A Thin Dark Line

very happy with you at the moment-'

'I said I was sorry.'

'No, you said you were out of line. An admission of wrongdoing is not an apology.'

Two cats darted around her feet and onto the landing, meowing. A calico hopped up on the railing and leaned longingly toward the muskrat box. Annie held it out of reach as she opened the door. She hadn't intended to bring the thing into her apartment, but she couldn't very well dispose of it with A.J. breathing down her neck.

She set the box and her duffel on the small bench in the entry and proceeded past the telephone stand in the living room, where the light on her answering machine was blinking like an angry red eye. She could only imagine what was waiting for her on the tape. Reporters, relatives, and disgruntled strangers calling to express their opinions and/or try to wheedle information out of her. She walked past the machine and went into the kitchen, flipping on the lights.

A.J. followed, setting the vase of roses on the chrome-legged kitchen table.

'I'm sorry. I am,' he said. 'I shouldn't have jumped all over you about Fourcade, but I was worried for you, honey.'

'And it had nothing to do with you being caught flat-footed with Pritchett.'

He sighed through his nose. 'All right. I admit, the news caught me off guard, and, yes, I thought you should have told me because of our relationship. I would like to think that you would turn to me in that kind of situation.'

'So that you could turn to Smith Pritchett and spill it all, like a good lieutenant.'

Annie stood on the opposite side of the table, her lower back pressing against the edge of the counter at the sink.

'This is just another example of why this relationship thing isn't going to work out,' she said, her voice going a little rusty under pressure. 'Here I am and there you are and there's this-this-stuff between us.' She used her hands to illustrate her point. 'My job and your job, and when is it about the job and when is it about us. I don't want to deal with it, A.J. I'm sorry. I don't. Not now.'

Not now, when she suddenly found herself caught up in the storm Fourcade had created. She needed all her wits about her just to keep her head above water.

'I don't think this is the best time for us to have this conversation,' A.J. said softly, coming toward her, gentleness and affection on his face. 'It's been a rough day. You're tired, I'm tired. I just don't want us mad at each other. We're too good friends for that. Kiss and make up?' he whispered.

She let her eyes close as he settled his mouth against hers. She didn't try to stop her own lips from moving or her arms from sneaking around his waist. He pulled her closer, and it seemed as natural as breathing. His body was strong, warm. His size made her feel small and safe.

It would have been easy to go to bed with him, to find comfort and oblivion in passion. A.J. enjoyed the role of lover-protector. She knew exactly how good it felt to let him take that part. And she knew she couldn't go there tonight. Sex would solve nothing, complicate everything. Her life had gotten complicated enough.

A.J. felt her enthusiasm cool. He raised his head an inch or two. 'You know, you can hurt a guy making him stop like this.'

'That's a lie,' Annie said, appreciating his attempt at humor.

'Says who?'

'Says you. You told me that when I was a sophomore and Jason Benoit was trying to convince me I would cripple him for life if I didn't let him go all the way.'

'Yeah, well, I would've crippled him if he had.' He touched the tip of her nose with his forefinger. 'Friends again?'

'Always.'

'Who ever thought life could be so complicated?'

'Not you.'

'That's a fact.' He glanced at his watch. 'Well, I suppose I should go home and take a cold shower or page through the Victoria 's Secret catalog or something.'

'No work?' Annie asked, following him to the door.

'Tons. You don't want to hear about it.'

'Why not?'

He turned and faced her, serious. 'Fourcade's bond hearing tomorrow.'

'Oh.'

'Told you so.' He started to open the door, then hesitated. 'You know, Annie, you're gonna have to decide whose side you're on in this thing.'

'I'm either for you or against you?'

'You know what I mean.'

'Yeah,' she admitted, 'but I don't want to talk about it tonight.'

A.J. accepted that with a nod. 'If you decide you do want to talk, and you want to talk to a friend… we'll work around the rest.'

Annie kept her doubts to herself. A.J. pulled the door open, and three cats darted into the entry and pounced on the muskrat box, growling.

'What is in that box?'

'Dead muskrat.'

'Jeez, Broussard, anybody ever tell you you've got a morbid sense of humor?'

'A million times, but I'm also in denial.'

He smiled and winked at her as he stepped out onto the landing. 'I'll see you around, kiddo. I'm glad we're friends again.'

'Me, too,' Annie murmured. 'And thanks for the flowers.'

'Ah-sorry.' He pulled a face. 'I didn't send them. Uncle Sos assumed…'

Annie held a hand up. ' 'Nough said. That's okay. I wouldn't expect you to.'

'But feel free to let me know who did, so I can go punch the guy in the nose.'

'Please. One assault a week is my limit.'

He leaned down and brushed a kiss to her cheek. 'Lock your door. There's bad guys running around out there.'

She shooed the cats out of the entry and went back into the apartment. The bouquet sat dead center on her kitchen table, looking almost as out of place there as it had in the store. Her apartment was a place for wildflowers in jelly jars, not the elegance of roses. She plucked the white envelope from its plastic stem and extracted the card.

Dear Ms. Broussard, I hope you don't think roses inappropriate, but you saved my life and I want to thank you properly.

Yours truly, Marcus Renard

11

He wondered what she'd thought of the flowers. She should have seen them by now. She worked the day shift. He knew because the news reports about his beating identified her as 'an off-duty sheriff's deputy.' She had been on duty at the courthouse yesterday, and had helped save him from Davidson's attack. She had been on duty the morning Pam's body had been found. She had been the one to find it.

There was a thread of continuity running through all this, Marcus reflected as he gazed out the window of his workroom. He had been in love with Pam; Annie had discovered Pam's body. Pam's father had tried to kill him; Annie had stopped him. The detective in charge of Pam's case had tried to kill him; Annie had again come to his rescue. Continuity. In his drug-numbed mind he pictured the letters of the word unraveling and tying themselves into a perfect circle, a thin black line with no beginning and no ending.