Part 199 (2/2)

something from her, other than kinky s.e.x. And that was that Michael

Kesseiring was and always would be middle cla.s.s.

It had been strange to watch her on the screen after he'd been replaced

with a twenty-year-old hockey player. It had given him an eerie, almost

creepy feeling to see her depiction of Jane Palmer, and to realize that

she'd played that part with hith all during the three frenzied months

they'd been lovers.

He'd gone alone to the theater. A kind of test to make certain he'd

gotten rid of any residual, and unhealthy, attraction for her. When

she'd bared those beautiful b.r.e.a.s.t.s, he'd felt nothing but discomfort.

Though it had been by proxy, he knew he had been to bed with Emma's

mother.

And he had wondered, sitting under the dark cloak of the theater, if

Emma would see the movie.

But he didn't like to think of Emma.

There had been other women. No one serious, but other women. He had his

work. It no longer amazed him that he had both a talent and an

affection for law enforcement. Perhaps he didn't have his father's

patience and skill with paperwork, but he thought well on his feet,

accepted the long, often monotonous hours of legwork and stakeouts, and

had a healthy enough respect for his life not to be trigger-happy.

”I got shot at yesterday,” he said conversationally to Conroy. The dog

began, disinterestedly, to scratch for fleas. ”If that pervert had

gotten lucky, you'd be out in the cold, pal. Don't delude yourself into

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