Mad About You

two nights.
    "Er, no," he said. "I'm due in New York tonight and Kat is leaving for L.A. next week to start a business with an unexpected windfall from Guy Trent."
    "Oh?"
    "When he discovered that Wharton had been behind the embezzling, he gave back the money she'd paid for her father's debt—with interest."
    Tenner's mouth pulled upward. "That's great for the missy. Wharton's been charged?"
    James nodded. "Tania turned on Wharton. Now he'll be tried for murdering Kat's father in addition to all the other charges."
    "What'll happen to the Mercer woman?"
    "She agreed to a plea bargain here, but she'll still have to stand trial in London. She might see the light of day in a few years, but she'll be broke and shamed—not quite the exotic adventure she'd planned for herself."
    "No, life doesn't always turn out the way we plan, does it, Agent Donovan?"
    James knew what the man was hinting at, but didn't rise to the bait. "No, it doesn't, but it always seems to turn out for the best, doesn't it?"
    Tenner gave him a crooked smile. "I'm going to be a father again."
    Surprise shot through him. "Really? So she did it with you again?"
    "What?"
    James shook his head. "I mean, she did it to you again." He laughed weakly. "My, my."
    "Yeah, a baby at my age—don't that beat all?" Tenner belly-laughed, winced and clutched his stomach, then smiled. "Hope it's another girl."
    "Then I do too," James said, extending his hand. "Good luck, Detective. I hope you get home to your womenfolk soon."
    "Agent Donovan," Tenner said, his eyes bright, "it's been a pleasure working with you. Glad I could introduce you to the finer foods of this good country."
    Looking down at the grease shining on his hand from Tenner's slippery grip, he simply inclined his head with a smile.
    "Too bad I couldn't teach you more about women," he said as James walked to the door.
    "Thank you, Detective, but I've made it this far on my own rather well in that category."
    "You're running, son."
    James glanced back at the man and pointed to his watch. "Running late. Good-bye, Detective." But his steps slowed as he walked down the hall. His good-bye to Kat would be torturous for him—why was he rushing? If he timed it just right, it would be fast, clean, painless. Or at least less painful.

    *****

    As Kat folded towels from the dryer, she packed them in a box labeled "Bathroom Linens" and glanced out the window for the fiftieth time. He had to come back before he went to the airport—he'd left his luggage and his figurines. She sighed. And his smell, and his laugh.
    Tears, which had hovered near the surface all day, pricked her eyelids, but she widened her eyes and blinked them away, forcing herself to smile.
    She just wanted to get it over with, to say good-bye and watch him walk away so she could start getting over him, so she could begin her new life in L.A. with a clean slate. She loved him, and she knew he cared about her, too, even though "love wasn't in his vocabulary." For her, it was simply a case of right person, wrong time. They wanted different things out of life: She wanted marriage, a home, and a family, and he wanted...well, she wasn't sure what James wanted, she just knew his plans didn't include the words "monogamy" and "daddy."
    Kat checked her watch again—he had to leave for the airport in thirty minutes to make it on time. Denise was coming over later for a good old-fashioned breakup pizza party, a prelude to the farewell pizza party planned for next week.
    She truly was looking forward to leaving the city—she had too many sad memories here, especially after the showdown with Andy Wharton and Tania Mercer. Just thinking about it sent shudders through her: Had James not stayed in San Francisco, she'd either be in jail or dead. She owed him her life. The gift she had for him was only a token, but she felt as if she needed to do something. Plus some part of her wanted him to have something that would remind him of her. She smirked—something besides powder burns on his thighs from the shot Wharton had fired as he passed out from her direct hit.
    Twenty-five minutes later she'd decided he had forgone their good-bye and would probably send a courier, James Donovan style, to pick up his luggage and have it shipped.
    A huge lump formed in her throat when she realized he hadn't wanted to see her again. She actually thought they had shared a special bond. Instead he was probably already thinking ahead to the next adventure.
    The knock on her door