Tough Customer

CHAPTER 14

THE MURDER OF THE BANK GUARD WAS THE LEAD NEWS STORY for several days, and the media milked it. The victim had been only twenty-four years old. It had been a case of overkill. He was down, bleeding, already mortally wounded, when the robber paused long enough to shoot him in the head before exiting the bank with his booty tucked under his arm.

The guard had been weeks away from marrying his high school sweetheart. He was buried in the suit that was to have been his wedding suit. His fiancee and parents were inconsolable. On camera, their testimonials were heart-wrenching. The young man was extolled by former teachers as the most outstanding student they'd ever had the privilege to teach. His scoutmaster praised his commitment and thoughtfulness toward others. His church conducted a worship service in his honor, not a dry eye in the overflow crowd.

The competence of those trying to nab the robber turned killer was called into question by the press, as well as by city officials who wanted to keep their elected positions, and by provocateurs who crawled out of the woodwork whenever given an opportunity to take potshots at the HPD.

The negative media coverage put everyone on the task force in a bad mood. Rather than strengthen their resolve and make them a more determined band of brothers, the public spanking eroded confidence and morale. It unraveled the fabric of their comradery. Their criticism of one another became vitriolic, causing friction between individuals, between cliques, between supervisors and subordinates.

To a man they wanted to catch the culprit by means of a spectacular police maneuver that would force their critics to eat crow till they choked on it. But each officer also had his own agenda, a self-serving purpose, a do-or-die reason for wanting to shine. On neither of these levels was failure an option, so, naturally, egos clashed.

Things got so bad, tension rose to such a level during their jam sessions, that Dodge began looking forward to his shift at the tire manufacturing plant. At least there he got a little relief from the constant pressure, bitching, and bickering. As long as he emptied all the trash cans within a reasonable amount of time, no one at the plant hassled him.

But he was still required to attend the task force briefings, which had turned into shouting matches. At the most recent one, he'd been reminded of his assignment by the screaming, red-faced captain, who'd just come from an ass-chewing in which his sizable behind had been the main course.

He'd stamped and sputtered and banged his fist on the table for five full minutes, citing all Dodge's failed attempts to establish a relationship with Franklin Albright's girlfriend, Crystal. He ended his tirade with a direct order. "Now get back to that fucking factory. Get in her face, get in her pants, I don't care, Hanley, just get something so we can either go after this bastard or chalk him off our list of suspects!"

Having been duly charged, Dodge doubled his efforts to make headway with Crystal. Gradually they began to yield results, providing incremental victories to report to his supervisor.

"I went to the payroll office yesterday, pretending to have a question about the taxes being withheld from my check. Crystal and I had locked eyeballs a few times before, but now we've actually chatted, and she knows my name."

"I time my lunch break to coincide with hers. On Monday, she was out of change, so I offered to buy her a package of Fritos from the vending machine, and after a lot of hemming and hawing and eyelash fluttering, she let me. On Tuesday, she paid me back. No, I didn't make a pass," he said, shooting a disparaging look toward the cop who'd asked. "I don't want to come across as a sleazeball and send her running in the opposite direction. Jeez. But that stupid question explains why you can't get a date."

"When Crystal went on her afternoon break, I loitered in the hall outside the ladies' room, fiddling with an electrical outlet. When she left the restroom, she stopped to chat, asked if I had any more questions about my check and said, if I did, to be sure to come by the payroll office and she'd help me out. Which I took as an invitation. I'll drop by there tomorrow."

"Crystal's girlfriend, the one she usually eats lunch with, quit to have a baby. So I insinuated myself into her place at the table where they always sat, and Crystal didn't object. I tried moving the conversation toward personal matters by remarking on her friend's pregnancy and asking if Crystal has kids of her own, and she said no, but she'd like to someday. Only she had to get married first, and that didn't seem likely any time soon, and I asked her why not, and she said because her boyfriend wasn't the marrying kind. First mention of Franklin."

"Today Crystal told me that Franklin is a great guy. Really, she said, stressing it. Except that he can get moody. In the past, he's been in trouble with the law, so her parents distrust and dislike him and told her that, as long as she was with him, they want nothing to do with her. Which sorta hurts her feelings, but she loves Franklin, so there you go."

"She and Franklin had a fight last night. He accused her of flirting with a salesclerk at Radio Shack, which she swears she wasn't. Can she help it if the guy was ogling her? I said the poor guy probably couldn't help himself, and she laughed and swatted my hand. Well, yeah, that classifies as flirting. But at this stage, a little flirting is okay. Don't you know anything about women?"

"She wishes Franklin wasn't so jealous. For instance, if he knew we were eating lunch together every day, he wouldn't like it.

Not at all. He'd never understand that we're just friends, she said. And I said, 'Is that all we are? Just friends?' And she got all flustered. Blushed a little. Did the bit with the eyelashes again. Swear to God, they're stiff and black like the legs of a dead cockroach. Where was I? Oh, right. I definitely think I'm making progress. One sure sign, her skirts are getting shorter and her blouses lower cut. Yeah, I gotta admit, the view would make you assholes drool."

"She put her hand on my thigh today. No, I'm not lying, jerkface. She only did it to make a point of what she was saying, but still, it counts. How high up? Use your imagination. High enough to set my balls a-tingle. No, nothing about Franklin today, except that she said it probably wouldn't be a good idea if he saw us walking out of the plant together after our shift."

"This could be a major breakthrough, so everybody listen up. No, I didn't get to second base. Jesus, what are you? Fourth grade? Are you listening now? Okay then. Crystal told me that Franklin goes fishing periodically at Falcon Lake. He meets his cousin there. Any of you ignoramuses know the geography of Texas? Falcon Lake is right on the border with Mexico, where his cousin, ahem, has taken up residence.

"So what I'm thinking, is ... Bingo, Captain. Franklin robs a bank, then drives on down to Falcon Lake, gets in a boat probably, and hands the loot over to his cousin in Old Meh-hee-co, where the cash is laundered. It reenters the US of A as squeaky clean legal tender.

"All I gotta do is get out of Crystal when Franklin's most recent fishing trip was and see if it corresponds with the date of the last robbery. If it does, Franklin moves up several notches on the suspect list. How am I gonna get the info out of Crystal? Don't you wish you knew?"

Caroline was trying hard to stay awake. She'd already been here two and a half hours, but with only thirty minutes to go, she was afraid she wouldn't make it without falling asleep from boredom.

She was on the verge of nodding off when a car pulled up at the curb and parked. A man got out and walked toward the house. Through the glass in the storm door, his silhouette showed up large, and she experienced a twinge of apprehension, as she always did when showing a house to a man alone.

He opened the door and stepped into the foyer.

When she recognized Dodge Hanley, her heart gave a bump of a different sort. The reaction startled and confused her. It had been two months since she'd told him not to interfere with her life and had warned him of serious consequences if he did. She'd thought she would never see him again. But here he was, and her involuntary excitement was unsettling.

She stood up.

He said, "Hi."

"Hi."

She'd been seated in a folding chair at a card table. Draped in a gold cloth, it served as a reception desk. Scattered across it were leaflets describing the house for sale and a goodly number of her business cards. She was unreasonably glad that the table was between her and the policeman, who was out of uniform, wearing a sport coat and slacks instead.

"What are you doing here?"

He raised the folded sheet of newspaper he'd carried in with him and pointed to an ad in the real estate section. "Open house. Sunday. Two till five. It's got a picture of this house, it gives the street address, and it's listed under your name as an agent for Jim Malone Realty."

"I know what the ad says. I proofread it before submitting it to the classifieds. That doesn't explain what you're doing here."

"It's an open house."

His obtuseness was irrationally disarming and made her want to smile. Instead, she folded her arms across her middle, where she was still experiencing a flutter, and asked loftily, "Are you in the market for a home, Mr. Hanley?"

"Maybe." He gave the foyer a slow survey. "What's to recommend this house? Please don't tell me this wallpaper is its best feature."

She managed to keep her smile in check, but barely. "It's got a nice backyard. Fenced."

"Wood fence?"

"Cyclone."

He frowned.

"Large, native trees," she continued. "Very shady. And with a little repair, the patio--"

"Repair?"

"Minimal repair would return it to being, uh, usable."

"Huh." He glanced into the adjacent living room at the turquoise brocade divan. "Ugly furniture."

"The furniture isn't included in the sale."

"Lucky us."

"With new paint, wallpaper, and furniture, the house would look entirely different. You have to have an imagination."

"A wild imagination."

Knowing it was a game, she continued playing along. "It has three bedrooms, one down, two up. Two fireplaces, one in the formal living area, and one in the den, which used to be the garage. The owners converted it into a room when the house underwent a total renovation."

He looked up at a crack in the ceiling. "When was that?"

"Nineteen fifty-two."

He raised his eyebrows, and she could no longer contain her self-deprecating laughter. "The place is a disaster. But it's my first listing."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you."

They shared a grin, then he said, "Jim Malone Realty. He's a bigwig, right? His signs are all over Houston."

"I'm very fortunate to have been hired by his agency."

"He's fortunate to get you."

She accepted the compliment with a humble nod. "His company is very well established. I'm a newcomer. I've got a lot to learn."

"Is that why you pulled this detail?"

"I volunteered."

"You've got ambition, Ms. King."

"I don't want to go back to the tax assessor's office."

"Can't say I blame you for that." He smiled again and glanced down at the brochures on the table. "Have you had many people come by?"

"You're the third in nearly three hours."

"You've had to sit here for all that time by yourself?"

"Well, there's the cat, but he hissed at the first couple who came in, so I locked him in the pantry."

"Can you stick it out for"--he consulted his watch--"twenty-two more minutes?"

"I've been counting them down and trying to stay awake."

They exchanged another smile, then neither said anything, and the silence of the house pressed in around them. This man made her uneasy, and she couldn't account for it. Even when she was interviewed by Jim Malone himself, persuading him that she would be an asset to his agency despite her inexperience, she hadn't been as nervous as she was now. Around Dodge Hanley she became self-conscious, unsure, and at a loss for what to say and where to look.

Maybe it was a natural reaction to being in the company of a police officer. Drivers automatically tapped their brakes when they spotted a radar trap even when they weren't speeding. Perhaps it was Dodge's implied authority that intimidated her.

Or maybe she was still embarrassed over how he'd first seen her, with the effects of Roger's slap evident--the mark on her cheek fresh, the emotional impact of it equally raw. She'd been unable to hide her mortification then, and she couldn't now.

Perhaps her discomfiture had something to do not with her but with him. His strong features, tough bearing, and unmitigated masculinity hinted at the latent violent streak that she knew could be ferocious. After all, she'd seen the result of it. Roger had been hospitalized for ten days following the beating he took.

She didn't fear for her own safety, however. Dodge Hanley posed no threat to her, even by implication. In fact, his demeanor was protective, almost quaintly chivalrous. She felt a gravitational pull toward it that was entirely feminine.

It was that instinctual response to him that gave her butterflies. Being near him made her feel as if she was balancing on tiptoe at the end of a high diving board. By turns, it was exhilarating and terrifying.

All the time these thoughts were going through her mind, they'd been staring at each other. Needing to fill the dense silence, she asked, "Are you still on the task force?"

"They haven't kicked me off yet."

"So the crime remains unsolved?"

"We're working on it."

"Is it dangerous work?"

"Piece o' cake."

"I doubt that." Another silence descended while she stared at the cobweb in the corner just beyond his head, and he stared at her face. She could practically feel his eyes as they touched on each separate feature. "How's your partner?"

"Gonzales."

"Right, Officer Gonzales. Is he doing okay?"

"Yeah, he's good. I think he likes his new partner better than me, which kinda hurts my feelings."

"I doubt that, too."

"What? That he likes his new partner better, or that I can have my feelings hurt?"

"That he likes his new partner better."

He shrugged. "Maybe Gonzales is just trying to make me jealous." They smiled together. His faded first. "But I do have feelings, and they can get hurt."

"You wouldn't be human otherwise."

"Oh, I'm human. Real human. Very human." He looked down at her left hand, where, in the last few seconds, her engagement ring had taken on the weight of an anchor. "How are the wedding plans coming?"

The smile she flashed him felt artificial. "Great. Moving right along. Lots of details to see to."

"Parties to attend."

"Yes. There have been a few."

"Couple of weeks ago, I saw your picture in the society section of the Chronicle."

"You read the society section?"

"Didn't used to. I started scanning it a few months ago. Never read the Sunday real estate section, either. Now I never miss." He let those statements resonate for several seconds before continuing. "Anyway this picture showed you and Campton standing together under those"--he waggled his fingers above his head--"those whachamacallits hanging from the trees."

"Japanese lanterns."

"Yeah. Looked like a swell shindig. The article said the governor was there."

"Roger's parents are friends with him and his wife."

"Huh. Will they be at the wedding?"

"They're on the guest list."

"Who'll be there on your side? Your family?"

"I don't have a family. No brothers or sisters. My parents are deceased."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Don't be. I was a late-in-life child. They'd given up ever having a baby. I was a menopausal surprise."

"A good one, I'll bet."

She smiled wistfully. "Mom and Dad were very happy to have me, and I was fortunate to have them. They were middle-class wage earners and proud to be. My mother was a lady, my father a gentleman. Both had a strong work ethic. They loved God, and country, and me. They lived their life expectancy, but I was relatively young when I lost them. Being an orphan is no fun."

"It has its perks."

She looked at him with surprised puzzlement.

He rolled his shoulders as though his jacket had suddenly become too tight. "My mom was okay. She died when I was in seventh grade. My dad and I didn't get along that well, so we just tried to stay out of each other's way till I was old enough to leave home."

"How old were you?"

"Seventeen. Two days after my high school graduation, I split. Didn't even wait till the fall semester, enrolled at Texas Tech that summer."

"That must have made your father proud."

"Not really. When I told him I wanted to be a cop, he laughed, said I'd make a better criminal."

"I'm sure he changed his mind once you became an officer."

"He didn't live to see it. He died still thinking I wouldn't amount to much."

She could think of nothing to say that wouldn't sound banal, so she said nothing.

"So who's going to walk you down the aisle?" he asked.

"Roger's best man."

"That's handy."

"Um-huh."

"Got your dress?"

"The final fitting was last week."

"Pretty?"

"I think so."

"I'm sure you'll be a vision."

"I hope my groom thinks so."

"He'd have to be blind."

The conversation ended there, leaving Caroline to wonder how the entryway seemed to have shrunk over the course of their conversation. The air was thicker, the old house smelled mustier. And even though neither of them had moved, he seemed to be closer. She was even more grateful for the card table standing between her and this man who made her nervous.

She glanced at her wristwatch. "Nearly time. I can begin closing up shop."

"I'm sorry you didn't have any takers."

"Me, too. I'm going to urge the sellers to get more aggressive."

"More aggressive?"

"Lower their price."

He snuffled a laugh.

She expected him to tell her good-bye and good luck and leave. But he just stood there. She made a hand gesture and said, "Well..."

"I'll wait and walk you out. That cat might be really pissed off by now."

She freed the cat from the pantry. He was sulky for having been confined but not vicious. She turned out all the lights. She removed the cloth from the card table. Dodge insisted on folding up the chair and table and carrying them out to her car, where he stowed them in the trunk. He pocketed one of her business cards. Then they stood there at the curb facing each other.

Feeling awkward, she worried her car keys. "Thanks for stopping by."

"You're welcome."

"It helped to have company. Talking made that last half hour go faster."

"I kept you from falling asleep at least."

"And if you change your mind about the house..."

"I'll let you know."

She smiled.

He waited a beat, then said, "You wanna go get a cup of coffee or something?"

"Thank you, but I can't. Roger is expecting me."

"Oh. You don't want to keep Roger waiting."

The bitterness behind his words was unmistakable and prompted her to declare, "He's being very sweet."

"Good. That's good."

"When you and Officer Gonzales came to the house, that was an isolated incident."

"So you've said. A bunch of times."

"Well, it's true. Roger regrets that night. Deeply. He's sworn never to raise a hand to me again."

"A groom shouldn't have to swear to something like that, though, should he?"

"His contrition is sincere."

Dodge's expression remained skeptical, which compelled her to convince him.

"Roger thinks the beating outside his gym was a random, aborted mugging, and I've never told him differently."

Dodge didn't really give a damn if Campton knew he'd been the one to attack him, although he'd just as soon the department not get wind of it. But he figured Campton himself protected him from anybody in authority finding out. Even if the woman-beating asshole guessed, or learned through some other means, the identity of the man who'd jumped him, he wouldn't file a legal complaint against Dodge, knowing that if he did, his ill treatment of Caroline then would be made public. Nor was the millionaire likely to challenge him in private, because men who hit women were usually cowards.

It suited both men to leave it alone. But in a perverse way, Dodge wished he could rub the son of a bitch's nose in it.

"He remembers the mugger whispering something to him," Caroline continued. "But he was on the brink of unconsciousness and can't recall what the mugger said."

Dodge looked even more skeptical.

"He considers himself lucky to be alive."

"He is," Dodge said bluntly.

"Since the beating, and his painful recovery, he's been extremely sweet. I think the scare caused him to rearrange his priorities. In any event, he's gone back to being the Roger I first met. He can't do enough for me. He's charming and thoughtful. I've fallen in love with him all over again."

He said nothing, but his eyes turned stony.

"You're basing your low opinion of him on that one incident," she said with heat. "You've never seen the real Roger. The night he slapped me, he wasn't himself."

"No?"

"No. If you could see him now, compare the two, you'd realize that. I'd never seen him act that way before, and certainly not since you beat him up."

"So he changed his spots because of my attack, his brush with death? That's what you think?"

"Yes."

"Bullshit. A leopard never changes his spots. My old man was right about me. I'm a cop, and a damn good one, mostly because I think like a criminal. I have criminal impulses. My daddy knew it way back, and I own up to it now. People adjust their behavior to fit the society they live in. They integrate because they have to. But what they are on the inside doesn't change.

"So if Campton has gone back to being nice and sweet, it's not because he's seen the light and had a Pentecostal conversion. He's lying when he says he doesn't remember what his mugger said to him that night. If he's acting all lovey-dovey, it's because he's afraid I'll follow through on my promise to kill him if he ever hurts you again."

Her cheeks had grown hot with anger. "I'm marrying him."

"Because you love him?"

"Yes! Very much."

He took a step closer, forcing her to tilt her head back farther in order to look into his face. "You know what I think?"

"I don't care what you think."

"I think you're going through with the wedding not because you're so wildly in love but because you're stubborn. You don't want Caroline King's judgment questioned. You don't want to be proved wrong."

"You know nothing about me."

"I know one thing." He came nearer still. "I know you're all I goddamn think about."

She felt his words like a punch to a place low and deep inside her. They made her breath catch. They caused her heart to thump. They made her want to take that leap off the high board.

She was afraid he was going to kiss her. She was afraid he wasn't.

He didn't.

After countless tense moments, she turned and went to the driver's door of her car, opened it, and got in. He didn't try to stop her as she drove away.

For the third time, she left him staring after her. The first time she had retreated into her house, touched by the policeman's concern. The second time, she had returned to her real estate class inside the office building, upset over the beating he'd given Roger but acknowledging that Dodge's concern wasn't strictly professional.

This time was not so much a retreat as a full-fledged escape. From him, yes. But also from herself and the colossal mistake she was likely to make if she stayed.

Dodge arrived at the tire plant the following morning in a surly mood, cursing the rush-hour traffic, cursing the floors he'd have to mop today, cursing himself for making a mess of his visit with Caroline.

Things had been going real good. He would even go so far as to believe that she'd been glad to see him, and not just because she'd wasted a Sunday afternoon sitting alone in an ugly, empty house, and anybody's company was better than none at all.

But then he'd gone and shot off his mouth about her fiance. She had jumped to Campton's defense, as she should if she was bent on marrying the guy.

But, dammit, Dodge knew he was right. Petite as she was, Caroline King had a steel I-beam for a spine. He'd sensed it the moment he met her, when she'd been smarting inside and out but was too proud and obstinate to cry in front of him. Losing her parents at a relatively young age had no doubt forced her to be self-assertive. Or maybe she'd been born with that stiff backbone and circumstances had only reinforced it.

Whatever, the upshot of it was that she was mule-headed, and, in large part, that was why she was going through with her marriage to Roger Campton.

Dodge refused to accept that she loved the rich, handsome son of a bitch.

Once again, she'd been mad as a hornet when she left him. He cursed himself for being a goddamn idiot. Why was it that he could talk any other woman out of her clothes, out of information, but he couldn't communicate with the one woman he wanted most to communicate with? Around her, his glibness deserted him.

He'd gone home and drunk a six-pack, slept badly for having to get up to pee every hour on the hour because of the beer, and arrived at the tire plant in a truculent mood, which is probably why, when he spotted Crystal beside a souped-up truck with oversize tires and semiobscene mud flaps, engaged in deep conversation with her felonious boyfriend, he wended his way through the parking lot toward them.

Practically issuing an engraved invitation for a confrontation, he moved up close behind her and said, "Hey, Crystal."

She spun around, looking like a terrified rabbit caught in headlights, except that her eyes were swollen and red from crying. Her eyelashes weren't so spiky when wet with tears. "Oh, hi," she said nervously. "This is, uh, this is Franklin. My boyfriend."

Albright looked him up and down. "Nice uniform." He leaned forward and read the make-believe name stitched in red lettering on Dodge's left breast pocket. "Marvin," he added, smirking when he said it.

Dodge ignored him and addressed Crystal. "How come you're crying? Can I help?"

Franklin Albright gave Dodge's shoulder a hard shove. "You can help by minding your own fucking business."

Dodge, who'd been spoiling for a fight when he arrived, wanted to dive into the ex-con, but he settled for shaking off the hand on his shoulder. "Watch your language in front of the lady."

"It's okay," Crystal said quickly. "I wasn't crying. I've got allergies. A Sudafed should fix me up." She gave her boyfriend a worried glance, then nodded Dodge toward the plant's entrance gate. "Don't be late for work on my account."

"Do you have some Sudafed? Because I'll be happy to go get some for you."

"I've got a box in my desk drawer, thanks. If you're late, they'll dock you."

"Well, you would know, Miss Payroll," he said in a teasing voice.

She gave him a tremulous smile. Franklin Albright was all but snarling.

Dodge stared him down, trying to look like a geek trying to look tough, then ambled off in the direction of the gate, shooting one final glance at them over his shoulder before entering the plant and thinking,

Hee-hee.

"Sure enough," he told the other members of the task force during their meeting that evening, "ol' Franklin was waiting for me when my shift ended. He accosted me just outside the gate."

"Define accosted," the captain said.

"Grabbed me by the shoulders and backed me into the fence. I made a stand, but not too much of one. I didn't want to let him know that I could have laid him out flat if I had wanted to."

"What did he say?"

"He told me to stay away from Crystal."

"What did you say?"

"I said I'd do what I damn well pleased."

"Then what did he say?"

"He said I could do that, sure. If I wanted my head ripped off and used as a urinal."

"Franklin's got a real way with words, doesn't he?" one of the other officers quipped.

"Did you find out why she was crying?"

"Over lunch, she told me that she'd brought up the subject of matrimony again, and Franklin had said no, no way, no way, Jose. I lent her a sympathetic ear, told her he wasn't just ugly, he was stupid."

"How'd she react?"

"She laughed. She thinks I'm funny and sweet and brave for standing up to him. But she warned me against waving a red cape. She said he has a temper, as well as a knife. I told her I wasn't afraid of him." He shrugged complacently. "I'm her hero."

"But your cover is blown."

"By playing Sir Galahad? Hardly."

"But now you're in Albright's sights."

"As a complete schmuck who has designs on Crystal. If he gets wind of my prying now, he'll figure I'm just trying to move in on his girl. If I was prying for no apparent reason,

that would have bleeped on his radar screen and caused him to be suspicious."

"So where'd you leave it?" the captain asked.

"Yeah, you haven't explained how your face got messed up," another officer observed.

"Franklin thought we'd reached an understanding. He poked his finger in my chest and said, 'You're not going to talk to Crystal anymore, right, Marvin?' And I said, 'Sure, okay, because I can screw her without talking.'"

"Holy--"

"You didn't."

"Dodge, I swear."

"You asked for it."

"Of course I asked for it," Dodge told the group. He would have grinned, but his split lip hurt when he did. His eye was the color of an eggplant and swollen nearly shut. "I'll show up at work tomorrow with Franklin's handiwork on my face, and Crystal will be full of remorse and apology. But underneath her big tits, her little heart is going to be pitter-patting at the thought of me standing up to big, bad Franklin on her behalf. I'll have won her heart and her loyalty."

"But he'll tell her what you said about screwing her."

"And I'll deny it. I'll pretend to be crushed and offended that she could even think I'd say such a thing. My feelings toward her are honorable and pure."

"I'm gonna puke," one of the group said drolly.

"What makes you think she'll believe you over Franklin?" the captain asked.

Despite his busted lip, Dodge spread his grin around the room. "Because she wants to."

And then Caroline King crossed his mind, and his grin dissolved. Almost to himself, he said, "Even when the bad is staring a woman in the face, she wants to believe her man is good."