Justice of the Piece

A "Lawless" Story

By LoreliLee

Rating: NC: 17 - This story contains graphic sex between a man and a woman and rough language. If this offends you, is illegal where you live or you are under 18, go somewhere else.

Disclaimer: The characters of John Lawless and Willy Kaa belong to South Pacific Pictures. The use of those characters in this story is not intended as copyright infringement. The rest of the characters in this story are from my previous Lawless stories or my imagination and are copyrighted by me.

Author's Note: While this story is not a direct sequel to Lawless, the NZ Tele-film, it is somewhat of a sequel to the series of stories I've written and it does contain characters from and references to those previous stories. While it is not necessary to have read them to follow this, it will add to the reader's enjoyment if they are read first.

It felt like an ocean of water was drenching his body. He lay on his back on a hard plastic board, the heavy free weights at shoulder height. His biceps strained and bulged with exertion. He could feel the sweat pouring off him. It soaked his hair. It dripped into his eyes and made them sting. The rivers of sweat ran down his neck and chest soaking his gray sleeveless T-shirt. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, put the free weights above him in the rack and sat up.

He picked up his towel and wiped his face and neck. He grabbed his water bottle and took a deep drink. Then he attempted to wipe more sweat off. He put the bottle and the sopping towel down and once more braced himself on the board. He gripped the weights and began to pump iron again, wondering why he had let Willy talk him into staying out all night. He knew better. He had responsibilities now. Still, since Willy had fallen in love, he didn't hang out at the pub so often. Last night had been like old times. They'd gotten pissed, shot pool and talked shit. He could have done without the hangover though. His head throbbed to the beat of the music in the gym. At least the workout was helping that; he could literally feel the toxins leaving his body along with the sweat.

He put down the free weights and went to the leg extension machine. He checked the weight, added some more and then sat on the bench. He began doing leg curls, cursing age, alcohol and the need to keep fit. He closed his eyes and concentrated on pushing his physical limits. Lift. Hold for five seconds. Slowly release. He did ten reps as his muscles screamed and then paused. Because he really didn't want to, he made himself do five more reps, then he stopped.

Next, he moved to the chest press. He made sure there was enough weight on it to make it a challenge then sat on the seat. His arms strained, his pecs flexed and he felt his chest tighten every time he did a rep. Good. Maybe if he worked hard enough it would remind him NOT to do this to himself. He pushed, pulled and stretched the limits of his physical tolerance until the sweat poured off him again.

He knew he was working too hard, sweating too much, but he felt like he needed to punish himself. Why he needed to do that he wasn't sure, he only knew that he did. After twenty reps he stopped. He wiped his dripping face and neck with the already soaked towel and drank more water.

He got off the machine and found an empty mat on the floor away from everyone else. He lay down prepared to do fifty sit-ups and a hundred ab crunches. His final act of contrition. He did his sit-ups and then began the ab crunches. He exhaled gradually, willing his heart to slow. Between the lack of sleep and the hangover, the crunches were more than a simple act more of penance. They were torture. Still, John Lawless kept at it; intent on making himself hurt. He wanted to feel that pain. He had to abuse himself as if it was required to achieve absolution for some sin he wasn't even sure he had committed. He was so focused on his quest that he almost missed the moment when fate decided to turn his life upside down.

Kelly entered the main room of the gym cautiously. This was her third time here and she still wasn't sure how she felt about it. This was a gym, not a health club. One thing she did like was that everyone was serious about their workouts. The blokes, for it was eighty-five percent male, had the focused attitude of athletes. The main room was crowded for all that it was only seven a.m. with blokes on machines. This room had the weight training equipment, bodybuilding machines, the boxing equipment and the mats. There were other rooms with treadmills, bikes and Stairmasters. There was an Olympic size swimming pool and two steam rooms. It wasn't fancy, but it was the kind of place you went to if you were serious about keeping fit.

Well, that had been what she was looking for. She hated aerobics. She despised chatty trainers who thought they could tell YOU all about THEIR lives as they put YOU through tortuous workouts. She didn't need a trainer. Her eldest brother Brian had taught her how to box and she loved it. She liked to use the machines too, but boxing helped her keep her stress level low, the act of hitting something always felt good.

She liked that so far the blokes who came there had paid her no attention whatsoever. She was tired of being hit on at health clubs. Tired of aging Lotharios in expensive shoes and fancy tracksuits that never got sweaty trying to chat her up at the juice bar. This gym didn't even HAVE a juice bar. She was tired of being gawked at when she worked the heavy bag. Tired of being leered at by muscle-bound clowns who thought because she was a girl she couldn't punch for toffee.

She saw him lying on a mat; his eyes were closed in concentration as he did ab crunches. She would have KILLED for his eyelashes; they were thick, black and shaped like stars. It took her twenty minutes with a mascara brush to get that same effect. She had no idea who he was but she envied him his body as well as those killer lashes. She'd never seen abs that flat in her life. Though he was wearing a T-shirt today, he'd been bare-chested previously and she'd been very impressed. Of course, she'd never do the number of ab crunches he probably did to get them either!

She watched with interest as the bloke with long dark curly hair pulled his upper body forward using his stomach muscles. Even with the shirt on she could see his abs were taut and she marveled at the way his muscular arms tensed and his biceps bulged. She did wonder though why he was working so hard. His body was covered with a heavy sheen of perspiration and as she moved closer, she finally understood why. He reeked of beer; the alcohol was leaving his body as he sweated it out.

Kelly Margaret Mary Callahan sighed and turned away. The bloke might have a great body, but he obviously drank. She'd had enough of THAT growing up. She went over to the heavy bag, pulled on her gloves and began to punch with extra vigor.

"You could really use a holder," a deep voice remarked about five minutes later.

Kelly turned to see who had spoken. He must have finished his ab crunches and though he'd wiped the sweat off his body, the T-shirt clung to him outlining his pectorals and that washboard stomach. She could smell him, male hormones, sweat and alcohol even from several feet away. His brown eyes were bloodshot and though he had a handsome face as well as that great bod, she still wasn't interested. "I can handle it," she insisted.

John studied the woman. He'd seen her in the gym before, but hadn't really paid any attention. Not until today, when he'd seen her working the heavy bag. He knew boxing was the newest "in" workout for women, but not too many women came to this gym. He'd never seen any of them use the heavy bag. What's more, she knew how to box. She wasn't girl punching it or flailing at it. Her shoulders were hunched, she had a boxer's crouch and her moves were targeted and tight. Even her footwork was right on. "I can see that," he remarked with more than a little irony in his tone, "but you'd get a better workout if the bag wasn't swinging away from you."

She paused and put her gloved hands on her hips. "And just what do YOU know about it?" she asked sarcastically.

He grinned. Whoever she was, she had a LOT of attitude. He liked that. She was average height about five feet eight or nine, so it didn't come from that. Maybe it came from her fiery red hair or the big emerald green eyes. She wore purple shorts and a skimpy purple workout top. Her body was toned, muscular and her belly button was an inny. She had fair skin lightly freckled, a button nose and a luscious mouth, very Irish looking. Her voice even had a sort of lilt to it, as if she maybe wasn't a Kiwi. "It sort of used to be my profession," he explained with amusement. "So I know a lot about it."

"You were a fighter?" she echoed incredulously. "With legs like that?"

John glanced down. His legs looked all right. True, they weren't as muscled as his upper body, but he hated working them. Still, they'd held up just fine. He shrugged. "They work okay. And yes, I was a boxer, pretty good at one time."

She shook her head as if in disbelief and went back to punching the bag.

John noticed she seemed to be putting extra energy behind each punch as if she was angry about something. He moved to get behind the bag to hold it steady for her when he heard her say, "I don't want your help."

"Maybe not," he conceded still amused, "but you sure could use it."

Kelly took aim and swung hard at the bag. It slammed into the bloke and knocked him off balance.

John much to his surprise felt the impact and landed flat on his ass with a groan.

"Next time," she snapped, "take NO for an answer." Then she took off her right glove and offered him a hand up.

"Cute," he muttered under his breath as he took her hand. "Very cute."

She was quite strong and when she pulled, he felt his body lift up off the floor. Their eyes met and John felt like he was falling into deep green water. The entire world suddenly boiled down to what was contained in those sparkling eyes. The connection was instantaneous and intense. He sucked in his breath, felt his face flush and his heart began to race. He swallowed twice, began to drown in the depths of her eyes and then SHE broke eye contact.

Kelly turned away from the bloke oddly shaken by the electric charge that had just passed between them. 'What the bloody hell was that?' she thought. Well, even if she WAS attracted, it didn't matter. She was definitely NOT interested. She put her glove back on, turned her back on him and instead of returning to the heavy bag moved over to the speedball. She began jabbing at it quickly.

John followed her, watched her work it for a moment and then observed with surprise, "You're really good."

"What's the matter?" she muttered angrily. "You one of those blokes who think women should stay barefoot and pregnant?"

He chuckled. "Hardly. My ex is a lawyer. About as far from the barefoot and pregnant type as you can get." The words surprised him as soon as they escaped his lips.

"Then why is she your ex?"

"Why indeed?" he repeated. Why had he mentioned Marla at all? With a flash, he realized not only why he'd mentioned her but also why he'd suddenly felt the need to punish himself. He HAD been thinking guiltily of Marla. He'd never responded to the overtures she'd made after Caro died, he'd simply "forgotten" she'd made them. They would have just celebrated their eighth wedding anniversary if they were still together. He thought for a moment of all the reasons why the marriage had failed. Was there ever a simple answer to that question? Finally, he confessed, "Lots of reasons, I guess. But mostly because although when we married we wanted the same things, after a time, that changed. We changed."

She said nothing. There was something in his voice. Sincerity and maybe honesty that rang true. If only he didn't smell like a distillery or if he had been less handsome. She completely distrusted blokes that good-looking. They were always so full of themselves AND full of trouble.

"Name's John," he divulged as if it were a secret. After a long moment in which the only sound was that of leather glove hitting leather ball he asked, "Do you come here often?"

'I can't believe it! He's hitting on me,' she thought. 'And I actually thought he might be different!' She threw a flurry of jabs at the ball pretending it was his swelled head. She was convinced that with a body and face like that he wasn't turned down much. Despite what he had claimed, she'd have bet anything the wife kicked him out for cheating.

She stopped punching, mildly out of breath and with a gloved hand, stilled the bouncing ball. Then she turned to him her chest heaving slightly from exertion. "I don't care who you are. I came here to get away from wankers like you." Then she pulled off her gloves and stormed off to the ladies' locker room.

John's jaw dropped as he watched her go. He stared at her back as it moved away from him. She had good legs and thighs and her ass was rounded and firm. It was a nice view and he enjoyed it. He'd only asked because he wanted to offer her some tips on training. In retrospect, he realized how what he said must have sounded. He began to laugh at the absurdity of the situation until it dawned on him that he WOULD have liked to ask her out. Only he didn't know her name. He shrugged. Odds were they'd run into each other again.

Her silken red hair was spread like a curtain across his thighs as she knelt between his legs. Her lush mouth hovered over the tip of his hard cock and then her pink tongue flicked out and licked it. She raised her head and smiled. Her green eyes glittered at him full of a hunger and need that mirrored his own.

Her fingers delicately caressed him as he stroked the soft fair skin of her face. Her fingernails were short, bitten not clipped as if she had a nervous habit.

She bent her head, slid her lips and tongue up and down the length of him and let her teeth graze lightly over his sensitive flesh.

He moaned and tangled his fingers in her hair wanting to feel her suck him. She seemed to sense his need for she opened wide and took him in.

He groaned as he felt the hot wetness of her mouth. He thrust up as she began to suck. Her mouth was like a sauna all fire and steam. Her tongue kept running over the tip of his cock and the suction was incredible. He could feel his balls tighten and as he was about to come, he woke up.

"Shit," he groaned. "What the bloody hell was that?" He sat up in bed and shook his head. He knew who the woman in the dream was. The redhead from the gym. She'd obviously made quite an impression on him. He glanced at the digital clock. It was already six. He might as well get up and get the workout over. He had a full day ahead of him anyway. A new client to meet at ten, rugby practice at three, training Eric and dinner after. Even if he did know her name, asked her out and she agreed, when would he find the time? His life was full and he wanted to spend as much time with Eric as the boy would allow. So really, he WAS better off not trying to date her.

John's resolve went out the window when he walked into the steam room and saw her draped in a towel. She was lying on her back. Her eyes were closed and her thick black eyelashes lay against the pale skin of her cheek. Her fair skin was flushed rosy from the heat. As she breathed the swell of her breasts was evident and he could see the outline of her nipples. The sight was highly erotic. "When did the steam room go co-ed?" he muttered uncomfortably.

Without missing a beat she retorted, "You dickhead. Can't you read? You're in the ladies'."

Was he? He didn't think it was possible. He'd been coming here for over a year. He was confident he'd entered the men's. "I think you're mistaken." he insisted.

She gripped her towel and sat up. It barely covered her nakedness. Then she opened her eyes. "You!" she exclaimed with annoyance. "I should have known!"

He had a towel wrapped around his waist but he suspected it wasn't completely camouflaging his physical response to her. He felt his face begin to flush at her completely impertinent stare. Something about her just sent him round the bend. "I'd apologize," he snapped back, "except I KNOW I'm in the right place."

"Is that so?" she echoed. "Well, let's check that, shall we. Turn around."

"Excuse me?" he snorted. Now HE was beginning to get annoyed.

Her gaze raked his form, her eyes coming to rest rather lower than propriety would suggest proper. She commented dryly, "I need to get toweled, unless you'd rather I do it in front of you. Although, frankly, I'm not sure that towel of YOURS could take much more excitement."

He felt his flush deepen and his erection which should have deflated at her words and tone seemed to have a mind of it's own. As he turned he felt it get harder.

Kelly smiled as she wrapped her towel around herself and tucked it in. Nice to know he got such a healthy response to her even if she wasn't interested. Least he didn't smell like a distillery today. Just sweat and hormones. Kind of nice really. And that body WAS choice, ALL of it. His chest was truly a work of art, not only was each inch of it beautifully muscled and delineated, but he had a lovely furring of dark hair that . . . still . . .

She sighed and said, "You can turn now, but make sure that towel of yours is in place this time."

'What did she mean?' he wondered. Then he glanced down and saw why she'd been so amused. Instead of the slit on the side, his towel had somehow shifted and the slit was almost dead center, along with his dick. Oh great. He shifted the towel although his erection was still painfully obvious. Then he decided, bugger it, so what?

He turned and found her eyeing him with glittering eyes, although not glittering with desire. She was amused and maybe a little annoyed. She looked even better than she had in his dream. Her hair was pinned up but curly tendrils escaped to frame her oval face. Her shoulders were rounded and her arms were beautifully muscled. Her flushed face was lightly dusted with freckles. She even had freckles along the tops of her breasts. He had a strong urge to taste each one. As a consequence of his out of control lust, he muttered with annoyance, "Ladies first."

Her amusement seemed to grow by leaps and bounds. She sashayed over to the door and pulled it open, then gestured for him to follow.

John did and she pointed to the sign. It was a very small sign, which noted, "As of today, this is the ladies'. The men's has now moved to the new annex."

Christ, he WAS in the wrong place. Was there going to be no end to the humiliation he was going to suffer at this woman's hands? "I . . . I didn't . . . " he stuttered finally. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

Kelly thought he looked quite charming and penitent as in the bright light of the hallway his face was bright red. Interestingly enough, he was STILL having a healthy reaction to her. She might even have forgiven him if he had just let well enough alone.

"You can't blame me though. It's a small sign and I've been coming here for a long time. I assumed . . ."

"Assumptions make an ass out of you," she interrupted. "Seeing as how I've already cooled down, I think I'll just go. Next time, read the door before you enter. And by the way, just in case, the ladies' locker room is to the left, men's to the right, they DIDN'T change that." She turned on her heel and flounced away.

John stared after her with his mouth wide open. He watched the way her calves moved, the set of her shoulders and the cheeks of her ass. 'Damn,' he thought.

By ten, John was behind his desk his lust nominally under control. He'd asked around the locker room but none of the other blokes knew who she was. Finally, he had asked at the desk and the clerk gave him a withering stare. "We do not discuss our members with other members," the clerk chided him in a haughty tone. "If she wished you to know who she was, I'm sure she would have told you."

The glare and formal rebuke chastised John. With an embarrassed flush climbing up his face, he backed away from the desk. He was SUCH a dickhead. She'd made it clear she didn't like him and wasn't interested, so why was he persisting? He probably just needed to get laid.

For the first time, since Caro died he felt alive again. He was no longer wallowing in self-pity. His hormones were obviously back to normal. Between the abortive erotic dance he had done with Shay and his trip to DC, he'd clearly woken all sorts of things. Now he just needed to remember how to control them.

Kyle Stanton arrived at the stroke of ten. He strode confidently into John's office, a tall, florid, good-looking bloke in his sixties. His aristocratic features spoke of strong British stock. His accent was clipped and crisp but despite that and his expensive tailored clothes, he had the manner of an unpretentious genial salesman.

John liked him immediately. Not that it was a requirement that he like his clients, but it usually helped.

After Stanton was seated and the formalities observed, John stated, "When you rang you mentioned your problem involved security. As I told you, I don't specialize in that area. They are plenty of other specialists in security systems."

Stanton nodded. "I know. I already have state of the art alarms and such. I just had all the security redone a month ago. It hasn't fixed the problem."

"Which means," John deduced, "that whatever the problem is, the person causing it can bypass the security. Or," he added, "doesn't need to because they have legitimate access."

"Winston told me you were smart."

"Winston?" John echoed. "Mitchell Winston?"

Again, Stanton nodded. "He's a customer of mine. I . . . a . . . well knowing what kind of business he was in I figured he might know someone who could help me. He gave me your name. Said you could be trusted and," he added pointedly, "that you know how to keep your mouth shut."

John smothered a smile. Winston throwing him some business, that was almost too rich for words all things considered. "As long as you don't ask me to do anything illegal, no one has to know bugger all," he confirmed bluntly. "I can't for example, cover-up a crime the police are investigating, but . . ."

"Yes, well, the police . . ." Stanton stammered. "I DO have a problem. And I don't want the police involved."

"I see." John considered this for a moment. He opened a desk drawer, pulled out a sheaf of papers, offered them to Stanton and requested, "Sign this. Standard contract. You hire me, what you tell me is privileged, except as I said, evidence of an official crime would have to be reported."

Stanton accepted the papers, pulled a pair of spectacles out of his breast pocket and quickly scanned the documents. He took an old-fashioned fountain pen out of another pocket, signed on the dotted line with a flourish and then handed the contract back to John. "You're hired."

John glanced down, saw the signature and put the contract on the corner of his desk. "Very well. What's your problem?"

"I'm a self-made bloke, Mr. Lawless," Stanton explained as he removed his glasses. "I started out working for a jeweler thirty-five years ago as a lad. I learned everything I could and I saved my money. Ten years ago, I opened my first store. I have five now all here in Auckland. I've done very well. We sell retail and do custom work as well. My wife, Vicki, is a very talented jewelry designer. My son, Michael, oversees the day to day operation of the five stores. I handle the finances, the stock and the nuts and bolts of the operation. In addition to the five stores, we have a separate facility for production of the custom jewelry within the corporate offices. In this facility all the loose stones as well as the bulk of the jewelry findings are kept. All new stock moves through there as well." He paused and asked, "How much do you know about the jewelry business?"

"Almost nothing," John noted with a shake of his head.

Stanton smiled. "It's a very interesting business. Most people only see the outside of it. The finished product. When they think of gems, they think of diamonds usually or sometimes emeralds, rubies or sapphires. Precious gems. They see beautifully cut, faceted and polished stones set in gold, silver or platinum. Not how it starts." Stanton paused, reached in his pocket and pulled out what looked to be a very large red pebble. He put it on the desk and gestured for John to take it.

John picked up the stone and examined it. It was dark and cloudy, almost rough to the touch. It felt heavy in his hand. He put it down and asked, "What is it?"

"Not sure, not yet," Stanton lectured with a laugh. "Could be the rarest of things, a red diamond. Could be a chunk of ruby or garnet, could be a . . . worthless red stone. It came in with the latest batch from Brazil and it caught my eye. Haven't had the nerve to put it under the refractometer to measure it. Or to use the polariscope to determine if it's doubly or singly refracting. Rubies are doubly refracting, whereas diamonds are singly refracting. The fact is I'm not sure I want to know. Red diamonds are exceedingly rare and very valuable. Garnet is fairly common. And a red stone, while it might have some intrinsic value, has none where a piece of jewelry is sold. You can almost never tell what a stone might become when it's in it's uncut and unpolished state. In a way, it's like a person you don't know, a blank and unknown slate. Once you've examined it, gotten to know it, then cut and polished it, you can see what you have, what it's value might be. But right now, all I have," he finished as he picked it up, "is a stone with unlimited potential."

John studied Stanton trying to decide what it was his client was trying to tell him. He still didn't know. "And this pertains to your problem how?" John prompted.

Stanton laughed again. "I have a very profitable business. We have a huge volume in retail and custom work. Hundreds of thousands of dollars in gems move through the corporate offices in a year. The reason I want you to have the background is . . ." he paused as if he couldn't go on.

John thought he understood then. He guessed, "Someone is stealing and you don't know who?"

Stanton nodded, apparently relieved not to have to say the words. "I check every shipment that comes in against the waybill when it arrives. The colored stones we buy in bulk uncut batches. You'd be amazed at what you can sometimes find that way. In any case, I keep track of the stock and I noticed, quite by accident, a few months ago, that stones were disappearing. Not many at first, but enough to be noticeable once you started to look for it. Right off the bat I thought perhaps Tim, he's my diamond cutter and lapidary, had miscut a few stones and forgotten to tell me. That happens sometimes, if a stone is badly cut, it loses all value. He swears not though. Then I thought that maybe I was miscounting the stock. But . . . I don't understand it, not at all."

"How much has gone missing so far?"

"Over the last three months I'd estimate about $8,000 in loose stones."

John whistled. "That's a lot of money."

"Actually, it's not," Stanton refuted. "We can make that selling one nice bracelet to Winston. The markup on jewelry is a license to steal. That stone I showed you? It came in with a batch of thirty from Brazil. I paid five hundred for all the stones. If within them I get a single one-carat ruby, I can sell that for slightly over one thousand. If that rock I showed you turns out to be a red diamond, well the value could be upwards of thirty thousand depending on what the final carat weight is after cutting. The stones themselves uncut cost very little in comparison to what they become worth once they're cut, polished and set."

Stanton sighed and then continued, "But what it IS, is a significant quantity of loose stones. Especially these. You see what's missing aren't the best stones and aren't the finest quality. The thief is taking precious and semi-precious colored stones, no diamonds, no pre-made or custom items and no findings. Just loose mostly uncut and unpolished stones. And the value I've placed, well, truly, it's a guess, because the stones themselves have never really been valued, that's simply the approximate amount I paid for the raw materials so to speak."

John considered this for a moment. "Could whomever took them sell the stones?"

"This isn't like taking a finished stone. They don't LOOK like gems. They look like the stone I showed you. So you won't find them in a pawnshop or such. I suppose they could sell them to another jeweler maybe, but that jeweler would have to have an on-staff lapidary and cutter like I do and most don't. I'd probably know about it. The only place they might be able to sell them is perhaps to a broker who would them resell them maybe even back to me. A cut, polished, faceted stone is recognizable. But a chunk of rock?" He shook his head. "I'd never even know it, if it WAS being sold back to me."

"Any pattern to the thefts?" John asked. Stanton shook his head. "Do they happen on the same days? Are they the same dollar amounts? Same anything?" Again, Stanton shook his head. "I take it you haven't gone to the cops?"

Stanton reflected, "No. The circle of people with access to the safe is very small. My wife and son, Tim, the diamond cutter and lapidary, Clyde, he works with Vicki executing the jewelry she designs and setting the stones and Kelly, she's the gem buyer. We're like a family, Mr. Lawless, which is why I am so upset. I want to know who it is, why it's happened and I want to stop it. I can't believe any of them would need money so badly they wouldn't come to me first. Whichever of them it is, they must be in extremis and I want to help them, NOT send them to jail."

John nodded. He suspected Stanton already knew who was doing it and his client's next words confirmed that.

With a sigh Stanton remarked sadly, "It has to be one of them. I doubt it's my wife or son, but Tim, Clyde and Kelly have been with me since the beginning. I hate to think one of them could be responsible. Frankly the whole thing is incomprehensible."

John suspected Stanton was worried it was his wife or son, but he WANTED it to be one of the others. John requested, "I'll need to know everything you can tell me about them. I'll need their personnel files and photographs. I'll want to look at the layout of the offices and examine the security system. I may even have to have some help. This could get very expensive."

"Why expensive?" Stanton asked.

John leaned forward in his chair as he explained. "There are five people who could be doing this either alone or in combination. Once I check the obvious things such as who needs money, who does drugs, who gambles, etc, we may know who the thief is. But if nothing pops up then the only way to work this is to tail each suspect and try to catch them moving the stones. I'm assuming that if there was a way for you to tell who was taking them out of the safe, you'd tell me?" Stanton nodded. "I can't be in five places at once, so in order to find out who your thief is, I'd need help. Are you sure you don't want to go to the cops? They have the resources and it won't cost you an arm and a leg."

"No. I still find it so hard to believe that ANY of them would steal from me."

John understood. It was never easy to accept the possibility of betrayal from people close to you. Nothing prepared you for it. He nodded sagely and advised him, "I'll need a retainer of $5,000 to start. Then we'll see. Have you reported the losses to your insurer?"

"No. I'm not going to either. I'm hoping you can stop the thefts and then I'll just write off the loss." Stanton rose from the chair. He added, "I'll messenger over the check along with the personnel files this afternoon. When do you want to check the premises?"

John thought for a moment. "You haven't let on that you know, have you?"

Stanton acknowledged, "After Tim said he hadn't been losing them, I let it drop. I don't think anyone is aware of what's missing except of course the thief. At any given time there could be upwards of a thousand loose stones in various stages of work around. The most taken at any given time has been thirty. If I hadn't tumbled to it accidentally, I might never have tumbled to it at all."

"Since we don't want to make the thief suspicious it would be best to do the check when no one but you and I are there."

Stanton nodded and agreed. "I don't want whomever it is to know I know what's going on. Not until I have an answer. Can you come by at nine tonight? Everyone else should be gone by then."

John rose, came around the desk and shook Stanton's hand. "I'll do my best for you," he declared.

Stanton pumped his hand for a moment gratefully and then turned on his heel and left.

"So? Whatcha think?" Tam asked Willy.

Willy was speechless. Now that they were clear of the murder of Tam's husband, she was free to inherit and that day had received permission to reopen the garage for business. Her lawyer had already talked to everyone who had been suing her ex and arranged settlements of their claims. Now Tam was pointing to a large sign that she wanted to affix to the front of the garage. It said, "Under New Management. Owner: Tamara Hitchcock, Manager: Willy Kaa." He shook his head in disbelief. "What's this, then?" he managed finally.

Tam laughed. Her violet eyes opened very wide and she explained, "Well, you told me you can fix anything. You're great with cars and bikes, so who better?"

He studied her. She looked so hot in her tight black jeans and a tight sleeveless black vest that was only buttoned enough to contain her ample breasts. Her black rose tattoo seemed to glimmer in the sunlight. Her long brown hair was loose and framed her face. As he studied her, his body responded automatically with arousal. They'd been lovers for a few weeks but it still felt so new and wonderful that he couldn't quite believe it.

Since they'd gotten together, Willy was seized with a desire to find a new job. A real job, not the semi-legal piecework he'd been doing. He wanted something completely legit and he knew she knew it. He hadn't found anything yet and with his record, it was tough going . . . but this, this was nothing he could accept. Finally, he acknowledged, "Tam, it's a nice thought, but I'm not taking charity."

"Charity?" she echoed with another laugh. "Shit, Willy, you'd be doing ME the favor. Who else could I trust to run the place and NOT rob me blind or cheat the customers? I don't want to do it. I love selling bikes. Please say yes. You'd be doing me such a huge favor."

His dark eyes studied her. He ran a hand over his shaven head as he argued, "I'm not a businessman. I couldn't do books or anything like that."

She came close to him. "You can do anything you want to," she insisted. "But if it eases your mind, we'd have an accountant for that anyway. You'd just make sure the work was done right. Make sure people paid their bills. Make sure everything stayed legit. David ran a scam most times. I don't want that."

"You're saying I'd know how to do it wrong but could make sure it wasn't?" he asked with a grin.

"Well," she admitted as she came even closer and wrapped her arms around his waist, "you haven't always been the honest bloke you are now. I have to figure you'd know every scam there is. So . . . "

Willy put his arms around her and pulled her tight. He kissed the top of her head. "Guess that means you wouldn't want me buying parts for cash? Nothing that fell off a lorry? If someone came in for a fan belt, you wouldn't want me selling them a brake job, eh?" She nodded. He laughed. "Yeah, I can see where I might be able to keep the operation from going wonky. But Tam, I've never done anything like this. I'll probably bugger it up."

Tam reached up and touched Willy's face lightly. "You'd be great. I know a good mechanic that would be thrilled to work for you. Please say yes, Willy. I don't want to throw this away and I don't trust anyone else to run it."

"You trust me that much?"

"Willy," she affirmed gently. "You've already proven I can trust you with my life. This is only money. Say yes."

"What happens if I say no?" he teased.

She grabbed him by the waistband of his jeans and pressed her groin to his. "No more until you say yes."

"Tam," he groused, "you really know how to hurt a bloke."

She laughed into his neck. "Can I take that as a yes?"

He ran his hands up and down her back and then cupped her ass. "Yes," he murmured.

"Bewdy. Shall we seal the deal?" she hinted.

"Here?" he echoed with incredulity.

"No time like the present," she agreed as she began to press harder against him.

Willy shook his head. Tam was the most completely uninhibited woman he had ever met. "Is there any place you won't do it?" he muttered in an undertone.

She laughed and ran her nails down his arms. "Not soes I've found, at least not when I'm with you anyway!"

Willy grinned and then began to kiss her.

He sucked her nipple hungrily. The rosy tip tasted like a sweet succulent cherry. Her moans of pleasure fed the fire of his desire. She was stroking his hair with one hand while the other hand caressed his hard cock.

He reluctantly released her nipple to look at her. Her green eyes were half closed, peering at him from a thick sheaf of black eyelashes. Her mouth was open; her tongue lying against her bottom lip and her fair skin was flushed.

His slid his hands over her lush body feeling for her sex. He traced her opening lightly; the red curls were damp with the juices of her arousal.

That hand that caressed him now urged him to enter her. He shifted up and let her guide him inside, his eyes never leaving hers.

He pushed into her wet warmth and felt the muscles of her sex take him in and squeeze him tight. He groaned from the pressure. He propped himself up on one arm and began to glide slowly in and out savoring the sweet sensation of her velvet heat. She moaned his name her hands urging him on.

He began to thrust faster and harder. Her body arched beneath him, her breath came fast and he could hear the loud beat of her heart in the quiet bedroom. Suddenly she began to spasm around him. He plunged deeply into her as he felt his balls tighten up. He groaned as his cock began to explode. He took a deep gasping breath, bit his tongue and then his lip as he came. He shuddered, opened his eyes and woke up from the unaccustomed sensation of wetting his bed.

"God damn it," he shouted. "I do NOT fucking believe this!" He was alone in his bed and for the second night in a row, he had dreamed of the woman from the gym. Another vividly erotic dream, only this time . . . He looked at himself and resisted the urge to strangle his dick. He shook his head, got out of bed and pulled off the sheets. They were soaked with sweat and come. "Stuff it," he muttered aloud. "Not only am I dreaming about her, but now she's got me talking to myself. I REALLY must be losing it."

He went into the bathroom and showered, then seeing that it was again six, decided to go to the gym. He refused to admit, even to himself, that he hoped to run into her again.

John was in a lousy mood when he arrived at his office at nine. His workout had been fine, but he hadn't seen her. He was oddly disappointed and very frustrated. Still, he forced himself to concentrate on the case. The check and files had arrived about five minutes before he had to leave for rugby practice the previous afternoon and he hadn't had a chance to look at them.

The tour of Stanton's premises had gone well. Stanton's system WAS state of the art, but it wouldn't keep a thief who had access out. The only thing John could suggest was to place cameras in the safe to record who took what. However, Stanton had already refused to do that insisting that it showed a lack of trust. John shrugged and went along. It was, after all, Stanton's money.

John began to study the files. He had received only three, Tim Makepeace, Clyde Dobbins and Kelly Callahan. He hadn't really expected Stanton to send over anything on the wife and kid. Well, he would humor Stanton for now and work the other three first. If he could rule them out then Stanton would be forced to face his biggest fear.

Tim Makepeace, widower, 57, diamond cutter and lapidary. John had to look up what a diamond cutter and lapidary did. He was impressed. Makepeace could take a piece of rock, a stone, like Stanton had shown him and cut it in such a way as to bring out all the facets and such. According to Stanton, Makepeace had the knack of knowing how to cut a stone to make it most valuable, diamonds in particular, which made him a huge asset to the company. When Stanton once asked Makepeace how he knew where to cut a diamond, Makepeace had told him that the stones talked to him. Makepeace had worked exclusively for Stanton since Stanton opened the first store. According to Stanton, he was soft spoken with a wry sense of humor. His wife had died five months before after a short illness and there were no children. Stanton also said Makepeace had thrown himself into his work with increased vigor after his wife's death as if it was the only thing he had left in his life. His photo showed a short stooped bloke with thick glasses. He wore a shiny black suit and had a small pencil thin mustache that reminded John of an old movie

Clyde Dobbins, single, 35, his formal title was assistant jewelry designer, but his job was far more than that. Dobbins helped Stanton's wife turn her designs into reality. He not only set the stones, he worked with the metals and built the settings, or jewelry findings as John learned they were called. John had never thought about just what went into a piece of jewelry, but he was now learning. Findings were all the different pieces that became the settings for rings, bracelets, earrings, etc. Making the setting strong enough to hold the stone and setting it inside a finding was a delicate job. If the stone was set too deep then the light wouldn't refract and customers liked shiny sparkling gems. If it wasn't set deep enough, it could fall out. In addition, findings were as much a part of the jewelry as the gems were. Dobbins was first-class at his job and had also been with Stanton since the first store. He had a flamboyant dramatic personality and never socialized with anyone although he got on with everyone. His photo showed a small, delicate, almost fragile looking bloke. His face was sculpted with high cheekbones and very pretty. He had blue eyes and seemed to be pouting at the photographer.

Kelly Callahan, single, 30, in charge of buying all retail stock and for the last six months, had gone on buying trips to Amsterdam for diamonds. She also negotiated with the gem brokers and purchased the colored stones as well. Though young she had started with Stanton ten years before and had worked her way up. According to Stanton, she was a bundle of energy, very opinionated and extremely good at her job. Not only had she made it her business to understand the stone market, to learn everything she could about ALL kinds of gems, but also she had the hardened attitude of a first class negotiator. Since Stanton had let her go to Amsterdam on his behalf, his diamond inventory had doubled without his spending an extra penny. She sounded too good to be true and of all of them, she dealt with gem brokers daily. She would have the best chance to move the stolen stones. John nearly choked when he saw her photograph.

He couldn't believe it. Why did this ALWAYS happen to him? Just once he'd like to meet a woman who wasn't in trouble, who didn't have a secret and who wasn't involved in one of his cases. Kelly Callahan was the redhead woman from the gym and his erotic dreams. "Just great," he complained to himself bitterly. "She's probably the thief too!"

He booted up his PC and began to gather information on Stanton and his employees. Five hours later he knew everything there was to know about their financial status and more. He had run work histories, credit histories, bank histories, insurance payments, loan histories, driving records, police records, hospital records and had even managed to get into Inland Revenue and look at their tax returns. He ran every kind of search he could think of and all he got were dry useless facts.

They all seemed clean. He'd even run Stanton, Stanton's wife and Stanton's son. They too seemed clean at least when it came to money. None of them lived above their means, none of them seemed to have any illegal or extralegal habits and none had been in trouble with the cops. On the surface, he could see no reason for any of them to have stolen anything. Well, if it were easy, Stanton wouldn't need him. Whatever the motivation for the theft, it was well hidden. John was going to have to do this the hard way.

The telephone rang, interrupting his thoughts. "John Lawless Investigations," he muttered absently into the receiver.

"Mr. Lawless?"

John recognized Stanton's voice. "Yes, Mr. Stanton. What can I do for you?"

"This morning . . . There's been another theft."

John whistled. "How much?"

"5,000 more in loose stones."

John whistled again. "Can you rule anyone out?"

"No. Everyone was here. Anyone could have taken them. Have you learned anything?"

"No. I've run financials and some other stuff. On the surface, everyone looks clean. We're going to have to do this the hard way."

"The hard way?"

"I'm going to have to have some help. We're going to have to follow every suspect to see what they're hiding."

"Everyone?" Stanton echoed.

"Everyone," John insisted. "Even your wife and son."

"I don't think . . ." Stanton began.

"Pardon me for saying so, sir," John interjected. "But you hired me to think. Either take my advice or fire me."

"Yes, all right, fine." Stanton agreed with obvious reluctance. "Do what you need too, but find out, eh? And quickly."

"I still need pictures of your wife and son."

"I'll messenger them over."

"I'll have the additional help on tomorrow." After John hung up, he rang another P.I. he knew. He arranged to hire four more operatives. He'd set up the operation the next morning.

Her red hair was spread over his chest as she lapped at his nipples. Her naked body lay flat on his. Her damp sex teased his groin with its heat. Her tongue licked the nubs of hard flesh on his chest while her hands caressed his body with feathery touches.

He captured her face and raised it. She grinned, her eyes sparkling at him, emeralds flashing with the fire of desire. He pulled her mouth to his and kissed her hard then reached down and lifted her up.

She flowed over his body her hands stroking him and then she slid his cock inside her. He groaned at the feel of her warm sex capturing him. She rode him hard, her breasts shimmying on her chest as she bounced up and down. Her moans of pleasure were erotic music.

He gripped her hips and thrust hard his body trembling as he came. Again, he woke up having soaked his sheets.

'This is getting ridiculous. Three nights in a row.' This hadn't happened to him since he was a teenager. Again, he stripped his bed and jumped in the shower. Again, he was completely disgusted with himself.

He made coffee and tried to make sense of it. Yes, she WAS attractive, but since when was that enough to make him this randy? Why was he having these dreams? He barely knew her. She was a suspect in a case. He had to stop this. It wasn't going to get him anywhere. He had to get her off his mind. When he assigned suspects, he'd have someone else take her; he'd take the wife.

"I'll take Callahan," he found himself saying several hours later. The four other P.I.'s, Watson, Davis, Freeman and Morgan nodded. John assigned each of them a suspect. He explained, "Someone is stealing gems from my client. We don't know who or why, but we think it has to be one of these five. I've checked the obvious and it's NOT obvious so we have to assume the motive is hidden. Also, these particular stones aren't that easy to move. So I want you to start with their evenings and weekends. Don't let them see you. I want to know who they see, what they do, where they go. Anything out of the ordinary. I also want to know if they pass anything to anyone."

Greg Watson, a tall beefy ex-cop, asked, "How long?"

"As long as it takes. Probably a week at least," John reflected. "I'm guessing that maybe its blackmail, since none of the suspects has an overt need for money or lives above their means. That could mean something rotten in their personal life."

"You get the pretty one," Freeman, a short dark Maori, remarked. "Why's that?"

John laughed. "I'm the boss. Besides, odds are, she's the one."

"She's a nice looking piece of ass," Davis, another ex-cop commented.

"She's one something anyway," Morgan agreed with a laugh.

John was annoyed but he kept that in. "Just take your bloke and do what I tell you. Start tonight and I want daily reports, eh? The client isn't going to pay forever so let's try to get it done quick. You can pick them up at work."

The four detectives nodded, each taking their file and left. John stayed in his office trying to figure out how to fit this into his schedule. He was going to have to rearrange his time with Eric.

John hugged the doorway across the street from Stanton's office as he waited for Kelly to come out. He was not happy. When he'd explained to Eric that he was going to have to work nights for a while, the boy withdrew from him. It hurt him and it ate at him. He told Eric he had a case, even told him a bit about it to try to get Eric to understand, but all the boy seemed to feel was abandoned. John didn't know what to do. He had to make the money and as loath as he was to hurt Eric, his job was part of his life. He was going to have to talk to Shay about it. Maybe she could make Eric understand.

Kelly strolled out of the building. John knew her car, a silver Lexus, was in the car park up the street. John's car was parked nearby as well. Kelly began to stroll slowly in the direction of her car her legs pumping and her arms swinging. As John was about to follow her, he noticed she already HAD a tail.

He watched for a moment not wanting to make it a parade. The bloke who was following Kelly was tall and fat. He wore a shiny brown suit and he moved stealthily, as if he had years of practice at it. He wore a fedora tipped on his head so that his face was hidden.

John stayed on his side of the street keeping the woman and her shadow in view. Fedora followed her to the car park and got into a red car. Kelly got into her Lexus and pulled out on to the street. Fedora followed and so did John. They were a parade. Kelly drove to the gym, parked, opened her boot and pulled out a gym bag. Fedora parked. John parked. Kelly entered the gym. John locked his car, got his gear and entered the gym as well.

John went to the locker room, changed and then went in search of her. Shit, she was over by the heavy bag and so was Eric. Now what? He decided to brazen it out. John strolled over to the bag and remarked, "Gidday, Eric."

Eric's face brightened for a moment and then grew sullen as he complained, "I thought you had to work."

John shrugged. "Plans change. Who's your friend?"

Eric looked at the woman then at John. He shrugged. His face was still an angry sullen mask. "I dunno. She wants to use the bag."

Kelly turned to study John. "He yours?" she asked as she jerked a gloved hand at Eric.

"I've been training him," John muttered. Shit, this was getting worse.

"Training him?" she echoed. She looked speculatively at John and then at the boy. "Not your kid?" she mused reflectively.

"Um . . . no . . ." John lied. "Just a boy I'm training. Anyway, what difference does that make to you?"

"I thought you didn't know her," Eric mumbled suspiciously.

Both adults looked guiltily at the teen. "I don't," John explained slowly. "Just seen her around her a few times." He paused and then seeing the anger, hurt and confusion on his son's face added, "Listen, kid, since I'm here, why don't we work out after all?"

Maybe it was the way John said it or the tone of his voice, but Eric shrugged and muttered, "No thanks. Think I'll skip it after all." When he left, John could see the hurt in him from the way his shoulders slumped as he sulked away. It tore at his heart like a new kind pain he'd never felt before. He wanted to rush after Eric to explain, to make the hurt go away, but he didn't dare. Instead, he turned back to face Kelly.

"He looks enough like you to be your son," Kelly reflected.

John called on all his skill to hide the truth. "Yeah, well, he ain't," he lied again. "So you want some help with the bag?"

"Stuff it," she snapped. "Told you before, I don't need any help."

He shrugged and turned away. He went over to a mat and began to do sit-ups while keeping a watch on her. All the while he wondered how he was going to fix things with Eric. He watched as Kelly worked the heavy bag, the speedball and then she lifted some free weights.

Finally, he had enough. He went into the men's locker, showered, changed and went back to his car. Fedora was still there and so was the Lexus. He stowed his gear, got in his car and wrote down Fedora's plate number. Then he settled in to wait. Kelly finally came out. She looked great, flushed and healthy from her workout, her hair still damp from her shower. She got in her car and again there was a parade. She drove straight home however. Fedora parked, John drove around the block twice and parked two places up from Fedora. Then he waited. He watched lights come on, lights move around the house, then after three hours, all the lights went out. Figuring she was in for the night, he drove home.

The water rolled down his body a steady hot stream caressing him like a pair of hands. Then he felt fingers on his back, slick with soap, massaging his shoulders. The hands moved over his back, tickling his spine, rubbing his ass, then they urged him to turn.

He did and there she was. Naked and grinning, her body dripping with water, her hair damp, her eyes glowing like a cat's. He could feel the water hitting his back, rinsing the soap away. Her hands were still lathered and now they caressed his chest and belly, then moved lower and stroked his aching dick. He grew hard, so hard in her hands.

He pulled her to him and kissed her. He captured her face and crushed her lips with his own, trying to take possession of her with his mouth. She wrapped her arms around him in acquiescence and kissed him, just as passionately, just as hungrily. He moaned and pulled back, rinsed quickly and then pressed her up against the back of the shower. He rubbed against her while his hands searched for her sex.

She opened her legs and arms willingly. He lifted her up as she reached for his cock to guide him in. He grunted as he felt himself move deeply inside her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck.

He began to thrust, grinding into her hard, pushing her back against the tile wall. She moaned and arched into him, her body seeming to respond with a need of it's own. He ached to solve the mystery of this overwhelming desire. He didn't understand it, even as he dreamed it, even as he came so hard, he woke up shaking and shuddering, his body covered with sweat, his chest heaving and his breathing ragged.

He got out of bed shaking his head and looked at the time. Almost six, he might as well get the day started.

John knocked on Shay's door at seven. Shay answered in her yellow dressing gown. She looked as if she'd just gotten up. "What do you want?" she asked angrily.

"I need to see Eric."

"You should have called first. You can't just show up here any time you please. And I'm not so sure he wants to see you."

"I know he's upset. I need to explain."

"He mentioned a woman," she began unhappily.

"Can I please come in?" She shrugged and stepped aside to allow him entry. "Where is he?"

"Kitchen."

John entered the kitchen and saw his son calmly eating a bowl of kornies. Eric wore blue and white pajamas, his hair was sleep tousled and he had a black eye and a bruised jaw. "What happened to you?" John asked.

"What do you care?" Eric snapped.

"I care," John disclosed softly. "I care." John sat down across from him. "You got into a fight, didn't you?"

Eric shrugged as if it didn't matter and put down his spoon.

"I wanted to explain," John began.

"You don't owe me anything," Eric interrupted. "I knew you really didn't want . . ."

"Stop it," John ordered. "I do want. Please, Eric, let me explain. You remember I told you I had a case, that I had to follow a suspect." Eric nodded. "Well, that woman, she's the suspect."

"You're making that up," Eric insisted.

"Eric, I'm not. Have I ever lied to you?" The boy shook his head as if he wasn't sure. "I'm telling you that woman is a suspect and I followed her to the gym. I know it's weird that she works out at the same place we do, but it's a coincidence. That's all there is to it. Believe me, I'd much rather be working with you than following her. But it's my job. I'm sorry that you were caught in the middle. Sorry if what I said to her sounded cold. But she doesn't KNOW I've been following her. And she can't know. So . . ."

"You really WERE working?" Eric asked hesitantly. His hazel eyes were hopeful.

John reached over, touched Eric's hand and then assured him, "I swear. Eric, I promise I will never lie to you. I do want to train you and do the other stuff we talked about. I hope you know I think of you as more than . . . I'm sorry if you got hurt. I didn't mean to and I'll try not to hurt your feelings again, okay?"

Eric nodded. He studied John's face for long moment and then he asked, "When do you think we might be able to start again?"

"I don't know. Depends on how long the job takes. But I promise, as soon as I can, we will."

"Okay, then. In the meantime, I guess I should keep working out. Alone I mean."

"That'd be good. You keep building your muscles. And remember if you see her or me, she can't know what I'm up to."

"She do something bad?"

John shrugged. "I dunno yet. That's what I'm trying to find out."

"She seemed nice at first. At least until you showed up," Eric mused. "She's very pretty. What's she supposed to have done?"

"If I tell you, you'll have to promise to keep it quiet. Can you do that?" Eric nodded eagerly. "She's one of five people suspected of stealing some gems. Anyway, I'm not sure it's her."

"A thief?" Eric echoed. "She doesn't look like a thief."

"And what does a thief look like?" John asked trying to hide his amusement.

Eric grinned ruefully. "I dunno." He pushed his cereal away. "Better take my shower, eh?" He got up from the table and brushed past John and Shay who had followed and listened to the explanation.

"That was a pretty story," she commented dryly after she heard the bathroom door shut.

John rounded on her angrily. "You have some nerve accusing me of lying. It happens to be the truth. I have never lied to him and I'm not about to start now."

She could see how angry he was. "Still," she muttered, "that wasn't ALL of the truth."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" John demanded.

"Eric gave me a blow by blow when he got home. How you told him you had to work, how you showed up at the gym, how you KNEW the woman, how you rejected him, and then how he managed to get into a fight. He thought you knew the woman pretty well."

John took a deep breath to keep from exploding. He could hear the anger and jealousy in Shay's voice and though he knew he didn't owe her an explanation he still needed her help. He clenched his fists and finally revealed, "I WAS working. I had seen the woman around the gym before and she IS a suspect in a series of jewel thefts. I did not reject Eric. I told him the truth across the board. Shay, this isn't working. We need to tell him."

"No. Look how he reacted when he just THOUGHT you lied to him. What's gonna happen . . . We can't." Shay eyed him pensively. "And you are more interested in that woman than just as a suspect."

"Why would you say that?"

"Something in your voice. He sensed it too. That's part of why he got so upset. I think he thought he was being replaced."

John knew that wasn't quite true. Shay was the one who felt like SHE was being replaced. He sank back down on the chair overwhelmed with everything.

Shay came around and sat across from him. She reached out and took his hand. "I'm sorry, John. I know this can't be easy for you. It isn't easy for me either. Being a parent is tough at the best of times and I know it's new to you. But Eric cares for you and what you do effects him in all sorts of ways. He was convinced that you didn't want to train him because you wanted to be with that woman. He was hurt, angry, jealous and he felt betrayed. Even if he knew the truth, he'd have felt the same."

John studied her. Shay's hair was loose around her face. Her eyes were focused on his and they were clearly hurt. Her mouth was pressed in a thin line. The dressing gown had come open a little and he could see her cleavage. Though he was still attracted to her, would probably always be attracted to her, he knew that it was mostly nostalgia and a kind of strange gratitude for Eric. He cared about her, but a relationship was out of the question, he would always be afraid of losing Eric if something went wrong.

As he stared at her, he began to suspect that while some of what she had said might be true of Eric; ALL of it was true of her. He explained very gently, "Shay, we have to face facts. As long as I remain on the outskirts of his life with no claim on him, he's never going to believe I'm not going to abandon or betray him. As long as he thinks I'm only his coach, he's always going to feel like I could walk away anytime. He needs to know I'm not going to do that. Needs to know I'm going to be here for him whenever he needs me. Explain to me how we can make him understand that without telling him the truth."

"But, John," she refuted softly. "That's not really true, is it? After all, your job does mean irregular hours, trips, being unavailable sometimes. As much as you say you intend to always be there for him, you really can't promise that."

He considered her words for moment. "You have a point," he grudgingly admitted. "My job might get in the way sometimes. But all the same, I still think he would feel more secure if he knew."

Shay sighed. "Let me think about it. You've made so much progress with him. I know this seems like a setback and it is, but . . ."

"I love him, Shay," John confessed softly. "I want him to know that. To believe it. To know he has someone besides you. Someone else he can count on. I don't want to hurt him. It's tearing me up."

Shay patted his hand as her eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault. I should never . . . Shit . . ."

The kitchen grew very quiet as they stared at each other. Finally John spoke. "There's no way out, is there? If we keep the secret, I'll always feel like a fraud around him. He'll never believe I really care. If we tell him, you risk losing him, bloody hell, we both do. No matter what happens, he's going to be hurt. This really stinks."

"There is one way," she declared in a very small voice.

"What?"

She dropped her eyes and stared at her hands as she acknowledged, "You won't like it."

He shook his head and insisted, "Tell me anyway, because I sure bloody well don't like my present options."

She took a deep breath, swallowed once and then raised her eyes. She stared straight at him and informed him, "You could marry me and adopt him."

John's jaw dropped, his eyes opened wide as he exclaimed, "Christ, you can't be serious."

She gave a bitter little laugh and replied, "I told you you wouldn't like it."

Suddenly he laughed. "Yeah, you did. And I don't. Shay," he explained gently. "I know this isn't what you want to hear, but I don't love you. And I'm not going to . . . As much as I love him, that would be wrong for all of us. As wrong as it would have been fourteen years ago."

"Well," she mumbled as she dropped her eyes, "it's an option. Only, I didn't really expect you to want to. It would just be easier, that's all."

"Easier for who?" he asked rhetorically. "Shay, it's over between us. We can't go back or forward that way. But I want us to be friends, I hope we can be friends. For his sake."

"Just don't ask me to dance at your wedding," she complained in an undertone.

"My wedding?" he echoed with a laugh. "I'm not going out with anyone."

"What about . . ." she mused speculatively.

"I told you, she's a suspect. I've got to get to work," he added as he rose from the table. "Just think about it, eh? I can't go on like this much longer. Something's gonna give."

She nodded and saw him to the door. After it closed behind him she leaned against it, tears spilling from her eyes. She heard the bathroom door opening and quickly wiped her tears away on the sleeve of her dressing gown.

Eric peeked his head around the corner. He was wearing a towel wrapped around his waist and with his damp dark hair curling and his recently developed chest and arm muscles; he looked so much like his father her heart nearly stopped. "Where's John?" he asked.

"Had to go to work. He was really worried about you."

"He was?" Eric asked incredulously.

"Yes," Shay repeated. "He really cares about you. And I do think he meant what he said. About not lying to you."

"You like him, dontcha?" Eric asked.

She nodded. "He's a good bloke. Always was. You better get dressed before you catch your death."

Eric eyed her speculatively. "You don't think he's being . . . you know, nice cause . . ."

"He likes you, Eric. He's interested in you. He's a good bloke and he has a good heart. You can trust him." She paused and added, "Get dressed. You don't want to be late for school."

Eric nodded and went to his room.

John went through the reports from the operatives. Makepeace had gone from work to the grocery to home. Dobbins went from work to a pub for dinner and then home. Callahan as he knew had gone to the gym and then home. The wife had gone home with Stanton. The son had gone to his home. While it was theoretically possible that Makepeace, Dobbins, or Callahan could've passed on the stones he doubted it. They hadn't spoken to anyone for more than five minutes in any of the places they went and no one saw them pass anything. He ran Fedora's plate number and didn't like what he discovered. Fedora's car was registered to Winston Enterprises. He decided it was time to pay a visit to the casino owner.

He hadn't called ahead; instead, he appeared at the legitimate offices of Winston Enterprises. They were in a different building than the casino and as luck would have it, Winston was in.

This office was even bigger and more opulent than the one in the casino. "And to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" Winston asked after John was seated.

John gazed at the magnate consideringly. He was still expensively dressed, still stylishly turned out, still looked like a bloke who never did his own dirty work. "Wanted to thank you for throwing some business my way," John remarked with a smile.

Winston laughed. "Figured I owed you at least one. Besides I like Stanton and his wife makes choice things."

"He said you were a good customer," John agreed.

"For eight years now," Winston confirmed with a speculative glance. "So was that it?" he asked. "Cause a phone call would have sufficed."

John shook his head. "What's your interest in Kelly Callahan?"

"Who?" Winston echoed.

"Kelly Callahan. One of your men has been following her." John described Fedora and the car.

Winston shook his head. "I don't think so. I don't know any . . . " he paused and pressed a button on his desk. Fedora walked in. "Twain, what have you been doing?"

Twain glanced nervously from John to Winston and muttered, "Nothing, boss."

Winston looked to John and asked, "Him?" John nodded. "Twain," Winston's voice was low and dangerous when he inquired, "Why are you following someone in one of my cars?"

The fat bloke's face began to flush. "I . . . um . . . she came to the casino one night. I liked her. But she . . . anyway . . . I was just . . ."

Winston began to chuckle. "You thought following her would convince her to go out with you?" Twain nodded. Winston stopped laughing and ordered, "Stop doing it. You're making her nervous."

"Can I ask him a few questions?" John queried. Winston nodded. "How long you been dogging her?"

"Two weeks, maybe," Twain muttered with embarrassment.

"She do anything odd?" The fat bloke shrugged. "How did she do at the casino?"

"She won two hundred bucks," Twain exclaimed with wonder. "She bet on boxing. Picked a real underdog and he won."

"She go back there again?" Twain shook his head. "How much of what she did for those two weeks do you remember?"

"Why you want to know?" Twain asked suspiciously.

Winston answered for John. "Pretend it's me asking and tell him," Winston ordered.

Twain nodded and then thought for a long moment. Finally, he reported, "She went to work, the gym, out with her girlfriends. Never saw her with any blokes. Say maybe she's gay!" he exclaimed.

Winston laughed again and turned to John. "Sorry. Somehow I don't think he's gonna be able to help."

John grinned ruefully. "Doesn't sound like it. Thanks though." John rose and looked at Twain. "No more following her, eh?"

"I saw you last night. Why you following her? You trying to date her too?"

John laughed. "No. Business. Anyways, leave her be."

Twain looked to Winston who nodded his agreement and John left.

That night John again followed Kelly. This time he was the only tail. He wasn't sure he believed the charade he'd witnessed in Winston's office. He wasn't convinced Twain or his boss was telling the whole truth. Still . . . Kelly drove home, changed clothes and then went out again. John followed her to a pub. He waited five minutes and followed her in.

He went to the bar, ordered a beer and scanned the room. She was sitting in the back with two other women. They were talking and laughing. He moved behind a post where he could see them but not be seen. He watched for a bit then gestured for the bartender. "Know them?" John asked.

The bartender glared at him. John pulled a twenty-dollar note out of his pocket and laid it down on the bar. "That help your memory any?" John asked.

"You a cop?" he asked suspiciously.

John laughed. "Private. Cops don't offer to pay. So, you know them?"

The bloke picked up the note. "Yeah. Kelly, Kathy and Jenny. Come here three times a week. Always sit at the same table. Always reject any bloke brave enough to buy them drinks. Always leave together. Why?"

John shrugged. "Curiosity killed the cat. Same three days every week?"

He nodded. "Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, regular as clockwork. Get here at six thirty leave at nine thirty. Three hours, four pints apiece except for the redhead. She doesn't drink. No blokes. All three of them so pretty too."

"Thanks, mate." John muttered. He took a pull of his beer. He'd have bet his car they'd gone to school together, the three girls. They all looked Irish like Kelly. He stayed at the bar watching until the girls began gathering their things then he slipped out. He got in his car prepared to follow Kelly home or somewhere else.

A week later the case was stalled. Stanton had reported another theft of approximately $5,000. The surveillance was drawing a complete blank. He had an enormous amount of information about all of them, but nothing gave him a clue as to who was doing it and why. Further, if any of them were doing it they were definitely NOT moving the stones at least not that he could tell. John was frustrated not only by the case, but by the way it was affecting his life. He missed Eric, he missed Willy and he was still having dreams about Kelly. Each dream was more erotic than the last. John was beginning to think Stanton was taking the stones himself just to drive him completely around the bend.

He was beating the shit out of the heavy bag when he heard a soft cough behind him. "You could really use a holder," she announced.

He turned to find Kelly staring at him. She was grinning and naked. She looked him up and down like he was a tasty treat and then she moved closer.

He was naked too and the next thing he knew, she had his dick in her hand. She was stroking him fast and saying, "I told you you needed a holder."

He grabbed her around the waist with his still gloved hands and pulled her body against him. Her hand kept moving on him faster and faster.

He moaned and pushed her hand away. He slid down to his knees. He grasped her thighs, spread her legs and then he breathed on the red curls of her sex.

She moaned and gripped his head.

He dived into her sweetness like a man deprived of food and water for too long. He tasted her hungrily, desperately, his tongue darting inside and lapping at her juices. He buried himself in the warmth of her mound feeling as if the act of giving her pleasure was the only thing in the world that mattered. Her body responded to him eagerly. He found her clit and licked it slowly.

She shivered, her body trembling with passion. She gripped his head tighter and thrust her pelvis forward.

He teased her clit, running his tongue over and around it, feeling it throb. Her fingers dug into his head, her juices dripped from her. Finally, he took that hardened bud into his mouth and sucked it.

She came hard groaning and humping, her body shuddering, liquid splashed all over his face. He sucked down her juices, darting his tongue inside her until she was moaning again.

She pushed him away, pressed him down on his back and straddled him. She rubbed her wet mound against his hard cock until he thought he would explode. He grabbed her hips and tried to enter her, but he still had his gloves on and he was too clumsy.

She laughed at his torment and continued rubbing against him. Then she took pity on them both, rose and slid him inside.

He sat up, driving his organ more deeply into her. She groaned from the pressure. She wrapped her legs around him and rocked on his lap.

He gripped her tightly and then flipped them over so that she was on her back and he was on top. She moaned his name and clawed at his back.

He grunted with lust and began to pound into her with the same passion he had used to punch the bag. She met him thrust for thrust, her body arching into his her moans now growls. He took possession of her, his gloved hands moving over her body as his hard cock pummeled her.

She moaned his name and spasmed around him. He howled her name, thrust deeply into her, and came in a long hot gush, collapsing against her breasts. Right before he woke up in his lonely empty wet bed, he thought he heard the sound of applause.

"I need a shrink," he muttered to himself as he again stripped the sodden bed. "And more linens." He showered and made some coffee. He'd brought home all the files on the Stanton case and decided to go over them again.

Three hours and two pots of coffee later he thought he had something. After the first week, he had expanded the operation. He had the other detectives switch to days and they'd begun doing deeper background checks, talking to everyone's friends, family and business associates. He'd passed Kelly over to Watson, taking the son for himself. It hadn't helped his personal life any, but he was worried that his lack of objectivity because of his lust for her was getting in the way. Now he thought, in looking at what they'd learned over the past two weeks, there was a pattern to everyone's behavior.

Makepeace was a quiet bloke and a creature of habit. He rose each morning at six and had breakfast at a small restaurant near his home then drove to work. He ate lunch everyday in the park feeding at least half of his sammie to the pigeons. He left the office promptly at five, stopped at the grocery, picked up something ostensibly for dinner then went home and presumably ate it. Every Friday night three blokes came over and played cards. Freeman, the detective working Makepeace, followed one of the other blokes a different night and got him talking. Apparently the four blokes were all lapidaries and they played penny ante poker, the biggest pot around five dollars. Every Sunday Makepeace stopped at a florist, bought two red roses, went to the cemetery and then, according to Freeman, worked on his wife's grave. Freeman said he was making a heart mosaic on her headstone. John wondered what Makepeace's life had been like before his wife died. He knew everyone grieved in their own way, but it seemed to him as if Makepeace had convinced himself that the only way to cope was by following the same routine every day. John thought it was a lonely, sad existence.

Callahan had a much more active life. She worked out at the gym, sometimes in the morning, sometimes at night, depending on her other plans. She met her two girlfriends, whom as John surmised; she HAD gone to Catholic school with, three times a week. She frequently left the office during the day, visiting the shops, lunching, or meetings with gem brokers. She didn't have a bloke that he could tell. Every Sunday she went to church and then drove to her parent's home. She'd spend at least three hours there and always left looking grumpy and miserable.

He knew a lot more about her than just those dry facts. He knew she had been a holy terror in school, with a mouth on her that constantly got her into trouble, yet the nuns all loved her. Her friends said she was smart and funny, loyal and dependable. She had a fiery temper, but was also quick to forgive. The gem brokers she dealt with found her knowledgeable and tough, a devil of a negotiator. There was not a single hint that she would countenance anything dirty, and yet she was still his best bet. She was the only one of them who had "innocent" contact with potential buyers.

He had learned that her father was a bricklayer who drank and her mother stayed at home. She had a large family, six siblings, all of whom were married. Her mother complained to anyone who would listen that Kelly would NEVER find a bloke. He had talked to almost everyone she knew and he had a good picture of her personality: tempestuous, warm-hearted, fiery, cheeky, smart, beautiful and he wanted her so badly he was beginning to believe he had been bewitched.

Vicki Stanton's life was both simpler and more complicated than Callahan's. She usually rode to and from work with her husband. He studied her picture wondering if there was some clue to her behavior there. She was a large woman in both size and stature. She had a round cheerful face and countenance and very delicate hands, an artist's hands. John had seen some of her work; her jewelry designs were unique and lovely. Her custom pieces showed an artist's vision, fantasies of filigree set with sparkling color. Unlike many artisan's she didn't specialize in specific metals or stones. She seemed as comfortable designing a classic solitaire setting in platinum as she did a wild colorful bracelet of semi-precious stones in silver. Her custom work ran the gamut of price from one hundred dollars to tens of thousands of dollars. All that was simple.

Where it got complicated was that she left the office three days a week for a "walk." Even though she never seemed to be aware of her tail she had always so far managed to lose it, returning to the office exactly one hour and twenty minutes after she left it. The days she took her "constitutionals" always seemed to coincide with days that stones vanished. This made John extremely suspicious, since Stanton didn't know where she went and they had been unable to track her. He was determined now to do so.

Dobbins had a very active life too. It hadn't taken long for them to discover he was gay. Dobbins wasn't presently in a relationship. He frequented several pubs and nightclubs and had a habit of picking up young boys. As far as they could tell his partners weren't under age, but they were young. Still, that didn't actually mean anything. Dobbins was pretty and it was unlikely he had to pay for it. In addition, he was single and in a field where his sexuality was irrelevant. Stanton was aware of his employee's sexual orientation and didn't care. So while John supposed it was possible that Dobbins was being blackmailed by one of the dates he picked up, he didn't think it was likely. Still, he couldn't rule him out either, not without more information.

Lastly, there was Michael Stanton, the son. He was married with a beautiful wife and two little girls. He was young, only 35. He had grown up in the business and seemed happy to follow in his father's footsteps. He did an excellent job running the stores. The staff liked him and so did the customers. He always appeared happy and content. He rushed home from work each night to be with his family. He was involved in the community; the school and everyone spoke well of him. There seemed to be nothing to indicate a need on his part for thievery.

John shook his head. The wife, Callahan or Dobbins. It had to be one of those three. Right now, despite the obviousness of Callahan, he liked the wife for it. He didn't see the son doing it; there was no reason and no payoff that he could see. Eventually the business would become Michael's when Stanton retired. Makepeace's life was simple and aboveboard. He had no axe to grind no need for cash, no overt or hidden reason that John could see to steal anything. And there was no way he could have passed the stones without them seeing it. John had even had Freeman make a second contact with the other lapidary to determine if Makepeace could be passing the stones during the poker game. He wasn't. John amused himself with the fanciful thought that Makepeace might be feeding the stones to the pigeons via his sammie, but laughed it off. Unless there was some twist in Makepeace's psyche they hadn't found yet, John didn't see him as the culprit.

When John got to his office that morning he reassigned the P.I.'s on Makepeace and the wife. He switched Davis to Callahan, put Watson on Dobbins, and told them to use the other two as backup. From now on, until they cracked this, he wanted Callahan and Dobbins covered twenty-four hours a day. He would take the wife himself.

John waited in the doorway across from Stanton's office. Today was one of the days Vicki Stanton vanished at lunchtime. He was determined she wasn't going to vanish from him. At the stroke of noon, she waddled slowly out of the building. John followed her at a discreet distance. As far as he could determine from the reports, her strolls seemed rambling and yet, each day when she returned, she would come from a different direction. He wondered what she was hiding.

She walked down the block and made a right on to the next street. There was a Farmer's department store there. She entered the store as if she had a purpose; perhaps she needed a new dress? John knew this was one of the places where the other operatives had lost her so he quickened his pursuit.

She did indeed go to Women's Dresses, and then she turned and went out the side exit. John followed. So far so good. Mrs. Stanton continued strolling, in what appeared to be an aimless manner, for another block and then she entered a four-story building. She got on the lift and the door closed before John could catch it.

He watched the call sign to see where the lift stopped. Second and fourth floors. He turned and looked at the list of names on the placard.

2^nd floor - Trent Jewelers, Kirby Jewelers, Barton Lewis, Esquire and Freedom Enterprises

4^th floor - Keystone Jewelers, Dr. Jacoby, Optical Illusions and Jenny Craig

He shook his head. This did not bode well for his client. Three jewelers as well as a solicitor. What was Vicki Stanton up to?

John waited and when Mrs. Stanton finally left the building a little over an hour later, he was on her tail. She went straight back to the office. John found a pay phone and rang Stanton. When he got him on the phone he directed, "Can you make sure you keep your wife there until I ring you back?"

Stanton, to his credit, didn't ask why, he simply agreed. When John hung up, he had the impression that Stanton had also come to believe his wife was the thief.

John went back to the building and took the lift to the second floor. He entered each of the premises and told the same story. His auntie, whom he loved dearly, but who was MORE than a little addled, had been visiting in the building and lost her purse. She couldn't remember WHERE she had been and was so shaken that she couldn't come back and try to find it. Had they seen her? He described Vicki Stanton to a tee. No one in any of the offices on the second floor admitted knowing her let alone seeing her. John went to the fourth floor and tried the same scam. He hit pay dirt in the offices of Dr. Jacoby.

The receptionist was more than happy to help the handsome bloke who looked so concerned about his auntie. She knew it was against the rules, but she admitted, "Oh yes, Mrs. Stanton. She comes three times a week. Let me just check with Dr. Jacoby, although I don't remember her even having a purse when she was here." The receptionist rang through to the doctor and to John's surprise the doctor appeared.

Dr. Janet Jacoby strolled out of her office and studied the tall bloke who stood in her lobby. He was quite good-looking and clearly lying. She wondered why. "Thank you, Gail," the doctor commented dryly. "Mr. . . ."

"Lawless," he divulged. "John Lawless."

"Mr. Lawless," Dr. Jacoby repeated. "Would you like to come in my office and look for your aunt's . . . purse?"

John swallowed hard as he looked at the woman. She was short and overweight. She wore thick glasses and orthopedic shoes. Yet there was something so incredibly dynamic about her, after about ten seconds you forgot who you were looking at, convinced that she was Rachel Hunter. John decided to go with it. "That'd be choice," he mumbled. "She's always losing things."

"Is she now?" Dr. Jacoby echoed as she gestured for John to enter her office. She followed him in. "Mr. Lawless, you know perfectly well that Vicki Stanton didn't leave her purse here. And so do I. So, why not tell me the truth?"

John swallowed convulsively. He hated being caught out. "What kind of doctor are you?" he asked.

She laughed softly. "I'm a psychiatrist. Are you in need of help?"

Suddenly John roared with laughter. Christ, she was echoing his early morning thoughts. "No, I don't think so. Vicki Stanton is a patient of yours?"

"I don't discuss my patients with anyone. It's against the law. However, apparently Gail has admitted she is a patient, so . . . Yes."

"She comes three times a week?" John asked.

"Just why do you want to know?"

John decided to tell part of the truth. "I'm a private investigator. Mrs. Stanton's husband is a little concerned because she hasn't been acting like herself lately. He was worried. So . . ."

"Not a very good lie," Dr. Jacoby commented dryly. "Try again."

"I AM a private investigator. Just as you aren't supposed to discuss your clients . . . if she's coming here three times a week, then I guess she isn't the one I'm looking for."

"I see," Dr. Jacoby remarked. She thought for a moment. "Vicki Stanton is a lovely woman with a problem. I have been seeing her for four months, three times a week."

"Would her problem have anything to do with stealing?" John asked. Her visits matched the approximate timetable of the thefts.

Dr. Jacoby shook her head. "No. Her problem is much more prosaic. Is there a theft involved here?"

John nodded. "I shouldn't tell you, but . . . Someone has been stealing gems from Stanton's stock. I've been hired to find out who and why. When we discovered that Mrs. Stanton was going missing three times a week, same day as the thefts took place . . . It didn't look too good for her. But if she's coming here . . . well, coincidences do happen."

"That's why they call them coincidences," the doctor mused prudently. "Still, I can set your mind at rest. Mrs. Stanton is not a thief. And her problem has nothing to do with stealing or even money."

"I don't suppose . . . " he requested softly.

"No, I will not explain. However, you may have noticed another business down the hall? If you check there, you'll discover they also know Mrs. Stanton. That may give you some clue as to what is going on here," she added with amusement.

John nodded discreetly. She'd given him more than he had hoped for. "Do you have a specialty?" he asked curiously.

The doctor laughed softly. "So you DO think you need help?"

He shook his head, "No. Just nosy."

She looked John up and down with a critical eye and suggested, "You probably just need a woman. That's usually the problem for most healthy blokes. A good woman solves a multitude of problems."

John's jaw dropped. "You can tell that from just looking at me?"

"You'd be amazed at what I can tell from looking at someone," the doctor observed with a laugh. "However, your body language speaks volumes. You move like a bloke who needs a woman."

"Christ," he mumbled. He felt his face flush bright red and then he retorted, "Thanks for your help."

"I charge sixty an hour. You can make an appointment with my receptionist if you're interested," she added her voice full of mirth as John turned to go.

John fled from the doctor and the office. He supposed she was right, he DID need a woman. Still . . . he checked the offices of Jenny Craig and discovered it was a weight loss clinic and that they too knew Mrs. Stanton. So now he knew what Mrs. Stanton was up to. Her mystery was solved, but that still left the thefts to be explained.

John rang Stanton back and explained that his wife's tri-weekly visits were not related to the thefts. He didn't explain what she WAS doing, just told Stanton not to worry. He could hear the relief in Stanton's voice. That left Dobbins and Callahan. One of them MUST be the thief. But which one? And how to find out? He decided it was time to meet Dobbins.

John parked across the street from the nightclub. He nodded to Watson, who was lurking in the shadows smoking a cigarette. Then he strolled into the club. The place was packed and very noisy. There was loud disco music playing, very eighties, and the hubbub of conversation swirled around him like a swarm of bees. The dance floor was packed and the whole room had a highly charged sexual atmosphere that John found very disconcerting.

He sidled over to a long pastel bar and checked out the room. It was almost all men and he suspected the few women weren't women at all. He worked his way up to the rail and got the bartender's attention. The barkeep had pink hair and twelve earrings on his left ear. He wore an orange satin shirt tied above his waist and tight black pants that showed an impressive bulge. He had on a nametag that said, "Sam."

"Gidday, Sam," John greeted him. "Lager, please."

Sam batted long black eyelashes at him and fluttered, "Ooh, a new one and polite too! Haven't seen you around here before, honey. You new in town?"

John shook his head as he felt himself blushing. "My first time here."

"And shy too!" Sam giggled at him. He moved away for a moment and then returned with a tall frosted glass full of beer.

John dropped a twenty on the bar and grasped the glass eagerly, wanting something to do with his hands. He could feel the interest from not only Sam, but other eyes on him as well. As uncomfortable as he sometimes got from women's attention, he realized that this was even worse. He took a sip of the beer; it slid nicely down his throat.

Sam leaned over the bar and whispered conspiratorially, "So are you looking for something in particular?"

John swallowed hard. It took him a moment to realize that this was a heaven sent opportunity. He nodded slowly and mumbled, "Well, Sam, I . . ." he felt his flush deepen and knew he could use it.

Sam leaned even closer. "You can tell me what you want. I make it a policy," he added as he stroked John's arm, "to help out the first timers." Sam continued to rub John's arm as he added, "Nice muscles."

John resisted the urge to smack Sam's hands away. He scanned the room looking for Dobbins. He finally found him sitting alone at a table in the back. He looked at Sam and gestured, "He's pretty."

Sam shook his head. "That he is. But you're not his type."

"No?" John pretended massive disappointment. He pouted. "Why not?"

"He likes 'em young and rough. You're too nice and too old."

"So you think he wouldn't fancy me?"

"He'd be a fool not to fancy you, but like I said, you're not his type. You are mine though."

John grinned at Sam. "Sorry. You think . . . what's he drink? Maybe I'll take a crack anyway."

"Getting braver by the minute, eh? He likes Grand Marnier."

"Give me two and wish me luck."

"How about a kiss for it?" Sam teased. Sam puckered his lips but then at the last moment pulled back with a sad smile. "Nah, I can see you're not interested." Sam walked away and then came back with two snifters.

John thanked him and strolled over to Dobbins' table. John stood there studying Dobbins for moment; he lounged in the chair his blue eyes scanning the room. Then he seemed to notice the tall bloke who stood in front of him. He looked John up and down his eyes raking John's form. As they reached John's chest they sparked for moment but then as they moved to his face the light died.

"Sam says you like Grand Marnier," John suggested in a shy voice.

Dobbins laughed. His blue eyes got very bright with amusement and then he acknowledged, "Sam talks too much. Well, sit down already."

John put the two glasses on the table and pulled out a chair. He sat down and pushed one snifter toward Dobbins.

Clyde looked at it and then back at John. "If he told you this much, he probably also told you, you're not my usual."

John grinned ruefully. "I said I'd have a go anyway."

Dobbins eyed him speculatively. "You could have your pick of just about anyone in here. Why me?"

John shrugged. "You're pretty."

Dobbins continued to study him. "You're not gay," Dobbins declared finally. "What do you want?"

"I don't . . . I'm not . . ." John stuttered. Again, he felt a flush climb up his face.

Dobbins laughed. "Exploring the wild side on a dare maybe? Some of your mates tease you and make you think maybe there's something to find out?" Dobbins shook his head. "Some woman make fun of you? What's your name?"

John felt his embarrassment grow. "John," he finally stammered.

"John," Dobbins admitted, "I'm Clyde. So if you're not gay, why are you here?"

"What makes you think I'm not gay?" John finally managed to ask.

Clyde laughed. "You're the most masculine thing I've ever seen. Heterosexuality screams from your every pore. Besides, despite your claim that you think I'm pretty, you don't look at me as if you mean it. So . . . why are you here?"

Shit, he was going to HAVE to get out in the field more often. He was losing his touch. First, the shrink and now Dobbins. "I'm curious," he mumbled. "I've always been a little . . ."

"Ah . . . had a few experiences when you were a schoolboy, so you always wondered. Look, John, you did say that was your name?" John nodded. "Let me tell you something. Being homosexual even in this day and age is not easy. I don't recommend it. Exploring when young is one thing, but these days . . ."

"Did you always know?" John asked curiously.

Dobbins nodded. "All my life. Never had any doubts or confusion."

"So you're out then? How does that play where you work?"

"No, not out exactly. I don't tell the world, but I don't hide it either. I feel like it isn't anyone's business but mine."

"You say it's tough though. That mean it's caused trouble?"

Clyde shook his head. "Never. But I have friends who, well, let's just say that not everyone is as tolerant as they could be."

"So no one's given you trouble?"

"Nope. I've been very lucky, but then I'm careful too. Always take precautions and such. John, go home. You don't really want to be here. I can tell. Whoever told you you were gay was wrong. Just trying to get your goat."

John was grateful for the opening. After spending just these few minutes with Dobbins he knew if the bloke was stealing, it had nothing to do with his lifestyle. He was clearly comfortable with his sexuality and his lifestyle. He simply wished to keep his personal life private and separate from his professional one. John thanked Clyde for the good advice and split.

When John got outside he took a deep breath of fresh air and walked over to where Watson waited.

Watson eyed him speculatively and remarked, "Well, you look like you're still a virgin."

John rolled his eyes. "Who writes your material?"

"Learn anything?" Watson asked.

"Yeah, I'm not gay," John remarked dryly. "Otherwise, no. I don't think he's our man."

"Well, he's not yours anyway," Watson muttered with a lisp. "But he could be mine."

John grinned and shook his head. "Can it. I'm betting its Callahan. Work with Davis. I want her covered twenty-four hours a day. We have to catch her moving the stones."

"Whatcha gonna do?"

"Well, since I've already met her at the gym, think I'll try to get close to her."

"Funny how she works out at your gym, isn't it?"

John shrugged. "Small world. Anyways I'm going home. Why don't you do the same and then you can pick up Callahan tomorrow night."

"Why not let me get close to her?"

John laughed. "Thought Dobbins was your type?" Then he added, "I'm already acquainted. It'll seem less suspicious if I ask her out, don't you think?"

Watson muttered, "Suppose so. If she turns you down though, will you let me have a crack?"

"Sure, mate, sure." John replied. Then he got in his car and drove home.

They were in the sauna. It was very hot, steam rose from the fire pit, blanketing the room. She was behind him, her breasts rubbing against his back as her hands massaged his shoulders. "You work too hard," she insisted. "And you make everything too complicated. The simplest explanation is usually the right one."

He leaned back against her feeling his taut muscles relax under her caress. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Her lips began to kiss the back of his neck and her hands moved lower to caress his already hard dick. "The answer's right in front of you. You just aren't seeing it. You're always looking in the shadows when you should be studying the sunlight."

He tried to think about that, to apply it to the problem he sought to solve, but her hands were stroking him and her tongue was licking his spine. He got lost in the erotic sensations as she began jerking him off.

When he woke up, he was not only annoyed and sexually frustrated, he knew that somewhere in the back of his mind he had solved the case. The answer was there, right in front of him, but he still couldn't see it.

She was working the speedball when he arrived in the gym. She wore gray shorts and a gray workout bra. Her body was covered with a light sheen of sweat. Her red hair was pulled back into a ponytail and it swung every time she did. He strode over to her and confessed, "I may be a dickhead, but not for the reasons you suppose. Can I have a moment?"

She jabbed viciously at the speedball a few more times and then stilled it. She looked him up and down as if she wasn't sure she should agree and then she shrugged and acknowledged, "Go ahead."

"My name is John Lawless. The first few times we met, I was NOT coming on to you. Although I can see how you might think that I was. I was a boxer and I AM training Eric Katawny, mostly to keep him out of trouble. I'm sorry for any misunderstandings that might have arisen, but honestly, I was just trying to help." He paused and searched her eyes waiting for a reaction.

Kelly studied him with amusement. Really, he was SUCH a spunk, but . . . "And?" she prompted.

"And, now I'd like to . . ." Her face was so damn close. Her mouth, the luscious lips he dreamed of kissing, her pink tongue that in his dreams knew just how to lick him was only inches away. He sucked in his breath and asked, "I'd like to know your name."

She smiled. "It's Kelly," she admitted softly. "Anything else?"

Her tone was so . . . "Yes, damn it, there is!" he muttered. Then he did it. He pulled her into his arms; he captured her face, bent his head and kissed her. His lips came down on hers and an electric charge seemed to surge through his entire body. Oh Christ, he shouldn't be doing this. Except, she wasn't fighting him. She was kissing him back!

Kelly felt his arms go around her, his lips press to hers and she melted into him. She'd been having the most incredible erotic dreams about him for almost two weeks. Ever since she'd seen him in the sauna, seen his reaction to her AND the size of his reaction, she couldn't quite get him out of her mind. The attraction was intensely physical and almost completely overwhelming. For a moment, she wondered if this was another dream, but his body felt too real, the sensations too vivid. She had no idea why he'd decided to kiss her, but she went with it, glad that he'd taken the initiative. Kelly wrapped her arms around him and returned his kiss with enthusiasm. Her whole body felt like it was on fire.

The kiss grew and so did their audience. John was dimly aware that a bunch of blokes were surrounding them and comments were being made. He didn't care. The feel of her body, the touch of her lips and the heat of her embrace were all that mattered. It was five times, no five hundred times more erotic than any of his dreams. He ran his hands up her back and pulled her tighter against him. Her body was hard and soft, her flesh damp with sweat. She smelled of strawberries and the tang of perspiration. Her mouth tasted sweet like a lolly. He drowned in the sensuousness of the kiss losing himself in the moment.

Kelly clung to him her only regret the boxing gloves on her hands that kept her from tangling her fingers in his hair. His body felt so hard, all of him, and despite the enormous passion flowing between them, the kiss was very gentle. She parted her lips when she felt his tongue probing and moaned when it slipped into her mouth. She pressed harder against him her gloved hands pulling him tight.

How long they would have kissed is a mystery that will never be solved, for when John heard the applause reminiscent of his dream, he pulled back from her.

He studied her face. To his great joy, she was looking at him with desire. "Should I apologize?" he asked.

"Only if you didn't enjoy it," she whispered. "But from the way you feel I think you liked it very much."

He tilted her head so he could look into her eyes. "I'm not sorry, although perhaps I should have picked a less public place."

"The steam room?" she teased. Then her expression turned serious as she confessed, "John, I . . . as a rule I don't do things like this."

"Me either," he confirmed. "Kelly . . . will you have dinner with me tonight?"

"I'd love to," she murmured.

"Bewdy. I'll pick you up at work."

"How do you know I work?" she asked suspiciously.

"If you promise not to call me an ass again, I assumed it," he lied.

She laughed. "You are an ass. I do work. And I . . . Anyway, how about we meet somewhere?"

"Whatever you want. I just want to know you better."

"You keep holding me like this and we'll know each other a lot better than my priest thinks proper," she retorted.

He touched her face lightly and took the hint. He released her and asked, "Where do you want to meet and when?"

"How about six thirty at the Aubuchon?"

He nodded. "Works for me. I'd better hit the showers."

"But you didn't get your work out," she teased.

He pulled her back into his arms and whispered, "If you could feel my heartbeat you'd know I got more of a workout than I can handle." He bent his head and lightly brushed his lips over hers one last time. "I need a very cold shower," he added.

She smiled and murmured, "I'll see you tonight."

John whistled all the way to his office. It had been a stupid move, a bonehead move, an out of character move, probably a mistake, and even though he knew all that, he was still glad he'd done it. It didn't matter that she might be a thief, that he'd now lied to her at least twice and that if she found out, WHEN she found out she'd probably explode. He'd bet the making up would be spectacular. Whatever was happening to him, it was inexplicable, extraordinary and he didn't think he'd ever experienced anything quite like it in his life. For once he wasn't analyzing, he was just feeling and it was amazing. Now if he could only solve the case.

Six hours later he had the answer and wondered why he hadn't seen it sooner. Then he realized that like his dream, he HAD been making it too complicated and had been looking in the shadows instead of the sunlight. He also had to admit he had been far too distracted with thoughts of Kelly. The answer had been staring him in the face all along. It was simple after all. Simple, sad and easily fixed. He'd been a fool not to realize that the key was the fact that the stones hadn't been moved. He called Watson and Davis and told them to end the surveillance. He called Stanton and told him the case was solved. He needed three more days, but then he could return the stones. All the stones. He assured Stanton that even if anything disappeared now, they would still be returned on Monday. He called Shay and told her that starting the next day, Friday, he would begin training Eric again and could she please tell him so.

Then he left his office to check on his hypothesis. He found what he was looking for and the proof that he was right. With a much lighter heart, he went off to meet Kelly for dinner.

John was waiting in the restaurant for Kelly when she arrived. She looked lovely in a pale green summer suit, her red hair was loose and her face was flushed as if she was excited or embarrassed or both. He saw her hands and realized that his dream was accurate. She did bite her nails.

Her face lit up when she saw him and her eyes sparkled. "Evening," she greeted him.

"Hi," he muttered suddenly feeling a little bit awkward.

She guessed this was probably as weird to him as it was to her. "Kelly Callahan, nice to meet you," she stated to break the ice.

He grinned. "John Lawless. You come here often?"

She laughed. "No. And if you don't get some better lines, I'll never come at all."

He flushed at the double entendre. Usually he HATED cheeky women, but somehow with Kelly, it was okay. He offered her his arm.

After they were seated the waiter asked for their drink order and Kelly requested iced tea. John ordered beer and saw her grimace. "You don't drink?" he asked curiously.

"The first time we met you smelled like a distillery. My Da's a . . . an alcoholic. If you have a problem . . ."

"My Mum is an alcoholic so I understand your concern," John explained softly. "Even so, I do like to drink and sometimes I have been known to drink too much. Oftentimes for a while, but . . ." He paused and added, "if it bothers you, I won't drink."

She studied him. His hair was partially pulled back, but long dark curls framed his strong jaw. She could see gray among the dark thickness and it made him look a little older than she would have guessed him to be. His gold hoop earring sparkled in the light from a candle in the center of the table. With his hair pulled off his face like that, she could see just how handsome he was and there was no question, he was handsome. Still, his brown eyes were clear, sincere and soberly focused on her. She suspected that her first impression that he was too full of himself was wrong. She had the strongest sense that what was happening between them confounded him as much as it confounded her but he was making every attempt to be open to it and see where it led. "Well, we have that in common," she murmured softly. She decided to trust him and added, "It's all right. Have your beer."

"Tell me about yourself, what you do, where you went to school, your favorite color."

She laughed. "You don't want much, do you?"

He looked across the table at her. Their eyes met and once again, John felt like he was falling into deep green water. The glance was electric and he could feel his body respond automatically and completely. He took her hand and confessed softly, "Kelly, I think I want it all."

She sucked in her breath and began to talk. Dinner seemed to last no time at all. Kelly told John everything, most of which he already knew. He was chuffed she hadn't lied, not even once. She was vivacious and animated. It was clear she loved her work, loved most things about her life, in fact, loved life itself and took joy from everything around her. He could tell she had a temper, but then he already knew that. He also knew that when she found out the truth, she was going to be very angry indeed.

She asked him about himself and he managed to answer without lying. He did confess to being a private investigator, which she found fascinating. She asked a lot of questions about that and he entertained her with some stories of past cases. In spite of his need to evade a whole host of issues, he was having such a good time he didn't want the evening to end. She was easy to talk to and had a way about her that made him feel comfortable and relaxed despite the sexual attraction that crackled like a forest fire between them.

Eventually the meal was finished, though they lingered over dessert and coffee until the restaurant was empty except for them.

"John," she observed, "I think they want to close. It's been a lovely evening, but . . ."

"But what?" he asked. Did she want to get rid of him?

"But I have to work tomorrow," she added with amusement.

"Oh, sorry. Can I . . . Let me get the bill and we can go."

She nodded. John got the check, left a huge tip and then pulled out her chair. Her body brushed his as she moved past him and he felt a charge of electricity like a bolt of lightning. "Can I see you home?" he asked.

She shook her head. "John, I . . . I'm Catholic," she muttered as if that explained everything.

It took him a moment to understand what she was implying. "I wasn't suggesting," he began with embarrassment.

"Maybe not," she interjected, "but if you kiss me the way you did at the gym, well, there's no telling where it could lead. And I already have enough to confess." Then she laughed.

John laughed with her. "Can I see you again?" he asked hopefully.

She nodded. "I'd like that."

"Bewdy. How about Saturday night?"

She shook her head. "Can't. I'm busy. How about Sunday?"

He shook his head. "Can't. Got to work. Monday?"

She shook her head. "No, plans. Tuesday night?"

"Tuesday works, it just seems so long," he complained.

"Well," she teased as they left the restaurant, "you could always check the woman's steam room."

He laughed and walked her to her car. "Does this mean I can't kiss you goodnight?"

She laughed softly, put her arms around his neck and whispered, "I'll say an extra rosary before I go to bed."

He bent his head and lightly brushed her lips with his. Then he sucked her upper lip. She moaned and pulled his head back down to hers, tangled her fingers in his thick hair and kissed him gently.

He put his arms around her and returned the kiss. It was enchanting. A leisurely exploration of the taste and flavor of her mouth. He darted his tongue out and traced her lips. They parted eagerly for him. He dipped into her mouth; the warm wet cavity was sweet. His arms tightened around her and she pressed against him. He kissed her for a long time, their lips rubbing together in an age-old dance that somehow felt new as they did it. His fingers caressed the smooth soft skin at the nape of her neck.

She moaned. The feel of his lips and the touch of his fingers were making her entire body dissolve into liquid. She had NEVER known a kiss to arouse her so much before. She ran her fingers up and down his arms, feeling his hot skin and the hard firm muscles.

He moaned from the feel of her silken fingers and kissed her cheek, then explored the velvety honeyed taste of her throat. He tickled her neck with his tongue, rubbed his goatee along the side of her face and then once more kissed her lips lightly.

She pulled back panting and whispered, "I don't think I've ever been kissed like that before in my life."

He grinned. "You liked it, did ya? Well, they say confession is good for the soul."

"I'm sure the priest will have a field day with me. I have enough impure thoughts to do penance for a year."

He laughed and released her. "Night, Kelly Margaret Mary Callahan. I'll see you Tuesday." He turned to go and then turned back and teased, "Unless I catch you in the steam room beforehand."

She smiled, got in her car and drove away.

John smiled after her and then drove home. That night although he thought he would he didn't dream of her.

Friday John met Eric at the gym at five. His son looked happy to see him. It was all John could do to keep from hugging him. They went to the locker room; got changed and then John began to put the boy through his paces. He could tell Eric had been working out on his own. His son was just about ready to move up a level on weights.

Everything was going well until Kelly walked in. She entered the gym to a chorus of catcalls and whistles. Then a couple of blokes strolled over to John and began to rib him. It took Eric a minute or two to understand but the second he did, he freaked. His face turned sullen and he sat up, dropping the free weights on the floor. "You lied," he shouted. The strength of the betrayal was written all over his face.

John was grinning at Kelly instead of watching his son. He heard Eric's tone rather than his words and turned with a question, "What?"

Eric rose from the floor to his full height and got right in John's face. "You lied," he screamed. "You told me she was a suspect. Not a girlfriend. You lied." Then Eric turned and ran for the lockers.

Everyone in the gym was staring including Kelly who looked as if she had been slapped in the face. Shit, he had to go after Eric. His son was . . . He rushed toward the men's locker when he felt Kelly's hand on his arm.

"What did he mean?" she asked.

"Kelly, I can explain, but not now. I need to talk to Eric."

"Why?"

"Kelly, I . . . can you trust me, please? I need to talk to him now."

"Why is he so important to you?"

"He's . . . I can't explain right now. Please, give me a break and trust me. I'll explain everything, but I have to get to him before he does something stupid."

The urgency and sincerity in his voice and the concern mirrored in his eyes touched her. She released his arm. John rushed in to the locker room. When he arrived Eric was slamming his fist into a locker. John went to him and gently touched his arm. Eric rounded on him his expression one of anger and hurt.

John swallowed hard at the misery he had unintentionally caused. "Go ahead," John offered softly. "Take a poke at me."

Eric didn't even blink; he pulled his arm back and swung. John took the punch to the jaw. It hurt like the devil. He reeled from the impact and then righted himself. "Feel better?" he asked as he began to rub his jaw.

"You shouldn't have lied to me."

"I didn't," John explained quietly.

Eric's face was stubborn. "I heard the blokes. She's your . . . girlfriend," the boy insisted.

John shook his head. "Can we please talk?"

Eric shrugged. John sat down on the bench. "Eric, I need to explain some things to you and it's probably not going to be easy for you to hear. Adults we're not much smarter than kids are. And me, I'm a dickhead most times. I haven't lied to you, but since the last time we talked, well . . . She WAS a suspect in those jewel thefts I told you about. But as it turns out, she wasn't the one I was looking for. It was someone else altogether. Anyways, yesterday I took her out for the first time. I swear, Eric, I did not lie to you. I wouldn't do that. Not ever."

"Mum said I could trust you," Eric admitted softly. "She said you meant it about not lying, but when I heard . . ."

John looked at his son standing there. Eric's whole body was trembling with emotion and John finally just gave in. "Eric, would you sit down for a minute? There's more I need to tell you."

Eric gingerly sat down on the bench next to John.

"I didn't lie to you about anything. Still, there are other kinds of lies than the ones that you tell outright. Not all lies are bad either. Sometimes people lie to protect other people. Sometimes just to be kind and sometimes they lie by omission." At Eric's bemused stare, he explained further. "If I thought telling you the truth might put you in danger, I'd lie to protect you. If someone asked my opinion about something and I knew the truth would hurt them and that telling them a lie wouldn't, I might lie. And maybe I might tell you the truth about something but not all of it, I might omit something."

Eric nodded as if he understood. "You're saying that when my Mum asks me if I like her hair, I should tell her I do, even if I don't, eh?" John nodded. "And you're also telling me," Eric continued, "that maybe you HAVEN'T told me all the truth about something."

John nodded. "You know I'm fond of you, right?" The boy nodded dubiously. "I AM fond of you," John insisted. "I . . ." As he looked into his son's eyes, he saw fear and doubt. He saw a boy desperately in need of reassurance. A boy who wanted to trust him and John knew then with an absolute certainty that Shay was right. Knew that the second he told Eric he was his father, all hell would break loose. He found that after all, he couldn't do it. He took a deep breath and quickly switched gears. "I'd like to think you and I are more than just coach and pupil. That we're friends, too. I told you when you asked me about roller coasters that I hadn't had a lot of practice on them and I'd probably fail. Eric, I really want to try. It's important to me. I'm sorry that I keep buggering things up."

"John," Eric asked, "why? I mean . . . I thought at first it was because you . . ." He paused and shrugged. "Then I thought it was because my Mum, that maybe you . . . but that's not so. Anyways, what so important about me?"

John grinned sheepishly. "You remind me so much of me at your age it's frightening. Look, Eric, I know I can't take the place of your father, but it's hard growing up without one. I know because I did. And if it hadn't been for Mick, I'd probably be dead or in jail."

"Who's Mick?" Eric asked.

"Mick," John explained as he rose from the bench, "was the bloke who changed my life. I think maybe we should stuff the workout and go talk, eh? I'll buy fish and chips and tell you all about him."

Eric nodded and apologized. "Sorry about your jaw. Does it hurt?"

'Not as much as lying to you does,' John thought. He shook his head. "Not too bad, although I'm glad I haven't spent much time on that right hook of yours. It's wicked already."

Eric grinned. "I'm gonna shower."

"Go ahead. If it's okay, I'm gonna try to square things with Kelly and then I'll meet you back here."

"Kelly, eh? That her name?" John nodded. "You really only went out with her last night?" he asked tentatively.

"I swear. First date AND after I solved the case."

Eric grinned. "She's pretty. Is she mad?"

'Not as mad as she's gonna be,' John thought. 'When she finds out all of it.' Aloud he admitted, "Yeah, but I'm hoping I can fix it. You get showered. I'll be back in a tick."

John checked the gym, but Kelly was gone. He figured she would be. It was Friday. She was due to meet her friends Kathy and Jenny at the pub. John shrugged and went back to the locker room. As he changed into his jeans and tucked himself in he looked at his dick and thought, 'Another fine mess you got me into.'

John took Eric to dinner and told him about Mick. Eric asked a lot of questions. He seemed fascinated by John's relationship with the cop. After a while he seemed to understand that John was trying to do for him what Mick had done for John. Eric seemed to accept that John wanted to be a friend to him. It wasn't really what John wanted, but for the moment, it would have to do.

In the car, Eric asked him about the Manaia. About why John wanted him to hold it if it was so special to him. Again, John found himself telling an unwilling lie. "Mick once gave me a St. Christopher's medal for luck. This is my version. It worked too, when I was gone you didn't get into a single fight."

Eric seemed to accept that as well. The boy was in good spirits when he left the car and John was happy about that, although he knew, in a way, he had probably made everything worse. Now he HAD lied to Eric. Still . . .

When he got home, he tried ringing Kelly but all he got was her answering machine. He left a message though he suspected she wouldn't return the call. She didn't.

He continued to try to reach Kelly all day Saturday and even on Saturday night but with no better luck. He left a message every time he called and he was sure he sounded progressively more desperate with each one. Christ, he knew he was acting like a randy teenager, but he couldn't seem to help himself. He'd never felt like this before in his life. He didn't know what was happening to him. No other woman had ever made him behave in such an idiotic manner. Maybe he SHOULD see a shrink.

Sunday morning John waited outside Makepeace's house. He followed the lapidary to the florist and then to the cemetery. He waited ten minutes and then joined Makepeace at his wife's grave.

John studied the headstone. It was plain granite but the surface was being inset in a pattern of a broken heart. Makepeace had inset two-thirds of the heart with the stolen gems. "That's very beautiful," John acknowledged softly. "You must have loved her very much."

Makepeace looked up at the tall bloke who cast a shadow over the grave. He put his left hand up to shield his eyes from the sun and admitted, "I still do."

"It's hard to lose someone you love, hard to let them go. I know, I lost someone of my own not too long ago."

"Your wife?"

"Fiancée. How long were you married?" John asked although he already knew the answer.

"Thirty-five years. And in all that time I never . . . She loved gems. Her favorites were all the colored stones. Never could stand diamonds. Said they were cold and lifeless. I think she loved the sapphires and emeralds best because they reminded her of water. A good stone, a properly faceted stone it has a life of its own."

"Mr. Makepeace," John declared softly, "I know what you're doing here. I think it's a wonderful monument. But the stones don't belong to you. Mr. Stanton, he hired me to find out what was going on and stop it. But you know I think that if I bring back the stones and explained. Perhaps, well, I can't promise anything but I do think that he might be sympathetic. Especially since . . ."

Makepeace looked at him. "What was your fiancée's name?"

"Caroline. She's buried over there," John pointed to a set of graves further inside the cemetery.

"My wife's name was Ida. Not a pretty name, but I loved her just the same."

"I'm sure she was a wonderful woman," John agreed. "May I help you?"

"That would be very nice of you, I'm sure."

John knelt down next to the grieving bloke and opened a velvet bag he had brought with him. He accepted the offering of loose stones that Makepeace handed him and then watched as the lapidary slowly began removing stones with a funny looking tool.

After a time, John offered to take over and Makepeace agreed. As John began carefully removing the emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and other colored stones he didn't know the name of, Makepeace began to talk. He talked about how much he missed his Ida, how his life really wasn't worth living without her. John found himself telling him about Caro. About what he'd gone through and how he'd managed to survive it.

By the time the stones were all removed and in the velvet bag, John felt as if he'd known Tim forever. He also thought he had a solution to Tim's loneliness. "I'm having dinner with a friend tonight. Her name is Frances. I think you'd like her. Will you come with me?"

"I'm not very good company these days."

John smiled. "I think you're fine company." Makepeace shrugged and agreed to join John and Frances for dinner.

Bright and early Monday morning John appeared at the offices of Stanton Jewelers. He knew he would see Kelly, he WANTED to see Kelly, and he figured he'd better get it over with all at once. She wasn't in her office when he arrived so he went straight to Stanton.

He handed Stanton the bag of stones and explained, "It was Tim Makepeace. Once I confirmed that no one was passing on the stones, I went to look at the work he was doing on his wife's headstone and there they were. It was grief that drove him to do it. The whole time his wife was alive, she was crazy for gems, but he never bought her any. She loved the precious and semi-precious colored stones, but he could never bring himself to give her any, because he thought they were valueless compared to diamonds. Since she's been gone, he's done nothing but miss her. Finally, he decided to make her a broken heart out of the stones she loved. He's been taking the least valuable of the batches and insetting them into her headstone. It was a lovely piece of work. I sat with him yesterday and helped him remove them all. The stones are in the bag. I told him I didn't think you would do anything and that perhaps you might be sympathetic."

Stanton's eyes were actually watering. "How many stones does he need?"

John shrugged. "I don't know. Why don't you talk to him?"

"I will. And thank you. A job well done."

"There's something else you should know," John began slowly. "About your wife. I . . ."

"She told me," Stanton admitted. "She was worried that I'd stop loving her because she let herself go and she's been trying to lose weight. I told her not to bother, that I love her just as she is."

John smiled. "Glad to hear it. So, apparently all's well that ends well."

"Um . . . not quite . . ." Stanton mumbled. "Apparently you seem to have . . . Kelly has discovered what you were up to and she's NOT a happy woman. She seems to think you've been . . . um . . . well . . . toying with her affections is the phrase she used. Normally, I'd never pry, but I feel responsible. If you did something that perhaps you shouldn't have, in an effort to discover the culprit, well . . ." he finished lamely.

John gave him a rueful grin. "Mr. Stanton, I can assure you, that what happened with Kelly had NOTHING to do with my trying to discover the culprit. I actually met her at the gym where I work out before you hired me. I would have asked her out then, but she . . . well . . . she's got quite the attitude, doesn't she?"

Stanton laughed. "That she does. She's quite angry with you. More angry than she would be, if you ask me, if she didn't actually like you. So what are you going to do about it?"

"Try to explain. See if I can get her to forgive me. You know her pretty well, what do you think of my chances?"

Again, Stanton laughed. "Pretty good, actually. When she confronted me, yesterday at my home, I might add, and I informed her that you would be in the office this morning, she informed ME that she would be late. Something about a hair appointment and a manicure. Kelly usually doesn't care about things like that, so . . ."

The two men exchanged smiles and then the telephone on Stanton's desk buzzed. "Yes?" he said into the receiver. "Yes, he is. Kelly, I don't think . . ." he hung up the receiver. "She's on her . . ."

"She's HERE!" Kelly exclaimed.

She stormed up to John and shouted, "You have some nerve. Just who do you think you are?"

John studied her. She looked gorgeous. Her hair was freshly washed, cut and styled. Her makeup was perfect. Her nails were painted. Her body was vibrating with emotion. She wore a black dress that left her shoulders bare and was low-cut. It was more like a cocktail dress than appropriate office wear and John suspected she had worn it for his benefit. He could see an adorable scattering of freckles on the tops of her breasts. He rose from the chair and claimed, "I can explain."

"You lied to me!" she yelled.

"Actually," he maintained calmly, "I never did. Think about it. Name one lie I told you."

"You pretended you didn't know my name or anything about me and you knew EVERYTHING."

"Well, that's true. But it wasn't exactly a lie. Kelly, I know you're angry and you have every right to be. I invaded your privacy. I pretended I didn't know anything about you. I followed you around for a week and watched your every move. I did talk to your friends and family and I DID lie to them. I learned all about you, Kelly Margaret Mary Callahan, and though I did it because it was my job, it did have one rather unexpected benefit." He stopped there before the rest of the words could come out. He couldn't believe what he had been about to say, although, he realized it was true.

"And what is that?" she demanded.

Instead of answering, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She fought him for a second, then melted against him. Her arms encircled his neck and she returned the kiss, unable to fight the physical attraction. Suddenly she pulled back and snorted, "I should slap you for that."

"Yeah, you probably should and I'd deserve it too," he agreed. "But Kelly, I'm crazy about you. I don't know how it happened, I just know it did. I've never felt like this before in my life. You make me feel like a teenager and as scary as it is . . . Please forgive me."

She tilted her head to study his face. His eyes were deep brown pools full of emotion. She saw desire, confusion and sincerity. "I should tell you to stuff it," she snapped.

He touched her face lightly. "You probably should. I'm NO prize that's for sure. I've been married and divorced. I've been a boxer, a cop and now I'm a P.I. I haven't been too lucky when it comes to women and the last one I was involved with is dead. I have a very complicated life, which I need to tell you about. All I'm asking for is a chance. One more date and if you tell me to stuff it after that I'll walk away with no hard feelings."

"Just one more date and if I tell you to get lost, you'll go?" she repeated. He nodded. "Quitter," she whispered.

He heard her and smiled full out. His eyes crinkled, the dimples appeared and he felt like he had just hit the biggest jackpot of his life. "So we're still on for tomorrow?" She nodded. "Bewdy," he whispered. "Where would you like to go?"

She thought for a long moment and then instructed, "I'll let you know tomorrow when you pick me up. Here, five o'clock and wear a suit."

"A suit?" he echoed. He studied her face, he could see this was a test of some sort. This relationship was going to be quite the challenge. He'd already told her how much he despised suits. Well . . . "Is black all right? Only one I got is black."

She laughed softly and shook her head. "Black is for funerals. Buy another one," she added peremptorily. "And make sure you wear a tie as well. And the proper shoes," she added with a glance at his brown cowboy boots. Then she pulled out of his arms and flounced out of Stanton's office.

John had actually forgotten where he was for a moment. Then he heard the sound of Stanton chuckling. "You'd better watch out," Stanton observed. "Kelly comes from a long line of Irish matriarchs. If you're not careful you're going to be caught good and proper."

John grinned. "What makes you think I'm not already?" he retorted with a laugh. "I'll mail you your final bill. I have to go buy a suit."

The End or perhaps just the beginning?

Lawless Stories

Story Index

Romance Down Under