High Noon

"I want to be there. I need to be there."



Dave leaned back in his desk chair, continued to scan Phoebe's face. "First, it's not my call. Second, this is Liz Alberta's case. You're the victim. If you have trouble remembering that, I can have a mirror brought in."



She knew how she looked. A couple of days meant some of the bruising was turning from black to sickly yellow and storm-cloud purple. Her jaw and eye were angry watercolors. Still, the worst of it was decently hidden under her clothes.



"The victim needs it. I need to sit in that room, look Arnold Meeks in the eye so he knows I'm not afraid of him."



"Aren't you?"



"Enough that I need to show him, and myself, that I'm not going to be. You and I know how the pathology works. How it is for someone who's held against their will, threatened or injured in a situation beyond their control."



"This isn't identifying an attacker in a lineup, Phoebe. Or facing the attacker in court."



"It's just more proactive. My mother faced Reuben in court. She got up on the stand to testify while he was only feet away from her, and I know that was nearly as terrifying for her as being trapped in that house with him all those hours. But she did it, and still she's trapped." All the affection and understanding he felt was there to read on his face. "You're not your mother."



"No, b u't..." Phoebe fisted a hand on her heart. "I feel her fear, and I don't want it living inside me. How can I do what I need to do if it finds a place to live in me? So this victim needs it."



"Observation," he began, though they both knew he was losing ground.



"Isn't enough." She shook her head. "Face-to-face, and this time I know he won't be controlling the situation. The cop wants to be in that room with him because I may be able to help Liz get a confession out of him. I was there. Victim, witness, police officer. Makes me a triple threat."



"And still doesn't make it my call. It's up to Detective Alberta, her captain and the DA. The DA," Dave continued before she could speak, "who fishes with Arnie's daddy."



"Whoever he fishes with, Parnell's always struck me as solid. Do you really think he'll ease off an investigation of an attack on a police officer because he's buddied up with the father of a suspect?"



"It's a lot of who-you-know in Savannah, Phoebe, just like anywhere else. But I'll agree, Parnell's solid. Meeks is bringing his delegate and a lawyer in with him. Annie Utz is lawyered, too."



"All the more reason for me to give Liz-Detective Alberta-some backup-someone well invested who doesn't give a damn who Arnie's daddy drowns worms with. And I'll tell you something else. Having two women question him, put pressure on him?"



She wandered the office as she spoke now, because she could feel it, she could see it. She could all but taste it. "Oh, Arnie's not going to like that one little bit. He'll make a mistake. He'll end up leading with his ego, especially if I'm in there. Not your call, Captain, but you could make one. You could reach out to Detective Alberta's captain or her lieutenant, ask that I get a seat."



"I'll make a call, but I'm not making any promises."



"Any worthwhile negotiator's careful with his promises." She touched a hand to his shoulder. "The call's enough. Thank you."



"If you buy a ticket into the interrogation, have to deal with him that way, I might not have done you any favor. How's your family handling this?"



"It shook them up. My mother... you know how it is."



"I do. Would me coming by help things or add to them?"



"Mama always feels better after a visit from you. We all do. Why don't you come to Sunday dinner?"



He kicked back in his chair. "Would that mean sugar-glazed ham?"



"It could be arranged. Thanks for this."



"Phoebe..." Straightening again, he cleared his throat. "I want to say I regret there's been any speculation or gossip inside the department regarding an inappropriate relationship between us."



"Such as me giving you bj's in your office."



"Oh, Jesus." The tips of his ears went pink, as she knew they did when he was mortally embarrassed. "I'm old enough to be your father."



"First, you'd have been a very precocious fifteen to have pulled that one off. Second, since when does age factor into inappropriate sexual behavior? Neither of us is responsible for the speculation of small, ugly minds."



He picked up a ballpoint pen, clicked it a few times. "I opened you up for this when I asked you to take the desk in this department."



"You gave me an opportunity-which I grabbed-to do the work I'm good at. Am I qualified for the desk?"



"You know you are."



"There you are, then."



"Meeks, junior and/or senior, may push this into IAB."



"And we can both stand up to that, should that happen. Don't worry about me in this."



But he did. Even as he lifted the phone to put in the call she'd asked for, he worried.



Phoebe had a moment alone in Observation, studying Arnie Meeks through the two-way mirror. He looked careless, she decided. Carelessly confident. A kind of screw-you posture of a man who believes whatever he's done isn't going to stick to him.



He'd know he was being watched, or could be watched at any time. He didn't give a damn, Phoebe concluded.



And when she imagined his hands on her, his fingers inside her, her stomach rolled.



She gave too much of a damn.



"Lieutenant." Liz stepped in with a tall, reed-thin brunette. "ADA Monica Witt, Lieutenant Phoebe MacNamara."



"Lieutenant." Monica shook hands with Phoebe. "How are you feeling?"



"Better, thanks. I take it you'll be prosecuting the case."



"If you can make one. We have Annie Utz's statement, and her phone, which shows an outgoing call at nine fifty-eight. We can't tie that to Arnold Meeks. The number called was to a toss-away phone, untraceable. We don't have any physical evidence linking Meeks to the attack."



"You have motive. You have opportunity, and a pattern of insubordinate and threatening behavior."



"My boss wants more than that to charge a police officer with assault and battery, with sexual assault on a fellow officer. Get me more, and I'll charge him."



Two men stepped in. Phoebe recognized Liz's lieutenant, nodded in acknowledgment. Just as she recognized, through the strong family resemblance, Arnie Meeks's father.



He was thicker than his son through the chest, stronger along the jawline, harder in the eyes. But there was no mistaking the relationship. Just as there was no mistaking the insulted anger that pumped off him despite his ramrod posture.



"Lieutenant Anthony and Sergeant Meeks will also be observing."



"We'll get started." Liz walked to the door, held it open as Phoebe followed.



"When my boy's clear of this," Sergeant Meeks said as he shifted to block Phoebe's path, "and his suspension lifted, this won't be over for you, Lieutenant MacNamara."



"Sergeant, you're here as a courtesy." Anthony laid a hand on his arm. "Don't abuse that courtesy."



Phoebe moved around him to the door of the interrogation room. "Like father," she said under her breath.



"Shake it off," Liz advised. "I take the lead on this."



"We've been this round before."



"Just a friendly reminder." Opening the door, she walked in.



He didn't spare Liz so much as a look, Phoebe noted. His eyes aimed straight for her, held.



"Boys." Liz smiled easily, with a nod toward the trio at the table.



She set the recorder, fed in the data, read Arnie his rights. "You understand all that, Officer Meeks?"



"I've given the Miranda enough times, I better."



"That's a yes?"



"Yeah, I understand my rights. Shouldn't you be in bed somewhere with an ice pack and some Darvon?" he asked Phoebe.



"Arnie."



Arnie shrugged off the quiet warning from his attorney.



"I'm surprised by your concern, Arnie," Liz began. "The way I hear it, you're not Lieutenant MacNamara's biggest fan."



"I don't think much of her as a cop. Then again, she's not much of one seeing as all she does is talk."



"We'll save your definition of 'much of a cop' for later, if it's all the same to you." Smooth as top cream, Liz kept an easy smile on her face. "The two of you-meaning you and Lieutenant MacNamara-have had a couple of set-tos recently. Is that true?"



"My client stipulates that he and Lieutenant MacNamara hold opposing viewpoints and professional styles. Those are hardly motives for a physical attack on her person. The lack of evidence-"



"We're talking here," Liz said. "Just getting things out on the table. Arnie, you don't much like Lieutenant MacNamara. Is that fair to say?" Arnie kept his smirk aimed at Phoebe. "Yeah, that's fair."



"Did you have occasion to call Lieutenant MacNamara a bitch?"



"I call them as I see them."



"So, she's a bitch?" At Arnie's shrug, Liz nodded. "And you have no particular problem calling a superior officer a bitch? No problem threatening her when she took disciplinary action?"



"There's only Lieutenant MacNamara's word on this alleged threat," the lawyer interrupted.



"That, and..." Liz flipped through her file. "The statements of two detectives who observed your client in the lieutenant's office behaving in what they believed was a threatening manner."



"Their beliefs aren't fact."



"Arnie, do you remember why you were in Lieutenant MacNamara's office on Thursday last?"



"Sure I do. She was covering her ass after she screwed up a hostage negotiation by suspending me."



"Really?" Liz turned round eyes on Phoebe. "My goodness, if that was the case, who could blame you for calling her a bitch? Why don't we pull out a few statements and reports on that negotiation-at which you were the first responder-just to get the overview? Hmmm. FR did not call for backup. FR did not begin a log... Ah, here's a good one. FR antagonized the HT with threats. I like this one, too: Officer Meeks hampered and attempted to block Lieutenant MacNamara's contact with the HT."



Arnie rocked back in his chair, balanced on its back legs, rocked up again. "She can write anything she wants. Doesn't mean that's how it went down."



"Actually, all those examples are from witnesses-civilian and law enforcement. Well now, reading all this, it looks like you screwed things up there, Arnie."



"I had the situation under control until she pushed into it."



"So, you just needed a little more time to resolve the matter, and she didn't give it to you." Lips pursed, Liz nodded. "The guy blows his brains out, and you get the rap. Then, the bitch suspends you. I'd be pissed, too. Hard to blame you for wanting to pay her back."



Arnie smiled, shoved his hand at his lawyer before the lawyer could speak. "Just shut up. She's insulting me thinking she can bait me into saying something stupid. What about you?" he said to Phoebe. "Nothing to say for a change?"



"I was just sitting here wondering how your wife feels about all this. How she feels about you diddling with Annie Utz, for instance."



The smirk twisted his lips. "Annie's cute, and thick as a brick. I flirted, I admit it. Every guy in the squad did. But when she came on to me, when she wanted to take it past a wink, I set her straight. Got her feelings hurt, so I guess she figured to pay me back with this wild story. Or you pushed her to lie."



Phoebe looked over at Liz. "The man's surrounded by liars and bitches. It's a wonder he gets through the day."



"I don't know how he gets out of bed in the morning. So Annie's lying when she states you and she had a sexual relationship?"



He grinned widely, shook his finger. "I never had sex with that woman."



"Cute," Liz acknowledged. "And really adorable when you consider Annie states that relationship was limited to oral sex. A blurry line, I grant you. She 'came on' to you, that's what you said, and that's funny, too. In her statement she uses that same phrase. You told her Lieutenant MacNamara came on to you. And when you, being the moral, upstanding type, turned her down, she got her feelings hurt and looked for payback. My God, man, the women just make your life a living hell. I have to tell you, I'm actively restraining myself from coming on to you right now."



"Keep it up, Detective," the lawyer warned, "and this interview is over."



"Just going with what seems to be a pattern. You were in the building Monday morning between nine and ten A.M., Officer?"



"That's right. I had some things I wanted out of my locker."



"It took you an hour to get some things out of your locker?"



"I hung around. I'm a cop," he said with some irritation. "This is my house. I'm supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be doing the job. And I would be if it wasn't for her and the stick up her ass."



"Now she's a bitch with a stick up her ass who came on to you."



"I call them like I see them, remember?"



"But it was Annie who said Lieutenant MacNamara came on to you." Liz smiled pleasantly when annoyance crossed Arnie's face. "I think you're getting your excuses and lies mixed up here. But it's easy to see why. It's hard to tell one bitch from the other, isn't it? We're all pretty much the same. You didn't need to see Phoebe's face when you punched your fist into it. You didn't need to hear her scream or cry or curse you when you shoved her down, ripped her clothes to shreds. Of course, it didn't take any balls to do that, not when her hands were cuffed. I guess one man's payback is another man's cowardice."



"I'm man enough."



"Man enough to use one woman to ambush another." The sugary tone was a thing of the past now as Liz whipped out the words. "Man enough to lie in wait like a snake in the grass. And the only way you could put your hands on her was to cuff her, to knock her down. That's the only way you could get her naked and put hands on her."



"I was never in that stairway," Arnie shot back. "I never touched her. I got better things to do with my time. I sure got better things to do with my fingers." He flipped the middle one at Phoebe.



"She never said anything about fingers," Phoebe said quietly. "She said hands."



He sat back. "Hands, fingers. Same thing."



"It's really not." There was a hot ball jammed between her belly and her heart, hard and hot. She needed it to break apart and dissolve.



The victim needed it, she thought, to kill the fear.



"You rammed them inside me. You son of a bitch." She surged to her feet, ignoring the lawyer's objections as she leaned across the table. "You smelled like baby powder, just like you do now. Under the sweat. Because you're starting to sweat, Arnie. Do you remember what you said to me?"



"Can't remember something I didn't say. I wasn't there."



"You said you didn't fuck my kind. I figure you didn't use your dick because it's too small to make an impression. Your kind can't get it up half the time anyway."



"Too bad you didn't break your neck in the fall."



"This interview's over," the lawyer announced.



"You should've pushed me harder. Maybe if I'd broken something, you'd have gotten a decent boner."



"I should've kicked you down the damn stairs."



She eased back, nodded as that hard, hot ball began to dissolve. "Your mistake."



"I said, this interview is over."



"That's fine." Liz rose. "We'll just move right along, then. Officer Meeks, you're under arrest."



Phoebe went straight to her office, closed herself in, and did something she rarely did. She lowered and closed her blinds. Carefully, she sat behind her desk.



Everything seemed to be throbbing at once. Emotional upheaval, stress, she told herself. All of it pushing the physical discomfort up several notches. She couldn't take a pill, not here. They made her sleepy and fuzzy-headed, so she settled for four Motrin. And watched her hands shake on the bottle.



Yeah, the ball was dissolving, she thought, and there was a price to pay for it.



She didn't answer the knock on her door, and thought only, Go away. Give me five damn minutes.



But the door opened, and Liz stepped in. "Sorry. How you holding up?"



"Got the shakes."



"You didn't have them in there, when it counted."



"He looked at me, he looked me right in the eye. He was glad he hurt me. He only wished he'd hurt me more."



"And that's what did him," Liz pointed out. "I don't care how coached he is by his lawyer, it's going to show. He can't resist, he can't control it. When this goes to trial-"



"It's not going to trial, Liz. We both know that."



Liz walked around the desk, sat on the edge. "Okay, yeah. They'll make a deal. The department, the DA, nobody's going to want a public trial, and the publicity that goes with it. And even with what happened in interrogation, the case is a little shaky. Strong enough so Arnie's lawyer knows to take a deal when it's offered. He's going to lose his badge, Phoebe, and he's going to be disgraced. Is that going to be enough for you?"



"It'll have to be. I appreciate all you did."



"You pulled plenty of the weight."



"Hey," Phoebe said when Liz got up. "I know this nice bar-Irish pub on River Street. I'd like to buy you a drink. I need a few days' grace on it, until my vanity lets me go out in public."



"Sure, just let me know. Take care, Phoebe."



Down in Holding, Arnie paced his cell. They'd arrested him, booked him. Goddamn useless lawyer.



Goddamn bitches screwed it all up. Assault, battery, sexual molestation. Railroading him, that's what they were doing, all because that cunt couldn't handle a few bruises she'd damn well earned.



It wouldn't stick. No possible way they could make it stick. He whipped around when the door slid open, and bit back the words that wanted to spew out only because his father shook his head when he came in.



So Arnie held them in until the guard stepped away.



"They can't make this bullshit stick," Arnie began. "She's not going to get away with locking me up like this, with embarrassing me in front of my fellow officers. That bitch-"



"Sit down. Shut up."



Arnie sat, but he couldn't shut up. "You see how they put a girl



ADA on it? Circle the fucking wagons. What's Chuck thinking, for God's sake?" Arnie demanded, speaking of the DA. "Why didn't he just kick this in the first place?"



"He's getting the arraignment pushed up, and he's going to recommend ROR."



"Well, Jesus, that's just great." In disgust Arnie threw his hands up. "I get charged for this bullshit, but released on my own recogni zance, and that makes it okay? Fuck that, Pa. I could lose my badge. You need to reach out to IAB, get an investigation on MacNamara. You know McVee's dipping his wick in that. You know that's why I'm in here."



Mouth tight, Sergeant Meeks stared down at his son. "You're in here because you couldn't keep your mouth shut, just like now. I'm going to ask you one time. Just you and me. I'm going to ask this one time, and I want the truth. You lie, I'll see it. I see it, and I walk out of here, and that's the last I'll do for you."



Anger faded away into shock, and the first trickle of fear. "Christ, Pa."



"Did you do this thing? You look at me, Arnie. Did you do this?"



"Don't you lucking lie."



"She suspended me. She used me as a goat. You taught me to stand up for myself, not to take shit off anyone. If you got to kick an ass, you kick it."



Meeks stared. "Did I teach you to use your fists on a woman, boy? Did I teach you that?"



"She wouldn't get off my back. She-" He broke off, eyes watering, burning, when his father's hand slapped across his face.



"Did I teach you to jump a superior officer from behind, like a coward? I taught you to be a man, goddamn it, not to hide in some stairwell and beat on a woman. You're a disgrace to me, to the family name, to the job."



"They come at you, you come back harder. That's what you taught me. That's what I did."



"You don't see the difference, there's nothing I can say." Wearily, Meeks got to his feet. "I'll use what I've got to fix this for you, the best



I can. You're my son, so I'll do it for you, for your mother, for my grandson. But you're done on the job, Arnie. If I could fix that, I wouldn't.



You're done."



"Then how are you going to hold your head up, if you don't have your son following you on the job?"



"I don't know. I'll get you out of this, the best I can. After that, I don't know."



"I only did what I thought you'd do."



"If I believed that, I'd feel sicker than I do now." Meeks walked over to the cell door, set his jaw. "On the gate!" he called, then left his son.



By Sunday, Phoebe decided to ditch the sling. She was tired of it, tired of the meds, tired of the bruises.



And she had to admit she was tired of having to fight back the need to whine and complain so that she could ease her family back into routine.



Still, she felt better when she stepped out of the shower, especially if she avoided any glimpse of herself in the mirror. She managed to get her robe on without too much of a struggle, and decided she'd probably not only last through Sunday dinner, but maybe even make it until the crazy hour of ten o'clock that night before her energy just drained out like water from a sieve.



She walked into her bedroom just as her sister-in-law walked through the door. "Knock, knock," Josie said with a big smile. "How's the patient today?"



"I've crossed myself off the disabled list, thanks."



"I'll be the judge of that. Let her drop."



"Come on, Josie."



Josie's smile only widened. She was barely five-two, weighed in at maybe one-ten fully dressed, and behind that angelic smile was a hardass that would make Nurse Ratched tremble.



"Drop the robe, sweets, or I'll tell your mother."



"That's mean."



"I am mean."



"Don't I know. I'm going to run away to Atlanta, get myself an apartment and leave no forwarding address." But Phoebe dropped the robe.



Sympathy shone in Josie's big brown eyes, but her voice was brisk. "Bruising's fading. The hip looks a lot better. That shoulder has to be painful yet."



"It's coming along."



"How's the range of motion?"



"I'm still grateful I've got some front-hook bras, but it's improving." Josie took Phoebe's hands, turned them over. If truth be told, those injuries hurt her heart more than the rest. "Wrist lacerations look pretty good."



"Bitching sore if you want the truth. Can I regain my modesty now?" Josie picked up the robe, helped Phoebe into it. "Any trouble with your vision in that eye?"



"No, it's clear. And before you ask, the headaches are fewer and less intense. I can poke at my jaw without feeling like I've drilled a spike through it and into my brain. All in all, not too bad."



"You're healing well. Helps that you're young and in excellent physical shape."



"I knew those damn Pilates were good for something. You didn't have to come by to check on me, Jo."



"You get the bonus round because I came early so Ava can teach me to bake lemon meringue pie. Which you know she's making because it's Dave's favorite. Why doesn't she just jump that man and get the ball rolling?"



"I wish I knew." Phoebe moved to her dresser for underwear. "In all these years it's the first time they've both been free at the same time. His divorce has been final for almost two years now. But they're both still playing just friends."



"We could set them up on a blind date. You know, you tell him you've got somebody, and I tell her, and we don't tell either the somebodies are each other. And then-"



"We both get our butts burned for meddling."



Josie pouted. "That's what Carter said when I tried the idea out on him. Well, I'm giving them six months more, then I'm risking my butt. Want me to help you get dressed?"



"I can handle it."



"Just between us now?" Josie watched Phoebe's range of motion as Phoebe eased into a shirt, and judged it improved. "How are you doing otherwise?"



"Okay. I know the symptoms of posttraumatic stress. I've had some unpleasant dreams. It's natural."



"It's also natural for stress to bottle up when you feel obligated to keep it inside and not upset the family."



"If I need to spew, I have my ways. Don't worry. I'm back on the job full-time next week. That helps me."



"Okay. Call if you need me."



To prove to herself as well as her family that things were approaching normal, Phoebe dressed with some care. The bold blue color of the shirt cheered her up enough to nudge her into taking some time with makeup. Then more time as she realized if she just kept blending, the bruises went from a shout to a murmur.



By the time she got downstairs, the kitchen was full of women cooking. It didn't hurt her feelings at all to be banished out to the courtyard and the sunshine with Carter and Carly.



"Mama!" Carly flew across the bricks. "I kicked Uncle Carter's butt at jacks."



"That's my girl."



"It's a sissy game."



"He says that when he loses," Carly announced. "Do you want to play the champ?"



"I don't think I'm up to sitting on the ground yet, baby. Give me another week, and we'll see whose butt gets kicked. You better practice."



"I'm going in for a drink, okay? Whipping Uncle Carter was thirsty work."



"Smart-mouth."



Carly grinned at her uncle and ran for the door. With a sigh, Phoebe sat on the circular bench around the courtyard's little fountain.



Here, she could not only see Ava's roses but smell them. She could hear the birds sing, and admire the tenacity of the thyme and chamomile that spread between the cracks of the pavers, the sweet faces of the violas that danced around a copper birdbath.



Here, with the brick walls and wrought-iron gates, Ava had created a personal sanctuary where shade dappled through moss onto benches and tea olives perfumed the air.



"God! It feels good to sit outside."



"Josie give you the thumbs-up?"



"Yeah, yeah."



He sat, slipped an arm around Phoebe's shoulders. "We get to worry about you. It's part of the package."



She leaned her head on his shoulder. "We all had a scare. It's over now."



"I remember how long it took me to get over being scared."



"Carter, you were just a little guy."



"That doesn't matter, and you know it. You looked after me. And you stood between me and Cousin Bess for years after."



"Old bitch. Which is mean and ungrateful, however true, when we're sitting here in her pretty courtyard while other people are baking pies and ham in the kitchen."



"It's Ava's courtyard," Carter said, and made Phoebe smile.



"Yes, it is. And really, even during the tyrant's reign, it was Ava's. Do you ever think how she was younger than we are now when she started working here? Barely twenty-two, wasn't she? And to have the spine to stick it out, to stand up to Cousin Bess."



"You had it at twelve," Carter reminded her. "And you're still looking after us. She knew you'd stay because Mama has to. She could've left Mama the house, after all Mama did for her, but she put it on you, with strings. Locked you in here."



There was no point in denying the truth, every word of truth. And still, it was too lovely a day for bitter old memories. "Locked me in this beautiful house, where my daughter thrives. It's not what we can call a sacrifice."



"It is. It always was. You let me walk away."



She took a firm grip on his hand. "Not very far. I don't think I could stand it if you went very far away."



He smiled, pressed his lips to her hair. "I'd miss you too much. But I'll tell you one thing, Phoebs, I never knew how much I needed to move out of this house until I did it. You never really had a chance."



"I had my time away." College, Quantico, my disaster of a marriage. "I'm happy to be back. I especially like being able to sit out here while three other women put Sunday dinner together."



"That's only because you're a lousy cook."



"Lousy's an exaggeration. I'm an unreliable cook."



"No, you're reliably lousy."



She laughed and poked him in the ribs. "You burn even the thought of food, so you're one to talk."



"That's why they invented takeout and delivery. You won't need to cook if you play your cards right with the rich guy. He's probably got a couple of chefs on staff."



"Listen to you." She gave him another, zestier poke. "Playing my cards. Plus, I don't think he actually has a staff." She frowned over that a moment. She didn't think he had one, but really, how would she know?



"I see he sent more flowers. Looked like a few thousand of them in the parlor."



"A couple dozen lilacs." That smelled so, so lovely. "He seems to be a man who likes to make gestures."



"I got the look from Josie when she saw them." Hissing out a breath, Carter narrowed his eyes at the kitchen windows. "Guys who make gestures make other guys make gestures, and now I'm going to have to remember to bring home flowers next week like I thought of it myself."



"You ought to think of it yourself. I have no sympathy for you."



"I brought her home her favorite panini and a cheap bottle of wine just a few days ago, and I ought to get credit for it. But I'm outdone by some forest of lilacs."



"You used the cheap wine to get lucky."



He grinned. "'Course I did. Well, megabucks aside, and having only met him once, I already like him more than I did Roy."



"You never liked Roy at all, so that's not saying much."



He shifted, pointed in that smug, brotherly way. "And who was right?"



She rolled her eyes. "You were. Shut up. Besides, I got the grand prize out of the bastard." She looked over as the door slammed open and Carly raced out.



"Mama! Uncle Dave's here!"



The minute he stepped out, the instant Phoebe saw his face, she knew. She kept her own blank as she pushed to her feet. "Carter, I want to talk to Dave just a minute. Can you take Carly in, keep her occupied?"



"Sure. Hey, Dave."



They didn't shake as many men did, or do the one-armed, backslapping man hug as others did. They hugged, Phoebe thought; as always it made her smile. It was a good, strong embrace; it was father to son. "You'll have to excuse me and Carly. I have to reestablish my dominance and whoop her at WWE SmackDown."



"As if!" Hooting with challenge, Carly raced back inside the house. "You look better," Dave began.



"So I'm told. Over and over. What happened?"



"They made a deal. I wanted to tell you in person. Phoebe, there was a lot of pressure from the brass on this, from the DA's office-"



"It doesn't matter." She sat again, needed to sit again. "What did they give him?"



"He's off the job, immediately. No benefits. He pleads guilty to simple assault-"



"Simple assault," she repeated. She'd prepared herself, and still she was stunned.



"It carries one-to-three, suspended. He'll get probation. He'll be required to take anger management and serve twenty hours' community service."



"Does he have to write on the blackboard a hundred times: 'I promise to be a good boy'?"



"I'm sorry, Phoebe." He crouched in front of her, laid a hand on her knee. "It's a bad deal. They want to put it away. You don't have to put it away. If you decide to file civil charges against him, I'll stand behind you on it. And I won't be the only one in the department who does."



"I can't put my family through that. Honestly, I don't know if I could put myself through it." She closed her eyes and reminded herself that not all deals were fair, not all deals settled the score. "He did what he did. Everyone who counts knows it." She let out a long breath before looking Dave in the eye again. "He can't be a cop anymore. The rest, it's not important. He's off the job, and that's what's right. That's what's needed. I'm okay with it."



"Then you're a better man than I, kid."



"No. I'm pissed. I'm seriously pissed, but I can live with it. We're going to eat sugar-glazed ham and lemon meringue pie. And Arnie Meeks? He's going to be eating disgrace for a very long time." She nodded. "Yeah. I can live with that."



NEGOTIATION PHASE



Oh, to be torn 'twixt love an' duty.