Hidden Riches

he’s going to say. You can’t keep straddling this. Make my life easier and tell me you’re coming back on the job.”
    “I can’t tell you that. I can tell you I’m thinking about it.”
    The oath dried up on Brent’s tongue. “Seriously?”
    “More seriously than I ever thought I would.” Jed rose and paced to the frosted glass door, to the scarred file cabinets, to the coffeepot thick with dregs. “Goddamn, I miss this place.” Nearly amused at himself, Jed turned back. “Isn’t that some shit? I miss it—every minute of the tedium, the fucking reports, the candy-assed rookies. Nine mornings out of ten I reach for my shoulder harness before I remember it’s not there. I even thought about buying one of those frigging police scanners so I’d know what the hell’s going on.”
    “Hallelujah.” Brent folded his hands, prayerlike. “Let me tell Goldman. Please, let me be the one.”
    “I didn’t say I was coming back.”
    “Yeah, you did.” On impulse Brent leaped up, grabbed Jed by the shoulders and kissed him.
    “Christ, Chapman. Get a grip.”
    “The men are going to welcome you back like a god. What does Dora think about it?”
    Jed’s foolish grin faded. “She doesn’t think anything. We haven’t talked about it. It doesn’t concern her.”
    “Oh.” Brent tucked his tongue in his cheek. “Uh-huh. Mary Pat and I have a bet. She says I’ll be renting a tux as best man by the end of the school year. I say Easter vacation. We tend to mark time by the school calendar.”
    The quick flutter of panic in Jed’s stomach staggered him. “You’re off base.”
    “Come on, Captain, you’re crazy about her. Ten minutes ago you were staring into space daydreaming. And if she wasn’t the star of the show, I’ll kiss Goldman on the mouth.”
    “You’re awful free with your affections these days. Drop it, will you?”
    He knew that tone of voice—the verbal equivalent of a brick wall. “Okay, but I’ve got dinner for two at the Chart House riding on you.” Brent leaned back on the edge of his desk. “I’d appreciate a rundown of what you and the commissioner come up with. Whether you go to LA officially or not, I can arrange some backup.”
    “We’ll touch base tomorrow.”
    “And, Captain,” Brent added before Jed made it to the door. “Do me a favor and let them bribe you back, okay? I can make you a list of the things we could use around here.”
    Brent grinned and settled down to fantasize about breaking the news to Goldman.
     
    It was nearly midnight when Dora gave up the attempt to sleep and bundled into her robe. An ordinary case of insomnia. It wasn’t because Jed hadn’t come home, or called.
    And things were really bad, she admitted, when she started lying to herself.
    She switched on the stereo, but Bonnie Raitt’s sultry blues seemed entirely too appropriate, so she turned it off again. Wandering into the kitchen, she put the kettle on to boil.
    How could she have blown it like this? she wondered as she debated without interest between Lemon Lift and chamomile. Hadn’t she known that a man would head for the hills when he heard those three fateful words? Nope. She tossed a tea bag into a cup. She hadn’t known because she’d never said them before. And now that she was in the real show, she’d rushed her cue.
    Well, it couldn’t be taken back, she decided. And she was sorry she and Jed hadn’t read the same script.
    He hadn’t echoed the words back, or swept her up in delight. He had systematically and subtly withdrawn, inch by inch, since that fateful moment some thirty-six hours earlier. And she was very much afraid he would continue to withdraw until he had faded completely away.
    Couldn’t be helped. She poured the hot water into the cup and let the tea steep while she rummaged for cookies. She couldn’t force him to let her show him what it could be like to give and take love. She could only keep her promise and not throw it in his face again. However much that hurt.
    And she had some pride left—Bonnie Raitt was wrong about that, she thought. Love did have pride. She was going to pull herself together and get on with her life—with him, she hoped. Without him, if necessary. She figured she could start now by going downstairs and putting her wide-awake brain to work.
    Carrying her tea, she headed out, remembering at the last minute to slip her keys into her robe pocket and lock the door behind her. She hated that, that sensation of not being