“I don’t want you going,” he said as he turned the shower faucet on.

“Tony thinks I could be helpful—”

“I don’t care what Tony thinks.”

Anne’s temper boiled up as he basically dismissed her by getting in the shower. She pulled the door open and climbed in after him.

“Don’t you dismiss me, Vince Leone,” she snapped, blinking hard as water pellets bounced off her husband and into her face.

“Anne,” he growled, “I won’t have it.”

“And since when are you the boss of me?” she demanded to know.

“Since I’m your husband,” he said, soaping his chest and arms.

“Ha!” She held up her left hand to show him the diamond he had put on her finger not so many months ago. “This is a ring, not a collar and leash. I’m going.”

“I’m not taking you.”

“I’ll drive myself.”

“Not if I get to your car keys before you do.”

“I have a spare set hidden.”

“I don’t. I’ll take my keys and your car.”

Anne narrowed her eyes in frustration. “Why are you being such an ass?”

“I’m protecting you, damn it,” he said. “Could you cooperate, please?”

“Protecting me from what? A four-year-old child who must be scared to death?”

“She’s a witness to a murder.”

“And a victim herself,” Anne pointed out, hastily running a soapy washcloth over herself. “She’s been traumatized. She’s lost her mother. Has anyone found a relative?”

“No,” he said, turning his back to her to rinse the front of him off.

“She has no one.”

“She’ll have someone from Child Services.”

“Seriously?” she said, ducking in front of him to rinse herself off. “You think Child Services should foster out a witness to a murder?”

“Well, I sure as hell don’t think you should do it.”

“I’m only going to see if I can help the little girl through this.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, unimpressed. “Like you were just going to see if you couldn’t help Dennis Farman a little, and now you’re his fucking guardian ad litem?”

“Don’t you curse at me!” Anne said, leaning up toward him, as if she could hope to make herself big enough to intimidate him.

He leaned down over her, water dripping off his nose and mustache. “I’m going to lock you in a closet in a minute.”

Now truly angry, Anne got out of the shower, grabbed a towel and did a half-assed job of drying herself off. The hell if he was going to tell her what she could and couldn’t do. And how dare he throw Dennis Farman up in her face? She was only trying to do something good.

She could see him scowling at her via the wall-to-wall mirror over the long vanity.

“Anne,” he said, climbing out of the shower and reaching for her arm.