The chest inched across the floor toward her. She hoped maybe the rug would halt its advance, but the chest just pushed the rug with its lions’ paws.
Her bed shook so violently that she fell out.
The chest came within a few inches of her and stopped. The middle drawer came open like a wide mouth ready to swallow her. She screamed at the top of her voice.
The door shattered and Bo burst in.
Then the shaking stopped.
Thirty years later she could still feel the terror that had possessed her like a fit as the world fell apart around her. She had been frightened of closing the bedroom door for years afterward; and she was still scared of earthquakes. In California, feeling the ground move in a minor tremor was commonplace, but she had never really gotten used to it. And when she felt the earth shake, or saw television pictures of collapsed buildings, the dread that crept through her veins like a drug was not the fear of being crushed or burned, but the blind panic of a little girl whose world suddenly started to fall apart.
She was still on edge that evening as she walked into the sophisticated ambience of Masa’s, wearing a black silk sheath and the row of pearls Don Riley had given her the Christmas they were living together.
Don ordered a white burgundy called Corton Charlemagne. He drank most of it: Judy loved the nutty taste, but she was not comfortable drinking alcohol when she had a semi-automatic pistol loaded with nine-millimeter ammunition tucked into her black patent evening purse.
She told Don that Brian Kincaid had accepted her apology and allowed her to withdraw her resignation.
“He had to,” Don said. “Refusing would be tantamount to firing you. And it would look real bad for him if he lost one of his best people on his first day as acting SAC.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Judy said, but she was thinking that it was easy for Don to be wise after the event.
“Sure I’m right.”
“Remember, Brian is KMA.” It stood for kiss my ass, and it meant the person had built up such a generous pension entitlement that he could retire comfortably at any time that suited him.
“Yeah, but he has his pride. Imagine where he explains to headquarters how come he had to let you go. ‘She said “fuck” to me,’ he says. Washington goes: ‘So what are you, a priest? You never heard an agent say “fuck” before?’ Uh-uh.” Don shook his head. “Kincaid would seem like a wimp to refuse your apology.”
“I guess so.”
“Anyway, I’m real glad we may be working together again soon.” He raised his glass. “Here’s to many more brilliant prosecutions by the great team of Riley and Maddox.”
She clinked glasses and took a sip of wine.
They talked over the case as they ate, recalling the mistakes they had made, the surprises they had sprung on the defense, the moments of tension and triumph.
When they were drinking coffee, Don said: “Do you miss me?”
Judy frowned. It would be cruel to say no, and anyway it was not true. But she did not want to give him false encouragement. “I miss some things,” she said. “I like you when you’re funny and smart.” She also missed having a warm body beside her at night, but she was not going to tell him that.
He said: “I miss talking about my work, and hearing about yours.”
“I guess I talk to Bo now.”
“I miss him, too.”
“He likes you. He thinks you’re the ideal husband—”
“I am, I am!”
“—for someone in law enforcement.”
Don shrugged. “I’ll settle for that.”
Judy grinned. “Maybe you and Bo should get married.”
“Ho, ho.” He paid the bill. “Judy, there’s something I want to say.”
“I’m listening.”
“I think I’m ready to be a father.”
For some reason that angered her. “So what am I supposed to do about it — shout hooray and open my legs?”
He was taken aback. “I mean.… well, I thought you wanted commitment.”
“Commitment? Don, all I asked was that you refrain from shtupping your secretary, but you couldn’t manage that!”
He looked mortified. “Okay, don’t get mad. I’m just trying to tell you that I’ve changed.”
“And now I’m supposed to come running back to you as if nothing had happened?”
“I guess I still don’t understand you.”
“You probably never will.” His evident distress softened her. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.” When they were living together she had always been the after-dinner driver.
They left the restaurant in an awkward silence. In the car he said: “I thought we might at least talk about it.” Don the lawyer, negotiating.
“We can talk.”
“What happened with Paula … it was the worst mistake of my whole life.”
She believed him. He was not drunk, just mellow enough to say what he felt. She sighed. She wanted him to be happy. She was fond of him, and she hated to see him in pain. It hurt her, too. Part of her wished she could give him what he wanted.
He said: “We had some good times together.” He stroked her thigh through the silk dress.
She said: “If you feel me up while I’m driving, I’ll throw you out of the car.”
He knew she could do it. “Whatever you say.” He took his hand away.
A moment later she wished she had not been so harsh. It was not such a bad thing, to have a man’s hand on your thigh. Don was not the world’s greatest lover — he was enthusiastic, but unimaginative. However, he was better than nothing, and nothing was what she had had since she’d left him.
A minute later she pulled up outside his building. “Thanks, Don,” she said. “For a great prosecution and a great dinner.”
He leaned over to kiss her. She offered her cheek, but he kissed her lips, and she did not want to make a big thing of it, so she let him. His kiss lingered until she broke away. Then he said: “Come in for a while. I’ll make you a cappuccino.”
The longing look in his eyes almost broke her will. How hard could it be? she asked herself. She could put her gun in his safe, drink a large, heartwarming brandy, and spend the night in the arms of a decent man who adored her. “No,” she said firmly. “Good night.”
He stared at her for a long moment, misery in his eyes. She looked back, embarrassed and sorry, but resolute.
“Good night,” he said at last. He got out and closed the car door.
Judy pulled away. When she glanced in the rearview mirror she saw him standing on the sidewalk, his hand half-raised in a kind of wave. She ran a red light and turned a corner, then at last she felt alone again.
When she got home, Bo was watching Conan O’Brien and chuckling. “This guy breaks me up,” he said. They watched his monologue until the commercial break, then Bo turned off the TV. “I solved a murder today,” he said. “How about that?”
Judy knew he had several unsolved cases on his desk. “Which one?”
“The Telegraph Hill rape-murder.”
“Who did it?”
“A guy who’s already in jail. He was arrested a while back for harassing young girls in the park. I had a hunch about him and searched his apartment. He had a pair of police handcuffs like the ones found on the body, but
