It Must Be Love

Chapter Eight

No doubt about it. The dream had been a nightmare.

The second Joe set foot in Anomaly the next morning, wearing a pair of jeans worn soft in all the right places and a Cactus Bar T-shirt, Gabrielle's whole body flushed. She'd purposely worn her green-and-black lace crinkle dress to work because it was comfortable and cool, but the moment her eyes locked with his, her body temperature shot up and she'd had to go into the bathroom and press cold paper towels to her cheeks. She couldn't even look at him without remembering the way he'd touched her and the things he'd whispered to her in her dream. Things he wanted to do and where he wanted to start.

She tried to keep herself busy and her mind off Joe, but Thursdays were typically slow, and today was no exception. She squeezed drops of orange and rose oil into the defuser and lit the tea candle beneath. Once the store began to fill with the blend of citrus and floral scents, she took apart a display of cut crystal nymphs and butterflies. She dusted and rearranged, and out of the corner of her eye watched him spackle the holes left in the far wall by the shelving system he'd moved the day before. Her gaze moved up his spine to the back of his head, and she remembered the way she'd imagined his hair would feel between her fingers. It had seemed so real, but of course it had only happened in her mind, and she felt silly letting it knock her off balance and letting it affect her in the light of day.

As if he could feel her eyes on him, Joe looked over his shoulder and caught her scrutiny. His watchful gaze stared back, and she quickly turned her attention to a frolicking nymph, but not before her cheeks burned.

As usual, Kevin stayed in the office with the door closed for most of the morning, talking to suppliers or wholesalers or taking care of his other business interests. Thursdays were Mara's day off, so more than likely, Gabrielle knew she would find herself alone with Joe until closing. She took deep controlling breaths and tried not to think of the hours stretching before her. Empty hours. Alone. With Joe.

Over the top of the crystal display case, she watched him dip his putty knife into the tub of spackle and wondered what type of woman attracted the interest of a man like Joe. Beautiful athletic women with hard bodies, or soft women who baked bread and worried about dust bunnies? She was neither.

By ten o'clock, her nerves had calmed to a manageable level. The holes where filled, and she had to think up another job for Joe. They decided on shelves in the back storage room. Nothing complicated. Just three-quarter-inch plywood held in place with heavy L joints.

Since there weren't any customers to worry about, she showed Joe the storage room, which was hardly bigger than the bathroom and had a single sixty-watt bulb hanging from the ceiling. If a customer entered the front of the store, a bell would ring in the back and let her know.

The two of them slid packing boxes and Styrofoam peanuts to one side of the small room. Joe strapped his tool belt low on his hips and handed her one end of the metal tape measure. She knelt down and held it to the corner of the wall.

"Can I ask you a personal question, Joe?"

He knelt on one knee and found the opposite corner with his end of the measure, then he glanced over at her. His gaze never reached her face. It slid up her arm to her breasts and stayed there. Gabrielle looked down at the front of her dress where the bodice fell forward, giving Joe an abundant view of her white cleavage and black lace bra. She placed her free hand on the bodice and straightened.

Without a hint of shame, Joe finally raised his gaze to her face. "You can ask, doesn't mean I'll answer you, though" he said, then wrote something in pencil on the wall.

Gabrielle had caught men staring at her in the past, but at least they'd had the sense to look embarrassed. Not Joe. "Have you ever been married?"

"Nope. I was close once."

"You were engaged?"

"No, but I came close to thinking about it."

She didn't believe close to thinking about it counted. "What happened?"

"I got a good look at her mother and ran like hell." He looked over at her again and smiled like he was really funny. "You can let go now," he said, and the measuring tape zipped across the wall, flipped up, and snapped his thumb. "Shit!"

"Oops."

"You did that on purpose."

"You're mistaken. I'm a pacifist, but I did come close to thinking about it." She stood, leaned one shoulder into the wall, and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "I bet you're one of those really picky guys who wants his wife to cook like Betty Crocker and look like a supermodel."

"She doesn't have to look like a supermodel, just reasonably attractive. And no really long fingernails. Women with those really long fingernails scare me." Again, he smiled at her, this time slow and sexy. "Nothing scarier than seeing those long daggers anywhere near the jewels."

She didn't ask if he was speaking from experience. She really didn't want to know. "But I'm right about the Betty Crocker part, aren't I?"

He shrugged and slid the metal tape up the wall to the ceiling. "It's important to me. I don't like to cook." He paused to read the measurement and wrote it next to the first. "I don't like to shop or clean house or do laundry. The things women don't mind doing."

"Are you serious?" He looked so normal, yet at some point in his life, he'd been mentally stunted. "What makes you think women don't mind doing laundry and cleaning a house? It may surprise you to know that we aren't born with a biological predisposition to wash socks and scrub toilets."

The tape measure slid smoothly back into the metal case, and he hooked it to his belt. "Maybe. All I know is that women don't seem to mind cleaning and laundry as much as men do. Just like men don't mind changing the oil in the car, and women will drive ten miles out of the way to go to a Jiffy Lube."

Of course women went to Jiffy Lube. What kind of weirdo changed his own oil? She shook her head. "I predict you'll be single for a while yet."

"What, are you my psychic friend?"

"No, I don't need to be psychic to know that no woman wants to be your maid for life. Unless there is something in it for her," she amended, thinking of a desperate homeless woman.

"There is something in it for her." With two long strides he closed the distance between them. "Me."

"I was thinking something good."

"I'm good. Real good," he said low enough so he wouldn't be overheard outside the room. "Do you want me to show you how good?"

"No." She straightened away from the wall, and he stood so dose she could see the black rims of his irises.

Joe raised his hand and pushed one side of her hair behind her ear; his thumb brushed her cheek. "Your turn."

She shook her head, afraid that if he decided to show her how good, she wouldn't try all that hard to stop him. "No, really. I'll take your word for it."

His quiet laughter filled the small room. "I meant it's your turn to answer a question."

"Oh," she said and didn't know why she should feel so disappointed.

"Why is a girl like you still single?"

She wondered what he meant and tried to summon a bit of indignation, but her response came out more breathy than offended. "Like me?"

He slid his thumb across her jaw to her chin, then brushed her bottom lip. "With your wild just-got-laid hair, and those big green eyes, you can make a man forget everything."

The heat of his words settled in the pit of her stomach and weakened her knees. "Like what?"

"Like why it isn't a good idea if I kiss you," he said and slowly lowered his mouth to hers. "All over." His hand caressed her hip, and he pulled her close. The leather pockets of his tool belt pressed into her abdomen. "like why I'm really here, and why we can't spend the day like we would if you really were my girlfriend." His lips brushed across hers and she opened to him, unable to resist the pull of desire curling her toes. The tip of his tongue touched her own, then he drew it inside his warm mouth. He took his time kissing her, drawing out the pleasure with the slow, lingering caress of his lips and tongue. Even as he pushed her back against the wall, entwined their fingers, and pinned her hands by the side of her head, her moist lips clung to his and his tongue gently plunged inside, then retreated.

Teasing even as he soothed her with his mouth. Her position against the wall arched her back and thrust her breasts into his hard chest. Her nipples drew tight, and when he deepened the kiss, Gabrielle got all squishy inside. Hot liquid pooled low in her abdomen and dragged a moan from deep within her chest. She heard it but barely recognized it as coming from her.

Then she heard something like Joe clearing his throat, but standing within the hypnotic influence of his deep red aura, she wondered how he could clear his throat when his tongue was in her mouth.

"When you get done with the handyman, Gabe, I need you to look over those invoices for that damaged shipment of sushi plates."

Joe pulled back and looked as dazed as she felt. She realized he hadn't spoken at all, and she turned her head just in time to see Kevin walk from the back room toward the front of the store. The bell signaling a customer rang, and if Kevin had a doubt in his mind that Joe was really her boyfriend, he wouldn't now.

Joe stepped back and ran his fingers through the sides of his hair. He let out a breath, and his hands dropped to his sides, his gaze still a bit glazed and bewildered as if he'd been hit over the head by some unseen force. "Maybe you shouldn't wear stuff like that to work."

With desire still rushing through her veins, Gabrielle rocked back on her heels and cast a puzzled glimpse downward at her dress. The hem reached her calves, and the loose bodice showed very little. "This? What's wrong with this?"

He shifted his weight to one foot and crossed his arm over his chest. "It's too sexy."

Astonishment kept her silent for a moment, but when she looked into his eyes and realized he was serious, she burst into laughter. She couldn't help it.

"What's so funny?"

"By no stretch of the imagination would anyone ever consider this dress sexy."

He shook his head. "Maybe it's that black lace bra you're wearing."

"If you hadn't been staring down my dress, you wouldn't know about my bra."

"And if you hadn't been showing me, I wouldn't have been looking."

"Showing you?" Anger cooled any lingering desire, and she no longer thought there was anything amusing about the situation. "Are you saying that the sight of a black bra makes you lose control?"

"Normally no." He looked her up and down. "What's in that stuff you were burning earlier?"

"Orange and rose oil."

"Nothing else?"

"No. Why?"

"Anything mind altering in all those weird little bottles you carry around with you? Spells or voodoo or something?"

"You think that you kissed me because of some sort of voodoo oil?"

"Makes sense."

It was beyond ridiculous. She leaned forward and poked his chest with her index finger. "Were you dropped on your head as a child?" She poked him again. "Is that your problem?"

He unfolded his arms and grasped her hand in his hot palm. "I thought you were a pacifist."

"I am, but you've just pushed me past my…" Gabrielle paused and listened to the voices coming from the front. They moved toward the back room, and she didn't need to see them to know who'd walked into the store.

"Gabe is back here with her boyfriend," Kevin said.

"Boyfriend? Gabrielle didn't mention a boyfriend when I spoke to her last night."

Gabrielle tugged her hand from Joe's grasp, took a step back, and quickly studied him from head to toe. He stood before her looking exactly as her mother had described. Stubborn and determined and sensual. The jeans and tool belt were like a neon sign. "Quick," she whispered, "give me that tool belt."

"What?"

"Just do it." Without the tool belt, maybe her mother wouldn't confuse Joe for the man in her vision. "Hurry."

His hands lowered to the front of his jeans, and he unbuckled the wide leather belt. Slowly, he handed it over and asked, "Anything else?"

Gabrielle snatched it from him and tossed it behind a box in the corner. It hit the wall hard, and she spun around in time to see her mother, Aunt Yolanda, and Kevin walk into the back. She stepped out of the storage room and pinned a smile on her face. "Hi," she said as if nothing was out of the ordinary. As if she hadn't been making out with a dark, passionate lover.

Joe watched Gabrielle's straight shoulders as she moved from the small room. He quickly turned his back to the doorway and took a moment to rearrange himself. He didn't care what she said, there had to be some sort of mind-altering aphrodisiac in that stuff she burned all the time. It was the only explanation for why he'd completely lost his mind.

When he stepped from the storage room, he didn't recognize the women with Kevin, but the taller of the two bore a striking resemblance to Gabrielle. She wore her long auburn hair parted in the middle and pulled back on the sides, held in place with thin strips of beaded leather.

"Joe," Gabrielle said, looking across her shoulder at him, "this is my mother, Claire, and my aunt, Yolanda."

Joe offered his hand to Gabrielle's mother and found it clenched in a tight grasp. "It's nice to meet you," he said as he gazed into blue eyes drilling him as if she could see through his forehead.

"I've met you before," she informed him.

No way. Joe would have remembered meeting this woman. There was a strange intensity about her that he wouldn't have forgotten. "I think you may have me confused with someone else. I don't believe we've met."

"Oh, you didn't meet me," she added as if that cleared up the mystery.

"Mother, please."

Claire turned his hand over and stared at his palm. "Just as I suspected. Look at this line, Yolanda."

Gabrielle's aunt stepped close and bent her blond head over Joe's palm. "Very stubborn." She raised her soft brown gaze to him, then looked sadly at Gabrielle and shook her head. "Are you sure about this man, dear?"

Gabrielle groaned, and Joe tried to pull his hand from Claire's grasp. He had to tug twice before she finally released him.

"When were you born, Joe?" Claire asked.

He didn't want to answer. He didn't believe in all that zodiac crap, but as she stared at him with that spooky gaze, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he opened his mouth and admitted, "May first."

Now it was Claire's turn to look at her daughter and shake her head. "And a Taurus to boot." Then she directed her attention to Yolanda. "Very earthy. Loves good food and good love. Taureans are the zodiac's sensualists."

"True hedonists. Great endurance, and relentless when focusing on a certain goal or task," Yolanda added to the list. "He's very possessive of his mate and protective of offspring."

Kevin laughed, and Gabrielle's lips pursed. If the two women hadn't been discussing him as if he were potential stud service, Joe might have laughed too. Gabrielle obviously didn't see any humor in the situation, but she couldn't exactly inform her mother and aunt that he wasn't her boyfriend. Not with Kevin standing so near. Joe couldn't do much to help her out, but he might have tried to change the subject if she hadn't opened her mouth and insulted him.

"Joe is not the dark, passionate lover that you think he is," she said. "Just take my word on this."

Joe was fairly certain he was a passionate guy. He was fairly certain he was a good lover, too. He'd never had any complaints. She just might as well have come right on out and accused him of being a lousy lay. He slid his arm around her waist and kissed her temple. "Careful or you'll give me performance anxiety," he said, then he chuckled as if even the thought of performing badly was ridiculous. "Gabrielle's a little mad at me for suggesting that cleaning house and cooking is women's work."

"And you're still breathing?" Kevin asked. "I suggested she be in charge of cleaning the bathroom here at work because she's a girl, and I thought she would deck me."

"Naw, she's a pacifist," Joe assured Kevin. "Aren't you, sweet cheeks?"

The look she turned on him was anything but nonviolent. "I'm always willing to make exceptions for you."

He squeezed her tight against him and said, "That's what a man likes to hear from his woman." Then before she could utter a word and accuse him again of being a demon from hell, he pressed his mouth to hers, trapping her anger with his kiss. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, and she raised her hands to his shoulders. Before she could shove him away, he let her go, and her attempt to push him looked more like a grasp to keep him close. He smiled, and, for a few brief seconds, he thought her resentment might overcome her belief in nonviolence. But being the true pacifist she professed, she took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Then she turned her attention to her mother and aunt and ignored him completely.

"Did you come to take me to lunch?" she asked.

"It's only ten-thirty."

"Brunch then," she amended. "I want to hear all about your vacation."

"We need to pick up Beezer," Claire said, then looked at Joe. "Of course you're invited. Yolanda and I need to check your life energy."

"We should test him with your new aura-meter," Yolanda added. "I think it's more accurate than-"

"I'm sure Joe would rather stay here and work," Gabrielle interrupted. "He loves his job. Don't you?"

Aurameter? Jesus H. The nut didn't fall far from the family tree. "That's right. But thank you, Claire. Maybe another time."

"Count on it. Fate has given you someone very special, and I am here to make sure you take care of her gentle spirit," she said, her gaze so directed the hair on the back of his neck stood up again. She opened her mouth to say more, but Gabrielle took her arm and walked with her toward the front of the store.

"You know I don't believe in fate," Joe heard Gabrielle saying. "Joe is not my fate."

Kevin shook his head and let out a low whistle once the door shut behind all three women. "You barely dodged that bullet, my friend. Gabe's mother and aunt are real nice ladies, but sometimes when they get to talking, I expect to see their heads spinning like Linda Blair in The Exorcist."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yeah, I think they channel Elvis, too. Magnify Gabrielle by about a thousand, and you get her relatives."

For once he didn't think Kevin was lying. He turned to the fenceman and slapped him on the back as if they were old buddies. "She might have weird relatives; but she has great legs," he said. Time to get to work. Time to remember he wasn't there to pin his confidential informant against the wall and feel her soft body pressed to his, making him so hard that he forgot everything but her breasts poking his chest and the sweet taste of her mouth. Time to befriend Kevin, then nail him for the theft of Mr. Hillard's Monet.

The next morning Detective Joe Shanahan walked into Fourth District Court, raised his right hand, and swore to tell the truth, in The State v. Ron and Don Kaufusi. The Kaufusi boys were three-time losers facing a long stint in prison if found guilty of a string of residential burglaries. The case had been one of the first assigned to Joe shortly after he'd been transferred to property crimes.

He took his seat in the witness box and calmly straightened his tie. He answered questions from the prosecutor and the boys' public defender, and if Joe hadn't already had a prejudice against defense attorneys, he might have actually felt sorry for the lawyer assigned this case. It was a real slam dunk.

Seated behind the defense table, the Kaufusis looked like sumo wrestlers, but Joe knew from past experience that the brothers had balls of steel and were as loyal as Old Yeller. They'd conducted a real gutsy operation for several months before being arrested exiting a home on Harrison Boulevard. Every few weeks, the boys would park a stolen U-Haul next to the back door of a particular home they'd cased. They'd load the truck with valuables like precious coins, stamp collections, and antiques. In one instance, the neighbors across the street had watched, believing the brothers were professional movers.

When Don had been searched, the arresting officer had found a Wonder Bar in the pocket of his twill work pants. The tool's distinctive marks had matched a dozen others left in wooden door and window casements throughout the city. The prosecutor's office had gathered enough direct and circumstantial evidence to put the brothers away for a long time, and yet they'd refused to name their fence in exchange for leniency. Some might believe their unwillingness to cooperate had something to do with honor among thieves, but Joe didn't think so. He figured it probably had more to do with good business. The relationship between thief and fence was symbiotic. One parasite fed off the other parasite to survive. The brothers were betting on a short prison stay and already planning their return to business. It didn't pay to alienate a good fence.

Joe testified for two hours, and when he was through, he felt like raising his fists over his head like a prize fighter. The odds were in his favor, and the good guys were going to win this round. In a world where the bad guys were winning with more and more frequency, it was good to take a few of them off the streets for a while. Two down and two thousand more to go. He walked from the courtroom with a slight smile on his face and shoved his sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose. He moved from the recycled courtroom air and out into the sunlight. An endless blue sky and cotton-ball clouds hung over his head as he drove to his house off Hill Road. The ranch-style home had been built in the fifties, and in the five years he'd lived there, he'd replaced the carpeting and vinyl throughout. Now all he had to do was rip out the olive green tub in one of the bathrooms, and he figured he was done for awhile. He liked the creak of the floors and the worn bricks in the raised hearth. Mostly, he liked the lived-in character of his house.

The minute Joe walked in the front door, Sam flapped his wings and whistled like a catcalling construction worker.

"You need a girlfriend," he told his bird as he let him out of his cage. He walked into the bedroom to change his clothes, and Sam followed.

"You, behave," the bird screeched from his perch on Joe's chest of drawers.

Joe shrugged out of his suit, and his mind turned to the who-what-where-when-and-whys of the Hillard case. He wasn't any closer to an arrest, but yesterday hadn't been a complete bust. He'd learned the why. He'd learned what motivated Kevin Carter. He'd learned how much Kevin had resented being from a large family. And even more, how much he'd resented the hell out of growing up poor.

"You behave."

"You need to take your own advice, buddy." Joe tucked a blue T-shirt into the waistband of his Levi's and glanced up at Sam. "I'm not the one who bites wood or pulls out my feathers when I get mad," he said, then pulled on a New York Rangers baseball cap to cover his hair. He never knew when he would run into someone he'd arrested in the past, especially at something as weird as the Coeur Festival.

It was close to one o'clock when he left his house, and he made one quick stop on the way to the park. He stopped at Ann's Eighth Street Deli. Ann stood behind the counter; a warm smile lit her face as she looked up and saw him. "Hi, Joe. I was hoping you'd come in."

The way she looked at him, he couldn't help but return her smile. "I told you I would." He liked the spark of interest shining in her eyes. A nice normal spark. The kind a woman showed a man she wanted to know better.

He ordered a ham and salami on white bread, and since he didn't know what a lapsed vegetarian would eat, he ordered Gabrielle a turkey on whole wheat-lots of sprouts.

"When I called my sister, Sherry, last night and told her that I'd run into you, she said she thought you were a cop. Is that right?" she asked as she sliced the bread and placed a heap of meat on each slice.

"I'm a property crimes detective."

"I'm not surprised. Sherry said you used to like to frisk her in the ninth grade."

"I thought it was the tenth."

"Nope." She wrapped the sandwiches and placed them in a paper sack. "Do you want any salad or chips?"

Joe stepped back and looked into the long display case filled with different kinds of salads and desserts. "What's good?"

"It's all good. I just made it this morning. How about some cheesecake?"

"I don't know." He slid a twenty from his wallet and handed it to her. "I'm pretty particular about my cheesecake."

"I'll tell you what," she said and opened the cash register. "I'll give you a few slices, and if you like it, you come back tomorrow and buy me a cup of coffee on my break."

"When's your break?"

Her smile once again lit her eyes, and dimples creased her cheeks. "Ten-thirty," she answered and handed him his change.

He had to work at ten. "Make it nine."

"Okay." She opened the glass case and cut two slices of cheesecake and wrapped them in waxed paper. "It's a date."

He wouldn't go that far. But she was nice and could obviously cook. She certainly didn't look at him as if the only thing saving him from a good sock in the gut was her belief in nonviolence. He watched her place the cake and two plastic forks on top of the sandwiches, then she handed him the sack.

"See you in the morning, Joe."

Maybe Ann was just what he needed.