Jennifer Crusie - GETTING RID OF BRADLEY

“He was jealous of everybody. I told you. He was crazy about her.”

Zack tried again. “I thought I heard the divorce was because he’d had an affair.”

“No way,” Deborah said. “It was his wife and nobody else. And listen, he had his chances. I mean, have you ever seen him?”

Zack shook his head.

“Check out his picture. It’s over there.” Deborah nodded her head in the direction of the big glass doors.

“He’s really great looking. Believe me, a lot of women were interested.” She cocked her head. “Not me. I like my men a little rougher, not as handsome, if you know what I mean.” She smiled at Zack again.

“And I even shaved,” Zack said.

“What?”

“Nothing. So aside from being boring, he was the perfect boss?”

“Well, he was a nitpicker.” Deborah made a face. “But we got used to it. And then about two weeks ago, he really let up and stopped watching us all the time. It would have been really nice, except he was so grumpy. That’s when Mrs. Elmore came around and told us about the divorce. She said we should be understanding.”

Zack squinted back at Mrs. Elmore. “She doesn’t look like the understanding type.”

“She’s not,” Deborah said. “Unless it’s Mr. Porter.”

“Oh.”

“The divorce may have depressed Mr. Porter, but it cheered Mrs. Elmore right up. When he comes back, he’s not going to have a chance.”

“Maybe I won’t arrest him then.” Zack gazed over his shoulder at Mrs. Elmore. “That could be punishment enough.”

Deborah’s mouth dropped open. “You’re going to arrest him?”

“No.” Zack turned back hastily. “That’s a little police humor. Very little. Did you notice anything else different about Mr. Porter lately? Besides the grumpiness?”

“Nope. The grumpiness was it.”

“Okay, listen. Here’s my card.” Zack handed it over. “If you think of anything else, call me, please.”

“Anything?” Deborah batted her eyelashes at him.

“Anything about Mr. Porter. You should be ashamed of yourself, trying to pick up a cop on duty.”

“Don’t you ever get off duty?”

“No. I live for my work.” Zack turned to see Anthony waiting patiently by the door. “Well, I’ve got to go, my driver is waiting. Thanks, Deborah. You were a great help.”

“Anytime,” Deborah said. “Really.”

On his way out the door, Zack stopped by the gallery of employee portraits that Gamble Hills First National had assembled to give the customers a nice feeling of family as they parted from their money. Among the dozen or so faces, Deborah dimpled, and Mrs. Elmore grimaced and, at the very top like the Big Daddy of banking, Bradley Porter stared down and was not amused.

He was classically handsome-thick wavy blond hair, a straight Roman nose, a chiseled chin with a hint of a cleft, and the coldest grey eyes Zack had ever seen.

What the hell had Lucy been thinking of to marry this… this… fish ?

“Zack?” Anthony called from just inside the door. “You ready?”

She needed a keeper. Not him, of course, but still…

“Zack?”

“Yeah.” Zack followed him out to the car.

“Another blonde?” Anthony said when Zack got in the car beside him. “Is this a trend for you?”

“Blonde?”

“The teller.”

“Deborah? No. Blondes are too dangerous. I’m only interested in brunettes. Like Mrs. Ehnore. Drive and tell me all about her undying passion for Bradley Porter. And then tell me what motel she’s been meeting Mm at so we can go get him.”

Anthony put the car into gear and pulled out of the parking lot “We can’t go get him. He’s in Kentucky.”

“ Kentucky?” Zack scowled at him as if it were his fault “What the hell is he doing in Kentucky when we want him here?”

“Communing with nature to heal his tortured soul. Or something like that. He’s brokenhearted. His wife, who is cold and unfeeling, did not understand him.”

“He said that? The rat. Drive to Kentucky.”

“I don’t think so. We have reports to fill out And we do not have any conclusive link between our Bradley and Lucy’s Bradley.”

“He’s not Lucy’s Bradley.” Zack tapped his fingers on the window edge. “I tell you what Let’s search the house. We’ll find the link. Trust me on this one. I’ve got…”

“Reports to fill out,” Anthony said.

“Oh, hell,” Zack said.

THE SHOWER FELT wonderful.

The hot water stung Lucy’s body and made her skin tingle, which made her think of Zack, which made her tingle more.

It was ridiculous. He’d mugged her in an alley, then he’d argued with her in her living room, and now she couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was particularly ridiculous to be looking forward to seeing him again. Of course, that was mostly because he was coining to search her house, and when he didn’t find anything, then he’d have to admit that he was wrong and she was right and that the only criminal thing Bradley had ever done was bring that blonde into her house.

Lucy tested herself for pain on the last thought. Did that hurt anymore? Maybe it never had. Maybe the emotion she’d felt was more repressed rage that Bradley had brought that woman into her house. She was going to have stop repressing her rage.

She definitely wasn’t feeling any pain over Bradley’s blonde anymore.

And she’d lost the feeling she’d had that the house had been contaminated. That really went when she threw Bradley’s chair down the stairs. That had been a wonderful moment. For just a moment, she’d felt totally out of control.

Like Zack.

Zack. What did she see in him? The man was a patronizing maniac who thought he had a hot line to the universe. Trust his instincts. Ha, as Mrs. Dover would say.

Well, sort of ha.

Actually, she was willing to bet that he had great instincts for some things. In fact, she was willing to bet that he had better instincts than she’d ever had. She was willing to bet…

Lucy stuck her head directly under the water from the showerhead, trying to wash Zack out of her mind.

Think about something else. Think about anything else.

Well, there was exercise. Like running the stairs instead of the road because some maniac with incredible instincts…

Try again.

Running the stairs was terrific for your heart, but murder on your quadriceps. Lucy glanced down to look at hers only to stop, horrified, all thoughts of Zack gone, as she stared at the water as it swirled into the drain.

It was black. The blackest water she’d ever seen.

Which meant her hair wasn’t anymore.

“Oh, no,” she moaned and leaned her head against the shower wall.

It left a big black smudge when she stood straight again.

Five minutes later, her body wrapped in a full-length white terry-cloth robe and her head in a terry-cloth towel, Lucy stood in front of her bedroom mirror and prayed. Then she took a deep breath, pulled the towel off her head, and stared at her hair in the mirror.

It was a strange color, like very bad moss; a sort of intensely dull, dark grey-green that absorbed all the light and energy around it.

“My hair has turned into a black hole,” she said to the mirror. “Complete absence of light.” She looked down at the towel. It was covered with black smudges. “How long before this washes out of my hair? How long before I’m a horrible blonde again?”

As she stared at herself, a new and even more horrible possibility hit her.

How long before it falls out?

Einstein waddled into the bedroom and stopped to stare.

“ Independence is not working out for me,” Lucy told him.

“THE LAB REPORT IS IN,” Zack said when he joined Anthony back in the squad room. ‘ “The brick wall did not help the bullet at all.” He tossed the report to Anthony who was typing a report of his own. “As always, Patricia will be glad to hazard an unofficial guess if we ever find another.38 to match, but she says no way will we ever have anything to take to court based on the bullet from the wall.”