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write a book."

"What's wrong with Jody and Glen?" Shirley asked impatiently. "They're great friends."

"I noticed, and that's a great place to start a relationship."

"If you're going to tell me Jody's still in love with Jeff, I'll agree with you. Good grief, I never dreamed this assignment would be so difficult. I do everything Gabriel wants and then he sends me hightailing it back to earth, claiming trouble's afoot. But he won't tell me where."

"It's obvious," Goodness said. "Glen doesn't love her either."

"Now, I sincerely doubt that. Glen's crazy about Jody."

"It's the little boy," Goodness said gently. "Glen's impatient for a family, and Jody has one ready-made for him."

"I disagree." Shirley might have been new at this business, but she didn't doubt Glen's honorable intentions for an instant.

"Why don't we check him out and see for ourselves," Goodness suggested. "I'll help you and then maybe you can help me. I'm having troubles of my own."

They left Timmy's house and had no problem locating Glen's. "He told her he was working on a brief," Shirley explained.

Glen was sitting at his desk, a pen poised in his hands, but he seemed to be having trouble. They watched for several moments while he did nothing more than stare into space.

"What's he doing?" Goodness whispered.

"I don't know. He seems to be thinking."

"Doesn't he know that will only get him into trouble?"

Shirley smiled. "I guess not. Look, he's opening a drawer."

Glen's shoulders heaved with a deep sigh as he removed a photograph from the bottom drawer. Goodness and Shirley looked over his shoulder. The photograph was that of a beautiful young woman with long black hair that cascaded over her shoulders.

"There's your trouble," Goodness whispered. "Glen's in love with another woman."

Chapter 17

This wasn't going to be easy. Monica had carefully steeled herself for the coming confrontation with Chet. She stood outside his office door, her heart pounding hard and fast.

Fervently she prayed she was doing the right thing. All she knew was that she couldn't leave matters between them the way they were.

She could hear movement and knew Chet was there. She drew in a deep breath, knocked, turned the door handle, and stepped inside.

Chet was standing in front of his file cabinet, tossing one file after the other into a large cardboard container. Boxes were piled high on every bit of available space. His desk was clear, and the infamous calendar was down.

He was moving. Leaving Seattle. Leaving her.

"I won't be taking on any new - " He stopped abruptly when he saw it was Monica. For one all-too-brief moment tenderness flashed in his eyes, but that was quickly replaced with practiced hardness. His gaze became sharp and dangerous like that of a cornered animal that was prepared to lash out in order to protect itself.

"What are you doing here?" he said.

"My father wanted me to apologize," she began haltingly. "He never intended to offend you."

"You've apologized, now go."

What gave her to courage to stay, Monica would never know. "Why are you moving?"

He didn't answer, but continued working at a furious pace, lifting several thick folders at a time, carelessly tossing them into the box.

"Where are you going?" she asked, trying a different vein.

"Away. Monica," her name was little more than a frustrated sigh, "please, just go. Don't make this any more difficult than it already is."

"All right," she agreed and he visibly relaxed at her words. "If you answer one question."

"It's over," he said with sharp impatience. "Leave it at that."

"I can't." Monica had honestly tried to accept that he wanted her out of his life. But no matter how hard she struggled to find acceptance none would come.

"I'm not going to debate the issue with you."

"Just tell me why you don't want my love," she said forcefully. "Tell me what it is about me - "

"It has nothing to do with you. The problem is mine."

"Then tell me. I need to know." Despite her efforts to the contrary, her voice cracked with the strain of emotion.

Chet moved as if he were in pain, slowly and with difficulty. His back was to her as he stared out the window. Monica stayed where she was by the door, trembling and hating herself for subjecting them to this torment a second time.

The room seemed to spark with tension.

"I know you love me," she whispered. "You can't make me believe you don't. There has to be something more."

"I'm not good enough for you," he shouted. "Now for the love of God get out of here."

"No," she