“Is that so? Gotta hand it to New York’s finest. When they get on the job—”

“Right,” she said, and damned if he couldn’t hear her smile. “You had nothing to do with it.”

“Not a thing. You said you didn’t approve, so I gave it up.”

“Okay. Be that way. But Dr. Clayton said as far as she can tell, every single gift is back, and the guy who stole them is locked up. I don’t know how you managed it, but—”

“I simply E-mailed Santa and he did the rest.”

“Well, Santa may have to do some more. Dr. Clayton asked me for your number.”

Jack stiffened. “You didn’t give it to her.”

“No. I didn’t give her any number. I told her I didn’t know it by heart, and I’d have to look it up and get back to her.”

Jack relaxed. “You done good, Gia. The perfect answer. Any idea what she wants?”

“Something about a personal matter. She didn’t offer any details, and I didn’t ask.”

“Okay. Write this down.” Jack rattled off the number at the Tenth Avenue drop. “Tell her to leave a message on the answering machine. Tell her that’s how you get hold of me.”

“Will do. Are we still on for this afternoon?”

“Sure are. Westchester, right?”

“No,” she said, drawing out the word. “FAO Schwartz.”

“We’ll discuss that later. See you at noon.”

4.

“Oh, my God!” Gia said. “What’s that?”

“Just a little bruise.”

Jack looked down at the large purple area on his left chest wall. Damn. He’d hoped she wouldn’t notice, but here in the warm afterglow of their lovemaking, he’d forgot all about it.

They’d dropped Vicky off at her art class after lunch. She spent most of every Sunday afternoon learning the basics of drawing, painting, and sculpture. Her teacher said she showed a real flair for drawing. Jack figured it had to be genetic, what with her mother an artist and all. Vicky loved the classes, and Jack loved the chance to be alone with Gia on Sunday afternoons.

Their routine was to dash here to Jack’s apartment immediately after dropping Vicky off. Often they didn’t travel ten feet inside the door before they were tearing at each other’s clothes. From there they usually wound up on the nearest horizontal surface. Today, however, they’d made it all the way to the bed.

Jack pulled the sheet up to his neck, but she pushed it down.

“I’d hardly call that ‘little.’ “ He watched Gia’s fingers trace over it. “Does it hurt?”

“Nah.”

She pressed and he winced.

“Right,” she said. “Doesn’t hurt a bit. How long have you had it?”

“Since last night.” Since a little before midnight, to be exact.

He told her about the creep taking a shot at him, and how the Kevlar vest had saved him.

“Thank God you were wearing it!” she said. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off it or stop touching it. “But if the vest is bulletproof, how come you’re hurt?”