Slowly, I absorbed what Steve was really getting at. I said, «Have you heard something about Dan? When you were asking about Hammond, did someone say something that gave you a bad impression?» He hesitated, and I felt the hair on the back of my neck prickle. «Steve?»

«No,» he said quickly. «I mean, cops are sort of a different breed. Sort of above the law, right? He's never … I don't know … gotten rough with you or anything, right?» «Dan?»

He gave an uneasy laugh. «Yeah. No, I mean, that's what I mean. He's not that kind of cop.» «What kind of cop? What are you talking about?»

«Nothing. The kind of cop you hear about on TV. I watch the news. Cops get indicted for shit all the time. Bribery, corruption, murder. They've got really high rates of domestic violence … «

My throat went so tight I could hardly wedge the words out. «Dan's been nothing but wonderful to me. From day one, he's looked out for me in every way.» Now I was angry with myself for having started this line of conversation with Steve.

He returned with unexpected bitterness, «Dan's the man, that I do get. Unlike Dan, who I guess, gets it all.»

That caught me off guard. I didn't know what to say. It never occurred to me that Steve truly had a moment's regret for the past.

Into my disconcerted pause, he said, «Forget I said that. I'm sure he's a great guy off-duty. Okay? Put it down to jealousy. Mine and maybe some other folks.» He tried to sound light. «Besides, you haven't changed your will or anything, right? Left him your record collection and your subscription to Food and Wine?» «No, I haven't changed my will. And what the hell is that supposed to mean?» «Chill. It was just a joke.» «Good thing you kept your day job.»

«Okay, so it was a bad joke. Listen, Sean, don't get pissed off because I still care about you. I understand the guy won a medal, and he treats you great, but just go slow, okay? You haven't known him that long. You've only spent a couple of weeks together. Basically the dude is an unknown quantity. He's a … a dark horse.» I laughed – sort of. «I'm serious, dude.» «I know you are, and it's fucking ridiculous.»

The glass door slid open and Markowitz gave me a narrow look. I realized I didn't sound nearly as relaxed and humorous as I'd hoped. I lowered my voice. «I don't want to talk about this anymore.» «Everything okay?» Markowitz growled. I nodded.

Steve was saying, «Fine. I don't want to talk about it either. I'm sorry I ever brought it up. So, since everything is wonderful, do you feel up to taking this dinner with Marshall?» «Hell, yes.»

Stiffly, he gave me the details, and I wrote them down while Markowitz held an undervoiced conversation with Maria that apparently had to do with what he wanted for lunch. «Are you going to be there?»

«No,» Steve said shortly. «You're going to have to sell yourself to them. And let me tell you now, Lenny Norman is a tough audience.» * * * * *

Dan got home about six for a changing of the guard with Markowitz. Once again they went outside for their pow wow, which I found annoying. I watched Markowitz get in to his car and drive away. «No postcards,» I informed Dan when he came back inside. «That's what I hear,» he said, dropping a kiss on my mouth. «What else did you hear?»

He gave me a curious look. «I didn't ask him for a report. Is there something I should know?» I knew I was being a jerk and shook my head.

It was too cold to eat outside even if dining al fresco had been approved by my security team. I had the dining room table set and Dean Martin playing on the stereo. Hard to be down with Dino lounging around the room.

We had dinner and chatted about his day and mine. Dan had been called to the scene of an officer-involved shooting and was dealing with the fallout, and I'd read a bunch of scripts, so I wasn't sure why, as usual, I seemed to be doing most of the talking.

The record player needle moved to the brassy opening of «Ain't That a Kick in the Head.» As much as I had tried all day to block out Steve's comments, they'd worked like burrs into my consciousness. I broke off what I was saying to ask, «Have you ever had any complaints about the way you do your job?»

Dan, in the process of cutting off a bite of pork chop, paused. «What are you talking about?» «I mean did anyone ever accuse you of excessive force or anything?»

He didn't say anything for a moment, and I couldn't read his expression at all. At last, he said, «I'm a lieutenant now; it's not like I'm out there rousting suspects. But yeah, I've had a few complaints over the years.» «Like what?»

Reluctantly, he said, «Police put people in jail for breaking the law. That doesn't win you popularity contests. I've had suspects claim I violated their rights or that I used unnecessary force. I've had female suspects accuse me of sexual harassment.» His smile was wry. «I guess that one was kind of funny, although I didn't think so at the time.»

I wasn't quite sure what to make of his admission; I'd been hoping he would just categorically deny it. «Why?» he asked.

Which was a perfectly reasonable question. But for obvious reasons, I couldn't give him a good answer. I already knew how he'd view my discussing him with Steve: pretty much the same way I'd view him discussing me with anyone else. «I just wondered,» I said. «You must have had some reason for wondering.» I said vaguely, «It's just the cop thing, I guess.»

I wasn't really thinking about the implications of that comment, so it caught me off my mark when he responded seriously, «Is that a problem for you? Because that is who I am.»

«No, it's not a problem.» But into the pause that followed my words, I wondered if that was totally true. When I felt vulnerable and threatened, I appreciated the fact that Dan totally took charge. I felt safe with him in a way I'd never felt as an adult. Maybe it was the gun. Or maybe it was the fact that he had an air of being able to handle anything. But was I still going to feel that way once the danger was passed? I didn't want or need someone taking charge of me in my normal day-to-day life. It wasn't reasonable, but there was a little part of me that resented how closely Dan watched me, and – a little – how he tried to protect me. I guess it reminded me, uncomfortably, of being ill. Of needing to be protected, of needing someone to take charge. I never wanted to be that person again.

But I didn't see how I could tell that to Dan without sounding like I was pushing him away, so I did what I always did when in doubt. I started babbling. And Dan did what he always did, which was let me blab until I had to stop for breath.

«So what is it about this role that makes you want it so bad?» he asked after I'd told him about the invitation to dinner with Lenny Norman and Winston Marshall.

I shrugged. «I guess because I identified with Laurie so strongly when I was a kid. Now that I've read the screenplay I see how blind Laurie is. The role with teeth is Ralph. He's the real hero of the thing. Even from the way Renault describes him in the book you can tell that it's his story. There's a psychological depth there that would be a real challenge to capture.» «But you want the Laurie part?»

«Well, I don't have the physical presence to carry off Ralph. And Laurie's not bad. He's smart and sensitive, and he's got a sense of humor. He sees the stupidity of war, but he never wavers about doing his duty, and once he's crippled, he never whines about it. He's not afraid to face up to things. Well, except the one thing. But he's still got a lot of courage despite his blind streak.» «He sounds a lot like you. No wonder you identify.» I laughed nervously. «Oh, right!»

Dan's brows drew together, and to keep him from drawing any more ridiculous comparisons, I said quickly, «I guess it's his ordinariness that appeals to me – appeals to most guys who read the book. Although I'm a little more impatient with him now that I'm reading as an adult. I don't know if he's afraid to face the reality of who he is – what he is. Maybe he's just afraid to lose himself by loving someone completely.» Dan's expression was odd.