Jill had it all planned out. And in her mind, it was going well.

She had come home early and prepared one of Steve’s favorite meals, coq au vin. In truth, other than half a dozen kinds of eggs, it was the only thing she knew how to cook—or at least that she was confident about.

Maybe tonight they could talk about how to proceed. She had the name of a therapist that a friend had given her and Steve had promised he would actually go this time.

She had vegetables simmering in the pan and was about to add wine when Steve came home. But when he walked up the stairs, he seemed to look right through her. “Look at us,” he said. “You’d think we were an ad for domestic bliss.”

“Trying,” Jill said. She was wearing pressed jeans and a pink V-necked T-shirt, and she had her hair down the way he liked it.

“Just one thing wrong.” Steve tossed his newspaper down. “I’m going out.”

Jill felt her stomach sink. “Why? Look at me, Steve. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble.”

“Frank needs to bounce a proposal off me.” Steve reached across to a fruit basket and took a peach. There was a part of him that seemed almost to be gloating, amused that he’d ruined the evening.

“Can’t you see Frank at the office tomorrow? I told you, there was something I needed to talk about. You said okay. I’ve got all this food.”

He took a bite out of the peach and laughed. “You break one night before eight and get it in your head to play Alice on The Brady Bunch, and I’m the one blowing the script?”

“It’s not a script, Steve.”

“You wanna talk”—he sucked out another bite of the peach—“go ahead. In case you’ve forgotten, it’s still my check that pays for those Manolo Blahniks. The market the way it is these days, the only thing scarcer than the Ice Queen with an urge to have sex is a promising deal. Given the odds, I’ll throw in with the deal.”

“That was really cruel.” Jill glared at him. She was determined to hold herself together. “I was trying to do something nice.”

“It is nice.” Steve shrugged, took another bite. “And if you hurry, you might still catch one of your girlfriends to share this special moment with you.”

She saw herself reflected in the window, suddenly feeling ridiculous. “You’re an incredible bastard.”

“Aw …” Steve whined.

Jill flung the spatula down, grease splattering over the counter.

“That’s a five-thousand-dollar slab of limestone you’re redecorating there,” Steve said.

“Goddamn you,” Jill cried, her eyes starting to well up with tears. “Look what I’m trying to do for you.” Everything had fallen apart. What was she trying to hold on to anyway?

“You belittle me. You criticize. You make me feel like crap. You want to walk out that door, go… Get out of my life. Everyone thinks I’m crazy for wanting to keep this together anyway.”

“Everyone…” She saw the venom in his eyes, the switch suddenly tripped. He grabbed her by the arm and squeezed it hard, forcing Jill down to the floor. “You let those bitches run your life. I run your life. Me, Jill …”

Jill held back more tears. “You’re gone, Steve. It’s over!”

“It’s over when I say it’s over,” he said, hovering close to her face. “When I make your life so miserable, you beg me to leave. And I will, Jill. Until then, this is the way it is. It’s not over, honeybuns.… Things are just starting to warm up.”

“Get out,” she said, and pulled away from him.

He cocked his fist, but she didn’t even flinch. Not this time. Not even a blink. Steve moved fast, as though he was going to strike, and Jill just held her ground. “Get out, Steve,” she seethed again.

The blood seemed to drain from Steve’s face. “My pleasure,” he said, backing away. He picked up another peach from the basket and rubbed it against his shirt. He tossed a last smirk toward the messy stove.

“Be sure and save the leftovers.”

As soon as she heard the door close downstairs, Jill broke into tears. That was it! She didn’t know if she should call Claire or Lindsay. There was something she had to do first. She pulled the Yellow Pages out of a kitchen cabinet and paged through them, frantically dialing the first number she found.

Her hand was trembling, but this time there was no turning back. Answer, someone… please!

“Thank God,” she said when a voice finally did.

“Safe-More Locksmiths …”

“You do emergencies?” Jill asked, resolve mixed with her tears. “I need someone over here now.”

My message light was flashing.

It was after one in the morning when I finally got back to my apartment.

I threw my suit jacket over a chair and pulled off my sweater, hitting the PLAYBACK button of the answering machine.

5:28. Jamie, Martha’s vet. She’s ready to be picked up in the morning.

7:05. Jacobi, just checking in.

7:16. Jill. A quiver of nerves in her voice. “I need to talk to you, Lindsay. I tried your cell phone, but it didn’t answer. Call me, whenever you get home.”

11:15. Jill again. “Lindsay? Call me as soon as you get home. I’m up.”

Something had happened. I punched in her number and she answered on the second ring. “It’s me. I was in Portland. Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know,” she said. A pause. “I threw Steve out tonight.”

I almost dropped the phone on the floor. “You really did it?”

“This time’s for keeps. We’re done, Lindsay.”

“Oh, Jill …” I thought of her carrying this all night, waiting for me to come home. “What did he do?”

“I don’t want to go into it right now,” she said, “other than it won’t be happening anymore. I threw him out, Lindsay. I changed the locks.”

“You locked him out? Wow! So where is he now?”

Jill coughed out a laugh. “I don’t have any idea. He went out about seven and when he came back, about eleven-thirty, I heard him pounding on the door outside. It would have been worth the past ten years of bullshit just to see the expression on his face when his key didn’t fit. He’ll swing by tomorrow to get his stuff.”

“Are you alone? Have you called anyone?”

“No,” she answered. “I was waiting for you. My buddy.”

“I’m gonna come over,” I said.

“No,” she said, “I just took something. I want to go to sleep. I have to be in court tomorrow.”

“I’m proud of you, Jilly.”

“I’m proud of me, too. You’re not going to mind if I need a little hand-holding over the next few weeks?”

“No hand I’d rather hold. I’m giving you a big hug, honey. Get some sleep. And here’s some advice from a cop: Keep that door locked.”

I hung up the phone. It was going on two in the morning, but I didn’t care. I wanted to call Claire or Cindy and tell them the news.

Jill finally booted the asshole out!

“Hey, lieutenant,” Cappy Thomas shouted as I walked in the following morning. “Leeza Gibbons on the line. Entertainment Tonight? Wants to know if you can do lunch.”

I had made the mistake of calling Jacobi from the plane last night, and maybe gave a few too many details about the day. Some snickers rippled around the squad room.

I took some hot water back to my desk. A light was flashing on my phone. I punched it in.

“Listen, LT”—Jacobi’s voice—“me and the missus were thinking about heading over to the Big Island sometime in July. Any chance you can snag the G-3?”

I punched off the line, spooning a pouch of Red Zinger into my mug.

“Hey, LT, phone!” Cappy yelled again.

This time I picked it up and snapped, “Look, I didn’t sleep with him, I didn’t ask for the jet, and while you bozos were scratching your balls back here, I actually moved the homicide case along.” “I guess that’ll have to do as an update.” Cindy laughed. “Oh God …” I lowered my head, letting the blood drain

from my face. “Believe it or not, I didn’t call to bust your chops. I’ve got news.”