’d find the right woman and bring her home. And take care of her.
    As he changed, he glanced out the window to the house next door. Grace had left her curtains open and her light on. Even as he thought about giving her a gentle hint about privacy when he saw her, she slammed into the room. Though he could only see her from the hips up, he was sure she kicked something. Then she began to pace.
    W HAT WAS SHE GOING to do? Grace dragged both hands through her hair as if she could pull out the answers. Her sister was in trouble, bigger trouble than she’d ever imagined. And she was helpless.

    She shouldn’t have lost her temper, she told herself. Shouting at Kathleen was the equivalent of reading War and Peace in the dark. All you got was a headache and no understanding. Something had to be done. Dropping down on the bed, she rested her head against her knees. How long had it been going on? she wondered. Since the divorce? She’d gotten no answers out of Kathleen, so Grace jumped to the conclusion that this too was Jonathan’s fault.
    But what was she going to do about it? Kathleen was furious with her now and wouldn’t listen. Grace knew about drugs—had seen too often what they could do to people. She’d comforted some who’d been struggling on the road back and had distanced herself from others who’d been racing toward destruction. She’d broken off a