Hidden Riches

You knew what buttons to push, but you didn’t push them.”
    “You were hurt and you were tired.” But he’d thought about it. Oh yeah, he’d thought about it. “I’m not an animal.”
    “Oh, yes you are. You’re this big, restless, ill-tempered animal—and that’s part of the allure.” She ran her fingers along the cheek he hadn’t bothered to shave. “All those hard muscles and that bad attitude. There’s something irresistible about knowing you have an equal capacity for mean as you do for kindness. I’m a sucker for bad boys with soft hearts.”
    He took the hand she pressed to his cheek, intended to push it away. But she linked her fingers with his and sat up to kiss him. Very softly, very sweetly, so that every muscle in his body throbbed in reaction.
    “You’re pressing your luck, Dora.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    He could have proven her wrong, would have if he hadn’t been able to see the headache so clearly in her eyes. He could have pushed her back on the bed, purging that feral need she’d built inside him.
    But he didn’t, because there was no way to take what he wanted without hurting her.
    “Listen to me.” He spoke carefully, keeping his eyes on hers. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m capable of, or what I’m not capable of. The only thingyou can be sure of is that I want you, and when I’m certain you’re a hundred percent, I’m going to have you. I won’t ask.”
    “There’s no need for that, since I’ve already answered yes.”
    “And I won’t be kind.” He looked down at their joined hands and deliberately let hers go. “It won’t matter a damn to me if you’re sorry after.”
    “When I make a choice, I don’t play the hindsight game. I also know you’re not warning me, you’re warning yourself.”
    He dropped his hands and rose. “We’ve got other things to deal with today. What are you doing about the shop?”
    “We’re closed today.”
    “Good. We’ve got to get down to the station house. Get yourself together, and I’ll make some breakfast.”
    “Can you?”
    “I can pour milk on cold cereal.”
    “Yummy.”
    She tossed the quilt aside as he started out. “Oh, Conroy,” he said over his shoulder, “I like your pig.”
     
    While Jed and Dora were sharing a box of cornflakes, DiCarlo paced his New York apartment. He hadn’t slept. He’d worked his way through half a bottle of Cutty Sark during the long night, but the effects couldn’t dull his fevered mind or give him peace.
    He couldn’t go back to Philadelphia. The dead cop was one thing, but he’d left behind two witnesses. Two who had certainly seen his face well enough for an ID.
    They’d make him, DiCarlo thought grimly, and poured another glass. And they’d tie him to the dead patrol. If there was one thing DiCarlo knew about cops, it was that they were relentless in pursuing anyone who’d killed one of their own.
    So not only couldn’t he return, but he’d need to go underground, at least until the weather chilled. A coupleof months, he mused. Six at the most. That was no problem. He had plenty of contacts, plenty of liquid cash. He could spend a nice warm winter in Mexico, swilling margaritas. Once the cops finished chasing their tails, he would return.
    The only hitch was Edmund J. Finley.
    DiCarlo studied the merchandise he’d stacked against the wall beside his Christmas tree. They looked like sad, neglected presents, unwrapped and unwanted.
    The bookends, the parrot, the eagle, Lady Liberty, the china dog. Counting the figurine he’d already delivered, that made six out of seven. Anyone but Finley would consider that a success.
    It was only one lousy painting, he thought. Christ knew he’d given it his best shot. He had a black eye, a split lip and sore kidneys. His cashmere coat was ruined.
    He’d done more than his share to correct a mistake that hadn’t been his in the first place. As soon as he had time, he was going to pay back Opal Johnson for that. In spades.
    In the meantime, he just had to figure out the best way to approach Finley. After all, Finley was a businessman and knew one had to take losses along with profit. So he would approach Finley just that way. Businessman to businessman. It wouldn’t hurt to put Finley in a cheery mood by personally presenting him with the five newly recovered items first, then elicit sympathy and admiration by detailing the specifics.
    He’d explain about the cop, too. Surely a man like Finley