Chapter Seven

      The last thing she felt like doing Monday morning was going into the office. To make things worse, her shoulder was aching like mad. But that didn’t stop Gabby. She put on a beige suit with a brightly colored blouse, pinned up her hair, and went to work. Might as well get it over with, she told herself. She’d go back to the office, work out her notice, and get another job. Sure. Simple.

      Explaining that to her mother back home in Lytle, Texas, had not been quite so simple.

      “But I thought you loved your job!” her mother had gasped. “Why are you quitting? Listen, Gabby, what’s happened?”

      “Nothing, Mama,” she’d said quickly. “It’s just that Mr. Brettman may not be in Chicago much longer.” She lied on impulse. “You see, he has prospects in another area, and I don’t really want to relocate.”

      “Where would he go?”

      “Now, Mama,” she said, “you know I don’t like to pry into Mr. Brettman’s business.”

      “That Mr. Dice, his partner, why couldn’t you still work for him?” her mother demanded gruffly. “Better yet, why don’t you come home and get married?”

      Gabby chewed on her lip so that she wouldn’t say anything hasty. She had visions of her mother providing a groom, a minister and a loaded gun for motivation. It made her want to giggle, which would have infuriated her mother.

      “Gabby, you aren’t in trouble?” her mother had added in a strange tone.

      “No, Mama, I’m not in trouble. Now don’t get upset. It may all fall through anyway.”

      “I like Mr. Brettman,” her mother said roughly. “That one time I met him when I visited you, he seemed like a nice man to me. Why does he want to move anyway? He isn’t getting married?”

      “J.D.? Get married?” Gabby laughed mirthlessly. “That would make the world record books.”

      “He’ll have to get married someday,” came the curt reply.

      “Think so?” Already Gabby could picture him in fatigues rushing some stronghold with Shirt and Apollo. But she couldn’t tell her mother that!

      “Of course. It happens to everybody. He’ll get tired of living alone someday. Your father did. That’s when I nabbed him.” Gabby could almost see her grin.

      “Are you tired of living alone?” Gabby asked suddenly. It had been ten years since her father’s death. Yet her mother didn’t even date.

      “I don’t live alone, baby. I live with my memories. I had the best man God ever made. I don’t want second best.”

      “You’re just fussy,” Gabby said accusingly.

      “Yes, I am. You’d be be fussy, too. Honey, think about coming home. That Chicago place is pretty big, and if Mr. Brettman isn’t going to be around, I’d worry about you.”

      “I’ll think about it,” Gabby promised.

      She hated thinking about it. It made her face the fact that she wouldn’t be seeing J.D. again. Whether or not he went back to the old life, he’d made it impossible for her to work for him anymore. He’d forced her into resigning, whether consciously or unconsciously. And now here she was losing her boss, her job, and her heart all in the space of three days. So little time to change so much of her future. It might have been better if she’d stayed behind and never known the truth about J.D.

      When she got to the office, it was clear that J.D. had not yet come in. Richard Dice was sitting on her desk with his arms folded across his chest, looking murderous.

      “Morning, Dick,” she said with a forced smile.

      “Thank God you’re back.” He sighed. “That temporary girl didn’t work out, and the agency hasn’t called me about a replacement. Where’s J.D.?”

      “Don’t ask me,” she replied, calmly shedding her jacket and putting her purse in the desk drawer. She tucked her glasses on top of her head while she searched through the calendar for appointments that had been made by both the temporary girl and herself.

      “Didn’t he come back?” Dick persisted.

      “Yes.” She stared at him. “You mean he hasn’t been in touch with you?”

      “Not yet. Well?” he burst out. “What happened? How’s Martina? Did they pay the ransom?”

      “You’re chock-full of questions.” She sighed in turn. “Yes, Martina’s safe. No, they didn’t have to pay the ransom. And anything else you want to know, ask J.D., because I don’t want to talk about it.”

      Dick looked at the ceiling. “You disappear for days, and all I get is one long-winded sentence?”

      “You should have come with us,” she said conversationally. “Then you wouldn’t have to take up my time asking questions. Did you take care of Mrs. Turnbull’s divorce yesterday?”

      “Yes,” he murmured absently. “Judge Amherst called. He wants to discuss the Landers case with J.D. before he makes a decision about the trial date.”

      Gabby made a note of it.

      Dick was studying her closely. “You look bad.”

      She smiled. “Thank you. What a lovely thing to be told.”

      He flushed. “I mean, you look worn-out.”

      “You try crawling through a jungle on your belly with a rifle and see how you look,” she replied.

      “Jungle? On your belly? Why did you have a rifle?”

      She got up from her desk and started filing some folders that Dick had left there. “Ask J.D.”

      “But he isn’t here!”

      She glowered at the file folders. “Maybe he’s out buying a new crossbow,” she muttered.

      “A what?” But she didn’t hear him. He grumbled something and walked into his office, slamming the door behind him. She glanced over her shoulder. “Well, somebody’s in a snit,” she said to the filing cabinet.

      It was a good two hours before J.D. came in, looking as neat as a pin in his vested gray suit.

      “Any messages?”