I didn't know for sure, but I thought it was coming. I was right.

Once in a while there will be one of those thunder storms that sound like the whole world is going to blow apart and then we just won't have to worry about what we'll do tomorrow. This was one of those storms, except the thunder and the noise wasn't coming from clouds thousands of feet in the air. Instead it was coming from him.

The day started normally enough, with breakfast of bacon and scrambles, which is what he had to have every morning, I dragged out of bed at four am to get the coffee on and the food cooking, and forty-five minutes later he appeared in the kitchen, tucking his shirt into his pants and sniffing the air.

"Done yet?"

"In a minute."

Same thing every morning.

He slid into his place at the table and watched hungrily as I sat his plate in front of him. My hand had barely let go before he was digging in with his fork. I took my own plate and sat down across from him, tucking in as well but with less vigor.

"Connelly'll be over to fix the bathroom faucet later today. Talked to him after patrol yesterday."

I nodded.

"Keep your hands to yourself while he's here, and make sure you put on something decent. Look like you're the police chief's wife for once."

"I will, Kevin." I was still in my nightgown, but once he left I'd put on my gingham button-front blouse and a long denim skirt. It was what I wore everyday, and I looked more respectable in that then I thought Kevin looked in his uniform. Although that could've been because I knew what he hid behind that dark brown shirt and pants.

"Behave and get something done today." Kevin told me the same thing everyday when he left the house at six am, then he spanked me once and headed out the door.

For the next twelve hours I would be free. Almost.

I cleaned and put everything in order. Justin Connelly, the plumber and an old high school friend of mine, knocked on the door around noon. I let him in with a smile and tried to make myself look like a happy housewife. "Upstairs?" he asked.

"Yes. It won't stop dripping."

"All right."

An hour later Justin called me from my ironing and I headed up the stairs to the master bathroom. He stood there with grease on his hands and a streak across his right cheek, smiling. "No more drips."

"Good."

"Abby."

"Yes?"

"What's wrong?"

I raised my eyebrows at him. "The sink dripped. You just said you fixed it."

"I meant with you."

"What do you mean, what's wrong with me?" I managed a little

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