Nobody But You

“Do I Make You Nervous?” “No. Of course not. Why would you?” Her words were casual and he almost believed her. Except she started nibbling on her thumb. He stifled the urge to pull her up from the couch and hold her close. “Are you sure?” “Of course I’m sure. Why on earth would I be nervous?” “No reason at all. Unless you can read my mind.” Her throat moved as she swallowed. “Why? What are you thinking?” “About you.” He moved closer, knowing it was foolish, but also knowing that sometimes you just had to go with your gut. “About us.” He reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet. “About Chinese food.” Her little gasp tied itself up with his heart and twisted. What the hell was he doing? This was a woman who wanted home and hearth, not a guy like him. He didn’t want to lead her on; didn’t want to pretend to be something he wasn’t. She licked her lips, her eyes never leaving his face. “Yes,” she whispered, and his body hardened as her unspoken promises caressed him. “Yes, what?” Her breath was shaky and she gripped the legal pad for dear life. “Yes, I’m nervous,” she said.

Critics Love Julie Kenner! Aphrodite’s Passion “Julie Kenner does it again! This follow-up to the hilarious and amazing Aphrodite’s Kiss is filled with the same sense of fun and originality as the first. Excellent reading!” —Romantic Times

Aphrodite’s Kiss “Julie Kenner has developed a wonderfully original storyline laden with fun. The whole concept of the Council of Protectors is marvelous. A true original, filled with humor, adventure and fun!” —Romantic Times “Aphrodite’s Kiss has made Julie Kenner’s books an autobuy for me.” —All About Romance “With her characteristic flair, Kenner will have the reader laughing till tears come at the marvelous antics and sparkling dialogue. Richly created characters, an outrageous plot, and a lovable ferret make Aphrodite’s Kiss a keeper.” —Cindy Penn, WordWeaving “What fun! The characters were well developed, sympathetic and lovable, while the supporting cast was fabulous…. For a wonderful read, I highly recommend Aphrodite’s Kiss.” —Karen Larsen, ScribesWorld “Julie Kenner’s latest is just plain wonderful, a non-stop roller-coaster ride full of humor, emotion, action, and endearing characters. Saving the world has never been this much fun. Brava Ms. Kenner. Aphrodite ’s Kiss is a winner!” —Lauren Michaels, Heart Rate Reviews “Aphrodite’s Kiss is an exceptional book!…Julie Kenner’s imagination is to be applauded.”

—Road to Romance

The Cat’s Fancy “…charming and magical.” —Romantic Times “…deserves a place on any keeper’s shelf.” —WordWeaving “…funny, witty, and unbelievably erotic.” —Affaire de Coeur

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. An Original Publication of Pocket Books

PO CK ET BO

OK S, a divisi on of Sim on & Schu ster, Inc.

123 0 Ave nue of the Ame ricas , New Yor k, NY 100 20 Copyright © 2003 by Julia Kenner All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020 ISBN: 0-7434-8080-5 POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc. Visit us on the World Wide Web:

http://www.SimonSays.com To Lauren McKenna, for so many reasons. And to Catherine Elizabeth, who colors my life.

Acknowledgments A great big thank-you to the Internet in general. Where else can one find out—at three in the morning— about the interior of a classic Volkswagen or the history of a Studillac? And thanks to my dad for his car expertise and to the folks at Penguin Putnam for being so generous in helping with my Mickey Spillane/Mike Hammer questions. Thanks also to the folks on the READ list, who never fail to offer unending support and to pitch in on those pesky research questions. And, finally, an extra special thank-you for her constant support and much-appreciated research help to Karen Kikipoo Boml, a fan who became a friend.

Chapter 1 “I need the best,” the dame in the doorway said. She sashayed in to my office, her painted-on skirt hugging curves tighter than a Ferrari maneuvering the Swiss Alps. Her hips twitched out a message in Morse Code just for me—a message I considered answering, then thought better of it. You just never know with dames. I keep a hard wooden chair across from my desk. Uncomfortable, so as to discourage clients from staying and shooting the breeze. She glided to the chair and sat down. Her short, red skirt rode up her thigh, revealing the black lace top of thigh-high stockings. I sucked in my breath and cursed buying that damn chair. “They tell me that’s you,” she crooned. “The best, I mean.” I concentrated on the way her lips moved under blood-red lipstick. “I need you, Mr. Anderson.” Anderson? Who the hell was Anderson? “You got the wrong sap, lady,” I said. A damn shame, too. “The name’s Monroe. Philip Monroe. Private detective, at your service.” “Mr. Anderson!” The feminine voice filtered through the door, accompanied by the staccato rhythm of someone pounding to get in. “Hello? Is anybody there?” David Anderson clicked off his microcassette recorder, reality settling around him like a wet wool blanket. He had no idea who the hell had interrupted him, but if the pounding was any indication, she wasn’t going away anytime soon. “Hang on,” he said, swinging his feet off the desk. “I’m coming.” With a groan, he levered himself out of his chair and made his way around the pine kitchen table he’d converted to a desk. He managed to avoid knocking over the stack of boxes filled with classic-rock vinyl and a few old T-shirts, but wasn’t so lucky with the novels piled up next to the sofa, and his copies of I, The Jury, Vengeance Is Mine, and other hard-boiled classics ended up scattered all over the floor. “Hello?” That voice again, only meeker this time. “Just a sec,” he yelled. Irritated by both the interruption and his own clumsiness, he kicked a copy of My Gun Is Quick, sending it sliding over the hardwood floor. It came to rest by the ancient Royal typewriter he periodically tried to fix. A damn fine novel, it didn’t deserve such treatment, and he stifled the urge to drop down and rescue it. Time enough for that after he got rid of whoever was at the door. Probably a Jehovah’s Witness. Or a Girl Scout. He half frowned. If that was the case, he’d take a box of Thin Mints before he sent her packing.

“Mr. Anderson! Please. It’s raining.” He negotiated the rest of the obstacle course he called his floor until he reached the door. He flung it open and there she was—a drowned rat of a woman in white Keds, a soggy yellow sundress, and matted red hair. Not that he’d been expecting the dame from his scene, but this gal didn’t even come close. Unlike the coiffed woman in his head, this girl’s chin-length curls looked like they wouldn’t coif if her life depended on it. And no too-tight skirt for this gal. Her gauzy dress fell almost to her ankles, revealing nothing more provocative than lacy socks and white sneakers. This woman was no femme fatale, but she sure as hell wasn’t a Girl Scout, either. Damn disappointing. Especially since she’d pulled him away from what was developing into a damn good scene. And he hadn’t come up with a damn good scene in a long time. He needed a good scene— several, actually—if he ever hoped to sell one of his novels. The way his writing had been going lately, that fine day promised to be a cold one in hell. “Well, damn,” he said, leaning against the doorjamb. “So much for cookies.” “Excuse me?” Her eyes widened, her long lashes framing emerald green irises. The woman herself might be bland as hell, but she had nice eyes. He added a point to his mental tally, bringing her up to one and a half. The half was for the red hair. He’d always been a sucker for redheads. “Thin Mints,” he said, as if that would clear it all up for her. Instead of asking, she gave him that look—the one all women shared but apparently didn’t come with Y chromosomes—and inched closer to the open door. “Can I come in?” “That depends,” he said. “Who are you and what are you selling?” She blinked, then looked around, as if the answer to his question could be found lurking on the stairs leading up to his tiny garage apartment. “Uh, I’m Jacey Wilder.” A niggling feeling in the back of his mind told him that name should mean something. “I have an appointment?” she added, the statement coming out as a question. A client. Of course. Well, that made sense. His annoyance at the interruption faded. As much as he needed a damn good scene, he needed money more. Lately his investigation career had been about as dry as his writing career. “Yeah. Right. Sorry.” He stepped back and ushered her all the way in. “I’m a little distracted this morning.” She brushed past him. “I guess so.” Ignoring her smart-aleck response, he shut the door and then led her across the room. The living room doubled as his office, so he aimed her toward the sofa that faced his desk. The cushions were buried under piles of Dashiell Hammett novels, true crime magazines, and dessert recipes ripped from the pages of Gourmet and Food and Wine. He swept the whole mess onto the floor before gesturing for her to sit down. “A little light reading?” she asked. “Something like that,” he said. He grabbed a towel off a pile of rumpled laundry and tossed it to her. He didn’t care about the couch, but he figured he ought to make some effort toward being polite. “Thank you,” she said, blotting her face and her dress. She nodded toward the books. “I guess it makes sense. You write true crime books and you’re a private investigator, so I’m sure studying The Maltese Falcon comes in handy.” Great. The one client he had lined up and she couldn’t stop with the wisecracks. “Book,” he said.

Her brow furrowed. “Excuse me?” “I wrote Stalking Death five years ago. One true crime book in five years. That doesn’t make me the J.K. Rowling of true crime, okay?” Her eyes widened even as her lips thinned. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to touch a nerve.” Her words were polite, but her expression practically shouted that she thought he was a nutcase. Maybe he had come on a little strong, but he was sick to death of everyone assuming that since he ’d written one true crime book, he was all gung ho to write another. He might need the money—hell, he might need it a lot—but he damn sure didn’t need the long hours interviewing witnesses, poring over trial transcripts, and hanging out in courtrooms. And, of course, there was the little problem of not having anything to write about even if he was so inclined. Rather than explain any of that to her, he just said simply, “Now I’m a private investigator. That’s what I do.” Not exactly the full truth, but only three people knew that he was working on a novel—his agent, his Aunt Millie, and, thanks to Aunt Millie’s big mouth, his buddy Finn. His aunt was convinced he’d be the next F. Scott Fitzgerald. His agent kept bugging him to forget novels, go hang out with a few rapists, and spit out another gory true crime opus. Finn, thank God, had no thoughts on the matter at all. Of course, David had no intention of sharing any of that with the likes of Jacey Wilder. Not that she really seemed interested. Instead, she looked mildly concerned about his sanity. Hell, half the time he was concerned about his sanity. She wet her lips and clutched her purse a little tighter. “Um, have I come at a bad time?” She had, but that was hardly the girl’s fault. He waved the question away, then rubbed his forehead, trying to remember why the hell she’d made an appointment. “Gimme a sec, okay, lady?” He sat down behind his desk and glanced at the ink blotter until he found the note scribbled in the top left corner: Jacey Wilder. 12:15. “Look, I’ve obviously come at a bad time.” She stood up, tucking her purse under her arm. “Why don’t I just call later to reschedule?” David’s stagnant brain kicked into gear. The girl who could well be his only paycheck for the month was getting ready to leave. That wasn’t good, especially since the IRS was suddenly his new best friend. “No! I mean, wait. Sorry, Ms. Wilder. Just distracted by a case.” He smiled his most charming smile and waited for lightning to strike him down for his lie. No lightning. Plus she leaned back against the cushions and put her purse beside her. Okay. The morning was definitely looking up. “You were saying?” he prompted. “I said, they told me you were the best. That’s what I need, Mr. Anderson. The best. Can you help me?” “They? Who exactly are they?” As he expected, she squirmed a little on his couch. He expected it because he wasn’t the best. Not by a long shot. So either she was lying or someone in town was seriously misinformed. Either way, he was curious. “Does it really matter who referred me?” “Of course,” he lied. David leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on his desk, then looked at her over the scuffed toes of his loafers. He’d have to remember to get a shoeshine. “I need to know where my clients are coming from.”

“Elliott Talbot,” she mumbled. “Who?” he said. Tacky, but he couldn’t resist baiting her. Especially since Talbot wouldn’t recommend a taxi in the rain. She looked up and met his eyes. “Elliott Talbot,” she said, this time with more force. “Oh! Elliott. What a guy, that Elliott. Bet he really sung my praises, huh?” Talbot was one of the most prominent criminal defense attorneys in the Los Angeles area. He was also a big wussy, but that was only David’s opinion. Of course, David had expressed that opinion pretty loudly in Stalking Death and Elliott had been known to carry a grudge. If Talbot had referred Jacey, her case had to be lame. This time when he looked over his toes, she was nibbling on her lower lip. Her cheeks had bloomed a charming shade of pink. And he was beginning to feel like a heel for baiting her. He swung his feet to the floor and picked up his pencil, twirling it between his fingers like a miniature baton. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter.” He looked back down at her name on the blotter. He’d written “BF” beside the time. Bananas Foster? Probably not, though maybe he’d make some this weekend. Barely forty? He raked his gaze over her. No way. He guessed twenty-seven, then made a mental note to look up her driver’s license and see if he was right. Boyfriend. Of course. “You’re trying to locate a missing boyfriend.” She licked her lips, then nodded. “Yes. Exactly. That’s what I told you on the phone, right?” He nodded absently, wondering about the man who’d skipped out on her. Jacey wasn’t David’s type, of course. He could tell the moment he opened the door that she was the kind of girl who wanted a picket fence in the front yard and a swing set in the back. He’d been there, done that, and had no interest in traveling that suburban road again. But some men liked that kind of thing and he wondered why Jacey’ s specimen had skedaddled. “So give me the rest of the scoop,” he said, since Jacey didn’t seem inclined to elaborate. “You nailed it. A missing boyfriend. Just like you said.” She smiled. “I’d have to say that sums it up perfectly.” She folded her hands in her lap and stared expectantly at him. He rubbed his forehead. “You wanna maybe give me a little more to go on?” “Oh. Right. Sorry.” She hauled the purse back into her lap and started rummaging through it. She paused midrummage and flashed him a smile. “I’m a little new to this whole PI thing.” “It’s pretty painless. Just two steps. Tell me what you know and tell me what you want to find out.” The wattage of her smile gave his lamps a run for their money. “I can do that.” After a few more excavations into her cavernous purse, she pulled out an envelope. She stood up and moved to his desk, her hip barely brushing the wood as she plunked the envelope down in front of him. “That’s it. That’s all I know.” He unfastened the clasp and peered inside—one photograph and a tattered napkin. He pulled them out and set them on the blotter. She pointed to the photo, which showed a man walking on the beach. His face was partially in the shadows but was still clear enough, and it looked like the photographer had been up high, maybe on a balcony. “That’s him,” she said. “The napkin’s a note I wrote to myself.” David glanced at the cocktail napkin. Albert Alcott. Harvard Law.“So this is old Albert, huh?” Already, David didn’t like the guy. The man was one of those obnoxious pretty-boy types who probably had three or four country club membership cards tucked into his wallet. Still, David liked the idea of the scorned woman writing her lover’s name on a napkin. If it got wet, everything she knew about the guy would dissolve like so many soggy tissues. Then the heroine

would have to hire Monroe to find the boyfriend, who, of course, would never be found. And the heroine would fall for Monroe instead. Except, she’d be— “Mr. Anderson?” He whipped his head up, managing to pull a muscle in the process. “Sorry. I was just studying his face.” He fingered the photograph. “You can learn a lot from a man’s face.” “Oh.” Her brows drew together, but other than that there were no signs she thought he was nuts. Good. He clicked on his tape recorder and whispered, “Soggy tissues,” then clicked it off again. Now she probably thought he’d lost it, but the scene was too good to risk forgetting. “So this is Al?” he asked, trying to rub out the sore spot on his neck. For a second she didn’t answer, instead staring at the tape recorder. Then she shook her head slightly and said, “Al. Yes, that’s him.” “He was your boyfriend?” She shifted a bit, then pulled herself up a little taller. “Yeah. Why?” “Dunno. It’s just…Albert.” He dragged the name out, pronouncing it through his nose. “I just don ’t think that Alberts are boyfriend material.” Her eyes narrowed and her cheek pooched out, as if she was truly biting her tongue. He shrugged. “Just my opinion.” “And I’ll bet David is the perfect boyfriend name,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Hell no. Davids are fuckups, too.” He grinned. “Believe me. I know.” “Hmmm.” He glanced at the photo, deciding that maybe back to business was the best plan of action. She was, after all, the one with the checkbook. “He graduated from Harvard?” Old Al must have dropped out. Harvard law grads were a cinch to track down. Just one big alumni society spiderwebbed across the country. “Yup.” Her chin lifted. “With honors,” she said, parking herself on his couch again. “Uh-huh.” David leaned back in his desk chair, the one he’d paid extra for so he could lean way back without falling, and linked his hands behind his head. “So you wanna tell me what’s really going on?” “I—I don’t understand.” He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, trying to convey maximum disbelief. “You don’t need the best, Miss Jacey Wilder. From what you’ve told me, this job’s pretty much a cakewalk. Hell, you could probably find him yourself.” He grinned. “So that means you must be looking for the cheapest.” The phone rang and he reached for it, covering the mouthpiece as he shot her a wide grin. “As luck would have it, that happens to be me.” Jacey gnawed on her thumbnail as David talked on the phone. She wasn’t completely sure she liked David Anderson. In fact, she was pretty sure that, given the chance, she could dislike him intensely, and the fact that he was pretty darn cute didn’t change that assessment one bit. Not that it mattered what she thought of him. Theirs was going to be a purely professional relationship and, from what she could tell, he could get the job done. He might not be the best, but he’d clued into her pathetic financial state easily enough, and that had to mean he had some talent. Even if he

was a little odd. Or a lot odd. Besides, Elliott had already warned her that David was flaky. Considering her mom, that hadn’t worried Jacey at all. Flaky she could handle. And, since she couldn’t afford anyone else, if she wanted to find Al, David was her man. And she did want to find him. Considering what she’d done, though, Jacey could only hope that Al wanted to be found. “Sorry about that,” David said as he hung up the phone. He leaned back again and laced his fingers behind his head. “Where were we?” “I’m…” She trailed off. She’d never hired a private investigator before and wasn’t sure what to say next. “What do I do now?” “Well, first you write me a check for my retainer. And write your address and phone number on the check if it’s not already there so I don’t have to use my amazing skills to track you down.” “Oh.” She should have figured that much, and she started to rummage through her purse for her checkbook. “And then you tell me the rest of the story.” She froze in midrummage. “I already told you everything.” “Excuse me, sweetheart, but cut the crap.” She jerked her hand out of the bag, leaving her checkbook behind as she aimed what she hoped was an insulted, annoyed, haughty glare in his direction. “Are you this rude to all your clients? Or am I some special case? Or maybe this is just your version of the Friday lunch special?” She cocked her head, sure her eyes were flashing, and not so much because he was being unreasonable, but because he’d figured her out once again. “Can I get fries with that insult? No? Well, then how about supersizing it?” Her voice was rising as she babbled and she tamped it down, not at all keen on the thought of losing it in front of David Anderson. “Guess we know the origin of that private dick jargon, huh?” “And you say I was being rude?” She frowned, but didn’t bother to answer, and held her hands tight in her lap so she wouldn’t do additional damage to her thumbnail. He leaned back farther, the chair creaking precariously. Jacey held her breath, sure he was going to fall backward and break his neck. That wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing, but her CPR was rusty, and she didn’t much feel like a good Samaritan at the moment, anyway. “I’m not rude,” he continued, still teetering on the chair. “Just honest. Which is more than I can say for you.” Okay. This was a bit much. The truth, yes, but that wasn’t the point. “You don’t even know me. How do you know I’m not being honest?” “Because no one—least of all a woman—knows absolutely nothing about a boyfriend except his name and where he went to school.” This time she crossed her arms over her chest and crossed her legs. “Least of all a woman?” she repeated, entirely avoiding the fact that he was right. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Women are nosy.” He shrugged, as if he’d said nothing more insulting than women have hair. “They poke. They pry. They get into the crevices of a guy’s life where they don’t belong, and then, before you know it, poof, the poor guy doesn’t have any secrets, he’s married, he’s got two kids and an

SUV, and his whole life is tied to a three-bedroom, two-bath house in Valencia with a mortgage he can’t afford and a lawn he has to mow.” He leaned forward, propping his chin on his clasped hands. “And the worst of it? He’s not even getting laid anymore.” “No? Then how’d he get the two kids?” David waved his hand in the air, shooing away her words. “Hell, he probably begged for it. Not my point. My point is—” “That you’re a chauvinistic, Neanderthal prick that no right-thinking woman would want to share a mortgage with?” “No.” He matched her gaze head-on, apparently not the least bit perturbed by her insult. “That you’re not telling me everything you know about this guy. And I need that information. If you want me to find Mr. Wonderful, I need to know everything.” She licked her lips. Everything wasn’t exactly her style. Heck, she’d only recently admitted out loud to her gynecologist that she had sex. And everything would require admitting to supremely sarcastic David Anderson that she’d run out on Al because she’d mistakenly confused him for a serial killer. A rather hefty social faux pas, but the mistake had made sense at the time. And now that she knew he wasn’t a killer, she wanted—no, needed—to find him again. To apologize. And to see if maybe, hopefully, they could pick up where they left off. But she really didn’t want to explain all that to David. “I take it you’re not too keen on the everything plan?” “What?” Blinking, she shook her head, trying to get her bearings. “I said I needed to know everything and you suddenly went catatonic on me.” “I went catatonic?” He’s the one who’d totally spaced out on her earlier. “Hardly.” She lifted her chin. “I was thinking.” “Thinking about telling me?” “There’s nothing to tell.” She pointed toward the desk. “You’ve got his name. His picture. What more do you need?” The second the question was out of her mouth, she knew she shouldn’t have asked it. Of course he’d want more info. It made sense, really. She’d just hoped to avoid that part of it. It all seemed so personal somehow. “Information would be good.” He sighed, the irritated look on his face fading to one of understanding. Or maybe frustration. She really didn’t know him well enough to read his moods. He surprised her by pushing his chair back, then getting up and coming around the desk. He leaned up against it, right in front of her, with nothing but a few cubic feet of air separating them, and she suddenly realized that she had to concentrate on breathing. He was bigger than she’d realized. She’d seen him when he’d let her in, of course, but she’d been so annoyed she hadn’t really paid attention. And after he’d sat down, she’d noticed his broad shoulders, but she hadn’t gotten the full impact until he stood up. Now that she had the complete picture, she had to admit that, obnoxious or not, the man was incredibly good looking. Big, but not one of those Herculean guys whose biceps were the size of her thigh. The angles of his face were hard, chiseled, but with his dimpled smile, she could picture him snuggling close with a woman, or even playing with a baby. She could also imagine him beating the crap out of the bad guys and, considering his line of work, that had to be a good thing. With one hand, he flipped a chair around and straddled it, facing her. “Look, think of me as your priest. Or your lawyer. Or your doctor. Take your pick.”

She shook her head, totally clueless. “My point is, you tell me, it doesn’t go any further. And believe me, I’ve heard it all.” Fine. Okay. She could do this. As much as she hated talking about personal stuff, what he said made sense. And it wasn’t like she had to tell him everything. She just had to tell him enough. She pulled in a deep breath, exhaled, and then started blabbing. “We met at the beach.” “When?” She quelled a flash of irritation from the interruption. “About four months ago. I’d gone down to San Diego for an artists’ convention and I decided to splurge and stay at the conference hotel instead of driving back and forth.” It had been a huge splurge, actually, but she was already eighteen months behind schedule, and she’d considered the conference a last shot at making it with her art. She’d needed the opportunity more than she’d wanted her savings account. “What hotel?” He had a pad out and was taking notes. “The Monteleone,” she said. “I’d gone to show my portfolio around.” “You’re an artist?” “A collagist,” she said. “Or I used to be.” “Of course you were,” he said, giving her the blank look she’d gotten used to. “It means I take snapshots and drawings and paint and whatever other media I find appealing and mix it all together to make a statement.” “Oh, right. I’ve done that.” She tilted her head. “You have?” “Yeah,” he said. “In kindergarten.” She just stared at him. “Sorry. My mouth gets away from me. I’m sure your collages are beautiful.” He actually sounded like he meant it, but Jacey knew that had to be a ruse. So far, David Anderson was proving to be both a flake and a bit of a jerk. “So why aren’t you a collagist anymore?” he asked, pronouncing the word slowly and clearly. She licked her lips, not really wanting to talk about it, and shrugged. “I have a degree in accounting and I’m almost thirty. It was time to quit fooling around.” “Uh-huh.” David didn’t look too impressed that she’d sacrificed her artistic soul for a computer spreadsheet. “So,” he said, “back when you were irresponsible, you took a snapshot of Al.” “Right.” She’d actually taken that picture before she and Al had met. She’d been photographing the wave pattern on the beach from the balcony of her room, and had happened to catch him in the background. After she and Al hooked up, photography was the last thing on her mind. Not that she intended to share that little tidbit with David. “Okay. Go on.” “Well, the conference ended on a Wednesday, but I decided to stay. I’d always wanted to do that, you know? Stay in a really nice hotel on the beach and order room service and just lie around. And I had the conference rate through Sunday, so I figured why not.” “Sure. Then what?” “I was in the bar one night and I met Al.” That was more or less the way it had happened. And it was surely all David needed to know.

“And you hit it off.” “Exactly.” “And then what?” “Well…” Again, her cheeks burned. “You know.” “You spent the weekend doing the nasty, parted ways, you gave birth to his kid, and now you’re trying to track down Daddy.” “Are you insane? I am not anyone’s mom.” Not yet, and certainly not like that. He cocked his head, clearly examining her. “Yeah, and it was only four months ago. You don’t look preggers from here.” He shrugged. “Not that I’d be able to tell in that dress.” She sucked in her cheeks, a handy technique for keeping control of her tongue. Otherwise she might let him know—in small, easy-to-understand sentences—just how much of a jerk he was. But if she did that, she’d have to find another PI. And as far as she could tell, no one within a hundred-mile radius was as cheap as David Anderson. “Well?” he prompted. “A hot time but no kid, or what?” “We had a very nice time,” she said. If he wanted to interpret that as a weekend of wild sex, then so be it. “Uh-huh,” he said, his slow gaze burning a path down her body. “Like I said—a very hot time.” She sat up straighter, ignoring his innuendoes even as she tried to ignore the way she shivered under his uncompromising appraisal. “It was a very…uh, pleasant…weekend,” she said. “But we lost track of each other.” “Why?” “Excuse me?” “Why’d you lose track? I mean, if I’m having a hot time with a hot woman, I’m going to know how to get in touch with her.” Yes, she imagined he would. “There was a miscommunication,” she said, banishing thoughts of David and hot time. He raised an eyebrow. “A miscommunication?” he repeated, his voice rising. “What the hell does that mean?” “It means it’s none of your business.” She lifted her chin, hoping she looked superior instead of defensive. “The point is, I don’t know how to find him to apologize. That’s why I’m here.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “With you.” “Gotcha.” He picked up a pencil and started tapping away at his desktop. “So let’s see if I’ve picked up on all the salient points. You had a hot time on the beach with a guy you barely knew, who you haven’t seen again, and now you’re trying to track him down because he made such a huge impact on your life.” “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” Heck, part of her thought she was crazy. Especially when he put it that way. Except she knew she wasn’t. In a moment of pure foolishness, she’d run away. Now she needed to find him, apologize, and find out if they still had a chance. “Sweetheart, it’s not my place to say whether you’re nuts or not.” He nodded toward her purse. “All I care about is that you keep my checks coming. You do that and I’ll search for our boy Al for as long as you want.” He aimed an intense look in her direction. “If that’s what you want.” “Of course it’s what I want.” She tilted her chin up.

“In that case,” he said with a grin, “I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.” In Al’s opinion, the little diner on the outskirts of San Diego had only two things going for it, and the quality of the food wasn’t on his list. No, the diner would never make the Zagat Survey, but it did have big windows, so he could keep an eye on the parking lot. Plus, it was walking distance from a no-tell motel. Not that Al particularly wanted to spend the night in such a rattrap, but he didn’t have the cash for four stars. Hell, right then he couldn’t even afford three stars. He had to laugh at the irony. Four months ago he’d been sitting pretty, and now he was flat broke, with only the contents of his wallet, a pair of khakis, a Perry Ellis shirt, one Armani suit, and a counterfeit Rolex he’d picked up in Mexico City. Not exactly the life he’d planned. A car pulled into one of the spaces in front of the diner, and Al slunk down in his seat, even though he was certain Joey couldn’t have found him so fast. His fingers tightened around his battered copy of The Firm as he tried to get a glimpse of the driver through the glare on the windshield. The door opened, and a college-age girl in a bikini top and cut-off shorts slid out, a tiny purse swinging from her shoulder. His shoulders sagged with relief. Nobody. He exhaled. Once more, he’d beaten the devil. He ran his fingers through his hair, idly wondering when his luck would run out. “You doing okay on coffee, Al?” Doris stopped in front of his table, her overly bleached hair piled high. “I’m doing fine.” He aimed his most winning smile at her. Showtime. If he nailed this performance, he might just have a free place to hole up for the night. “Even better now that you’re back.” “Really?” Splotches of red mottled Doris’s cheeks, and she stood up a little straighter, the seams of her too-tight uniform straining. He nodded. “In fact,” he said, boldly taking her hand and squeezing, “I was hoping we could spend the evening together. Some wine, some crackers…” He trailed off, letting Doris draw her own conclusions. “Well, I just don’t…I mean, I…” “I hope you don’t think I’m too bold. But, well, talking to you…I felt a connection. I thought you’ d felt it, too.” She giggled, her face scrunching up. “Well, sure I did.” She took a deep breath and he knew he’d won. Hell, where women were concerned, he always won. “I get off in an hour.” “Wonderful.” He slid to the edge of the booth. “I’m just going to go over to the convenience store and pick up a few things. I’ll be back by the time your shift is over.” She aimed a google-eyed smile his way as he slipped out the door into the perfect California weather. Darling Doris wasn’t one he’d leave the light on with, but she’d do in a pinch. Right now, all that mattered was that he had a free bed for the night. And, if he worked it right, a ride into Los Angeles tomorrow. A few cars he hadn’t seen before were parked in front of the store and he realized they must have pulled in off the little dirt road that ran parallel to the freeway. He hesitated, telling himself he was being stupid. He hadn’t even been in the country for twenty-four hours. Joey couldn’t possibly know he was back. Still a little apprehensive, he trudged across the parking lot, hoping the men’s room had a condom dispenser. He had no intention of going to the cash register where he might get caught on the video surveillance. He was, after all, a dead man.

The antiseptic smell of bleach assaulted him as soon as he pushed open the door. He fought a gag reflex, sure that the smell was only hiding the germs, not actually killing them. He grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser, then headed for the condom machine, using the towel instead of his fingers to operate the mechanism. He selected the extra-large ribbed version, then tucked it into his pocket when the foil coin popped out of the machine. After a second’s hesitation, he repeated the process, then wondered if he ought to buy a third. “Well, well, well…” The deep voice rolled over Al, echoing through the tiled room. “Just the man I’ve been looking for.” A cold shiver, like the finger of grim death, snaked down between Al’s shoulder blades and he turned from the dispenser to face Reggie Barton, Joey Malone’s number one attack dog. Weighing in at over two hundred and fifty pounds, Reggie vaguely resembled Paul Bunyan, without the friendly blue ox. A grin slithered across Reggie’s face, the four-inch-long scar on his cheek twisting and bulging. A souvenir from some fight Reggie had surely won. Because Reggie always won. Malone wouldn’t have it any other way. “Malone’s missed you, Al.” Reggie’s lips flared back, exposing his yellowed teeth in an expression Al assumed was supposed to be a smile. “Or is your name Charles now?” Al cringed, not sure why he should be surprised that Reggie knew about his fake name. Hell, Joey Malone had eyes everywhere. He’d found him here, hadn’t he? “How’d you find me?” Al asked, unable to fight the instinct to just keep Reggie talking. If Reggie was talking, he wasn’t pounding Al to a bloody pulp. “Joey’s got friends everywhere,” Reggie said. “You should know that.” Again, he flashed that snaggletoothed grin. “Hell, Joey’s even got Border Patrol agents on his payroll. You hitch a ride over the border, Al old buddy, and somebody just might recognize you.” Oh God, he should have known. Al had thought he’d been so clever, hitching a ride with the truck driver hauling a load of fruit into the States, sure that there was no way that Joey Malone would know he ’d come back in the country. But he hadn’t been clever; he’d been stupid. And now he might really end up dead. The shiver was back, deep in his blood and uncontrollable, and Al only hoped that before this nightmare was over he wouldn’t pee his pants. Digging down, he found some remnant of courage—the same fire in his belly that had given him the guts to run in the first place. Drawing on all his strength, he looked Reggie in the eye. He still trembled, but maybe—maybe—it was disguised. “What’s Joey want with me, Reggie?” The thug wasn’t too bright. Maybe if Al played innocent… “I think you know.” He held out his hands, palms up, in a gesture of surrender. “You got me. I don’t know. Honest.” “Where’s the stuff?” If that wasn’t the question of the hour…He shook his head. “I don’t have it.” That, at least, was the God’s honest truth. He’d stashed it in the girl’s car, planning to have an all-night bang-a-thon with the lovely Jude, then he’d get up before dawn and drive her precious Volkswagen over the border. He’d never imagined that she’d run out on him. “You stole from Joey Malone,” Reggie said, flipping open a pocketknife. Al swallowed, his knees turning liquid, and he grabbed onto the condom dispenser for balance. “Joey don’t take kindly to that kind of double-cross,” Reggie added, then started cleaning under his fingernails with the blade. “No way,” Al lied, his eyes never leaving the blade. “I don’t have a death wish. I’d never cross

Joey Malone.”Now he wouldn’t. Four months ago he’d been desperate and naive. Hopefully, that was a character flaw he’d live through. “Joey don’t believe you.” “I can’t help that, Reg. I can’t give you what I don’t have. And I don’t have anything.” Reggie twisted the knife in his hand. “Who’s the bitch?” Al blinked. “What? Who?” “The chickie you picked up in the hotel last spring. The redhead.” He tapped his scalp with the tip of the blade. “You were clever, but I been asking around. One of the maids saw you with some bimbo. What about it, Al? Does she have Joey’s stuff?” “Of course not,” Al said, hoping his voice sounded normal. “What’s her name?” Reggie asked. “Jude.” Al swallowed. “Jude Wilde.” Lying would only get him dead that much faster. He looked up at Reggie. “But she’s not involved. She was just a weekend fuck. That’s all.” “Maybe,” Reggie said. He snapped the knife shut. “And maybe not. If I find out different, you’re gonna be one sorry son of a bitch.” Al exhaled. Hell, he already was. Reggie slid the knife into his back pocket. “You shoulda stayed missing,” he said. At the moment, Al was inclined to agree. The minute he’d realized that Jude had split, he had, too, taking only what he had in his wallet. But fifty thou only goes so far. All he had left was five hundreds, a fifty, three tens, and a smattering of ones. He’d come back to get the diamonds. He’d hoped to get in, get the goods, and get out before Malone realized he’d come back across the border. So much for the best laid plans. He sucked in air. “Listen, Reggie, I don’t know how to make it any plainer. I don’t have Joey’s jewels. The girl doesn’t have Joey’s jewels. I don’t know where they are.” “Joey don’t buy that.” The hulk took a step closer and Al froze, his stomach tightening with terror. He didn’t mind violence so much, except when it was perpetrated against him. “But Joey also said to tell you he’s not such a bad guy,” Reggie said. “He’s gonna give you another chance.” “Another chance?” Al repeated stupidly. “You get him what you took and he’ll let you live.” The scar stretched, the reddish tissue turning white as it pulled tight against Reggie’s face. “Otherwise, he’ll see that Charles Lafontaine ain’t long for this world. And Albert Alcott won’t be doing too good, neither. You understand?” “Yes,” Al said, his voice cracking. “Good. ’Cause I’ll be watching.” Reggie turned to leave as Al started to breathe again. “Oh,” Reggie added, turning back around. “And here’s something Joey wanted me to give you. A little incentive not to let him down, he said.” Al knew what was coming and didn’t even have time to flinch. Reggie’s fist shot out and all Al knew was a seering pain in his jaw and one thought in his head—If Jude didn’t still have those diamonds, he was a dead man. After that, the world went black.

Chapter 2

My tight-skirted kitten pressed two C-notes into my hand. “Please, Mr. Monroe. I don’t know where else to turn.” I let out a sigh like a steam engine. Her sister Sarah had disappeared after getting herself hooked up with the wrong kind of mug. The whole thing reeked of trouble and not just the kind that might land me a broken jaw. No, this dame was another kind of trouble all together. But I needed the dough, that was for sure. And I always was a sucker for a dame in trouble. Especially a dame with gams that went on forever, and curves in all the right places. Dangerous. Fortunately, I live for danger. “Sure thing, sweetheart.” She rewarded me with a relieved smile, those pert lips puckered up just for me. I played the gentleman and showed her to the door. She gave me one quick glance before she sashayed out, a glance that seemed to promise more than just another C-note for my expenses. My righthand girl, Sadie, followed me back into my office, her steno pad ready, and I started to lay out what we needed to do. “You should just marry her,” Sadie said. I balked. I was hardly the marrying kind, and from what I could tell, neither was the little number who’d just disappeared out my door. For that matter, Sadie wasn’t the type who usually pried into my life. That’s why I’d hired her. The girl knew how to watch her back—and watch her mouth. I turned to her, sure I must have heard wrong. “What?” “Jacey. You ought to marry her.” I frowned. Jacey? The dame that just left was named Mallory. So who the hell was Jacey? “David?” Millie’s voice squeaked through the haze in his head. “Are you listening to a word I’ve said?” He blinked. “Sorry. What?” Millie punched a button on the remote control and Mel Gibson and Danny Glover turned mute. “I said, you should marry her.” David choked on his tea, spit a mouthful of Earl Grey onto his jeans, then glared at his great-aunt. “Her? Who her?” “Your new case. The one you were telling me about. The dame. The pigeon.” Aunt Millie smiled, her dentures flashing, then took a bite of her tiny, crustless watercress sandwich. Probably the only person in all of Los Angeles who actually ate watercress, much less kept it stocked in her kitchen. “Isn’t that what you call a woman with a case? A pigeon?” He dabbed a napkin on his pants, a futile exercise that soaked up no liquid and left him with little shreds of white paper clinging to the material. Not exactly an improvement. “You’re thinking of a stool pigeon, Millie.” “Oh. Well, you certainly don’t need to marry a snitch.” She frowned. “Too bad. She seemed like such a nice young lady.” For a brief moment of insanity, David actually considered explaining to his aunt that Jacey wasn’t a stoolie, she was his client. And even if she wasn’t a client, he wasn’t interested in getting married again. And even if he was interested, she wasn’t his type. She was too sarcastic, too domestic, and, overall, a royal pain in the ass. But that would just spin them off into who-knows-what new direction. And with Aunt Millie, it was best to try and keep the conversation on some sort of track, no matter how twisty that track might be.

Instead of answering, he concentrated on flicking the soggy bits of paper off his leg. Hopeless. “Look at this mess. Now I can’t go out until it dries.” Not that he’d ever let something as ridiculous as fashion stop him before, but it seemed appropriate to complain. “You weren’t going out anyway, were you?” “I wasn’t until you brought up marriage. Now I’m thinking I need to run for my life.” He tried to growl the words, but it was impossible to be annoyed at Aunt Millie. As much as she meddled, he still adored his aunt. Even when she was driving him crazy. “Nonsense. You just need to settle down with a nice girl. Jacey sounds perfectly nice.” He could feel a headache starting. Right between his eyes. A dull throbbing that was going to build and build until his head exploded all over the tiny little sandwiches. “Last week you wanted me to marry Doreen.” Doreen cleaned for Millie twice a week. A nice girl, sure, but she was only about twenty-two, spoke no English, and had a fiancé. “Doreen wasn’t right for you,” Millie said, her chin lifting a little. David sighed. “That’s what I said last week, remember?” “Jacey, though…” She trailed off with a smile, completely ignoring his point about Doreen. “I’m certain she’s the answer to my prayers.” “Uh-huh. And as soon as you realize Jacey is a nogo, we’ll move on to the next woman, right?” “I’m simply saying that you need to find a nice wife,” Millie said. David rolled his eyes. For Millie, proximity counted a lot. Jacey was nearby, so Jacey was the candidate du jour. “I had a wife,” he said, knowing reason wouldn’t work, but ever optimistic. “And since I just quit paying alimony to the last one, I’m really not in the market for a new one.” She waved her hand, shooing away his words. “Susan doesn’t count. You were both only children when you got married.” “Yeah? Well, tell that to my checkbook.” “She wasn’t the woman for you,” Millie said. “And my new client is? Somehow you just know this?” Millie put down her teacup and took his hand. “David, honey, it’s time you settled down.” Settled down? What did she think? That he was out barhopping? Considering his apartment was in her backyard, she ought to know better. Unless he jumped through some pretty serious hoops, Millie could keep pretty good tabs on his comings and goings. Besides, he didn’t want to be settled. Not like that, anyway. He’d gotten married at twenty-five, divorced at thirty, and now, almost five years later, he was barely recovered. Certainly his checkbook was still feeling the pain. He was finally enjoying life as a single, alimony-free, unattached adult, and he wasn’t in any hurry to start filing joint tax returns again. Especially since the last one he’d filed had triggered an IRS audit that was currently making his life miserable. No, he didn’t want a wife. He wanted to take his portable Olivetti and travel. Sublet an apartment in Paris and use it as home base while he backpacked all over Europe, holing up in museums or on mountain-tops or in parks and typing until his fingers fell off. Hell, he wanted to go to Spain for the running of the bulls or Provence to track down Peter Mayle. Right now he might be stuck in Pasadena, but he didn’t intend to stay put forever. And as soon as his money situation was under control, he was out of there. Millie sipped her tea, then looked him in the eye. “You need a wife,” she said, repeating her

mantra. He rubbed his temples. “She’s a client, Millie. I barely even know the woman.” Millie turned to the television long enough to watch Mel bust into the room, just in time to prove that there are still heroes. Then, as soon as Mel had pulverized the bad guys, Millie leaned forward to pat David’s knee. “Take her out to breakfast and talk about her case. Then you can steer the conversation around to more personal areas. Get to know her better.” Then she winked. His eighty-two-year-old, childless aunt actually winked. What was the world coming to? “I don’t need to know her, Millie. I just need to do a job for her.” “Nonsense.” Another sip of tea. “If you’re going to marry her, you need to get to know her. I don ’t think I’d approve of you marrying a woman you know nothing about. Not even a woman as nice as Jacey.” “You haven’t even met her, Millie. You saw her for, what? Two seconds out the window? How on earth do you know whether she’s nice or not?” Millie tilted her head down, giving him that regal old-lady stare. “A woman has her ways.” David tightened his hand on the armrest. “I’m not going to marry her. And, to be honest, she’s not nice.” He remembered her comment about supersizing his insults. “In fact, she’s one of the most annoying women I’ve ever met.” Millie’s smile crumpled. “Why on earth would you say something like that about sweet little Jacey? Did you two have a fight?” Pound, pound, pound. The headache ramped up with a vengeance and David gulped his tea, then poured another cup and gulped that, too, hoping the caffeine would fight what was clearly not a caffeine-induced headache. “She’s just a client, Millie.” “Hmmm.” Millie’s spoon clackety-clacked against the side of her teacup. “What did she hire you to do?” “You know I can’t tell you that.” As he knew she would, Millie sat back, a look of pure offense on her timeworn face. “Why, David. We’re family. You can tell me anything.” “Client confidentiality, Mill.” She took another sip of tea as David wondered what scheme she was hatching. “We can’t have you betraying confidences, now can we?” “No, we can’t.” Good. Maybe they could move onto another subject. “What about your girl Friday.” “My what?” “Your girl Friday. You know. Your assistant. The girl who works in your office and answers your phone and generally keeps you out of trouble.” “Oh. Right. That girl Friday.” He really needed to stop lending Millie his Mickey Spillane novels. “If I had one, I’d tell her. But I don’t have one.” “Of course you do.” Millie plopped two cubes of sugar into her now-empty teacup, then topped it off with tea.

“I do? How do you like that? She’s so efficient I never even notice she’s around.” He shoved a tiny little sandwich into his mouth and spoke between chews. “Guess I should give her a raise.” “Oh, you don’t need to worry about a raise. I’ll work for cheap.” No, no, no, no, no, no, no. He should have seen that one coming, but she’d broadsided him with the whole marriage ploy. Damn.“I don’t think so,” he said. But he’d already lost. He knew it. When Millie wanted something, Millie got it. And what Millie wanted was to hook David up with a wife. She’d set her sights on Jacey and unless he could derail her somehow, he’d never hear the end of it. “David, honey—” He held up a hand. “Fine.” He gave in before she could even press another argument, which was either pathetic or wise, he wasn’t quite sure. To her credit, she didn’t look too smug. Just nodded and said she’d come up Monday morning. “And don’t worry about my salary. We’ll work something out.” Another sip of tea. “So, boss, tell me about our latest case.” David just sighed. “She hired me to find her boyfriend. Boyfriend, Millie. You get the picture? Which could put a damper on the whole matrimonial bliss angle.” “Oh.” She plucked another sandwich and took a dainty bite, then chewed thoughtfully. David could practically see the wheels turning in her head. “Isn’t that a shame?” “No, Mill, it’s not. I told you—” “Maybe you should not find her boyfriend,” Millie interrupted. “Then she’d be stuck with you.” “Stuck with me? Thanks a lot.” He aimed a mock glare toward his aunt, but she just waved it away with a pshaw. He had to grin. The thing about Millie was…well, there were a lot of things about Millie, actually. Mostly she wanted to see him happy, and he knew that. Which was the one and only reason he put up with her meddling in his life. He could count on one finger the folks he let do what Millie did and Millie was it. She was also a character. Sharp as a tack despite her years, she had absolutely no qualms about playing confused or senile if it got her what she wanted. David put up with her eccentricities because he loved her. The rest of the world put up with her because she used to have more money than God and most folks thought she still did. Including Millie. “More tea?” Millie’s question pulled him from his thoughts. He took a last gulp of the slightly cold liquid, then stood up. “No thanks. I’m going to head back up and try to get some work done.” The cup clattered as he set it back on the polished serving tray. “Well, I’m glad you came over, dear,” she said, as if she didn’t see him at least two or three times daily. “I’ll see you bright and early on Monday.” She tilted her head for a kiss and he gladly complied, breathing deep of her lavender scent that always reminded him of his childhood. “Not too early, okay?” He considered firing her on the spot—he’d already told her what she wanted to know—but she seemed pretty into the whole gal Friday idea and Millie’s company was anything but boring. “Of course not. Writers need their sleep. Keeps those creative juices flowing.” He mumbled something noncommittal, then headed over to the little desk on the far side of the room and started rifling through Millie’s mail. Usually David snagged it before Millie made it out to the mailbox, but today he’d missed. Thankfully, Millie hadn’t yet opened her bank statement. He snatched it

up. “I’m taking your statement so I can balance your checkbook,” he said. “Thank you, dear. You’re so sweet to do that for me.” Sweet wasn’t the word David would use. Desperate was more like it. Before he died, Uncle Edgar had squandered Millie’s fortune, leaving her with the bare bones of a bank account, thousands due in back taxes, and a hefty second mortgage. Since he didn’t see any point in letting an eighty-something woman know she was broke, David had made it his personal mission to cover her debts, and his sneaky way of doing that was by offering to handle her monthly bills. Not easy during the lean months he’d been having lately, but for Millie he was willing to make some pretty hefty dents in his already meager savings account. “You should bring your new young lady around.” David squinted, trying to follow the conversation. “What?” “To visit, dear. You simply must bring your Jacey over. Perhaps for tea? Or a movie? I have Braveheart on DVD.” He swallowed a groan. Somehow they’d ended up back where they’d started. “She’s not mine, Millie. Remember? Boyfriend. Client. All that jazz.” “I still say you should just not find the boy. She’ll never know the difference.” “I swear, Millie, you’re going to drive me to drink.” “You already drink, dear.” She waggled a finger at him. “I may be old but I’m not blind.” No, she certainly wasn’t. Hell, he wasn’t even sure she was old. She sure seemed to have more energy than anyone else he knew. Not to mention persistence. “And as for our little Jacey—” “Enough,” he said more forcefully. “I’m going to do my job, I’m going to find this Al guy. And Jacey and Al will live happily ever after.” He met Millie’s eyes. “And that’s the way it’s going to be.” His aunt just sipped her last cup of tea and smiled at him. One of those smiles that always made him intensely nervous. “Whatever you say, David. Whatever you say.” Reggie drummed his fingers on the polished wood of the tiny cocktail table. He’d managed to cram himself onto the little chair, but he wasn’t exactly comfortable. He’d been on the road for over a week now and all he wanted to do was get home, screw his girlfriend, and watch a little WWF action. Instead, he was sitting in a frou-frou hotel bar with a cell phone plastered to his ear as he listened to some candy-ass hold music. “Did you get the registration?” Joey Malone was back on the line, his voice crisp and to the point. Reggie snapped to attention, even though there was no way Malone could see him. He patted the breast pocket of his suit jacket. “Got it right here.” “Well?” “Oh. Right.” He fished out the list. Apparently Joey had made a few calls after Reggie had reported in with the name of Al’s girl. All he’d had to do was go to the front desk at the Monteleone and pick up the envelope that was waiting for him. He scanned down the printed list of names. “No Jude Wilde,” he said. “Motherfuckin’—” Joey bit off the curse and Reggie heard him take a deep breath. When he came back on the line, his voice was calm. Too calm, Reggie thought. “Read me the names,” he said. Reggie scowled. The list was four pages long. “Her name’s not he—” “Just read,” Joey said.

Reggie read. By the time he got to the last page, his voice was starting to crack. “Natalie Wampole, Martin Weir, Jacey Wilder, Amy Wolfe, Leslie—” “Jacey Wilder?” Reggie double-checked the list. “That’s what it says.” “And Al said his girlfriend’s name was Jude Wilde?” “Uh-huh.” “Interesting.” Reggie didn’t see what the big deal was and said so. On the other end of the line, Joey sucked in air. “Jude Wilde. Jacey Wilder. That’s too much of a coincidence to ignore.” “You think Al lied about her name?” Reggie asked. “Possibly. Or perhaps she lied to him. The girl may have double-crossed us both. And Joey Malone doesn’t take kindly to being double-crossed. You know that, right, Reggie?” Fear pulled Reggie out of the chair. He stood up straight. “Yes sir. I’d never—” “Good.” A pause, then, “I think maybe you should have a little chat with Ms. Wilder,” Joey said. “A very persuasive kind of chat.” “Yes sir,” Reggie said. “And Reggie,” Joey added. “Don’t screw up.” “I shouldn’t have gone.” Jacey paced back and forth in front of the kitchen table while Tasha watched, her usually animated face now intense with concentration. “Al probably doesn’t want to see me again, anyway.” Tasha pushed a lock of blonde hair out of her eyes, then dipped her brush into a dab of purple paint. “I thought finding Al was part of your plan,” she said. Then, with a concentration Jacey rarely witnessed in her friend, Tasha started to freckle the white surface of an eggshell. “It is.” Jacey sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Tracking down Al was step one of Jacey’s get-your-life-back-on-track plan. Find him, and then find out if he was Mr. Right. Not exactly the typical way of hooking up with an old boyfriend, but Jacey’s life had never really been typical. It would be soon, though. At twenty-nine years, eleven months, and two days, she was finally taking serious steps toward getting her life on track. She’d landed a job with a small but prestigious accounting firm, she’d bought a mutual fund, and she’d subscribed to the daily paper. Last night she’d even thrown out her oils and watercolors. Jacey frowned, her gaze drifting to the egg-covered tabletop. “Where’d you get that paint?” Tasha glanced up, wide-eyed and innocent. “It’s perfectly good paint and I figured you’d want it again.” Jacey shook her head. “No, no. I threw it out because I wanted to throw it out. And you’re making those dots too big. You should use a smaller brush.” Tasha raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. “Right. Sorry. Forget the paint.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “The paint’s not my problem. Al’s my problem. It was stupid to hire a PI. I mean, I’m the one who ran out. He probably hates me.” “Hates you?” Tasha repeated. “You said he adored you. That he’d spent the weekend talking about how much you two meshed and how he felt this magical bond, this special connection. Hell, after

one long weekend, your sexy Algernon was professing to be madly in love with you.” Jacey raised an eyebrow and glared at her friend. “Albert,” she said. “I know, but Albert just doesn’t sound like the name of a guy who could sweep you off your feet during a wild weekend at the beach.” “And Algernon does?” Jacey asked, not bothering to mention that David’s reaction to the name Albert had been pretty much the same. Tasha slanted a look in Jacey’s direction. “I knew an Algernon once.” The corner of her mouth curved up. “Believe me, Algernon can be very sexy.” Jacey held up a hand. “I should have known. But please, spare me the details.” When they’d been assigned to the same dorm room freshman year, Jacey had been a little put off by the brassy blonde who shared Madonna’s sense of fashion and ran through men as if they were a disposable commodity. Forget the perfect guy; so far, Tasha’s life had centered around the quest for the perfect orgasm. It was Jacey’s personal theory that her friend had already found it…and now she was simply trying to bottle it. But while Tasha and Jacey might not see eye-to-eye where men were concerned, it hadn’t taken Jacey long to realize that underneath the tight skirts and raging hormones was a smart woman who’d do just about anything for a friend. They’d bonded fast over cheap beer, cheese-covered popcorn, and Harrison Ford movies and had been best friends ever since. Tasha stifled a grin. “My point is that the guy was absolutely mad about you.” “Was being the operative word.” Jacey nibbled on the edge of her thumb. “But I left and it’s been almost four months now.” She grabbed the extra paintbrush and brushed the dry bristles across her palm, absently tracing designs. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing?” “What? Obsessing about getting your life together before you turn thirty?” “I’m not obsessing.” “Sure you are.” Jacey scowled. “Oh, stop,” Tasha said. She plunked the spotted egg into an open carton next to another eleven equally infectious ones. “I wasn’t being critical. Just honest. You spent three solid weeks doing nothing but trying to land this accounting job, and now you’re focusing all your spare time on finding Al.” Jacey licked her lips. “And that’s a bad thing?” She gave up on the palm designs and pulled an egg carton closer. She dipped the tip of the brush in Tasha’s paint and started idly drawing patterns on the Styrofoam. Tasha shrugged. “It’s typical Jacey. Like college graduation and your do-it-or-die plan.” “There’s nothing wrong with having goals,” Jacey said, her chin rising along with her voice. “And I sure as hell wasn’t going to end up like my mother.” No way was Jacey going to live her life out of a suitcase, schlepping from apartment to apartment and boyfriend to boyfriend as she tried to earn rent money by selling watercolors on the street. “Speaking of, you got another package.” “How big?” Tasha raised her hand to about table height. “And heavy, too. I had the delivery guy leave it in the living room. Cute. Maybe you should keep him and forget about Al.” Jacey ignored her. “We’ll schlep it to Mr. Finnegan’s garage with the rest of the stuff Mom sent.” In addition to Jacey’s stuff, their down-the-street neighbor’s garage was currently holding seven Turkish

rugs, two Swiss wood carvings, assorted Navaho pottery, and a couple of miscellaneous boxes Jacey hadn’t bothered to open. To Jacey’s mom, gifts equaled love. Throw enough presents at the kid, and it made up for anything, even packing her only child up every five minutes to move across the block or across the country. “If it’s cool, let’s just put it behind the sofa.” “See, this is why I have a plan,” she said, ignoring Tasha. “If I buy something, I want to have a house where UPS can deliver. And I want to stay there until I’m old and decrepit and when I die, my grandkids can find decades’ worth of stuff in the attic and then sell it and make a fortune on eBay.” “You have weird aspirations, Jace.” “I just want a normal life,” she said. “A normal family.” Of course, she also wanted her art reviewed in Art in America. She wanted Manhattan galleries to fly her in for a showing, she wanted a steady, respectable income, and she wanted cheap prints of her work to sell in mall poster shops all across America. But her mom had wanted all those things, too, and hadn’t achieved even one of those goals. Instead, she’d just schlepped her daughter all over creation. No roots, no ties. No stability. And certainly no listening when Jacey complained. She took a deep breath. “I’m not going to end up like my mom.” Tasha nodded. “I know. Really.” “That’s why I picked D day.” If Jacey hadn’t managed to earn a steady living as an artist by her twenty-eighth birthday, her plan was to suck it up and spend her days entering numbers into a spreadsheet. “And it’s not like I’m obsessed,” Jacey said, aiming her paintbrush at Tasha. “I moved D day, remember? I bumped it back three times.” When twenty-eight came and no one was beating down gallery doors for one of her originals, Jacey had bumped her deadline by six months. And then another six months. And another. Of course, now that thirty was looming, she was disgusted with herself and more determined than ever. Especially considering she had an entire box full of letters saying thanks-but-no-thanks in response to her portfolio submissions. She’d had a few gallery showings that garnered rave reviews, but nothing big enough or frequent enough that she could reasonably expect to ever earn a steady living. And now it was time to get her act together. She might want the art, but she damn sure didn’t want to spend her life barely scraping by as she lived from show to show, never certain if the current gig would be the last. No, she wanted a normal life and, dammit, Al appeared to be as normal as they came. A Harvard law grad with great taste in clothes and impeccable manners. A man who knew what wine to order with risotto Milanese and who put the toilet seat back down. Heck, Al practically oozed with Mr. Right potential and she said as much to Tasha. “How do you know Al’s not secretly a nutcase?” Tasha asked in reply. “I mean, now we know he ’s not a serial killer, but he might have other faults.” “I spent almost five full days with him and he was never anything but absolutely charming.” Their mini-vacation had been the most romantic time of her life. She’d talked with Al about everything, her hopes, her dreams. He’d held her and hugged her and made love to her. He’d whispered that she was special and that he was falling in love with her. “It was heaven.” “Sure,” Tasha said. “It always is. But you don’t exactly have the best track record with men. Al could be just like all the other weirdos you’ve dated.” “Maybe. But he seems different,” she said. He seemed like the type of man who’d want a home

and a family. “He was charming,” she added, trying to sum Al up in one word. “Ted Bundy was charming.” Jacey scowled. “We’ve already established that he’s not a serial killer.” “I’m just saying that he could still be weird.” With a sigh, Jacey ran her hand over the egg dots. “I know. Believe me, I’ve thought about all that. But I’m not saying that he is normal, much less that he’s Mr. Right. I’m just saying that he seemed normal and he could be Mr. Right. And the reason I don’t know for certain is because I ran out.” They’d met in the bar, just like she’d told David. But what she hadn’t mentioned was that after she ’d checked Al’s left hand for a ring or a telltale tan line, she’d given him a fake name, Jude Wilde. She’d never been picked up in a bar before and, somehow, it had just seemed prudent. He’d told her his name was Charles Lafontaine, and at first she believed him. A few hours later, though, she knew better. They’d been sitting there, still drinking and eating that really spicy mix of peanuts and pretzels, when some guy had come up. “Al,” he said. “How’ve you been? It’s me. Robert Kramer.” Al—or Charles—had just given him a blank stare, but not before Jacey noticed him flinch as his eyes darted in her direction. “You got the wrong guy,” he’d said. “You’re not Albert Alcott?” Robert asked. “On the Mitchell case? We went toe-to-toe in front of Judge McNally?” “Sorry, buddy,” Al-Charles said and Robert had apologized and left. But Jacey knew the truth. She’d given a fake name and so had Al. And any lingering guilt she’d felt had vanished with a poof. Near the end of their weekend, she’d wanted to tell him her real name. Only by that time, news of the San Diego Slayer was all over the television. She hadn’t been paying a whole lot of attention, but considering how she’d ended up reacting, it must have been preying on the back of her mind. She’d been watching the news while he took a shower. She’d watched the usual traffic report and weather report and gang shooting in Los Angeles report, when the anchor came on, saying they were about to air a witness sketch of the slayer, “Who police have tentatively identified as San Diego resident Al—” The television had clicked off right then and she’d jumped a mile as she’d turned around to face Al-Charles. He was standing right there, totally naked, the remote control in his hand. It had taken every ounce of strength in her body not to scream and run from the room that very second. “Join me?” he’d whispered, tilting his head toward the bathroom. “I think a shower is in order.” “S-sure.” Her eyes had darted around the room. “I’ll meet you in there. I want to call room service and get us a snack. And…uh…some champagne.” He’d blown her a kiss then as he stepped into the bathroom. And as soon as she heard the shower running, she’d bolted. She’d called the police from the first gas station she’d found and left an anonymous tip that Albert Alcott was staying at the Monteleone. The 911 operator hadn’t seemed particularly interested in the information, but Jacey figured it was their job to not get too worked up about anything. As soon as she got back to L.A., the police caught the real San Diego Slayer…and he wasn’t Albert Alcott. He was Alan Palmer. Idiot, idiot, idiot. Embarrassment had kept her from trying to find Al back in March. Now, though, he was the only contestant in her personal game of Find Mr. Right. And since she needed a winner in the next twenty-eight days in order to keep with her D-day plan, she’d gone ahead and hired David. “I completely blew it,” she said, watching Tasha finish yet another egg.

Tasha gnawed on the end of her paintbrush. “It was a natural mistake.” Jacey raised an eyebrow. “How many times have you mistaken Bob for a serial killer?” “Only two or three.” She looked up from another egg with a grin. “I’m kidding. About Bob. But not about you. You did the right thing.” “I panicked. I heard the news, and I just panicked.” “He was a guy. A big guy from what you’ve told me. And he’d lied about his name, too. And there was a serial killer running around loose and the description matched Al.” Tasha shrugged. “So you freaked out. Who wouldn’t?” “I wish I hadn’t,” Jacey muttered. Tasha pulled a fresh egg from another carton and started the whole procedure over again. “Maybe it wouldn’t have worked out.” “But maybe it would have. I mean, he probably gave a fake name for the same reason I did.” She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “He even liked Lucy. Is that the perfect guy, or what?” Her attachment to Lucy, her 1965 Volkswagen Beetle, tended to drive most of the guys she knew insane. Either they were jealous because she knew how to replace a distributor cap and they didn’t, or they got irritated when she cancelled a date because Lucy was on blocks and Jacey wanted to fix the problem instead of going to a movie. “Well, if he liked Lucy, he must be okay.” Tasha flashed a sisterly grin. “Not bright about cars, but okay.” Jacey returned the grin, then plucked up one of Tasha’s eggs. “So why are you giving eggshells the chicken pox?” A pained look crossed Tasha’s face. “Do they look bad?” “That depends.” Jacey leaned closer to get a better look. Not that proximity helped. Instead of a faraway view of a dozen dotted eggs, she simply got a close-up. “What are they?” “Purple and white. Bob’s school colors.” Bob was the principal of Davis Junior High, home of the purple panthers and purple pride. Tasha, apparently, was getting into the spirit. “I’m trying to be a good little girlfriend, so I’m making confetti eggs to sell at his school festival tomorrow. And then I’m hoping that we can go back to his place for a little afternoon delight.” “Still nothing, huh?” “Not a thing and it’s driving me nuts.” She sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s gay.” “Or maybe he’s just a nice guy.” At that, Tasha rolled her eyes before stacking a third carton of completed eggs onto the other two. She nodded at the paintbrush in Jacey’s hand. “The addict sneaking a fix?” “Huh?” Tasha glanced from the brush to the carton Jacey’d managed to cover with an intricate purple pattern. “You just can’t resist temptation, can you?” Jacey scowled, then got up and dropped the empty carton and the paintbrush into the trash. “I didn’t leave chocolate lying around the house when you were trying to lose five pounds.” Tasha just laughed. “So tell me about this investigator guy that Elliott recommended.” Tasha worked as a legal assistant in the megafirm where Elliott was a partner. “Not much to tell,” Jacey said. She eyed the stack of still-unpainted eggs, imagining them covered

in colorful designs more interesting than Tasha’s purple dots. She shook her head, pushing the thoughts away. “He’s a little weird, but since he’s not going to break the bank, I guess it’s worth it.” “Think he can do the job?” “I hope so. He’s odd, but he seems sharp.” Actually, he seemed more than sharp. Anderson had a way of looking at her that was both insightful and annoying. She shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t have a lot of choice. Not if I want to find Al.” “Yeah, but what about the important stuff? How does he score?” Jacey grinned at the game they’d been playing since the first time they’d double-dated. “I’m hiring him for his brains, Tash. I wasn’t even thinking about his rank.” Tasha half rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.” A tiny smile tugged at Jacey’s mouth and she leaned toward her friend. “Well, he’s definitely got a chance at the crown.” Tasha slapped her palm onto the table, sending eggshells bouncing. “I knew it. Tell me everything.” “Dark hair—” “Like who? Pierce Brosnan or Brendan Fraser?” “Brendan. In The Mummy. He’s got that huggable but unkempt look going.” “So he’s cute?” “Gorgeous. He’s got these really intense blue eyes and football player shoulders.” “Sounds yummy,” Tasha said, summing Anderson up nicely. She waggled her eyebrows. “Maybe you should just forget about Al and hook up with this guy.” “I don’t think so.” He was cute, true, but there was an arrogance about him. And a sort of distracted quirkiness. Definitely not relationship material. Besides, after less than an hour with him, she could already tell they’d be at each other’s throats constantly. Totally the opposite of the warm, comfortable relationship that had sparked between her and Al. And certainly not the kind of guy she’d ever want to settle down with. “Why not?” “Tash, I’ve dated a dozen guys in the past year who scored perfect tens in all our categories. But except for Al, not one of them would win Mr. Congeniality. And somehow I don’t think Mr. Anderson would do any better in that department.” “Still,” Tasha said, dotting another egg, “I know it’s been four months since you—” “Tasha!” Jacey got up and started washing an already clean glass that was sitting by the sink, all the while managing to avoid Tasha’s eyes. “Even if, I’m not interested in David Anderson.” “You don’t have to be interested. All you have to do is keep an open mind.” “Maybe that’s all you have to do. Me, I need a little bit more to get my juices flowing.” “Oooh!” Tasha licked her thumb, slapped it up against her rear, and made a sizzling noise. “You got me.” “Besides,” Jacey continued, ignoring her roomie, “he’s not even on my radar screen. The guy’s odd.” “Foot-fetish odd, or I-have-to-know-where-you-are-every-second odd?” Tasha asked, referring to some of Jacey’s more bizarre recent dates.

She shrugged, shoving a soapy sponge deep into the glass. “For one thing, I was sitting there on his couch and he was spacing out.” She rinsed the glass, then searched for something else to wash. Nothing. With a sigh she turned around to face her friend. “And his house was a total wreck.” “Maybe it was the maid’s day off.” “I don’t think so. There were boxes everywhere and paper all over the floor.” “Oh, come on. He’s a guy. What do you expect?” “He’s not a guy. He’s an overgrown teenager.” The corner of Tasha’s mouth twitched. “Uh-huh.” “He’s not my type.” She stressed each syllable, wanting to make sure Tasha got the point. “Except for his looks.” Tasha put two little dots on one egg, then followed up with a tiny purple mustache. “Exactly. Except for his looks, he’s not my type at all.” This time she met Tasha’s eyes and they burst out laughing. “We are so shallow.” “No, we’re not. Just honest.” “Yeah. And I can honestly say I’m not interested in the guy.” That was the truth. He might be cute, but he rubbed her the wrong way entirely. Or almost entirely. More important, he was exactly the kind of guy she’d made up her mind to avoid. “Too bad,” Tasha said, closing the carton on another dozen eggs. And even though Jacey would never admit it out loud, Tasha was right…and that, of course, was a whole new problem.

Chapter 3 The streets of Los Angeles can be cold and lonely, particularly when you’re pounding the pavement searching for somebody who doesn’t want to be found. And that’s just what I was doing. Combing the back alleys of Hollywood looking for Mallory’s sister Sarah and her dumb but dangerous boyfriend, Kenny Townsend. I had a single snapshot. Sarah in her curve-hugging prom dress. The perennial good girl, only now she’d gone bad. I flashed the picture at the first mug I met on the street, a stoolie by the name of Jonesie who worked the corner of Hollywood and Vine selling newspapers and less conventional information. “Sorry, mac. Ain’t seen her. And believe me, I’d remember if I had.” I nodded and slipped him a ten spot. Jonesie was right. Sarah wasn’t the forgettable type. Not any more than Mallory was… I lit a Chesterfield and leaned against a lamp-post, letting the nicotine clear my head. I had a feeling my client wasn’t telling me the whole truth, but I was too much of a gentleman to challenge the word of a dame. Even a dame as dangerous as Mallory. Too bad none of my leads were turning up solid. I felt like one of those slobs with the whole world against him… “Sorry, David.” Phineus Teague’s voice filtered through the phone line, startling David back to the present. “No Albert Alcott.” David drummed his fingers on his desk. Damn. He’d thought he’d be able to find old Al for Jacey

with a couple of simple phone calls. In. Out. Then he’d pocket a few bucks and be on his way. So much for the best-laid plans. He scratched his scalp with the eraser end of his pencil. “He looks to be about thirty,” David said. “But he could be older. How far back—?” “Fifteen years,” Finn said. “No luck.” “What about similar names? Any Alcotts at all?” “Shit, David? What do you think? I’ve got nothing better to do than sit here hacking away at the hallowed halls of Harvard?” David laughed. “More or less.” Finn had been hacking back when all he had to work with was a clunky Commodore computer. As computers had gotten better, so had Finn’s ability to penetrate their defenses. “Au contraire, my friend,” Finn said, his voice laced with amusement. “It just so happens that I have a hot date tonight. I’m only working the keyboard to keep my fingers nimble. Wouldn’t want to disappoint the ladies.” “Have you ever?” David asked. “Not that I know of. But I usually leave them too exhausted to complain.” David laughed. “You’re a sick man, Finn.” “That’s why we’re buds, Anderson. Come on. Admit it. You miss me.” David aimed a grin at the phone. “Hell yeah. You’re the only friend I have who’d do legwork for me for free. I have to bribe Spenser and Cartwright with beer and pizza.” “Man, you’re slumming if you’re hanging out with those guys.” The grin came through in Finn’s voice loud and clear. “No shit,” David said with a chuckle. He and Finn had been friends since high school, along with Stephen Spenser and Mike Cartwright. For years, they’d been the Fab Four, and when Mike and Stephen had joined the Los Angeles Police Department, David and Finn had hung around. David had loved getting to know the officers and he’d even sold an occasional story to law enforcement-related magazines. At the time, he’d just liked spending time around guys who carried guns, but he’d soon developed a strong friendship with some of the officers. And it was Cartwright who’d clued him in to the spree of celebrity murders that David had written about in Stalking Death. But while Stephen and Mike had aimed him toward the big picture, Finn’s computer skills had always helped him ferret out the details. For the most part, Finn had given up hacking—that particular not-so-legal activity didn’t look good on a law school application—but he still helped David out here and there. “Hold on a sec,” Finn added, and David heard the tap of keys on the Boston end of the phone. A knot twisted in David’s stomach. Over a year had passed since Finn had decided to give law school a try, but that didn’t mean David missed his buddy any less. Now Finn was enrolled at Harvard and working part-time doing something computer related at MIT. Handy for Jacey’s case, but it made for some lonely Sundays when all David wanted to do was kick back with his best bud and watch football. “Okay.” Finn returned. “It looks like there were twelve Alcotts. Eight were women and none of the others sound like your guy.” He ran through the students’ individual stats, and David had to agree. “But get this,” Finn added. “An Albert Alcott from Van Nuys applied seven years ago. Turned down. Think that might be your boy?”

“And he lied to impress the girl? Could be,” David said. “Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time. Can you fax me his info? I’m hoping for an address and some references I can call to track him down if he’s moved.” “Two hours on the computer and all you want is a lousy address?” “Don’t complain,” David said. “I’m keeping your fingers nimble, remember?” “Good point. In that case, I thank you. And so does my date.” He paused, and David heard the high-pitched beep of the computer. “Okay, I’ll fax this as soon as it prints,” Finn said. “By the way, are you up for lunch tomorrow?” “Hell yeah. We’ll meet someplace convenient for both of us. Like Ohio.” Finn chuckled. “I was thinking maybe Dupar’s.” “Works for me. A bit of a drive for you, all the way from Boston. But, hey, it’s your gas.” “The movers come at the crack of dawn, and then I take off for the airport. I told you—I’m spending the rest of the summer and next semester working for a district judge in Los Angeles.” “I know. But I thought you weren’t coming in until next week.” “I bumped the reservation up,” Finn said. “I wanted some time to veg in Los Angeles before starting work.” “This is great,” David said. Which was an understatement; David missed the hell out of his best friend. “So we’re on, right? I’ll swing by when I get in town. Should be about two. And you can tell me all about whatever else you find out about our buddy Albert.” After a few more minutes of chitchat, David hung up, then headed for the shower in a generally good mood. He wandered back into his office, naked except for a towel around his waist. The phone was ringing and he snatched it up. “David, darling, sorry to bother you so early on a Saturday, but I just wanted to see how you were doing.” Marva Delaney’s Brooklyn accent came through loud and clear thanks to the wonders of fiber optics. “I’m fine, Marva. Thanks for asking.” Ever since David had announced that he was going to give up writing true crime and turn to fiction, his agent had been in alternate states of mourning and advocacy. Today, David was sure, she wasn’t calling to inquire about his health, but to bug him about giving up the novel. “How’s the novel coming?” “It’s coming.” True enough. He’d finish it one day. “Why don’t you put it aside? I could sell another Stalking. Pembroke has already told me he’ll double your advance,” she added, referring to David’s editor. “All you need to do is bring him the crime.” “We have this conversation every week.” “You need to eat, David.” “That’s why I started the agency. So I could pay a bill or two.” While researching Stalking, David had spent months tagging after the PI who’d ultimately solved the case. Partly for research and partly for fun, David had gotten his own investigator’s license, and now he did the occasional skip trace and picked up a few extra bucks photographing cheating husbands and wives. Not a lot of money—especially since most of his income was going to pay Millie’s bills—but he scraped by. Stalking Death had done well enough, though it wasn’t like David was going to rush right out and

buy a Ferrari. More than money, the book had earned him a reputation and an “in” with the snazzier magazines. Before the book, he’d been just another freelance journalist. After the book, he was hailed as the next Anne Rule. All of which would have been great if he’d wanted to write nonfiction for the rest of his life. But he didn’t. He’d stumbled across the story and written Stalking Death on a lark. Now he wanted to write hard-boiled detective fiction. Unfortunately, he and Marva didn’t see eye-to-eye on his change in career. “—must be something in Los Angeles?” she was saying. “What?” David rubbed the bridge of his nose, even though he’d tuned out most of the conversation. “I said, you just need to find a story. And even if you don’t want to write a book, you can write an article and let Vanity Fair run it over several months.” “I swear, Marva, you’re driving me nuts.” She kept dangling the money carrot, and David absolutely did not want to open up and chomp down. “I want to write fiction. Fiction. You know, made-up stuff.” “So write this to support yourself while you’re working on your novel.” Actually, he’d thought about that. With Millie’s property taxes pending and her creditors circling their wagons, his savings account was already dwindling away. And unless he got the IRS off his back, it was going to dwindle away into oblivion. But true crime wasn’t the way to go. Hell, if he was going to do that, he might as well go back to work full-time. And he’d rather be broke than tied to a desk job—or worse, covering the city beat. “Won’t work,” he said to Marva. “I can’t just make up a crime. I have to get out there and find one no one else has written about. That takes time and energy, neither of which I have right now. That’s why the agency is perfect. It inspires me, but it doesn’t drain me.” No, it only drained his bank account. “I’ll never understand you. You say you need money and yet you turned your back on a perfectly good career.” “I’m not turning my back on anything. I’m grabbing an opportunity. I need to know if I can make it writing fiction.” He twirled a pencil in his fingers. “If I get desperate, I can fall back on true crime.” He sighed. “And if I’m really desperate, I’ll go get a job that brings in a regular salary. Hell, I’ve got a master ’s in journalism. If I have to, I’ll use it.” The pencil snapped in two and he grimaced, dropping the pieces to the desktop. “But I’m not desperate yet.” Marva snorted and took a deep breath, probably to tell him why he was desperate but just didn’t know it. Fortunately, the call waiting buzzed and David took the opportunity to hang up, leaving Marva alone in midtown Manhattan, frowning at her phone and cursing her problem client. “Anderson,” he said, clicking the switchhook. No voice greeted him, just the steady whine of a fax machine. He flipped the switch, set down the receiver, and waited for the miracle of modern technology to do its thing. In less than five minutes, he was holding Finn’s fax. Apparently old Albert had delusions of grandeur. His undergrad grades sucked. Of course, considering how much Al had charmed Jacey, David had the feeling that Al had some pretty sharp street smarts. The only issue now was where to look next. Fortunately, since David had the guy’s address, that wasn’t too tricky a question. But there was still the whole Jacey thing. Would she even want to pursue the guy once she knew he’d lied about being a Harvard grad? He reached for the phone, feeling surprisingly gleeful that old Al was shaping up to be a schmuck.

Not fair, not rational, but there you had it. Two rings. Three. Then, “Hi. You’ve reached Tasha and Jacey. We’re either screening our calls, or we’re not here. Leave a message and maybe you’ll find out.” He rolled his eyes as the long beep sounded, then hung up. He hated cutesy messages. After a few seconds, he picked up the phone again. He needed to tell her the news about Al. For all he knew, that would be the end of it. David would be done with the case, done with Jacey, and, thankfully, Millie’s matchmaking would end before it began. Of course, if she wanted him to pull the plug, he’d need to find another client. Or sell an article. Anything to bring in some cash. So maybe the thing to do was go give Jacey the news in person. That way, if she wanted to give up the search, he’d be there to talk her out of it. The phone in his hand started squawking, followed by the high-pitched prerecorded message, “If you’d like to make a call…” He hung up, scowling at his own train of thought. On the one hand, he wanted Jacey out of his life. On the other, he wanted her to keep him on the case—and that meant keeping her around. A damned disturbing proposition. The woman was a menace. Sure, her red hair and freckles were cute in a little-girl-lost sort of way, but the woman had some serious screws loose. Poor Al was about to get saddled with a marriage-minded female he’d only spent a long weekend with. If that wasn’t every man’s nightmare, David didn’t know what was. Still, David needed the dough, and that meant he needed the case. Bottom line? He needed Jacey —but only for the money. The band around his chest loosened just a tad. He’d go see her, he’d explain about Al, and if she wanted to cut him loose, he’d do his best to talk her out of it. Finally with a plan, he dug through the papers, pens, and miscellaneous junk on his desktop searching for his keys, finding them under a T-shirt that he kept forgetting to throw in the wash. Grabbing them up, he headed for the door, and was halfway to the stairs before he realized he was still only wearing a towel. Well, damn. Jacey stared at the little puddle of water forming under the kitchen sink, fascinated with the pattern growing on the floor. “I don’t know. Maybe we should bang on it with a hammer. That’s what my mom always did.” “Did it work?” Tasha asked. Jacey scooted backward, somehow managing to get both the butt and the knees of her grungy sweatpants completely soaked. When she was out from under the cabinet, she rocked back on her heels to look at her friend. “Not once. But we moved so often we learned to live with leaks.” “Great. This is just great.” Tasha waved her portable curling iron through the air. “I have to meet Bob in less than an hour and I can’t go because our apartment is about to float away.” “So go. I’ll stay here and wait for Mr. Lowenstein.” “Oh, sure. It’ll be Christmas by the time you hear from him.” They’d left over a dozen messages on the apartment manager’s answering machine. So far, no sign of the man. “Besides, aren’t you driving with me? Or did you get Lucy fixed?” “No, she’s still in the shop. But I don’t have to be at the store until six.” Even though she was now gainfully employed in accountingland, her job didn’t start until Monday, and she wouldn’t get paid for two more weeks. In the meantime, her bank account was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder

brought on by her serious lack of income over the last twenty-nine years. So when her friend Gregory had begged her to fill in for a sick salesclerk, Jacey had been more than happy to agree. Gregory owned a studio resale shop—a used clothing store that only stocked outfits that had been worn by the actors in various movies or television programs. The place was relaxed and fun and since Jacey had spent weeks there designing and painting the mural behind the cash register— and occasionally filling in for the sales staff—she knew the routine inside and out. Tasha bent over at the waist and fluffed her curls. “If you don’t have to be there until six, why were you planning to ride with me?” “I was just going to bum around on the Promenade until I went to work,” she said. “But you go ahead. I’ll wait for Lowenstein, and if he doesn’t show, I’ll call a plumber.” She shrugged. “No big deal.” Tasha looked up, one hand still buried in a mass of blonde hair. “But how are you going to get there?” A good question. The tread on Lucy’s tires was getting thin, and she’d dropped the car off at Pep Boys on her way home from David Anderson’s. “I’ll take a taxi,” she said. “That’s what I always do when Lucy’s in the shop.” “To Santa Monica? That’ll cost a fortune.” “Will you just go?” She made a shooing motion. “Unless we want to wear galoshes every time we cook, I don’t think we have a choice.” Tasha scowled at the sink and the steady trickle of water dripping onto the ceramic tile floor. “Okay. But let me pay you back for half the taxi fare.” She aimed a stern look in Jacey’s direction. Jacey crossed her heart. “I promise,” she said, having no intention of doing any such thing. The doorbell rang, and Jacey held up her hands in victory. “See? Lowenstein got our messages. Go finish getting dressed. If we’re lucky, he can fix it right away and I can still go with you.” Tasha looked her up and down. “Hopefully we’ll have time for you to change. It may be a secondhand store, but I don’t think that’s what Gregory had in mind.” Jacey just rolled her eyes, then slid past Tasha into the living room. She wiped her hands on her flannel, paint-splattered Winnie-the-Pooh button-down, then pulled open the door. “Thank you so much for coming. We’ve—” She stopped midsentence. That was so not Mr. Lowenstein. David Anderson was standing right there, filling the entire doorframe, a pile of mail tucked under one arm as he flipped through a Pottery Barn catalog. He smiled, and Jacey clamped her mouth shut. What the hell was he doing there? “No problem at all,” David said, then brushed past her to come inside. “Do you mind?” she said tartly as she pulled the catalog out of his hand and reached for the rest of the mail, hoping it didn’t include anything too embarrassing—like one of Tasha’s sex toy catalogs. “Not at all. By the way, your electric bill is overdue.” He aimed a wicked grin in her direction and her heart started beating faster. She told herself it was because of Al. Surely David had found him and that’s why he was there. David nodded at the pile of mail. “And Eve’s Playhouse is having a sale on fur-covered handcuffs.” Jacey’s cheeks burned, and despite a quick prayer, the floor refused to open up and swallow her whole. Well, fine. If that’s the way the universe wanted it, then so be it. She stood up straighter and managed to look him in the eye. “It’s a good thing you said that after you were in the apartment. If you’d said it outside, I never would have let you in.”

He just shrugged. “I’m not stupid. Where can we talk?” “Have you found Al?” He ignored her question, instead heading across the room toward the couch, not even glancing twice at the seventy-five-pound fertility goddess peeking out from the packing crate. “In here?” he asked, dropping onto the sofa and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. Definitely an overgrown teenager.“Do you mind?” “What?” She waved her hand in the general direction of his feet. “Oh. Right.” He pulled his feet off the table and she immediately moved to straighten the stacks of Metropolitan Home and Art in America magazines. “I forgot. You’re one of those.” She looked up. “Excuse me? One of what?” “You know. All Good Housekeeping, gotta keep the living room picked up in case the pope drops by, and life will be good so long as no one puts their rubber-soled shoes on the solid-wood-couldn ’t-dent-it-with-a-sledgehammer furniture.” “What is your problem?” “Hey, it’s not my problem, sweetheart.” “Fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest and took a deep breath. Then another. She could yell at him, but, really, what would be the point? He half nodded toward the wall and the collage centered above the bookcase. “One of yours?” She nodded, not at all interested in talking about her art with him, but not about to deny it, either. “My first serious piece. I did it between high school and college. I call it Past Imperfect.” She’d combed through her photo albums for pictures of all the places she and her mother had lived over the years, and mixed those images with old news photos of various wars. The three focal elements were happier—photos from her birthday parties, her early childhood sketches, a ticket from the first play her mother had taken her to. Even now, when her technique was much improved, she was still proud of the piece and the way it balanced images of both torment and love. “Hmm,” David said after a minute. “Working through a few issues there, huh?” “Excuse me?” Her issues were none of his damn business. “Are your only two settings rude and catatonic?” “Hey, I wasn’t trying to offend you. I just call ’em as I see ’em.” She released a noisy breath. “Why are you here?” She tried, but probably failed, to keep the irritation out of her voice. Definitely not Mr. Congeniality. “You hired me, remember?” That she had. Not her most brilliant move ever. Still, if he was here about the case…“You found him?” Suddenly, she couldn’t stay still, and she paced in front of the coffee table, trying to work off this unexpected flood of nervous energy. “Not exactly.” She stopped midpace. “What’s that supposed to mean? Either you found him or you didn’t.” “Let’s just say I found where he isn’t. Or where he wasn’t.” Jacey rubbed her temples. “Just spit it out. It’s been a hell of a morning, and I’m not in the mood for guessing games.”

“What’s wrong with your morning?” “Other than you showing up?” A grin played at his mouth. “Turns out your boyfriend wasn’t entirely straightforward with you.” She scowled, wondering if he’d somehow found out that Al had originally given her a fake name. “How so?” “Our boy Al never went to Harvard.” “Oh.” She dropped down to sit on the edge of the coffee table. “Careful,” David said. “You might scratch it.” She aimed a dirty look in his direction and stayed put. “Of course he went to Harvard. He told me. He even had a Harvard lapel pin.” “That’s what I’m saying, sweetheart. The guy slipped you a load of bull.” “How do you know?” “What do you mean how? My brilliant investigative skills, remember?” He leaned back and spread his arms wide across the back of the sofa, looking for all the world like he belonged there. “That’ s what you’re paying me for, right?” “Well, actually, no.” Jacey wasn’t about to let him see how much the news had shaken her. She sat up straighter, trying for an air of authority. After all, he was right about who’d hired whom. “I’m only paying you to find him. I’m not the CIA. I didn’t ask for a background check.” “I’m looking, babe. And I started the search at Harvard. The guy never enrolled. They turned his application down flat.” “Oh.” His face lost some of his smugness, and he leaned forward slightly. “You okay?” She nodded. Of course she was okay. Why wouldn’t she be? Just because David Anderson was taking potshots at her best and only candidate for Mr. Right. “Maybe there’s an explanation.” He must have been able to tell that the news made her feel rotten, because suddenly the jerk was being conciliatory—and that only made her feel worse. “Like what?” “Hell if I know.” She sighed. “Oh.” “So what do you want to do now?” Wasn’t that the question of the hour? “I…uh…I need to think for a second.” She swept her arm out to encompass the room. “Wait here, okay?” She scurried down the hall, her socks sliding a bit on the wooden floor, then stuck her head in Tasha’s room. Nobody. Damn. Reversing direction, she headed back through the apartment until she hit the kitchen. The second she stepped through the swinging doors, Tasha grabbed her arm and pulled her all the way into the room. “Did I hear right? Lowenstein’s morphed into your sexy supersleuth?” She pulled Jacey farther from the door and out of earshot of the living room. “Maybe I should hang out for a while.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Play chaperon…” “Not necessary.” Even so, she smoothed her shirt and tightened the drawstring on her sweatpants. Naturally, he’d appeared when she looked like hell. First she’d been soaking wet and now she looked

like a college freshman scrubbing toilets as part of some initiation ritual. Mentally, she banged her fist against her head. Who cared what she was wearing? Her problem was much more basic—what to do about Al? Tasha pulled about a dozen paper towels off the roll and dropped them onto the growing puddle on the floor, moving them around with her foot as they sopped up the leakage. “So what’s he doing here? Does he have a lead?” “I, um, wouldn’t call it a lead,” Jacey said. She opened the freezer door and inspected the contents. Nothing interesting on first glance. “Well, what would you call it?” Jacey rummaged a little more. She finally found a frost-covered pint of Häagen-Dazs macadamia brittle ice cream behind a bag of brussels sprouts. She peeled back the lid, revealing half a carton of frozen solid ice cream covered with little tiny ice granules. “How long has this been in here?” “How long have we lived in this apartment?” “Three years.” “There you go.” “Oh.” She sniffed the ice cream, but didn’t smell anything but cold. Whatever. She nudged the freezer door shut with her hip, then grabbed a spoon from the drainboard. Right then she needed ice cream, and if this was the best she could do, then so be it. “You’re avoiding my question.” Tasha managed to aim the accusation, curl another strand of hair, and sop water all at the same time. All in all, pretty impressive. Jacey tried to drive the spoon into the ice cream, but instead managed only to bend the metal. “Jace…” Tasha prompted. “Just tell me.” “He didn’t go to Harvard. They turned down his application.” “No way!” Tasha shook her head. “A man of mystery, huh?” “Looks that way.” “Maybe he’s a spy.” “Oh, please. A spy in San Diego?” “Probably not,” Tasha conceded. “Maybe he was married.” Jacey frowned, considering. “I don’t think so. He didn’t have a ring line.” “So what are you going to do?” Jacey half snorted. That very question was the reason she’d come in search of her friend. But now…well, maybe it wasn’t that big a deal. So what if Al wasn’t turning out to be exactly the guy she’d thought he was? It didn’t necessarily mean he was leaning toward the weirdo end of her spectrum. And it certainly didn’t change the fact that they’d hit it off. He was still her best Mr. Right candidate. “I’m not going to do anything.” She lifted her chin a little. “I’ll ask David to find out about the married thing. But the Harvard thing doesn’t matter. I mean, I didn’t go to Harvard, either.” “Not exactly the point.” Tasha was right, but Jacey wasn’t in the mood to admit it. Tasha stood up, her usually superstraight shoulder-length blonde hair now wild and curly. “I should run. Is he going to be long?” “You can go ahead and go.” For some reason, Jacey couldn’t quite meet Tasha’s eyes.

“Oh? Oh, really?” Jacey’s cheeks warmed and she resisted the urge to cover them with her hands. “He just came here to talk.” “Uh-huh,” Tasha said before she flounced toward the door. She paused just long enough to shoot back a knowing look, then waggled her eyebrows. “If you’re planning on doing more than talking, feel free to check out the contents of the pink trunk next to my bed. I’m sure something in my toy chest would be to Mr. Anderson’s liking.” “Go!” Jacey aimed a finger toward the door…just as David Anderson walked through it. Jacey couldn’t have been more mortified if she’d been naked in the kitchen dancing the hokeypokey. With one long stride, David stepped past Tasha and into the room. With an exaggerated gesture, Tasha dropped her jaw and gave Jacey a big thumbs-up sign. Then she jerked her hand up and ran her fingers through her hair when David twisted around to face her. He stuck his hand out in greeting as Jacey prayed for a conveniently located sinkhole. Once again, her prayers were ignored. “Hi. I’m David. You must be Tasha.” “I guess I must,” Tasha said, pulling her hand from her hair. “I thought I asked you to wait in the living room,” Jacey said, hoping the chill in her voice sounded like it came from irritation rather than mortification. “You did. But I was hoping we could finish our talk before the next millennium.” He aimed a supercilious smile at both of them. “Don’t worry. I didn’t hang outside the kitchen eavesdropping on your private conversations.” That did it. “I don’t care what you have to say.” Jacey aimed a finger toward the door. “You’re fired. Get the hell out of here.” “Okay, okay.” He held up both hands, looking genuinely contrite instead of absurdly superior. “I’ m sorry. Bad joke. I really didn’t listen at the doorway. If you two were having a private talk I promise I didn’t hear anything.” He looked from Tasha to Jacey, his gaze settling on hers, his ocean blue eyes seeming oddly trustworthy under the circumstances. “Cross my heart.” “And hope to die?” Jacey asked, unable to help herself. “For you, sweetheart? I wouldn’t bet the ranch.” An unexpected bubble of laughter escaped her lips. “Fair enough. I guess.” “Great.” He walked the rest of the way into the room, as if that was the end of that. “So you saw Al’s application, huh?” Tasha asked. David glanced at Jacey and she just rolled her eyes. “Actually, I did,” he said. “Was he married?” “Tasha!” “What? We want to know. And you said you were going to ask.” David shook his head. “He checked the box for single.” “But he could have gotten married since,” Tasha said, as Jacey considered throttling her best friend. David grinned. “I can certainly check into that, too, if you want,” he said, heading toward the little yellow Formica table that Tasha had found at the Rose Bowl flea market. He pulled out a chair, spun it around, and straddled it.

Jacey rolled her eyes. “Are you physically incapable of sitting normally?” “Huh?” She nodded toward the chair. He gave her a disbelieving look. “This is a problem for you? The way I’m sitting? What? Does Tasha moonlight as Miss Manners?” “Not hardly—” “Thanks a lot,” Tasha said. “—it’s just…” She trailed off. Why bother? She wasn’t going to be spending enough time around him to make it worth her while. “Never mind.” She headed for the sink, then added a dozen or so more paper towels to the already growing pile. “So why couldn’t you have told me all this over the phone?” “Building a lake?” “Leaky pipe. You wanna answer my question?” “Want me to fix it?” “You?” She glanced at Tasha, who’d been standing mute in the corner. Now her roommate nodded vigorously. “You know how to fix a leak?” “Yes. David do plumbing.” He beat on his chest and grunted, then scratched under his arm. “Ugh.” For only a second she hesitated. Surely he couldn’t make the leak worse. “Give it a shot.” “Got a pipe wrench?” She and Tasha looked at each other again. They both shrugged. “There’s a box of tools under the sink,” Tasha said. “My last boyfriend gave them to me for Christmas.” “And that’s why he’s no longer your boyfriend,” David said. Tasha laughed. “Got it in one.” She looked at Jacey and raised her eyebrows. “I like the way this guy thinks.” Jacey crossed her arms, feeling far more proprietary toward David than she should. She nodded toward the sink. “Just do whatever it is you do so we can get back to talking.” “I can talk and work just fine. I can even chew gum and walk. It took some practice, but I finally got the hang of it.” He knelt down in front of the sink and Jacey heard him rummaging in the toolbox. “You’ve got a wrench,” he said, his voice hollow under the cabinet. “Wow,” Tasha whispered, pointing at David’s butt. Stop it, Jacey mouthed. Nice, Tasha mouthed back, her eyebrows high as she flashed the thumbs-up sign with both hands. She cleared her throat. “Well, I guess I better go.” She turned slightly, aiming her words toward David’s ass. “Jacey, you’re sure you don’t mind taking a taxi?” “I don’t mind,” Jacey hissed. “Now would you just get out of here?” David shifted, his jeans tightening just enough that Jacey and Tasha both sighed, and then his head appeared from under the cabinet. “Where do you have to go?” “Santa Monica,” Tasha said. “Don’t worry about it,” Jacey said at the same time.

“I can drive you,” David said. “No than—” “Great,” Tasha said. “I’ll feel so much better knowing you’re in a car with someone trustworthy. Those taxi drivers are maniacs and half the time they don’t pick you up on schedule. I’d hate for you to be late.” “Tasha…” Jacey was certain smoke was billowing from her ears. Tasha just smiled, an innocent little oversexed cherub. Damn the girl. “What’s wrong with me? I’m a licensed driver. Hell, I can even parallel park.” Well, heck. What was she supposed to say to that? “I, um, don’t want you to go to any trouble.” “It’s no problem,” he said, rolling over onto his back and scooting under the sink. After a few seconds, his head and hands disappeared into never-neverland. “But why can’t you just drive yourself?” “My car’s getting new tires. I was going to ride with Tasha, but she’s already running late, and it looks like I’m stuck here with you and the sink.” “Then I guess it’s either me or walk to Santa Monica. If you’re walking, I’d start now.” “Fine. Whatever. Drive me.” In the long run, it was easier just to give in. Besides, how horrible could it be to spend another hour or so with David Anderson? He might be a pain in the ass, but at least the ass was nice to look at. “If you’re sure it’s no problem.” “I told you, I came here to talk to you. We’ll just do some of the talking in the car.” “Okay. If you’re that gung ho to play taxi, it’s fine with me. But this trip better not show up on your invoice as needing a mileage reimbursement.” “Cross my heart,” he said. “And hope to die?” His chuckle echoed from under the plumbing. “Sweetheart, we’ve already been down that road.” “I think that’s my cue to leave,” Tasha said. “Thanks, David.” “No problem.” He grunted, then Jacey heard the scrape of metal against metal followed by, “Okay. Try it now.” She had no idea what he was talking about. “The water, Jacey. Turn it on.” “Oh! Right.” She trotted to the sink, then realized she couldn’t reach the faucet without straddling him. She grimaced, glanced down to make sure his head was still under the counter, and then moved in to turn on the water. “Looks like it’s working,” he said, his voice sounding much less hollow. With a little trepidation, she glanced down, only to find that he’d slid out from the cabinet and was now lying on the floor between her legs, looking up in the general vicinity of her, well, of her. Jacey’s skin warmed, and she was certain she was blushing a million shades of pink. With as much dignity as she could muster, she hopped to one side, trying to jump over him, but she only managed to land on the still-slick tiles. Her feet slid out from under her and she dropped with a thwump to the ground, her butt in the puddle and her left leg draped over his chest. The million shades of pink increased to about a billion. If God was truly merciful, He’d simply strike her down right then and put her out of her misery. No such luck.

“You okay?” He shifted beneath her, the firmness of his chest more than obvious against her calf. She jerked her leg away and scrambled, crablike, backward. “Fine. I’m fine.” She felt her cheeks warm and she nodded toward the sink. “Did you fix it?” Considering the cascade of water had stopped, it was a stupid question, but she needed to say something, anything. “Yup. All done.” “Great,” she said, hoping her voice sounded normal. “Thank you.” She stood up and brushed herself off, then headed to the fridge for a soda. She wasn’t really thirsty, but she was still shook up from their unexpected bodily contact, and she wanted something to occupy her hands. After two gulps, she felt capable of turning around to face him. “So. You wanted to talk, right? Let’s talk. Tell me why you came all the way over here instead of just calling me on the phone.” “Policy,” he said, sitting up. “Policy?” “Yeah.” He shrugged. “If I’ve got bad or unexpected news, I like to give it in person.” “Oh. Okay.” She supposed that made sense. “So what now?” “Now? Now we need to figure out our next move.” “Our move? Don’t you mean your move? You’re the investigator.” “And I’m happy to investigate.” “Good,” she said. “Good,” he repeated. He hauled himself up off the floor, then dusted off that perfect specimen of a rear end while she tried not to watch. “What?” he asked. “What?” she squeaked. “Yeah. You looked like you wanted to say something.” “Oh. Right. It’s just…” She scrambled for something relevant. “He lied to you?” That sounded good. Certainly better than telling him she hadn’t been distracted by deep thoughts, just by the curve of his tush. “Exactly.” “I wouldn’t be too hard on the guy,” David said. “I mean, the explanation’s pretty obvious.” “Really?” She squinted, not sure if she trusted him to be serious. “I thought you said you didn’t have an explanation?” “I lied. Of course I have an explanation.” He straddled a chair again, then propped his elbow on the back, resting his chin in his palm. “You’re paying me to think about this guy, aren’t you? What do you think I’ve been doing for the last couple of hours?” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the kitchen counter, the countertop cool against her rear end. “Believe me,” she said, “I wouldn’t even presume to imagine what you do with your time.” “Your time, sweetheart. You’re paying me, remember?” “How could I forget?” “Sex.” She blinked. “Excuse me?” “That’s my theory.”

“I knew you didn’t have a serious theory.” “The hell I don’t. I’m as serious as a heart attack. Sex, sweetheart. He wanted to get laid, and he lied to you to do it. You know. Impress the girl. All that jazz.” He leaned back in the chair, still holding on to the backrest. “And it worked damn well, too, didn’t it?” “No.” David just stared at her. “Well, it didn’t. I liked him,” she added, unwilling to admit that Al might be sliding toward the Mr. Wrong end of Jacey’s personal spectrum. “Uh-huh.” “In fact, I bet he went to law school somewhere, but he just said Harvard to impress me.” That had to be right. Surely he hadn’t lied about being a lawyer, too. That other guy in the bar mentioned a case. And, besides, he looked like a lawyer in his pressed jeans and starched white button-down. “Maybe so. Want me to find out?” “How?” “Calling the state bar comes to mind. And if he’s not licensed in California, we’ll decide where to go from there.” He shrugged. “But first, I figured I’d swing by his apartment, and if he’s home, I’ll just ask him. If he’s not, maybe one of his neighbors knows something.” “His apartment?” she repeated, sure she couldn’t possibly have heard right. “He lives here? In L.A.? You have his address?” “Where he used to live, at least. I don’t know if he’s still there or not.” Oh my. Her skin warmed, and her palms started to sweat. She couldn’t believe it. In just a few minutes, she might actually be seeing Al again. Looks like her D-day plan was up and running. She took a deep breath and grinned. Fixing the plumbing and finding Al. Looks like hiring David Anderson had been a smart move after all. “I’ll go right now,” Jacey said, her voice tinged with excitement. David rubbed his temples, his elbows propped on the chair back, as he tried to organize his thoughts. The crotch seam in Jacey’s sweatpants was frayed, and he’d caught quite a glimpse of her pink satin undies from his earlier vantage point. A rather nice view, but now his thoughts were all in a muddle. “Go?” “Al’s house,” she said. Her forehead creased as she squinted at him. “You feeling okay? Do you want some aspirin?” He waved the question away, forcing himself back on track. “I’m fine.” She pushed a pad of paper toward him. “In that case, write down the address for me.” He shook his head. “No way, sweet stuff.” “Excuse me?” “You’re not going alone,” he said. “The hell I’m not. I didn’t hire you to be an escort.” “No, but you hired me to find him.” “And you did.”

“Maybe.” David shrugged. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “I mean, we won’t know till we get there, will we?” “Until I get there. The last thing I want when I see my old boyfriend again is a chaperon.” God, the woman was obstinate. “Let me spell it out for you,” he said. “Seven-year-old address. Bad neighborhood. I’m not giving you the address if you’re just gonna head out and go pounding on the door of some guy who probably sells crack.” “But—” “No buts. Deal with it.” He shrugged. “Or don’t deal with it. Either way, you’re not getting the address.” Apparently Jacey knew when she was beat. Her shoulders sagged and she dropped down into the chair opposite him. “Fine.” “Good.” “Since I happen to currently be carless, we’ll go together.” So much for knowing when she was beat. “I don’t think so.” “And why not?” “I don’t work that way.” He looked her in the eye. “Now let’s drop it, okay.” “What way?” she asked. He sighed. Apparently the dropping-it plan wasn’t going over well. “With a tagalong.” “I’m not a tagalong.” Her voice was level, almost monotone, and he knew she was keeping her anger in check. “I’m your client. And I’m paying the bills. Remember? Either give me the address I paid you for, or take me with you.” For a second, he considered putting up more of a fight. But she was right. She was paying the bills. And since she wasn’t going to shut up about it… Sighing, he raked his fingers through his hair. “Fine. Whatever. But if Big Al blows us off his porch during a crack deal gone bad, you’re gonna hear me say I told you so.” She rolled her eyes, apparently not appreciating his attempt at levity. “I’m going to go change.” “You sure? I mean, in an outfit like that what ex-boyfriend could resist? Especially with the fringe benefits.” Rude, maybe, but she’d irritated him with her insistence on tagging along and he couldn’t help himself. Her glare shot straight through him. “I’m dressed perfectly appropriately for hanging around my apartment on a Saturday. You’re the one who arrived unannounced. What did you expect? To find me in satin lounging pajamas?” He chuckled. “No. Actually, the bit of satin I caught a glimpse of was more than I’d expected. I figured you for a one-hundred-percent cotton girl.” Her head cocked, and he knew she was completely clueless. “Satin?” she asked. He waggled his eyebrows and lowered his voice. “Satin.” Her face stayed blank. And then—”Oh my God.” She stood up from the table, backing away from him like she’d just realized he had typhoid. “You saw my—” “Hey, personally, I’m all for it. I mean, pink on a girl…can’t get better than that. But don’t you think it’s a bit too revealing for a reunion? Even a lover’s reunion?”

Considering the look on her face, he felt a little guilty as she backed up to the counter, the top of her hip pressing into the edge, then snaked her hand around to poke at her sweatpants. After a second, her face tightened and she sucked her cheeks in. “You didn’t think to mention this before?” He aimed a wolfish grin right at her. “What? And mess up the view?” He shouldn’t torment her— he knew that. But damned if he could help himself. “If you think this is going to make me too embarrassed to go with you—” “Sweetheart, I’m never that lucky.” At least his plan to keep her paying his fee had worked. He’d suggested she might want to forget the search for Al. And, just like he’d expected, Jacey wasn’t about to do what he suggested. Sometimes reverse psychology was a wonderful thing. She glared at him for a few seconds, snapped out a curse that seemed out of place against her freckles, then backed toward the kitchen door. “Don’t get any ideas about sneaking off to find Al,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” Grinning, David sat down at her kitchen table to wait, and realized that, miraculously, he was actually looking forward to her return. The kitchen door swung closed behind her and Jacey breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God. Before she’d escaped, she’d been sure she was going to die of mortification right there, half-exposed to David Anderson, who’d probably feel compelled to try artificial respiration or CPR. Now in the hall, Jacey scurried toward her room. So much for keeping the upper hand in their relationship. Exposing her panties to the hired help tended to put a damper on professionalism. Not that he’d been the consummate professional. A gentleman would have just kept his mouth shut. But no, David had to go and announce that he’d seen her underwear. If she hadn’t already known David Anderson was a jerk, this would have confirmed it for her. At least she’d worn undies that were in one piece without holes or overstretched elastic. She could only imagine what David would say if she’d straddled him in that condition. She slammed open the door to her room, went inside, then slammed it shut. She might be embarrassed as hell, but she was determined to get it out of her system before she went back in the kitchen and faced the jerk. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d managed to color her mood for the rest of the day. In her room, she perched on the edge of the bed and took ten, slow cleansing breaths. She needed to keep her focus. She had a specific goal, and this morning was about finding Al, not about the fact that she was stuck with David. She laughed out loud at the absurdity of it. Tasha might be right about his butt, but the rest of him wasn’t nearly as nice. Standing up, she headed for her closet, then opened the door and inspected the baggy jeans, sweatpants, and sundresses that stared back at her, perfectly pressed on color-coordinated plastic hangers. Nothing screamed lover’s reunion right off the bat, so she started flipping through the outfits, pushing each hanger aside with a yay, a nay, or a maybe. After ten minutes of that, she had zero yays, a truckload of nays, and about six maybes. So much for a versatile wardrobe. The problem was that she needed to find something attractive, yet still casual. Nothing that screamed I-was-an-idiot-where’ve-you-been-for-the-last-six-months. Instead, she wanted to go for a more subtle I’m-hoping-we-can-work-this-out, isn’ t-it-funny-we-ran-into-each-other-on-your-front-porch-while-I-was-on-my-way-to-work kind of look. After much pondering, she finally narrowed the choices down to a pair of black capri pants and a tiedyed halter that Tasha had given her last Christmas, or a Laura Ashley jumper that looked great over her favorite pink cotton T-shirt. Her first instinct was to go for the jumper. Conservative. Comfortable.

Definitely more professional. She frowned. On the one hand, she wasn’t intending to interview Al for a job. On the other, she was going with David. And their relationship was strictly professional. Plus, he was driving her straight to work afterward. Still… She nibbled on her lower lip as she eyed the little capri outfit. Not her style, but it was the perfect date outfit, already given the Tasha seal of approval. And she was heading off to meet Al. Besides, so far, David had seen her soaked to the skin or in dilapidated sweatpants. He probably thought she was among the fashion challenged. Not that she cared what he thought—it wasn’t like she hoped to spark anything between them—but still. A girl had her pride, after all. She stripped off the sweatpants, then pulled the short, black pants up over the now infamous panties. She slipped on the top that knotted in the front, showing the tiniest bit of midriff. Fortunately, her tummy was in fairly good condition, despite her severe allergy to exercise. Finally dressed, she slipped on her favorite white sneakers, then gave herself a once-over in her full-length mirror. Not bad. After one last twirl in front of the mirror to check for holes and rips, Jacey was ready to face David again. For good measure, she took one final look, gazing down the angle of her nose at her reflection as she practiced the withering look she’d give him if he dared to even think about her little underwear fiasco. Good. She had the evil eye down pat. Chin held high, she headed back into the kitchen, sure she was the picture of walking dignity. Not that he noticed. When she walked in, he was standing up, his back to her, as he talked on his cell phone. So much for grand entrances. “I am not going to do that, Millie,” he said. Millie? An unreasonable, unwelcome little twinge of something twisted in Jacey’s stomach. Not jealousy. She had no reason to be jealous. David could see all the women he wanted to—certainly she didn’t care. Her stomach was simply reacting in irritation to his boorish behavior. It wasn’t polite to argue with girlfriends in someone else’s house. Especially when he was on that someone else’s time. Jacey was paying him by the hour. Heck, she owned him, and there he was, arranging his personal life. Infuriating. “No,” he continued, as she tapped her foot on the tile floor. “Just drop it, okay?” He paused, his back still to her, and she could see the tension in his shoulders. Then a deep sigh as his shoulders sagged in defeat. “Fine. I’ll take care of it tomorrow. Love you, too.” The little bug that wasn’t jealousy nibbled at her insides again, and Jacey stood up straighter, hoping that somehow perfect posture was an antidote. David turned around, his eyes opening a bit wider as a genuine smile touched his lips. “Wow. You look…nice.” “You sound surprised.” “Sorry. I just…” He waved the words away. “Forget it. You look great. Really. I’m sure Al will appreciate it.” She supposed as compliments went that one was acceptable. She nodded toward the phone in his hand. “Girlfriend?” she asked, then immediately wished she’d undergone an emergency tongueectomy. “Don’t I wish. Girlfriends you can argue with, family you can’t.” He headed back to the table and shoved his chair into place, even as an unreasonable wave of relief crested over her. “So,” he said, his voice curt and businesslike. “You ready?”

She nodded, wondering about the change in his attitude. Something had gotten under his skin, but she wasn’t sure what. Then again, if his family was anything like hers, she’d probably found the reason. “Sure.” “Good.” He headed toward the front door. “So after Al’s, I’m driving you to work. Santa Monica, right?” “Unless Al wants to drive me.” She hadn’t considered the possibility before. Starting in about half an hour, she might be spending the rest of the evening with Al. She took a deep breath, waiting for a little tingle of anticipation that never came. “Sweetheart, that’s what you hired me for.” He caught her eye, something unrecognizable there making her gasp. “If he wants you, he can damn well have you.”

Chapter 4 “I’m a big girl, Mr. Malone,” she said, pulling out a cigarette and waiting for me to light it. “I don’t need a chaperon.” We were outside Big Sal’s restaurant on La Cienega. I’d made the mistake of telling her that Big Sal was my one lead. Like all dames, Mallory’s nose always ended up where it didn’t belong. Tonight, it had ended up here. “Maybe I disagree.” I fished in my pocket for a matchbook. Not that I needed it. The sparks between us were enough to ignite her cigarette. And a whole hell of a lot more, too. I passed the match over the striker, and the flame glowed in the fading light as she leaned forward to ignite the tip of her cigarette. She took a long drag, then exhaled, the smoke curling up into the night as she regarded me. “This ain’t no place for a dame.” “I can take care of myself,” she said, harping on her theme. “Maybe you can,” I said. “But there’s a lot of cats who are wearing Chicago overcoats after rubbing Big Sal the wrong way. Call me sentimental, but you’re too much of a looker for me to stomach seeing you iced.” “Then help me,” she said, gliding toward me. “Come in with me.” “I’m not a sucker for pain,” I said. Unfortunately, I was a sucker for this particular dame, and the hell of it was, she knew it. “Please, Monroe,” she crooned, those deadly lips curving into a pout. “For me.” I was behind the eight ball on this, no doubt about it. Even though my gut said no, my mouth said yes. I took her arm and Mallory and I headed across the street toward Big Sal’s, and right into the belly of the beast. “Look out!” Jacey’s terrified squeal got David’s attention, and he slammed on the brakes in just enough time to avoid rear-ending the blood-red Porsche revving its engine at the corner of Laurel Canyon and Ventura Boulevard. “Are you insane?” she yelped, her voice barely a squeak. “Sorry. Distracted.” “I guess so.” She raised an eyebrow. “By anything in particular?” Yeah. A dame named Mallory who’s starting to look a lot like you. But he didn’t say it.

Instead he shrugged. “Just thinking about your case.” He’d also been thinking about the way her ass looked in those tight little pants. He’d come close to suffering apoplexy when she’d walked into the kitchen. Considering that up to that point he’d seen her only in a shapeless dress and even more shapeless sweatpants, she probably should have issued a warning before foisting those kind of curves on him. “Think any harder and my case won’t matter since we’ll both be dead. Which would be a shame, because that means this car would be history.” She leaned forward and rubbed the dashboard. “The owner may be a nutcase, but the car is very, very cool.” He swiveled in his seat. “You like cars?” “Are you kidding? I love them. Especially classics. What is it? A fifty-three?” He looked at her over the rim of his sunglasses. “How did you know that?” He’d spent eight years restoring the Studebaker Starliner, doing every bit of the work himself except for installing the engine. She just shrugged. “Actually, it’s a Studillac,” he said. She might think she knew about cars, but he’d bet the contents of his wallet that she had no clue she was driving in a Studebaker with a Cadillac engine. “Really?” Her eyes were bright, and David had the sinking feeling that he’d just lost twenty-six dollars and two lottery tickets. “That’s so cool.” “You know what a Studillac is?” She rolled her eyes. “Of course.” She didn’t elaborate, and David began to suspect she was bluffing. “I thought it had more power than a typical Studebaker,” she said. “Those fifties caddie engines are something, aren’t they?” David just sighed. Apparently, Jacey didn’t bluff. “Are you an Ian Fleming fan, too?” Okay, the woman knew her car trivia. Ian Fleming had mentioned the car in one of the Bond books, and David had thought it sounded pretty damn cool. “Bond’s okay,” he said. “Mostly I’m a fan of the car.” He loved the sleek lines, the louvered hood, the striking whitewalls. Hell, the car was just plain cool. “You wouldn’t know it from the way you drive. You’re going to ding her, and then you’ll be sorry.” “I’m an excellent driver.” He spoke in his best Rainman voice, but she didn’t seem to get the joke. “Yeah? Well, your definition of excellent leaves a lot to be desired.” The light changed, and he thanked God for small favors since that meant he could ignore her and just drive. The trouble was, it was getting harder and harder to ignore her. When he’d caught a glimpse of her panties, it wasn’t as if he’d seen her naked. Hell, he’d only seen a tiny flash of pink and a whole lot of fleece and cotton. Instead of being provocative, her bulky sweatpants and oversize shirt had left everything to the imagination. But right away, David’s imagination had started working overtime. Then she’d marched in wearing those pants, and overtime had turned into overactive. And the most intriguing thing was that Jacey didn’t even seem to realize how enticing she was. Despite the way the pants accented her curves, the outfit was still completely modest. Even that hippiedippy top. It showed a bit of stomach, sure, but not one iota of cleavage. A damn shame, really. And now she was talking like she’d spent half her life wandering around car lots. Mentally, he

shook his head. Amazing. She might be a total pill, but there was something about Jacey Wilder. A lot of layers, that was for sure. The woman was an enigma, and one with serious heat potential. Not that he was going to be the man exploring that potential, not even for a quick reconnaissance. She wasn’t interested in him, she was interested in Albert. Albert the hotel-hopping, Harvard dweeb. Of course, David reminded himself, he didn’t give a damn who Jacey was interested in. Millie might be ready to send out wedding invitations, but the truth was he didn’t even know the woman. Okay, he knew she liked cars and art and she was a bit of a back-seat driver. But other than that, he didn’t know a thing. Only what she looked like, what she smelled like… His body tightened, and he shifted in the seat, wishing for a bit of camouflage. Oh, yeah. Jacey was nice all right. And it was always the nice ones that got under a guy’s skin and landed him in trouble. Big trouble. Thinking about things like marriage and kids and mortgages. Things David had no interest in. Not now. Not anymore. Hell, maybe not ever again. Better to stick to the hardcore career women with their stiletto heels and no-nonsense, Palm Pilot, got-you-scheduled-in-for-Friday approach to dating. Women who wore Victoria’s Secret under their designer suits, and whose blood ran hot despite their oh-so-cool demeanor. Women who were so wrapped up in their own careers they weren’t looking for him to buy them a ring. Like him, they were simply looking for a good time. Much better. Much safer. Unfortunately, there was never a stiletto-heeled career woman around when you needed one. And at the moment, he needed one badly. Unless Al swept Jacey off her feet and offered to drive her to Santa Monica, David was stuck with her for the afternoon. Scary. Very, very scary. He was three streets past Van Nuys Boulevard when he realized he’d been obsessing over Jacey instead of watching for his turn. Damn. He managed a quick U-turn and backtracked to the street. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “You’re still not paying attention?” “I’ve got things on my mind.” “Yeah? Like what?” Like you.“Nothing we need to be talking about.” “If it has anything to do with what goes on in that head of yours, I don’t want to know anyway.” “If you have such a low opinion of me, then why did you hire me in the first place?” “You already nailed that one, remember?” she said. “You’re cheap.” She rolled one shoulder in something resembling a shrug. “And I don’t have a low opinion of you. Elliott Talbot does. And from what I can tell, you agree with him.” “I suppose you have a different take on me?” No answer, and he turned his attention from the road just long enough to see that she was frowning, apparently considering his question. “Well?” he prompted. “I guess I do,” she finally said. “I mean, you’ve definitely got major quirk potential.” She held up a hand. “No offense.” “None taken.” He flashed her a smile, grateful they were having this conversation since it reminded him of what a pain in the ass she was, even if she did have curves in all the right places. “But you’re also pretty on the ball. I mean, my check hasn’t even cleared the bank, and here we are on our way to Al’s house.” Not exactly effusive, but coming from her, it surprised him nonetheless. He waited, expecting her

to say more. Nothing. “So you’re impressed?” he asked, then grimaced. How pathetic was that? Fishing for compliments from his client. “Yeah. I guess you could say that.” Apparently exhausted from doling out praise, she sighed and leaned back, her hand stroking the restored upholstery. He frowned. He’d expected the part where she basically called him a loon. Hell, he got that reaction enough. Like his ex-wife, the women he went out with either found his quirks endearing or frustrating—and often the same woman started with the one and quickly moved to the other. So he didn’t expect much in the way of understanding from women. He was what he was, and it was as simple as that. He sure as hell didn’t intend to change just to please a woman. He’d tried that for Susan and it had been a fiasco, leaving them both frustrated and, at the end of the day, divorced. But the other thing—her praise of the way he did his job—that was new. And he had to admit it felt kind of nice. “You’re not going to miss the turn again, are you?” Or maybe he spoke too soon. With a grimace he turned to her. “No, I’m not going to miss my turn again,” he said, mimicking her tone. “But if you want to be useful, why don’t you dig the map out of the glove compartment?” She leaned over, a grin tugging at her mouth. “What?” he demanded. “Nothing.” “What?” “Just that you’re getting the map now. For all you know, you already missed the turn. I would have printed the map off the Internet. Then you can highlight the route and tape it to the dashboard.” “Anybody ever tell you that you’re a pain in the ass?” “Nope. No one.” “Then you must have lived all your life in a cave. Let me have the honor of being the first.” He tapped the brakes as they approached a red light, then turned to face her dead on. “Sweetheart, you’re a pain in the ass.” “Thanks. Coming from you, that means so much.” She flipped open the map. “So what street am I looking for?” He told her, and she did some contortions, twisting and turning and folding the map every which way as she muttered to herself about grid E-4. “Are you reading that map or making a paper airplane?” “Any airplane I make would get us there safer than your driving,” she countered. “Just navigate.” He nodded toward the map. She frowned, but didn’t argue. “Not going to do me any good to find Al if I’m dead when I do it,” she muttered, but since she didn’t look up at him, he didn’t bother to answer. “Here!” He slammed on the brakes as she craned her neck and turned around in her seat. “What?” he asked. “There.” She pointed. “You were supposed to turn there.” “A little warning would be good.”

“Then maybe you should have pulled out the map half an hour ago.” Since she was right, he kept his mouth shut. Just shifted the car into reverse and then hit the accelerator. “What the hell are you doing?” she screeched, one hand clutching the dash. “We’re moving backward!” “You said we passed the turn.” “Well, yeah.” She twisted around, looking over her seat in the direction they were heading. “But I figured you’d make a U-turn. You’re going to get us killed.” “No, I’m not. I’m just—” “Here!” He hit the brakes again, spun the wheel, and whipped the car around the corner. “See?” he said. “We’re back on track.” “You’re insane.” She sat back in her seat, shooting him a dirty look as she tightened her seat belt. “You know that, right?” “I’ve long suspected it, but until I start talking to imaginary friends, I figure I’m just this side of sanity.” She raised an eyebrow, then looked pointedly at the microcassette recorder resting on the seat between them. He shrugged. “Yeah, well, okay. Until they start talking back, I figure I’m this side of sanity.” “Don’t be too sure,” she mumbled. She leaned back in her seat, staring straight ahead, her arms crossed over her chest. “Hello? You’re supposed to be navigating. If I’ve missed another turn, I’m holding you personally responsible for anyone we hit backtracking.” At that, she cracked a smile. “Ah!” He took his eyes off the road and pointed a finger at her. “Uh-huh. I saw that. That was a smile.” “So? Even people who are completely nuts can be amusing.” “I’m not that nuts,” he said. “Not yet, anyway.” “No, but you’re teetering on the precipice.” “I can live with that,” he said. “If there’s one thing I’ve got, it’s great balance.” At least, he used to. Since he’d met Jacey, he was beginning to wonder if he was losing his grip, or if the world as he knew it was tilting on its axis. Jacey wasn’t sure how, but they actually survived the drive into Van Nuys. On the way, they passed two accidents, a couple of rival gangs fighting it out for a prime street corner, and a businessman getting mugged in front of the Stop & Shop. None of that worried her. David’s driving…that was terrifying. Exciting—especially in that amazing car—but terrifying. Now, though, they’d pulled up in front of Al’s old address, and nervousness about David’s driving was replaced by nervousness about seeing Al again. With any luck, she’d be seeing him in just a few minutes…and he’d be just as thrilled to be found as she was to find him.

“This is it,” David said, pushing his door open slightly. “You ready?” Jacey hesitated. She’d thought she was, but now, faced with the reality of seeing him again, she couldn’t seem to get her fingers to close around the handle. “Jacey?” He’d swung one leg out of the car, but now he twisted back around to look at her, concern on his face. “You okay?” “Of course I’m okay.” Her fingers tightened on the handle and she pushed the door open. “I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.” Sure. That had to be it. Just nerves. This is what she wanted. To see Al. To pick up where they left off. To find out if they had a chance. “You’ll do fine,” he said, his right hand squeezing her left. She met his eyes, surprised by the compassion there. In the short time she’d known him, she’d come to expect a lot of things from David Anderson, but compassion wasn’t on her list. “Jacey?” She blinked, pushing open her door. “Right. I’m ready.” She turned back to smile at him. “Here goes nothing.” He walked around the car and met up with her on the sidewalk. “You know, he probably won’t even be here.” “Are you trying to worry me or help my nerves?” David laughed. “Just telling the truth.” He nodded toward the apartment building. “Not exactly the best neighborhood.” She had to agree. The apartment building itself wasn’t so bad, but the house next to it was so rundown that Jacey was certain that whoever lived there dealt crack—or worse. Still, this was Los Angeles, and a gem of an apartment could be found in the crappiest of neighborhoods. When she mentioned that to David, he just shrugged. “I suppose,” he said. “And this is a security building. I bet the actual apartments are very nice.” “Or he doesn’t live here at all.” They’d reached the security buzzer, and David was bending over, reading the names next to the apartment numbers. “No Alcott. Apartment two seventy-three lists someone named Brad Stemple.” “Oh.” Part of her was relieved that Al’d had the good taste to move to a better neighborhood. But mostly, she was disappointed. If he wasn’t here, they were back to square one. Or David was. Of course, if Al wasn’t here, that meant David was still on the case. Which meant Jacey would continue to see him. She frowned, surprised by how much that proposition appealed to her. David reached out, touching her on the elbow, the tiny show of support tugging at her heart. “Don’ t worry. This isn’t the end of the road. His name just might not be on the box. And even if he has moved, someone here might know where he’s living now.” “And if they don’t?” “Then we’ll try another approach.” He pressed Stemple’s buzzer. “You hired me to find him. And that’s what I’m going to do.” She nodded as static blared from the intercom. “Yeah?” “Mr. Stemple?” David asked. “Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want any.”

“I’m not selling anything. We’re trying to find someone who used to live here.” “Yeah? Who’s we?” The voice was slightly less gruff. But only slightly. “My name’s David Anderson. I’m an investigator.” “Good for you. Who’s the pretty little lady with you?” David frowned, then tilted his head back, realizing that Stemple could see them from his window. He glanced at Jacey and she nodded. “Jacey Wilder,” he said. “My client. I don’t suppose you’d buzz us in?” “I don’t suppose I would,” Stemple’s voice answered. “I got a life going on in here. You’re the one interrupted me, remember?” David tilted his head back, his arms spread wide as if appealing to heaven. “And we appreciate any help you can give us,” David said, as Jacey tried not to grin. “Quit sucking up and just tell me the name.” “Albert Alcott.” Static poured through the intercom, but there was no answer. David glanced at Jacey and shrugged. She returned the shrug.“Maybe he didn’t hear you,” Jacey said, whispering, even though David wasn’t pushing the intercom button. “Maybe…” He sounded doubtful, but he pushed the button anyway. “Albert Al—” “I heard you the first time.” David hit the intercom button and leaned in. “I take it you know him?” “Hell yes. He used to be my roommate.” “That sounds promising,” Jacey said. David nodded, then spoke to the microphone. “Any chance you’ve got his current address?” “His address? What kind of sick fuck are you?” “Excuse me?” David looked at Jacey, but she just shook her head. Apparently Al hadn’t had the best taste in roommates. “What are you talking about?” “Don’t you read the papers? He’s dead, man,” the voice said, and Jacey’s heart skipped a beat. “Al’s been dead for four months.” “Dead,” David repeated. “Dead, as in deceased?” Maybe there was some new lingo going around, and Stemple was just telling them that Al had been evicted. “Yeah. Got blown to bits when the heater at his office exploded. Nasty business.” Or maybe not. “Dead?” Jacey’s voice was barely a whisper, and David mentally kicked himself as he remembered why the hell they were there in the first place. So far, he hadn’t exactly been a font of compassion. He swung an arm around her shoulder, feeling totally inadequate in the consoling widowed girlfriends department. “Jace? You okay?” Probably not the most appropriate comment. He tried to think of what Monroe would say—something suave and cool and designed to bring a smile to her lips. Nothing. Apparently, Monroe wasn’t talking. She sniffled. “Yeah. I’m fine.” Another sniffle. “No. No, I’m not fine at all.” The sniffle turned into a gasping little sob, and David became absolutely, positively certain that he had no idea whatsoever what

he was supposed to be doing. He steered her toward the low wall that butted up against a row of sickly looking flowers. “Here.” He clumsily patted her on the shoulder. “Sit here for a sec, okay?” She wiped her eyes with her forefinger. But she also nodded, and David took that as permission to head back to the intercom. “Really dead?” he asked once more, just to be positive. “For fuck’s sake, how many times do I gots to tell you? Dead. Kaput. Ashes to ashes and all that jazz.” Okay. That sounded really dead. “When?” David asked. “Last March. I remember because of my English class back before I dropped out.” David blinked. That made no sense whatsoever. “Huh?” “You know. Julius Caesar and the idea of March. That’s why I remember what day it was.” “Oh,” David said, still not sure he was following the conversation, but not sure it really mattered. As far as old boyfriends were concerned, dead was dead. When didn’t much matter. “Well, okay, then. Sorry to bother you.” “No problem, man. I should probably post a sign, what with all the people that was asking about him back then.” David almost asked what Stemple meant, but he caught sight of Jacey sitting there looking forlorn. He thanked Stemple again, then clicked off. “How are you doing?” he asked. She looked up at him, tears pooling in her green eyes. “I’ve had better days, that’s for sure.” Another sniff. Then a blink. Then a tear trickled down her cheek. Aw, hell. David squirmed. Women and crying. That always got to him. Always. “Come here,” he said, more gruffly than he intended, but she didn’t seem to mind. He perched on the wall next to her and held out his arm. She curled up against him, her face buried against his chest, and he patted her back with a stiff hand as her shoulders shook. After a few minutes, she sighed, then sniffed and lifted her head. “Sorry about your shirt. It’s kind of…well…wet.” “Don’t worry about it.” He tucked a finger under her chin and tilted her head back, looking deep into her eyes. “Better?” “Yeah.” She licked her lips, pulling away from him to sit up straight. “Thank you.” “No problem,” he said. And the funny thing was, he meant it. Unlike most of the women he knew who would have locked themselves in the car until they’d pulled themselves together and fixed their running mascara, Jacey had actually let him help her. And it had felt pretty nice. “It’s just so strange, you know?” He nodded as he hopped off the wall to stand in front of her. He didn’t know, not exactly. He’d never gone to visit a girlfriend and have her turn up dead. But he could imagine. “I mean, I was prepared for him to have another girlfriend. Or be married. Heck, I could have even handled it if he’d decided he was gay. But dead?” She bit down on her lower lip until it appeared almost white. “That option hadn’t even blipped on my radar screen.” “How about ice cream?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t notice the non sequitur.

Her brow furrowed; apparently, she noticed. “Ice cream?” “Sure.” He shrugged, feeling a little like a bug under her curious gaze. “I mean, you’re a girl. And girls like ice cream when they’re…uh…depressed or in a bad mood or…” He trailed off. “Stupid idea?” For a second she just stared at him, and he was starting to feel about two feet tall, when the corner of her mouth tilted up. “No. Not stupid at all. It’s sweet.” A tiny smile touched her lips before fading. “But I need to get to work.” “Oh. Yeah, that’s right.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Okay, well, I guess we should go.” At least they could get moving again. Standing there and trying to make sure he said the right thing was becoming more and more difficult with each passing minute. Once they got on the road, she curled up next to the door. Since he couldn’t think of anything brilliant to say, he didn’t say anything at all, and they drove in silence. Monroe, of course, would know exactly what to say. Hell, Monroe would probably smell a murder. But who would want to murder a pretty-boy Harvard wannabe? David considered the point. Maybe the lawyer had hooked up with the wrong woman. Sarah maybe. And somehow Big Sal got tied into the whole mess. He scowled, his mind sorting through possibilities until she turned to him, drawing him out of his thoughts. “You okay?” she asked. “Sure. Fine,” he said, feeling guilty for not asking her that exact question. “Just thinking.” “About Al?” “Yeah, well, you know.” He fingered his tape recorder, but didn’t pick it up. He wasn’t about to confess that he’d been daydreaming about his novel instead of pondering poor Al. Not that pondering would do much good. Dead was dead. “It’s just so horrific,” she said. “I still can’t quite believe it. It doesn’t seem real.” He got off at the Wilshire exit and headed west. “It’ll take a while,” he said. He took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at her. “I’m sorry it turned out this way. If there’s anything—” “No.” She sat up straighter. “I’ll be fine.” She took a deep breath. “Believe me, I always am.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” He shouldn’t ask; it wasn’t any of his business. But he was curious, and at least if she was talking, he didn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing. She barely shrugged. “Just that nothing ever seems to go the way I planned.” With a moan, she leaned forward, pressing her face into her palms. “Oh God, that sounds terrible,” she said, her voice muffled. She sat back up, turning to look at him. “Al’s dead, and I’m bitching because he messed up my plans. You must think I’m horrible.” “I think you’re honest,” he said, because it was the truth and because he wanted to make her feel better. “Really?” He nodded. “Thanks.” They drove in silence for a few minutes until they got close to the beach. “Just pull over before you get to the Promenade,” she said. “Right here is good.” She’d mentioned that she was working at a resale clothing store on the Promenade. Since that was a walking-only street, he maneuvered the Studillac into a loading zone a few yards from the corner. “Well,” she said, sticking out a hand for him to shake. “I guess this is it.” He nodded, suddenly realizing she was right. She’d hired him to find Al. Al was dead. End of story. End of his assignment. He took her hand in his, resisting the rather disturbing urge to pull her close and hold her tight. Instead, he just squeezed her fingers. “You take care, okay?”

She squeezed back, then pulled her hand away, her skin soft against his. “I will,” she said. Then she slipped out of the car, slammed the door, and walked away from him down the Promenade. For half a second, he considered parking and running after her, but what would be the point? The case was over. And without a case, he didn’t have a reason in the world to see Jacey Wilder again. Not one reason at all. Al eased his key into the lock and turned, the deadbolt sliding back without a care in the world. Good. At least one thing was going his way. He slipped inside, shutting the door quickly behind him and silently praying that none of the neighbors saw. As far as they knew, he was still a dead man. The familiar smell of stale grease and beer engulfed him, and he fought a gag reflex. For the six months he’d lived with Stemple, he’d never once seen the guy eat anything that wasn’t dripping with lard, or drink anything that could be sold legally to minors. For about half a second, Al considered leaving. But he needed Stemple’s help if he wanted to find the diamonds and get the hell out of the country before Reggie found him again and rearranged his face. So he just parked himself in the forest green La-Z-Boy, cracked the spine on The Firm, and waited. Four hours later, a key rattled in the door, and Stemple more or less oozed over the threshold, every one of his movements suggesting total exhaustion. Good. If he was still pulling double shifts at the mortuary, he’d be more open to the possibility of earning a little cash on the side by helping Al out. Stemple jumped a mile when Al flicked on the lamp next to the recliner. “Shit, man, you fucking scared me to death.” He squinted, his eyes adjusting to the change in lighting, and then Al saw his eyes widen. “Well lookie-loo,” he said. “If it isn’t a dead man walking.” Al bit back a smile. Stemple might be an idiot about a lot of things, but he’d been a big help faking Al’s death. If it weren’t for Stemple, there wouldn’t have been a body for the cops to find after the office exploded—or the remains of a body, anyway. Absent teeth, of course, which was kind of grisly when you thought about it, so Al tried not to linger on the point. Stemple had also pulled the strings to get Al’s fake name in order. Al had no idea who’d done the work, but one day Charles Lafontaine had been a twinkle in Al’s eye. The next day, Lafontaine had a Social Security card, a passport, and a bank account in the Cayman Islands. Anything was possible if you were willing to pay. And pay Al had. It had cost a small fortune, but at the time, he’d been more than willing to dole out the money. Hell, it was only a fraction of what Al was going to be pocketing. Too bad Al had lost his cut to Jacey, and Lafontaine’s bank account in the Caymans still held a zero balance. Of course, if the state of this apartment was any indication, Stemple had snorted his share and his bank account was still empty, too. Idiot. If he’d put the money in T-bills, he could be sitting pretty. “You get tired of living the high life on some island? Decide to come back and slum with us?” “There was a little glitch in my plans,” Al admitted. “Your fence never showed.” Stemple held up his hands and backed away, his eyes drifting toward Al’s waist. “Hey, man, not my fault. You wanted me to hook you up and I did. I’m not the guy’s father.” “Chill out,” Al said, realizing his hand was in his suit pocket. He took a deep breath, shifting his hand a little. If Stemple thought he had a gun, all the better. They’d known each other for years, but that didn’t mean they trusted each other. Their’s had been a relationship based on convenience—and cash. “I’m not here because of that,” Al said. At the time, he’d been furious. Now he had bigger problems. “But while I was there, Reggie made me.”

“Fuck me,” Stemple said. “No, fuck me. If Reggie had caught me back then, you really would be talking to a dead man. But I managed to avoid him.” “They musta known the explosion was fake.” Al nodded. The scheme had been one of those fortuitous things—a situation dropped in his lap that had been too good to pass up. In retrospect, of course, he should have passed with gusto, because in addition to being perfect, the plan was also obvious—at least to Joey Malone. Al had assumed Joey would figure things out; he’d just hoped he’d be out of the country when Joey did. It had started when his boss had died. Al hadn’t been working on any of Joey’s cases, but he was around the office enough to know that something big was brewing. The cops had made Joey for a diamond heist, but they didn’t have the evidence to indict, and they sure as hell hadn’t found the missing jewels. They never would, either, because Joey had entrusted them to his attorney and a cool million in ice was stashed in the safe hidden in Melvin’s floor. When Melvin had up and kicked the bucket with a heart attack no one saw coming, Al had decided to help himself. For a price, Stemple had been more than willing to help his roomie. Hell, for a price Stemple would do anything. And they’d managed to pull the whole thing together in just under two days. The plan had been perfect—until the fence hadn’t shown up, Joey’s thugs had found Al in the hotel, and Al had hooked up with Jude. “So what the fuck are you doing here now? If Malone’s onto you, you should’ve stayed out of the country. Made a phone call, man. I coulda found you a fence in Mexico or Grand Cayman or wherever the hell you landed.” “I landed in a shitty little apartment outside Tijuana because I didn’t have enough money to get to my island,” Reggie said. “No shit?” Stemple asked. He took a slug from an open can of beer that had been sitting on the coffee table for God knew how long. “How’d you manage to blow through a mil so fast?” “I didn’t have the million,” Al said, his words level. “After Reggie made me, I hooked up with a girl. Figured I could hide in her bed until Reggie quit snooping around.” “A million’s a hell of a fee for a high-class hooker.” “You’re just a laugh riot, Brad, you know that?” Stemple just smiled and took another slug of warm beer. Al grimaced, wondering not for the first time how he’d managed to stomach living with the guy. It was a wonder he hadn’t caught some bizarre disease. “Seriously,” Stemple said. “What happened?” “I hid the stuff in her car. She wanted to go to some hoity-toity place for dinner and I got the idea.” He grimaced. “A damn good idea, too. Hide the diamonds. Sneak out at night. Steal her car, and head out across the border.” “So what happened?” Al’s stomach twisted. “The bitch ran out on me.” Stemple laughed. Not exactly the sympathy Al had hoped for. “What’s the matter, man? You losing your touch?” “Beats the hell out of me. All I know is she’s gone, and she has my diamonds.” “Bummer.”

Al stifled the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah, you could say that.” He looked Stemple in the eye. “That’s why I’m here. I need your help.” “Whatever you need, buddy. You know that.” Al could practically see the dollar signs flashing above Stemple’s head. “She gave me a fake name. I called the hotel from San Diego and no Jude Wilde was registered for the conference. I want you to go down there, poke around, and see if you can figure out her real name. Then get me an address. I need to find that car. And if the diamonds aren’t still in it, I may need you to have a little chat with her.” Stemple frowned as he crushed the beer can and tossed it into a corner. It landed with a metallic clank against the other cans piled there. “She got curly red hair?” It was Al’s turn to frown. “How the hell did you know that?” A broad smile cut across Stemple’s face, revealing a row of tobacco-stained teeth. “Shit, man. I’ m good even when I’m not trying.” He spread his hands wide. “Jacey Wilder,” he said. “The bitch’s name is Jacey Wilder.”

Chapter 5 I should’ve listened to my gut. No matter how much a dame gets under your skin, that’s the first commandment, and I blew it. I sinned against every truth I know about this crazy business and I took Mallory into the lion’s den with me. We headed for the back room, ignoring the saps eyeballing Mallory’s gams as we moved through the joint. The back room at Big Sal’s ain’t no place for a lady under normal circumstances. But Mallory wouldn’t sit still for being left behind and I didn’t want her to have to take any lip from the mugs at the counter. Even I have my moments of being a gentleman. But as soon as we pushed through the door, I knew I should’ve put a tight lid on etiquette and left her at the counter with a cup of joe and a promise I’d be back soon. She stopped short, right behind me, her eyes heading straight for the body on the floor, just like I knew they would. Her hand fluttered at her neck, the only indication that Mallory’s ice-cold veneer had started to melt. “Is he dead?” Considering the hole in his head, the answer to that question wasn’t too tricky. No doubt about it, somebody had zotzed Big Sal. “If he ain’t,” I said, “he’s gonna have one hell of a headache come morning.” Dead. David’s fingers paused above the keys. So far, he’d written two sentences and they both sucked. The story was in his head, but he couldn’t get it out onto the paper. The line between his brain and his fingers was too filled with thoughts of Jacey and her dead boyfriend. Damn. He’d tracked down a dead man, and now he couldn’t get Jacey out of his head. Not to mention her perplexed, forlorn expression. Poor kid. When he’d gone to her apartment, she’d probably assumed she’d be back in Al’s arms by dinnertime. And even though he might sympathize with old Al for getting wrapped up with a marriage-minded female, David couldn’t help but feel sorry for the girl. She might be a pain in the butt, but he had to admit he liked her. Basically, she’d grown on him. And she deserved a hell of a lot better than a barbequed boyfriend.

He flicked off the power to his IBM Selectric, giving in to the fact that he wasn’t going to be writing any prize-winning pages today. A damn shame. Usually the buzz of the classic IBM machine inspired him. Hell, about the only way he could be more inspired would be to bang out his books on an old Royal with a crooked e. Right now, apparently, inspiration was taking a holiday. With a groan, he levered himself out of the chair and wandered into his kitchen. A quick inventory of his cabinets revealed that he had all the makings for a chocolate torte, bread pudding, or bananas Foster. Dinner-appropriate food, however, was conspicuously absent. He checked his watch. Almost nine. If he hurried, he could get to the Peking Duck before the kitchen closed. He’d have to order takeout, but that was okay. Heck, maybe he should even get enough for Jacey. After all, he’d dropped some pretty bad news on her today. The least he could do was deliver dinner and offer her a lift home. He told himself he just wanted to be a gentleman, but a little voice whispered that he wanted to see Jacey again. He ignored it. He had enough little voices in his head without adding another. He was just going to feed her, drive her, console her. That was it. Then his conscience would be clear and he could come home and work on his book and life would be back to normal. Just the way he liked it. Finally with a plan, he headed out, maneuvering the Studillac through the residential streets until he hit the freeway and cruised to Santa Monica. The owner knew him, and as soon as David said he was getting food to go for two, Ling lit up and started shouting directions to the kitchen. David had no idea what she was talking about, but she’d never steered him wrong where food was concerned, so he just kicked back, listened to the sizzle of the kitchen as he sipped his green tea, and waited for his order. About ten minutes later, she plunked a fully stuffed paper shopping bag on the table in front of him. He caught the pungent odor of garlic and his mouth started to water. “I said takeout for two,” he said, peeling back the lid of one of the little triangular boxes. “This is enough to feed a small town.” “You said is for a woman,” she countered. “You want to impress her, yes?” David sighed. Ling had moved to the States three years ago with her daughter. Jenny had married a year later, and now Ling had more or less adopted all her customers. “She’s a client, Ling,” he said, having something of a déjà vu moment. “Not a girlfriend.” “Uh-huh.” Ling didn’t seem to believe him and he made a mental note to bring Aunt Millie here for dinner one day. She and Ling would definitely get along. Fifteen minutes later, he was trudging along the Promenade carrying a mountain of food, and looking for a studio resale shop. He paused in front of Gaucho Grill, one of his absolute favorite restaurants, and surveyed the area, feeling something like a fool standing there holding a bag as dozens of people passed him. One overly generous business type even tossed in a quarter. David made a mental note to get a haircut. He couldn’t see much across the street to the north because of the newsstand, but when he turned in the opposite direction, he caught a glimpse of a neon sign for OUT OF THE CLOSET. Considering he was looking for a resale clothing shop, that one seemed worth a try. As he got closer and saw the movie posters in the window, he knew he’d guessed right. Balancing the sack on his hip, he pulled open the door and stepped inside, triggering the electronic buzz of a security system. He slid the bag onto the checkout counter—a glass case filled with costume jewelry, beaded purses, and similar girly things—and looked around the empty store for Jacey. No one.

He frowned, wondering if he’d picked the wrong store after all. Then Jacey’s voice filtered in from somewhere at the back. “Let me know if you need any help. I’ll be right out.” The place definitely had a movie theme going. An awesome mural filled the space behind the case —a strip of film curling through the sky, each frame a scene from a classic movie. David wasn’t really a movie guy, but he had to admit the mural was perfect for the little shop that was jam-packed with rounders of clothes left over from movie and television shoots. He picked an item at random and looked at the tag—Meg Ryan, Kate & Leopold. He shrugged. Chick flick. A rustling of clothes caught his attention, and then Jacey appeared, squeezing between two rounders. David swallowed. If he’d almost fainted seeing her in those cropped pants, he was damn near close to having a heart attack now. The drowned rat of a woman who’d knocked on his door didn’t look so drowned anymore. Instead, she looked like a Hollywood sex kitten. With a full skirt, her blood-red dress hung to just above her ankles. Nothing provocative in theory, but she was wearing matching stiletto-heeled, open-toe sandals that, David had to admit, looked damn sexy. Not only that, but while the skirt might be concealing, the rest of the dress wasn’t. Made out of the same silky material, the front seemed to be nothing more than two swatches of material that rode up from the tight waist, covering her breasts, revealing miles of cleavage, and tying around her neck. He couldn’t actually see behind her, but he was pretty sure her back was bare. “Wow,” he said, then wished he could take it back. That was the second time he’d said that today. The woman was going to get a complex. Her cheeks flushed pink. “David. Oh. Hi.” So much for an enthusiastic welcome. “I never realized June Cleaver could look so hot.” “June Cleaver?” Her eyes widened. “You really think I’m June Cleaver?” “Hell yes. Or I did.” He swept an arm up and down, indicating her outfit. “Of course, Wally and the Beav would’ve had a heart attack seeing Mom decked out like that.” The blush deepened, and she grabbed a denim jacket off the nearest rack and shoved her arms into it, pulling it tight across her chest. Not exactly provocative, but she still looked damn cute. “I think fur would be more appropriate,” he said. She blinked. “What?” He glanced at the jacket. “Oh. Right.” She buttoned it up, her cheeks still flaming. “Since Gregory can’t pay much, he offered to let me have one outfit. I’m, uh, going to pick something more practical, but I thought this would be fun to try on.” “Why not pick that?” “The jacket?” “The dress,” he said. “You look great.” “I do?” She licked her lips. “I mean, thank you. But it’s not exactly my style.” “Maybe it should be.” “Who are you? The fashion editor at Vogue?” He chuckled. “Just a guy. And believe me, that dress is definitely you.” “Yeah, well, I’m me. And I think I should know what’s me and what’s not me.” “You’d think, wouldn’t you?” he said, even though he knew he should just drop it. The woman drove him nuts, but she also amused the hell out of him.

Apparently, Jacey wasn’t amused, not if the glare she shot him was any indication. “So why are you here?” He nodded toward the box. “I come bearing food. And a lift home. You’ve had a hell of a day. I thought it would be nice.” She stared at the sack. “You brought me food?” “Well, yeah.” He shrugged. “I mean, I brought us both food. I thought we could find a table outside somewhere.” “That’s so sweet.” Surprise laced her voice. “I’m not a complete jerk.” She laughed. “Sorry. It’s just…” She trailed off, then looked him in the eye. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome,” he said, accepting her unspoken truce. Her skirt brushed his leg as she moved past him to peer over the rim of the sack. “What have we got?” “Chinese,” he said. “Is that okay?” He loved Chinese food and hoped like hell she didn’t hate the stuff. “Are you kidding? That’s great.” She looked around the empty store. “But I don’t close up until eleven. I’d hate for it to get cold.” He started pulling little Chinese food cartons out of the bag. “So let’s just eat here.” “Here?” He shrugged. “Sure. It’s not like the place is jumping with customers.” She cocked her head. “It has been slow. I think there’s something going on at UCLA today.” “And you do have to eat…” “Okay, you’ve convinced me.” She nodded toward the display window. “I saw some quilts in a basket over there if you want to find something we can use as a picnic blanket.” She started walking toward the back of the store. “Where are you going?” “To change.” She held the skirt out with one hand. “Maybe if you’d brought filet mignon and champagne, but for Chinese, I think pants are more appropriate.” He let his gaze rake over her, feeling a rush of masculine pride at the way she shivered under his appraisal. “Believe me, sweetheart, that dress is more than appropriate.” Her lips pressed together and pink tinged her cheeks again. That’s one thing he loved about redheads—they blushed so easily. After a second, she shook her head. “Nope. Dress-up time is over. I’ m changing back into my own clothes, and later I’ll pick out something to keep.” “You should keep that dress,” he said. “And you should go find us a picnic blanket.” Her voice was stern, but he saw her eyes dance before she disappeared into the back of the store. By the time she reappeared, he’d spread out a quilt and topped it with Ling’s impress-the-girl dinnertime selections. He’d say this, Ling had gone all out. They had hot and sour soup, Kung Pao chicken, scallops in garlic sauce, beef with broccoli, assorted egg rolls, some pan-fried dumplings, and, of course, fortune cookies. She’d even thrown in four bottles of Sapporo. David had no idea if Jacey liked Japanese beer, but if she didn’t, he’d be more than happy to drink her share.

“I’m impressed,” she said. He opened a bottle of beer for her and she took it, gratefully downing a sip. She nodded toward the window as she sat down. “How’d you manage to snag a table with a view?” “I tipped the maitre d’.” “Classy.” She crossed her legs and took the bowl he passed her, then tasted the soup. “And yummy. Be sure and tip the waiter, too. And my compliments to the chef.” “I’ll be sure to pass them along,” he said, grabbing a paper plate and dishing out some of Ling’s specialties. She grinned, clearly enjoying their game. “You must come here often.” She put down her soup and took the plate he passed her. He shrugged. “You know how it is as a private dick. Wining and dining the women. Anything for a lead.” The warmth that had started to fade from her cheeks returned. “Sorry about that. People say I have a smart mouth.” She toyed with her chopsticks, moving the broccoli and beef around on her plate. “People?” “My mom. Tasha. Pretty much anyone I’ve ever met.” She took a bite, swallowed, then took another gulp of the beer. “It’s one of my character flaws.” “Color me smart,” he said. “I picked up on your mouth a few seconds after I met you.” Her grin reached her eyes. “Guess you are a detective.” She licked her lips as her gaze shifted to the plate in her lap. “So are you wining and dining me?” He laughed and edged a little closer. “Absolutely. I’m a big believer in keeping good client relations.” She tilted her head up just enough to look him in the eye. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He had no idea what she was thinking, but he knew what he was thinking, and his thoughts were skirting dangerously close to sex. Not that he had anything against sex on principle. And, despite his original impression of her, he didn’t have anything against the thought of sex with Jacey. She might have her irritating moments, but, hey, so did he. And he might not be looking to get hooked up with a woman permanently, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun. And, surprise, surprise, the idea of having a little fun with Jacey was starting to look pretty damned appealing. He aimed a grin in her direction. “Be sure and let me know if you’re not satisfied. Customer satisfaction is job one.” One eyebrow arched up. “Really?” she asked, her voice breathy. “Absolutely. Referrals are a big part of my business.” He leaned toward her, then wiped away some sauce at the corner of her mouth with the side of his thumb. She trembled ever so slightly, but enough that he noticed. He met her eyes, wondering what she saw in his. “I have to make sure you’re absolutely satisfied with my performance.” “Oh.” She swallowed. “Your performance.” He’d thrown her off, but he could tell when she regrouped. She sat up straighter, then aimed her gaze in the general direction of his crotch. “I don’t have any complaints so far.” Score one for her team. He shifted on the blanket, his cock hardening. He lowered his plate to his lap to hide the evidence, and decided it was time to down-shift. Either that, or strip her naked and sink himself deep inside her. The second option was appealing, but complicated. He could more than handle some one-on-one

with a woman like Jacey, but Jacey was the kind of woman who would want to stick around and get entangled in his life. And that wasn’t something he was interested in. All in all, probably better to ignore his hard-on and focus on old-fashioned conversation. He nodded toward her food. “So how is it?” he asked, at a loss for anything witty to say. “It’s great.” She snared a prawn, then looked around the blanket. “Only fortune cookies for dessert?” “There’s a Häagen-Dazs just down the way.” “That’s true. And you do owe me ice cream.” Her smile faded on her lips, and he mentally kicked himself for bringing up the ice cream and reminding her all over again. He leaned over and took her hand. A simple gesture, but the best he could do right then. “Are you okay?” Her smile seemed a little weak. “I’m fine.” She tapped the end of a chopstick lightly on the floor. “It’s been a strange and unusual day.” “Is that good or bad?” he asked, then immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry. That was stupid. Al—” “No.” She held up a hand. “That’s just it. I mean, I’m sorry he’s dead.” She shivered. “No one should die like that. But I was foolish to look for him in the first place.” “I thought—” “That I was desperately in love.” She shrugged. “Not exactly.” For reasons he didn’t care to examine too closely, that little confession cheered him. “What do you mean?” She finished the bottle of beer and set it aside. “It wasn’t so much that I wanted Al, it’s that I wanted what he stood for.” “A schmo who couldn’t get into Harvard so he lied about it?” “Forget it,” she said. David silently cursed himself. “No, I’m sorry.” He tried to get a water chestnut with chopsticks, missed, and then grabbed it with his fingers. “You said you’ve got a smart mouth. Not me. Mine’s just plain stupid.” That got a smile from her, and he gave himself a couple of mental points. “I just mean that you were right—” “I always am,” he said, opening another beer and passing it to her. “What was I right about this time?” “The whole June Cleaver thing. Maybe not the housework in heels part of it, but the house and the family and the…” She broke off with a shrug while David gave himself even more brownie points for pegging her picket-fence tendencies so precisely. “I don’t know,” she continued. “The normalcy, I guess. That’s what I want.” She looked him in the eye. “I’m almost thirty and it’s time to get my life in order.” “I’m almost thirty-five and I haven’t gotten around to that yet.” “Maybe you should.” He shook his head. “Not my schtick, babe. I’m perfectly happy with my life the way it is.” He shrugged. “But I can understand where you’re coming from. I mean, everybody wants what they want.” He crunched another water chestnut. “Me, I want to travel. Europe. Canada. Australia. And I’m going to, dammit. No matter how long it takes. I’ve even got a friend in Paris who’ll rent me a room to use as

home base. As soon as I can scrape together the money, I’m out of here for at least a year.” He sighed, wondering if he’d ever manage to get Millie’s bills under control and pay off his own debts. So far, it wasn’t looking too likely, but he was determined. The only question was how. After a second, he shook his head, pulling himself back into their conversation. “Besides, I’ve already done the house-in-the-suburbs thing.” “You?” “Hell yes. You’re talking to a man who’s already taken one trip through the meat grinder.” She made a swooshing motion over her head. “Marriage,” he said. “I got married right after grad school and she dragged me straight to the suburbs. Susan thought our house in Valencia was heaven, but I knew we’d moved straight into the bowels of hell.” “You were married?” Her eyes widened. “Hard to believe, huh? Let’s just say I was young and foolish.” Jacey smirked. “And so was she, I guess.” Her mouth twitched. “Foolish, I mean.” He rolled his eyes. “Very nice.” “Hey, I hired you. I own you.” Her playful smile tugged at him in a comfortable-but-uncomfortable sort of way. “That means I’m allowed to insult you.” “Yeah?” He lowered his voice. “What else are you allowed to do to me?” “I…” She trailed off, her cheeks turning pink again as he cursed himself for screwing up the moment, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Her chin lifted just slightly. “I’m allowed to interrogate you about being married.” He exhaled, not sure if he was relieved or frustrated that she’d ignored his overture. Relieved. Definitely relieved. Jacey was a complication he didn’t need. “I can live with that,” he said. “Well?” She twirled her hand as if urging him on. “Well, what?” “I’m interrogating you, remember? So spill it.” “What exactly do you want me to spill?” She shrugged, took a sip of her second beer. “I dunno.” She poked around on her plate with her chopsticks. “So, um, do you have kids?” “Nope.” Thank God. He didn’t have anything against kids, but if he’d had a munchkin or two with Susan, then he’d have been tied to her for life. And that really would be hell. “But I did have the fuel-efficient car, the commute to work, and the fun-filled weekends overflowing with yard work.” She twisted a strand of hair around her index finger. “See, this is why life isn’t fair. You’ve had my life.” “You want a wife you hardly ever talk to who’s more interested in making sure you bring home a steady paycheck than whether you’re happy?” She gave him that typical sisterhood-of-females look and he held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I didn’t say it was an amicable divorce.” Actually, as divorces go, he supposed his and Susan’s had been downright chummy. They’d disappointed the hell out of each other—shouldn’t have tied the knot in the first place. Thankfully, Susan had had the balls to call it quits, or else David might still be wearing a tie, disappointing his wife, and trying like hell to be a square peg in a round hole.

“I wanted normal, and I never had it,” she said. “A swing set in the backyard, a dog named Rover, and a station wagon?” “Exactly.” “Been there, done that.” She aimed a dirty look in his direction. “See? What did I say? You had my life and you didn’t even appreciate it.” He considered arguing the point, but decided she wasn’t really in the mood to hear why his marriage was a miserable failure. She was well into her own pity party, and since he’d come because she ’d had such a crappy day, it only seemed fair to let her believe his life with Susan had been all sunshine and roses. He tilted his head and squinted at her. “Are you an army brat or something?” She more or less snorted. “I wish. We probably would have moved less. As it was, Mom moved us every other month just because she’d had a fight with her boyfriend du jour.” She took another sip of her soup, then washed it down with a gulp of beer. “Us? Brothers and sisters? Your dad?” “Nope. Just me and Mom.” She took another sip of Sapporo. “This is really good. I think it’s going to my head.” She hiccuped, and slapped a hand over her mouth. “Go easy on that stuff,” he said. “It’s got a kick.” “So I noticed.” She took one more gulp. “Anyway, if we weren’t moving, it was probably because my mom had dumped me with her squeeze of the month while she popped off to some artists’ retreat. Her maternal instincts weren’t exactly operating on overdrive. Half the time we didn’t have any food in the fridge because she couldn’t be bothered to find a job since it would drain her energy for working on her art. If I hadn’t worked after school, we probably would have starved.” “Sounds like a stellar childhood,” he said dryly. “To be fair, it wasn’t a total nightmare. I mean, I love my mom. She taught me to paint, and she always did our apartments up. When I turned twelve, she turned my bedroom into a jungle. While I was at school, she painted trees and snakes with smiley faces and lions and birds. It really was amazing.” “Pretty nifty,” he said, meaning it. “The extent of my parents’ creativity was to buy some construction paper, some crayons, and tell me to go for it. They’re still astounded I’m a writer. A little too right-brain for them, I think.” “Yeah,” she said. “In the last few years, I’ve come to appreciate the good things about my mom. But you can love a person and still hate the way they live.” He nodded. Despite everything that had gone wrong, Susan really had loved him. He just couldn’t be the man she wanted. “And I guess in one way it was good,” she added. “Because now I know that I don’t ever want to fall into that trap.” “Trap?” “Living hand to mouth. No roots, no stability.” She held her bottle up in a toast. “So I’m going cold turkey. I’m trading in my paintbrushes for a spreadsheet.” He frowned. “Yeah, you said that yesterday. So what are you doing working here?” “A favor. The owner’s a friend.” She waved a hand toward the mural he’d noticed earlier. “I spent three weeks here doing that, so I pretty much learned the routine and met a lot of the customers.”

“You did that?” She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t sound so surprised. I told you I was an artist.” “Sorry.” The mural was damn good. It actually looked like something, as opposed to a mishmash of stuff. “I happen to have a classical art background. Life drawing, oils, watercolors. My major was accounting, but my minor was art.” “Yeah? Well, I’m impressed.” She looked at him as if he’d just said her head was on fire. “What? I mean it. I’m impressed.” “Oh. Well, thank you.” She licked her lips. “That means a lot, actually. I worked really hard on it. I spent a week planning, and then another three weeks sketching and painting. And I worked pretty much around the clock.” She shrugged. “That mural represents all of Hollywood, but I’d love to do the other three walls with specific movies. Like maybe Casablanca, The Wizard of Oz, and Gone With the Wind.” “Or The Big Sleep.” “That’s a great idea, actually. Theme walls. Fantasy and epic and noir.” She grinned, clearly liking the idea, and he felt absurdly pleased to have suggested it. “Gregory would love it.” “So suggest it to him. Maybe he’ll hire you.” A shadow crossed her face as she shook her head. “He’s offered a million times, but I can’t.” “Why the hell not?” She took another slug of Sapporo, then spread her arms wide, indicating the room. “It would take me about three months to do the walls. Maybe four. And, yeah, Gregory would pay me. But after I finished, where would I be?” “Standing in the middle of a pretty damn cool-looking store?” “No. I’d be back on the street. Just one more starving artist looking for a gig.” She shook her head. “Nope. Not for me. Monday I start work at Prescott and Associates.” “Law firm?” he asked. “Accounting,” she said. “Same diff, as far as I’m concerned. And, babe, it’s so not you.” “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” “Just that you’re not really the type to wear some tight little skirt and blazer, slip on the pumps, and head off into the trenches with your hair pulled back and a pencil behind your ear.” She managed to look down her nose at him. “I don’t think you know me well enough to know what type I am.” “No? Then tell me.” He cocked his head, wanting to hear the answer more than he wanted to admit. “Who is Jacey Wilder?” “A woman with a plan,” she said. She paused long enough to snag a shrimp off his plate. “Before the year is out, I’m going to have a house and be the picture of responsibility.” “So you gave up art for responsibility?” He spooned the rest of his shrimp onto her plate, then took the last of her miniature corn. “Yup. I gave myself until I was twenty-eight, and said that’s it.”

He frowned. “I thought you said you’re almost thirty.” A dot of pink stained her cheeks. “So I fudged on my deadline. But I’m holding firm at thirty.” She cocked her head. “Don’t you have a deadline? For making it to Paris, I mean.” “Absolutely,” he said. “However long it takes.” “That’s not a deadline.” “It’s my deadline.” She gave him a disapproving look, and David wondered if he’d failed some unspoken test. “I bet you do the dishes every night,” he said. Her disapproving look morphed into a blank stare. “What?” “You’re one of those a-place-for-everything-and-everything-in-its-place girls, aren’t you?” “I don’t know what you mean.” “I mean you’ll buy one of those houses in Valencia and five years from now it’ll still look like a model home.” She raised an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like I’ve just been insulted for being neat?” “Not an insult,” he said, thinking she looked damned cute in her indignation. “Just an observation.” “You’re the one who had laundry spread all over his couch. And boxes stacked everywhere. And newspaper clippings taped to the walls.” “I haven’t finished unpacking.” She squinted. “How long have you lived there?” “A year.” She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, well, I’m getting around to it.” She opened her mouth, then closed it. “Never mind.” “What?” “Nothing.” She licked her lips. “Just…” She shook her head again. “Never mind.” She met his eyes, clearly deciding not to pick a fight. “You’re a strange man, David Anderson. But you’re okay.” He swallowed, her backhanded compliment pleasing him more than it should have. “Glad I’m up to snuff,” he said. The color on her cheeks increased. “Well, you’re a good listener,” she said, her words skimming over him like a caress. “And it is nice to get some of this off my chest. Even if you do think I’m too structured.” He brushed a crumb off her chin with the edge of his thumb, the softness of her skin enticing him. For just a second their eyes met, but then she looked away, pulling back from his touch, her lips parted with surprise. “I never said structured was a bad thing,” he said. “Besides, a complete knowledge of all available cleaning products might come in handy someday if you ever get picked for Jeopardy! or The Price Is Right.” Her lips twitched, and he felt absurdly pleased with himself. A comfortable silence hung between them, and he searched for something brilliant or witty to say, because if he didn’t say something, he’d surely lean over and kiss her.

Another shy smile. “You’re easy to talk to. I’m surprised.” “Yeah, well, what did I tell you? A PI’s just like talking to your lawyer or your priest.” Her eyes met his again, only this time he saw something wild burning there. “I hope you’re not like my priest.” Her voice, barely a whisper, tickled his senses. His gut clenched, and he leaned forward, the motion almost imperceptible. Maybe it was stupid, but he wanted her. Wanted nothing more than to feel her mouth hot against his and the soft press of her breasts against his chest. A mistake? Maybe. But he could always fix a mistake, and he might not get another chance to kiss this woman. She shifted slightly, leaning toward him, and the knowledge that she wanted this, too, spurred him forward. He reached out to stroke her cheek, amazed to find that her skin was as soft as he’d imagined. Their eyes met. He saw the desire reflected there and inched closer. “We shouldn—” “Oh yeah,” he said. “We should.” He closed the distance between them, thrusting his hand into her hair as his mouth closed over hers, blocking any foolish protests she might have. She tasted sweet, just like he knew she would. But what he hadn’t expected was how solid her mouth felt beneath his. She wasn’t just being kissed, she was kissing him right back, her lips moving with his, demanding that he deepen the kiss. He plunged his tongue into her mouth, the answering thrust of her tongue and pressure of her lips making him hard as a rock. A tiny moan escaped her, as if she feared he was going to pull back. Never. He stroked his tongue deeper into her mouth, not thinking, just reacting to the need to possess this woman. She moaned low in her chest, the noise both demanding and desperate. An unspoken plea that he intended to answer. He slipped his arm behind her back, holding her close as his mouth, slick and wet, slid to her ear, then teased the sensitive lobe with the tip of his tongue. A shiver rippled through her body, and all he knew, all he wanted, was to see that ripple increase ten-fold when he made her come. Spurred by the thought and the pressure in his groin, he roughly cupped her breast, his palm tingling as her nipple tightened beneath the thin material of her halter. Her back arched in silent response, and he went for those damned buttons, his fingers itching to caress the smooth skin of her breasts. One, two, and, finally— The door buzzer sounded. Well, damn. Jacey twisted out from his embrace, her eyes wide and her breath coming in uneven spurts. Her lips were still parted, her expression guilty, but aroused. “Jace—” She cut off his whisper with a finger to his lips. Then she pulled back, her hands immediately fluttering to her chest, as she quickly buttoned her shirt, undoing all his hard work. As soon as she was all done up again, she smoothed her palms down her pants legs as if she was a schoolgirl straightening her skirt after getting caught behind the bleachers. “Just give a shout if you need any help,” she said, her voice tightly controlled. “Everything on the front three racks is half off.” “I’m not buying.” Tasha’s voice. “Bob and I caught a movie on the Promenade. I figured you were feeling pretty crappy after the day you had,” she added, and David assumed Jacey must have called with the news of Al’s unfortunate demise. “I thought I’d see if you need a ride.” A rustling of clothes and then she came into view. Surprise registered on her face for half a second before clearing. “But I guess you already have one,” she said, not missing a beat.

“I figured it was only fair, since I dropped her off,” David said. “Great,” Tasha said. She took a step back, heading again for the door. “I’ll see you when I see you.” “Tash!” Jacey called, and David grabbed her hand. He didn’t know what she intended to say, but if she was going to take Tasha up on her offer of a ride, he wanted to nip that plan in the bud. Maybe he was coming on too strong, but he didn’t really give a damn. Tasha reappeared. “What?” Jacey licked her lips, then looked from him to Tasha and back to him. “I’m driving you,” he repeated. She took a deep breath, then nodded. She turned back toward Tasha. “Thanks for checking on me.” Her friend grinned. “Any time.” Her gaze darted to him. “Drive carefully,” she said, and David nodded, wondering if there wasn’t a hidden meaning. Because where Jacey was concerned, David had the feeling he needed to be very careful indeed. While David went to wash his hands, Jacey stacked the paper plates, her head spinning a little, and not just from the beer. David had kissed her tonight. Kissed her, and so much more. Hell, he’d practically undressed her, and instead of being righteously indignant, she’d cursed Tasha’s supremely bad timing. Maybe David wasn’t the kind of guy she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, but he was right —she’d had a crappy day. And when she’d pushed through the rounders and seen him standing there…well, somehow the day’s ickiness had just melted away. He’d come there for her. For no other reason but to make her feel better. And that was just about the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her. She finished stacking the plates, topped them with the plastic utensils and chopsticks, then put the whole pile back into the brown grocery store sack he’d arrived with. She’d just finished cleaning up when David returned. She looked up in time to catch him watching her, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, a slightly bewildered expression on his face. She rubbed her mouth, wondering if she had sauce on her chin. “What?” He nodded to the bag. “We’re just throwing that stuff away.” She frowned. “Yeah. That’s why it’s in the bag.” He shook his head. “What?” she asked. “Nothing.” She scowled, then dropped their napkins into one of the plastic bags, tied the ends, and dropped the whole thing into the paper sack. When she finished, David was still staring. She rolled her eyes. “I’m going to carry this out to the Dumpster. Will you go lock the front doors? There’s a deadbolt at the top I can’t quite reach. The key’s hanging next to the cash register.” “Wouldn’t you rather shelve it and label it?” he asked, his eyes dancing. “Huh?” “Nothing.” He headed toward the front.

She picked up the bag and moved toward the back door, her mind on David. The man was an enigma, but an undeniably cute one. He drove her nuts, but he also drove her to distraction. And if the feeling in the pit of her stomach when he’d kissed her was any indication, he could drive her a whole heck of a lot further than that. She propped the back door open with a step stool, her body tingling as she remembered the feel of his lips on hers. His tongue had danced inside her mouth, tasting and tempting, and she’d welcomed him. Encouraged him, even. Her nipples hardened as she imagined what would have happened if Tasha hadn’t interrupted. David’s hand would have slipped inside her shirt. His palm would have grazed her breast, teasing her nipple and sending a red-hot coil of fire shooting straight down to the apex of her thighs. She let out a low moan, her whole body getting with the program. Oh God, she was in trouble now. Trouble. She scowled, realizing that the alley was unusually dark. The Promenade was about as safe as Los Angeles got, what with all the people milling about and the constant police patrols. But even so, Gregory had replaced the bulb behind his store with a souped-up one that discharged light with the intensity of a small sun. Apparently, the sun had burned out. She was heaving the bag into the Dumpster when the hair on the back of her neck stood up. She didn’t know why, but she had the urge to scream, and that wasn’t an urge any sane woman fought. Opening her mouth, she sucked in air, then let loose with a high-pitched wail. “Daaaav—” From out of nowhere, a hand clamped over her mouth, and she kicked, trying to get some leverage against the human wall pressed against her back. No luck, and she was getting light-headed, too. She realized the hand covering her mouth was also covering her nose. In a panic, she pounded on her assailant, kicking and clawing as he dragged her, the heels of her Keds scraping against the pavement. A loud clap of metal against metal rang out, followed by the sound of running feet. The next thing she knew, she was on the pavement, her butt bruised, and David was in front of her, straddling her attacker and landing punch after punch in the big guy’s gut. “David!” The instant the word was out of her mouth, she wished she could take it back. She’d distracted him, and in the half second that he’d taken to look at her, the oaf had reared back, pushing David off. David rallied, but the guy punched him in the face, then grabbed him around the waist. Jacey held her breath as they both tumbled to the ground in a flurry of arms and legs. David landed another punch, but the guy pummeled David in the chest, then scrambled to his feet. As the thug took off running, David started after him. “David! No!” He stopped short, his head twisting from the fleeing mugger to Jacey and then back down the alley. She could see the dilemma in his mind. Did he go after the creep and save her honor, or did he stay with her and protect her? Jacey hoped like hell he stayed, because she really didn’t want to see him shot, and for all she knew the creep was sporting a gun. “Shit!” He aimed one last frustrated look down the alley, then headed toward her, kneeling in front of her. His finger brushed her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. “You okay?” She nodded, then started patting herself down. Her heart was still pounding, but all her parts

seemed to be in order. Her butt was pretty sore, but under the circumstances, she could live with that. A trickle of blood oozed from his nose, and she grimaced, her heart picking up speed again as she realized how much worse he could have been hurt. “Is it broken?” He wiped the back of his hand under his nose, then scowled when he saw the blood. He helped her up with his clean hand and swung an arm around her waist as they headed back toward the shop. “I don’t think so,” he said, gingerly pressing at his nose. “No big deal if it is. It’s been broken before.” He led them back inside and locked the door behind them. He was still scowling when they reached the front of the store. “What?” she asked, then realized that sounded like a stupid question. “I mean, what specifically?” “I shouldn’t have let you go out there alone.” She stifled the urge to roll her eyes. “Don’t be silly. It’s not like I was strolling naked down an abandoned alley. All the stores open up to back there, and we all share the Dumpster. It’s a high-traffic area. I mean, it’s not the safest place on the planet, but this was just one of those things.” “Did you get a look at him?” She shook her head. “He came from behind. I didn’t see him until you knocked him off me, and then I couldn’t get a good look at his face.” Her attacker had been wearing a dark jacket and from her angle, the hood obscured his face. “Did you?” “Not really,” David said. “A white guy. Couldn’t see much else in the dark. And I was more concerned with saving my ass than memorizing his face.” He took a deep breath, then put one hand on either of her shoulders. “You sure you’re okay?” His eyes bore deep into her, and she trembled slightly, feeling warm and safe under David’s protection. “Yeah.” She nodded. “Absolutely,” she added, this time with more conviction. “But what if he…” She trailed off, not too thrilled with the idea that the guy might still be hanging around. “I doubt he’ll be back,” David said, reading her mind. “Probably a transient who wanted your purse for his crack fix.” “I didn’t have my purse.” David shrugged. “Purse, jewelry. Whatever. I don’t think a desperate crackhead’s going to analyze the situation too closely.” He smoothed her hair, his smile gentle. “Thanks for rescuing me.” “Hey, no problem.” He grinned, then pulled her into his embrace. “If you go and get yourself mugged, how will you refer any new cases to me?” “Good point,” she murmured. She pressed her cheek against him as he stroked her back. “You okay?” She nodded. Considering what had just happened, she was just fine. Warm and safe and, suddenly, pretty sleepy. She tried to stifle a yawn and failed. “Do you want me to call the cops?” She shook her head. “No. He’s gone and I’m tired.” “I can tell.” He slid a finger under her chin and tilted her head back. “You’ve had a hell of a night. You need a hot bath and bed,” he said. “Let’s get you home.” Right then, nothing sounded better. But she also didn’t want him to leave. “What about my ice cream?”

“Rain check,” he said, with a smile. She nodded, then leaned back against him and closed her eyes. She was going to see David again. And—against her better judgment—the prospect suited her just fine.

Chapter 6 I made Mallory a gin and tonic, then poured straight gin into a glass for me. I don’t see the point in diluting the stuff. If I’m going to get drunk, I want to get drunk quick. And right then, that’s what I wanted. She took the glass I offered, looking up at me with big, blue eyes. The kind of eyes a man could get lost in. “How could this happen?” she asked. “Who did that to him?” “If I knew that, babe, I wouldn’t have to work for a living.” She took a sip of the drink—dainty, just like a female—then dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “But you’ll find out, Mr. Monroe. Won’t you?” She tilted her head up to look at me. “And you’ll find out if whoever killed Sal has my sister.” “That’s my plan, sweetheart.” I tossed back the last of my drink as I headed for the door. I left her curled up on my couch, the bottle still beside her. I didn’t know if she’d be there when I got back, but right then I didn’t care. The night was still young and I had work to do. I don’t know why, but something rattled me, and I walked a little faster as I neared my heap. He came from behind. Snuck up on me with light feet and a heavy gun. I know, since he whacked me across the head with it. And as the world started spinning, I heard him whisper, “This isn’t your fight, Mr. Monroe. Drop the case before you or the girl gets hurt…” David headed home after leaving Jacey in Tasha’s care, then stripped down in his bathroom and surveyed the damage. Not bad, all things considered. His ribs were already turning purple, but he didn’t think anything was broken. Except for his nose. Jacey might have been right about that. He poked at it, decided the pain was bearable, and figured a hospital wouldn’t do anything more than tape it up. He took a couple of Tylenols for the pain, then got into bed. The clock read 2:15. His mind drifted from Jacey to her mugger to the unfinished kiss. So much for relaxing; now he was all tense again. Below the waist, anyway. He punched a fist into his pillow, adjusted the covers, and started counting backward from one thousand. When he got to one, he was still awake. He gave up and opened his eyes: 2:47. This was going to be a long night. By the time he repeated the whole process, it was 3:17. Yup. A very long night. Giving up, he threw the covers back and slid out of bed. He rummaged through the piles on the floor until he found a clean T-shirt—he sniffed it just to be sure—then pulled it on and headed for the kitchen. An hour later he was parked in front of his computer, a soda sitting next to the monitor and a slice of warm chocolate torte teetering on a pile of Millie’s bills that he foolishly hoped would evaporate into thin air. He flicked the computer on, prayed it wouldn’t crash, then set off on the information superhighway. He wasn’t crazy about computers, but he was willing to concede that they were good for something. At the moment, they were good for snooping around about Jacey’s pseudo-boyfriend.

Probably stupid—okay, definitely stupid—but he wanted to find out about the bozo that had caught Jacey’s attention. This man who fit her personal little is-he-normal checklist to such a T that Jacey had gone out and hired a detective to track the guy down. David stifled a mental groan, toying with the unwelcome realization that he was jealous of the dearly departed. He shook his head. No way. He was just half-asleep, dead on his feet, and nosy. Nosy, he could handle. He was a journalist, after all, and he was happy to grab onto that excuse to poke around on the Internet looking for information on Albert Alcott or the explosion that killed him. He surfed for about an hour, turning up next to nothing. Apparently the reporter who covered the explosion wasn’t interested in exploring the human interest angle. Nothing about poor, dead Al other than his name and the fact that he worked for Melvin Clements. The name rang a bell, but at 4:45 in the morning, David couldn’t work up the enthusiasm to try and remember why. He considered going back to bed, but made the mistake of clicking on the television. The Big Sleep was just starting. The restored version, complete with the documentary about why the studio had butchered the original theatrical release. What the hell? He kicked his feet up on the desk, leaned back, and told himself he was researching his book. While the host introduced the movie, David flipped through the mail he’d snagged from Millie’s earlier. Electric bill, gas bill, insurance bill. Scowling, he ripped open the envelope, cursing when he saw the balance to renew. The bastards had raised her premium again. What did they think? That he was made of money? He tossed the whole pile back on his desk; he’d deal with that later. Right now, the movie was starting, and he was more than happy to kick back and watch Bogie, the master, in action. David bolted awake, his legs flying off the desk and his heart pounding as he tried to figure out what woke him. A steady banging repeated, and he rubbed his head while his brain caught up with his body. The door. Someone was at the door. With a groan, he rocked forward in the chair, cursing himself for falling asleep like that. On top of the bruises on his ribs, he now had one hell of a crick in his neck. He grabbed the still unopened can of Mr. Pibb and pressed it to the back of his neck. Warm, but the act of rolling it along his muscles helped some. More pounding, and he hollered for whoever it was to wait a sec. “I’ve been waiting ten minutes already.” Finn’s voice filtered through the closed door. “What’s up? You got a girl in there?” At the prospect of seeing his friend, David sped up, sore neck and all. He opened the door and Finn lumbered over the threshold, an overstuffed duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a wide grin spread across his face. “Hey, not bad.” He dropped the duffel and turned in a half circle, which more or less concluded the grand tour of David’s apartment. “I worried about your sanity when you said you moved in behind Millie.” He took a look around, taking in the small garage apartment. “But this is pretty nice.” David pressed the warm Mr. Pibb to his forehead. “How’d you get here so fast? I thought you weren’t coming till two.” Finn squinted at him. “It’s almost three. I thought you were going to be pissed because my plane was late.” “Three?” David twisted around to see the clock on his VCR. It was flashing noon, just like it had been doing since he hooked it up a year ago. “Shit.”

“Hot date last night?” David grimaced. “Almost. But not quite.” A grin tugged at Finn’s mouth. “I hear Viagra can work wonders.” If his head weren’t pounding so much, David was sure he could come up with a snappy comeback. As it was, he just scowled, then moved to the kitchen to switch the warm Mr. Pibb out for a cold one. He was fresh out of soda, so he grabbed a carton of orange juice instead and pressed the cool cardboard to the back of his neck. “The equipment works fine. The female operator is the trickier issue.” Finn sprawled across the couch, his former line-backer frame dwarfing the cushions. “Jealous boyfriend?” “What makes you say that?” Finn fingered his nose. “Oh, shit.” David bent down and looked at his reflection on the side of the toaster. Yup. His nose had swelled up during the night and was now a charming shade of purple. “The things you do for love,” Finn said. “I hope her boyfriend looks worse.” “Not her boyfriend,” David said. “He’s DOA. Some creep in a dark alley with a mean right hook.” He leaned against the wall. “And I’ll cop to lust, but that’s about it.” Love wasn’t on the radar. Jacey might have knocked him for a loop in a lot of ways, but about that, David was perfectly clear. “DOA, huh?” His brow furrowed. “Are we talking the Harvard dweeb? That’s the only case you’ ve got going, right?” “That’s the one.” “Shit,” Finn said, never one to mince words. “How?” “Apparently the heater in his office exploded.” “Apparently?” Finn was sitting up now, leaning forward. “Don’t go getting all lawyerly on me,” David said. “The heater definitely exploded. I didn’t mean to open the door to some huge conspiracy. But I was up half the night trying to find some information about the guy, and my brain is fried.” “I guess so, if you’re trying to find info about a dead guy.” “Yeah, well.” Finn laughed. “Your lust is showing.” “You’re an asshole,” David said, but that only made Finn laugh louder. The pounding in David’s head increased, and he pulled open the top drawer of his filing cabinet and rummaged for the Tylenol. After managing to pry the childproof top off, he shook out four pills and popped them into his mouth. He took a slug straight from the OJ carton and swallowed, but not quite fast enough to prevent the powdery medicinal taste from clinging to his tongue. He chugged some more juice, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Want some?” Finn looked from David to the carton and then back to David. “So, what did you find out about the boyfriend?” “Not much.” David took one last slug of juice, then left the carton sitting on his desk. “He graduated from some unaccredited law school and went to work for Melvin Clements.” “The guy who defended Joey Malone on that drug trafficking charge. He was all over the news a few years back.”

David thwapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I knew I recognized the name, but was too zonked to place it.” “So maybe it wasn’t the heater,” Finn said. “Maybe someone did some work on the heater,” David added. “Someone like Joey Malone.” “Or someone who wanted to screw Malone,” Finn finished. David nodded. “Not that I wish anybody dead, but maybe Jacey was lucky. This Al fellow doesn’ t sound like the kind of guy she should be getting mixed up with.” The muscle in Finn’s jaw twitched. David sighed, knowing what was coming. “What?” Finn spread his arms wide. “Hey, I didn’t say a word.” He picked a page from David’s manuscript up off the floor. “And I’m sure as hell not saying anything about your not-so-hot date with the dead man’s girl.” David plucked the page away. Nobody, not even Finn, read his pages before they were ready. “If you’re finished giving me grief, I’m starving.” “If that’s the criteria, we’re never going to eat.” David laughed and clapped his buddy on the back as they headed for the door. “You’re a pain in the ass, but I’m glad you’re back.” “Good, because they screwed up my apartment. I stopped by Millie’s on my way in and begged the guest room until the end of the month.” David turned to look over his shoulder as they headed down the stairs to the garage. “How’d you manage only two weeks? I’m surprised she didn’t snag you for the full semester.” “She tried, but I prepaid on the apartment. I’m well-versed in covering my bases where Millie is concerned.” True enough. Millie more or less considered Finn one of the family. About the only difference David could see was that Millie hadn’t made marrying off Finn a mission—yet. They spent the ride to Studio City catching up on the important things—Finn’s never-ending stream of women, which teams they hoped would make it to the World Series, whether Arnold’s latest action flick was a piece of shit or worth at least a matinee ticket. The usual. By the time David pulled into a parking space behind Dupar’s, they’d pretty much caught up on all the essential news. A diner that had been around forever, Dupar’s on Ventura was the last thing a tourist might expect to be walking distance from Universal Studios, CBS’s Studio City lot, and gegobs of Hollywood muckety-mucks. Famous for its basic food and older waitresses, the place was no frills all the way, and David swore that some of the grizzled regulars were holdovers from the silent film era. He loved the place, and at least weekly packed up his manual Olivetti, grabbed a back booth, and went to work with a bottomless cup of coffee and a cheese omelet for sustenance. Today he and Finn both ordered meatloaf and mashed potatoes, the same thing they’d been ordering since they started hanging out there after school. “So are you going to follow up on this explosion thing?” Finn asked after the waitress left with their orders. “Uh, no. The guy’s dead, remember? I don’t think Jacey’s too keen on finding the big, dead, dumb palooka. And without a paycheck coming my way, I don’t have a hell of a lot of incentive to bother.” Finn took a sip of water. “The whole thing smells hinky. I bet there’s another Stalking here

somewhere.” David rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Novels, remember? I’m writing novels these days.” “I just figured you needed the dough. But maybe you forgot to mention that you won the lottery.” David grimaced. Finn compulsively bought lottery tickets, in the hopes that those lucky numbers could finance his early retirement. So far, in the last ten or so years, David estimated his friend’s total winnings at about eighty-three dollars. “Or did Susan’s remarriage solve all of your money problems?” Finn continued, not even missing a beat. “Barely made a dent,” David admitted. When his ex had remarried, David had been freed from the chains of alimony. But with all of Millie’s bills, David hadn’t noticed any extra padding in his checking account. “You could always sell the Studillac.” “I thought about it,” David admitted. He’d considered selling his car for about two seconds, then immediately dismissed the thought. There was no way in hell he was ever going to part company with that car. “Yeah?” Finn asked. “You must really be strapped for cash.” He frowned. “Maybe you should just tell Millie everything.” David shook his head. “Can’t do it. Millie would never let her poor precious nephew make the sacrifice.” If Millie knew, she’d sell her house and David loved that house. He’d spent his childhood there and it overflowed with his memories. Besides, he wasn’t about to force Millie to move into some antiseptic apartment community with shuffleboard tournaments. Not if he could help it. “Maybe you shouldn’t be making the sacrifice,” Finn said. “It’s not like you’re rolling in the dough.” “I’m surviving.” “Your parents can’t really help you out, either, can they?” David shook his head. So far, he hadn’t told his parents about his own money troubles or Millie’s. They’d worry, and there wasn’t a damn thing they could do. “A teacher’s retirement doesn’t go very far,” he said. “Especially living in London. And their apartment is pretty expensive. They’re loving retirement, but they’re not exactly living in the lap of luxury.” The food came, and Finn dug into the mashed potatoes with gusto. “Well, that alimony deal sucked,” he said, coming up for air. “Even if you’re still feeling the pinch, it must be nice to be cut loose from Susan.” David put down his fork, his appetite dissolving like Alka-Seltzer in water. “Don’t I wish.” “Oh, shit. What happened?” “The IRS says we owe seven grand for the last year we filed a joint tax return. We’re supposed to meet with some government flunkie next week to go over all my Schedule C deductions and prove to the government that we paid what we owe.” “Damn.” David nodded. That pretty much summed up the situation. “That marriage is like an albatross,” Finn said. “And Susan’s probably about ready to strangle you.”

“True enough.” He drew a pattern in the potatoes and then tossed down his fork. “And I don’t blame her.” “What? You saying you cheated on your tax returns?” “No, I’m saying she put up with a lot from me.” Finn shook his head. “You’re the only man I know who makes excuses for his ex-wife.” “Hell, it’s the truth. She wanted her little gingerbread house and her kids and her SUV and she expected me to get all that for her.” “But that’s not what you’re about.” “I know.” David ran his hands through his hair, his stomach raw, just like it always was when he thought about how he’d screwed Susan over. “I’ve always known. And I married her anyway.” Lesson learned. That was one mistake he didn’t intend to make twice. “You’d been together since eighth grade. You guys were like an asteroid screaming straight for planet matrimony.” “Very poetic. Thanks.” David tapped the bottom of a ketchup bottle, his efforts apparently having no effect on the contents. “Well, shit.” “And you did try,” Finn said. That David had. He’d donned the suit, pulled the noose tight around his neck, dusted off his shiny new master’s in journalism, and headed into the city to bring home the paycheck. On weekends, he’d worked on his book or traveled. At first, he tried to get Susan to go with him; after a while, he learned to quit asking. During the week he was miserable. On the weekends, Susan was. And that’s how it went, until Susan finally got miserable enough that she asked for a divorce. At least she had the guts. And David knew just what a shit of a guy he was when he realized that the day she filed for divorce was the happiest day of his life. Of course, they should have never gotten married in the first place, but David had mistaken hot sex and inertia for love. After years of dating, everyone had expected a wedding, David included. The really sad part was that on their wedding day, Susan had really, truly loved him. But by the time they divorced, that feeling had shriveled up and died. Hell of a testimonial—just by being himself, he’ d managed to snuff out love. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. “The deductions were for my writing, but she’s on the hook, too. Her new husband’s out of work, though, and she’s afraid the IRS is going to attach their bank account.” “But you’ll pay it, right?” “Hell yeah,” David said. “The deductions were for my writing expenses. But—” “You’re broke,” Finn finished. David nodded. “No one can get blood out of a turnip. Not even the IRS.” “You better hope you don’t owe, then. Or you better find some money quick.” “Don’t I know it,” David said, and he imagined Marva sitting on his shoulder, whispering true crime in his ear. He scowled, silently telling the Marva apparition to shut up. “So tell me about your new lady,” Finn said, clearly thinking about David’s most recent paying client. “How much time did you spend at Millie’s, anyway?” David let out an exasperated sigh, then

resumed his banging on the butt end of the bottle. “She’s not my new lady.” “No?” “No,” David said, his voice firm. Jacey might set his motor running, but she’d made it perfectly clear that she wanted the house, the picket fence, and the hamster. He’d already screwed Susan. He didn’t intend to let history repeat itself. “Then what is she?” Finn asked. “Just a quick fuck?” He spoke cavalierly, but his eyes were knowing, and David banged harder on the ketchup, fighting the urge to frown. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with Finn’s summation, but if he dissented at all, his friend would jump all over it. “We didn’t get that far,” he said, punting. He gave up on the ketchup and set the bottle aside. “And I may not even see her again. Like I said, dead boyfriend. Case closed.” “All the better,” Finn said. “No conflict of interest.” “I’m not looking to get involved,” David said. “What is it with everyone butting into my life these days? Millie, Marva, and now you.” He picked the bottle back up and gave it one last wallop. A huge glob of ketchup spurted out, burying his meatloaf. “Not butting in,” Finn said. “Just expressing a friendly interest. You’ve been out of the game since your divorce. It’s time to jump back in. The water’s fine.” “I date,” David said, his mind drifting to Leila. “Drive-by dating,” Finn said. “Even I can manage more than a series of one-night stands.” “I manage just fine, thank you.” He’d gone out with Leila three times. Once to the theater and twice to bars. He’d gotten laid all three times, and each time Leila had gone home before two, citing an important hearing the next morning. David couldn’t have been happier. “I just make a point of dating women who are like me—just looking to have a good time, no strings attached.” “Fine. Why not have your good time with Jacey? She obviously got under your skin. And it’s not like you have to marry her,” he added, more or less summing up David’s entire theory of dating. Except for some reason that theory didn’t jibe when he tried to plug Jacey into the mix. “I don’t think so,” David said, grasping at the first straw he found. “She got under my skin all right, but the woman rubs me the wrong way.” He barely even knew her and already he bickered with her more than he had with any woman he’d ever met. Of course, he enjoyed their bickering more than he cared to admit, and he couldn’t help but wonder how Jacey’s fiery temperament would translate to the bedroom. Truth be told, he’d love to find out. “Maybe she just rubs you,” Finn said. David sighed, giving in. “Maybe she does. But I’m not going to do anything about it. I was suffering from temporary insanity last night,” he said. “The woman’s on a husband quest. And since I’m not interested in auditioning for the part, it wouldn’t be—” “Chivalrous?” Finn laughed. “Buddy, you have got it bad.” David just scowled and concentrated on his lunch. “Boyfriend dead. Case closed.” He looked Finn in the eye. “End of story.” Finn held his hands out in surrender. “Is that your final answer?” “That’s it,” David said. He concentrated on scraping the excess ketchup off his meatloaf, studiously avoiding his friend. Because, in truth, that wasn’t it. In truth, David still owed Jacey an ice cream. And even though it was probably a bad idea, that was one obligation David looked forward to fulfilling.

Jacey popped a stuffed mushroom cap into her mouth and turned in a circle, surveying the crowd that had turned out for the Baker Wilson Gerard Parker & Talbot monthly attorney-staff Sunday afternoon mixer. Her gut instinct was to bolt, but she tamped it down. She’d come with a mission and she was determined to see it through. After David had brought her home last night, she’d tossed and turned in bed for hours, until she’d finally gone into the living room and started channel surfing. An old Bogart movie made her think of David, and she’d snuggled under her quilt, watching Bogie and Bacall until she fell asleep. By the time Tasha found her the next morning, Jacey’s resolve had been strengthened. Al might be out of the picture, but D day was still looming, and she was on a quest to find a normal, marriage-minded male. David might make her tingle in places she’d never tingled before, but Mr. Right he wasn’t. No, the best David could hope for was Mr. Right Now, and Jacey wasn’t looking for him. All of which meant she was back to square one. And lawyers seemed as good a place to start as any. So when Tasha had thrown on a sundress and complained about having to go to her firm’s monthly mixer, Jacey had invited herself along. Now, though, the resolve that had been so strong at sunrise was dissolving in the midafternoon heat. Now she was wishing she’d stayed on the couch, eating cheese-covered popcorn and watching Romancing the Stone on video. But no, she’d forced Tasha to bring her here for a reason, and she was going to darn well see it through. She spied a tall, lanky attorney with a shock of blond hair and John Lennon glasses standing underneath a Matisse rip-off. The guy wasn’t David, but he looked nice enough. And the whole point was to avoid the David types anyway. She grabbed Tasha by the elbow and urged her closer. “Who’s that,” she asked, covertly nodding in Blondie’s direction. “You’ve got to be kidding,” Tasha said, stepping back toward the smoked salmon she’d been eyeing. “Just tell me.” Tasha sighed, but complied. “Eric Madison. A fifth-year associate. Rumor has it he’ll be up for partner next year. His specialty is securities litigation.” “And?” “And he’s single.” Jacey nodded. Eric Madison fit her dating profile perfectly. “He’ll do. Can you introduce me?” Tasha crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back, her hip brushing the table. “You were mugged yesterday. You found out your sorta-boyfriend is dead. And you almost did the wild thing with a private detective on the floor of Gregory’s store.” She paused, apparently for dramatic effect. “Are you sure this is what you want?” No.“Yes. Of course. I have a plan, remember?” “And finding out that Al’s dead put you behind schedule,” Tasha said. “Well, it did.” She sounded defensive and she knew it. Although, truth be told, Jacey wasn’t nearly as concerned with the impending arrival of D day as she was with getting David out of her head. David was a love liability she didn’t need—the kind of guy a girl falls hard for because the sex is amazing, only to wake up and discover she’s forty, unmarried, and with absolutely no prospects. No thank you very much. She licked her lips, determined to stay the course, tow the line, and all that jazz. “Just introduce us, okay?”

Tasha took a deep breath, then nodded. “Fine. You want boring, I’ll bring you boring.” “Thank you,” Jacey said. A victory, but not one she intended to revel in. For that matter, a secret little part of her hoped that Eric turned Tasha down flat. Which, considering her plan, was entirely the wrong attitude. Tasha took a few steps, then turned back. “In case it helps in the small talk department, we went to college with him.” “With Eric?” “He was in that class we took together in the English department.” “Oh.” Jacey wasn’t really sure what to say to that, and Tasha slipped back into the crowd. Jacey grabbed a carrot stick and leaned against a marble pillar, munching on the carrot as she tried to envision Eric wearing sweats and lugging a backpack. No luck. A twenty-year-old David, however, kept popping into her mind—bold and brash and a total hell-raiser. Exactly the kind of guy she’d secretly drooled over even while she was hiding out behind her sketch pad, too shy to talk to the guys. “Jacey!” Elliott Talbot lumbered over, then took her hand in one meaty paw. Elliot was a huge, burly man with heavy jowls and old-man eyebrows, each with a single, thick gray hair. He used those brows to punctuate his speech, giving the probably unwanted impression that fuzzy caterpillars were crawling above his eyes, antennae waving. “You look wonderful, my dear. How’ve you been?” “Good. Thanks. I’ve been good.” She kept her smile plastered on and silently urged him to go mingle on the other side of the room. Tasha insisted her boss was harmless, but he intimidated the hell out of Jacey. Of course, considering his track record on plea bargains, Jacey was pretty certain he intimidated the hell out of the district attorney’s office, too. “Did you go see Anderson?” At the mention of David’s name, Jacey’s cheeks warmed. “Yes, I did. Thanks for the referral.” “So what did you think of him?” At first I thought he was a nut, but he’s been upgraded to sexy as hell. She swallowed. “Perfectly competent.” “Well, he’s cheap, anyway,” Elliott said. Jacey bristled. “He’s very good at what he does,” she said. “In fact, he already found the man I was looking for.” “Really? I’m so pleased.” Elliott’s jaw tightened, and Jacey remembered what Tasha had said about the way David had described Elliott in Stalking Death—all bluster and very little law. Well, from what Jacey had seen, that description was perfectly apt. “That’s right,” she said, unwilling to let the subject drop. “He, uh, found out that Al died.” One bushy eyebrow lifted, the antenna flapping. “I’m sorry to hear that. How did he die?” Jacey licked her lips. “An explosion,” she said. “In March.” She frowned. Something about that didn’t sound quite right, but she couldn’t figure out what was bugging her. “Well, I suppose it is easier to find a dead man,” Elliott said. “They don’t move around as much, you know.” Jacey plastered on an overly polite smile, but couldn’t think of one thing to say. Fortunately, Tasha rescued her, pushing through the crowd with Eric at her side. “Jacey,” Tasha said, pushing Eric ahead of her. “You remember Eric.” “Sure,” Jacey lied, as Elliott signaled good-bye and then faded into the crowd, probably as happy to get away as Jacey was to be rid of him. One point in Eric’s favor—he was useful for clearing away

arrogant defense attorneys. Other than that, she wasn’t sure what to think of him. He was too tall, too blond, too blasé, and she already regretted having Tasha drag him over. She searched her memories, trying unsuccessfully to conjure a mental picture of Eric from the past. Nothing. “So great to see you again.” “You, too.” He stuck out his hand for her to shake. She took it, noting how soft his skin was. Nothing like David’s rough hands—hands that had been surprisingly gentle when he’d caressed her skin. “It’s been a long time,” Eric added. She nodded. Damn. The guy remembered her, but she was clueless. She tried to picture the class —an auditorium, the professor blathering on about symbolism in Julius Caesar, the rustle of paper as the stu— She cut the memory off with a frown as she remembered. Beware the Ides of March. That was it. That’s what was bugging her. “The Ides of March,” she said, turning to Tasha. “What?” Eric said. “I’m so sorry.” She squeezed his hand and offered an apologetic smile. “It’s great to see you again, but I have to go.” “Go?” Tasha said. “Go where?” But Jacey was already halfway to the door. Tasha caught up with her by the elevator. “Jacey, wait. What the hell is going on?” “The Ides of March,” Jacey said. “The date’s all wrong.” “But—” “I’ll tell you everything tonight,” Jacey promised. “Right now I need to go.” “Where?” “To tell David, of course.” “To tell him what?” Tasha asked, undisguised exasperation lacing her voice. “About Al,” Jacey said as the elevator doors slid closed, Tasha’s confused face disappearing behind a wall of polished steel. Jacey hit the button for the parking garage. If she was right, then Al just might be alive. Good news, of course, from Al’s point of view. As for her, she was more curious than excited. Al had lied about Harvard, had given her a fake name, and might actually be alive even though everyone thought he was dead. Not characteristics of Mr. Right by any means. But enough to pique her curiosity? Definitely. And as a bonus, she now had one hell of a good reason to go see David again. Al jiggled the Volkswagen’s door handle, irritated to find it locked. Damn her to hell, why the fuck had she gone and locked it? Now he was going to have to break in, because there was no way he was leaving without those diamonds. Stemple had tracked down Jacey’s home address, and as soon as she’d come out of her apartment that morning, Al had started following. It was her, all right. Jacey Wilder was Jude Wilde. He didn’t know why she’d given him a fake name, and at the moment he didn’t care. So long as he got the diamonds back, she could call herself Daisy Mae LaBomBom and it wouldn’t rock his world. Apparently Daisy Mae had saved her errands up for Sunday, because he spent the entire morning

following her, waiting for an opportunity to take a look in the car. First she’d taken a taxi to Pep Boys. Then she’d headed for Starbucks in the Volkswagen. Then a video store, a drug store, a paint supply store. She even stopped at a ramshackle old house with a dilapidated garage. After that, she’d hit a newsstand and made one more visit to Starbucks. And not one place she stopped had a secluded parking lot. Finally, she pulled onto the entrance ramp for the 101. He followed her all the way downtown, and then into the parking structure for the twin towers on Grand Avenue. He’d parked a few rows away, waited for her to disappear into the elevator, and then crept to her car. Since it was Sunday, the garage was relatively empty. But since the towers housed two or three huge law firms, it wasn’t entirely deserted, and on more than one occasion he’d had to duck down behind the car to avoid being seen when the elevator doors slid open and the Sunday afternoon workaholics got off. Stupid lemmings. He’d been lucky—lucky—that Harvard had turned down his application. Otherwise he might have ended up working hundred-hour weeks in some snobbish law firm. Instead, he was semiretired, living the high life with money in the bank—or, at least, he would be as soon as he got those diamonds back. With a frown, he focused on the Volkswagen. He should be able to pop the lock—he’d read enough thrillers, and he even had one of those gizmos the cops used. He reached into his bag and pulled it out—a long, thin piece of metal—and then slipped it down between the doorframe and the window. Now all he had to do was maneuver it just right… Nothing. He tried again, but his luck wasn’t any better. Well, shit. The squeal of tires echoed over the concrete and Al’s heart pounded faster. Reggie couldn’t know he was here—Al had been totally diligent about watching for a tail. But just in case, Al needed to finish up and get out of there. Fast. He jammed the metal back down, this time with too much force. It slipped, and he sliced his thumb, letting out a howl that echoed through the garage. “Goddamn, motherfu—” He shoved his thumb into his mouth and bit down, pain against the pain. Now thoroughly pissed off and more than a little worried that Reggie or another of Joey’s thugs would come strolling by, Al ran the two rows to his car, rummaged in the trunk, and returned with a tire iron. One good swing and the driver’s side window was history. He unlocked the door and leaned inside, laying over the driver’s seat to give him easier access to the underside of the passenger seat. He ran his fingers along the smooth upholstery, looking for the tiny slit he’d made. Nothing. He tried again. Still nothing. What the fuck? Confused, he sat up. Maybe she’d found the diamonds. Maybe she’d sewn up the tear. Maybe— “Well, lookie what I found. My little friend Al.” Al froze, his stomach churning, and he made a concerted effort not to lose the three breakfast tacos he’d downed that morning. “Looking for something?” Reggie said. Taking a deep breath, Al garnered his courage and backed out of the car, then stood to face Reggie. The thug’s scar was raw and angry, bulging as Reggie moved his tongue around inside his mouth. Oh God, he was a dead man. “Answer me, you little shit.” Reggie grabbed him by the collar and hauled him closer, until they

were nose to nose and Al’s toes were barely scraping the pavement. “Where the fuck are the diamonds? Are they in the car?” “That’s where I hid them,” Al squeaked. “But they’re not there. The girl—” The elevator binged, and they both turned as the doors slid open and Jacey stepped out. Reggie yanked him down and they hit the pavement. “If the girl has them,” Reggie whispered, “then I’ll go after the girl. But if you’re bullshitting me—” “No, I swear. They’re not in the car. She’s got to have them,” Al said. He didn’t know whether she did or not, but he liked the idea of Reggie going after Jacey a whole hell of a lot more than he liked the idea of Reggie going after him. “Hey!” Jacey’s voice. “What are you doing with my car?” Al looked up, realizing that from where she now stood, she could see not only him and Reggie but the smashed-in window. He turned away quickly, hoping she didn’t see his face. Stemple had told her he was dead and being dead to Jacey suited him just fine. “I’m calling the cops!” Jacey yelled, digging into her purse and pulling out a cell phone. “Get her now,” he whispered to Reggie. So long as he was stuck with Reggie, he might as well use him. And if the thug roughed her up and got her to tell where the diamonds were, that was one less task Al would have to pay Stemple for. “Too risky,” Reggie said. “She’s probably already through to nine-one-one. We’ll get her later.” Al swallowed. We. Apparently Reggie was going to be sticking close. “Grab the radio,” Reggie said. “What?” Reggie shoved him into the car. “Grab. The. Fucking. Radio.” “Right.” Al gave it a tug and it slid out. The removable kind, but Jacey must not have bothered. Reggie didn’t even give him the chance to climb out of the car. Just yanked him by the back of his shirt and pulled him over the seats, practically dragging him across the driveway and into a faded blue Buick. “Fasten your seat belt,” Reggie said, as he cranked the engine, then peeled out of the parking space. Al did. A tiny bit of safety in a life that was fast becoming very, very dangerous. For him, and for Jacey Wilder. • • • The cop wasn’t the least bit optimistic about finding her radio. Not that Jacey expected much. Lucy’d been vandalized twice before. Apparently that was the price of living in Los Angeles. But she’d hoped that the cops would arrive in time to catch the two creeps who had sped out of the garage in the blue car. No such luck. They’d taken their time getting there, and since Jacey hadn’t seen the license plate, the police just took a quick statement, told her to contact her insurance company, and left. Scowling, she watched the black-and-white drive away. So much for L.A.’s finest. Now in addition to the mystery with Al, she had to deal with a broken window and a missing radio. Considering the weather report called for rain on and off for the next few days, she really needed to get the window fixed right away. She ought to head straight for a glass place she knew about that worked Sundays, and just call David to tell him the news about Al. But that plan didn’t sit well. She might not want to admit it to Tasha, but she was going to have to admit it to herself—she

wasn’t nearly as interested in finding Al as she was in seeing David again. Not good considering her plans, but the truth. And right now she was having a crappy enough day that she was willing to give in to desire rather than common sense. So she’d go see David in person. She’d get him back on Al’s case. If Al was alive —and if David found him—well, that was a problem she could deal with later.

Chapter 7 I was at a dead end. A big, fat zero and nothing to show for my efforts but one dead lug and a busted nose. Searching the lonely streets for Sarah hadn’t turned up any decent leads and Big Sal was beyond being helpful. And the most frustrating part? Someone didn’t think I’d hit a wall. Someone out there thought I knew something. I damn sure wish I did. It was time for a new tactic so I hailed a cab and hightailed it to the Palisades. A sweet neighborhood, filled to the brim with folks who have more money than I’d ever see. Folks like Mallory. And Sarah. And their father, Colonel Richard Stamp. It was his daughter who’d gone missing. It only made sense her old man might know something. Heck, I’d seen enough cases in my time to know I couldn’t rule out that Sarah’s old man might be behind the whole thing. And I’d never know unless I started asking questions. “You in there? I asked you a question.” David blinked and turned to Finn. “Did you say something?” They were back in the Studillac, heading toward Millie’s. Finn rolled his eyes. “I was just wondering what’s on your agenda for today,” he said. “You planning on researching your dead guy some more? Or are you going to give the girl who’s not your girl a call? Or none of the above?” “None of the above,” David said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for the light to change. “Calling Jacey’s on my list, but first I promised Millie I’d fix a leaky toilet.” He turned to face Finn. “Unless ‘plumber’ is on your list of careers?” Finn shook his head. “Not even close. Right now, I’m thinking pilot.” “Commercial or fighter?” “Fighter, of course,” Finn said. “Like the opening scene in Golden Eye.” David nodded, remembering the way Pierce Brosnan—Bond, James Bond—had stolen the jet, then maneuvered it through the fiery explosion. “Good choice,” he said. “But I think there’s a certain amount of training involved. And a law degree probably won’t be too useful.” “Probably not,” Finn agreed, his voice even. David turned. “You’re not really…” He trailed off. Surely not. Finn shook his head. “No, just thinking.” With Finn, that probably meant that in a week or two, he’d have designed a computer game complete with awesome graphics and really funky sound effects. “I do know a guy who’ll trade me flying lessons for a session or two on how to design a database,” Finn added. “So I might do that. But right now I’m down for the count with the law thing. This internship with the judge, then one more semester of school. After that, it might be fun to apply for the FBI.”

With anyone else, David might be surprised. But this was Finn, and David just nodded and continued driving. David might spend his days crafting fictitious characters, but Finn crafted his own life— both real and imaginary. Hacker, programmer, convenience store clerk, law student, taxi driver, short order cook—Finn had done it all. And done it well. And if he couldn’t actually get a job—like, say, when he’d considered neurosurgery—he still fantasized about it. Walter Mitty had nothing on Phineus Teague. In truth, Finn probably would make a hell of an FBI agent. But David had to wonder if he’d keep the job long enough to make it worth his while. Or if the FBI would accept a man who’d had more careers than Bill Clinton had blow jobs. Not to mention a man who’d probably already hacked his way into the Justice Department computers on more than one occasion. He was about to point that out when Millie’s house came into view. David blinked, not sure his eyes were working right. Because if they were, his aunt’s furniture was sprinkled across the entire front yard. Her living room had been set up under the lemon tree—complete with a television perched on the coffee table next to the rose bushes. The oriental rug his aunt loved so much covered most of the lawn, and the neighbor’s cat was curled up on it, napping and sunning herself as if lawn rugs were par for the course. And right there, sitting on the sofa beside Millie was Jacey, a plate of cookies in front of her and a china teacup in her hand. “Jacey?” Finn asked. “Jacey,” David confirmed. He took a deep breath, his body reacting quite happily to the surprise of finding this woman on the lawn. The still-rational part of him reacted with something akin to horror at the thought of Jacey and Millie conducting girl-talk sessions on the sofa. “She’s already eating cookies and drinking tea,” Finn said, apparently reading his mind. “So by my guesstimate, she and Millie have already done the preliminary introductions, gone over your vital statistics, and moved on to planning the wedding.” He shifted in his seat. “Do you want a separate groom ’s cake, or just a multitiered white one?” “Very funny.” “Just a little gallows humor.” Trepidation building, David pulled into the driveway and parked behind a lime green Volkswagen, presumably Jacey’s. He took one more look at the little lawn picnic Millie had going and wondered if maybe that antiseptic, senior citizen apartment complex wasn’t such a bad idea after all. As he pushed open the car door, he shot Finn a glance. “You’re sure you want to live here for two weeks?” “Are you kidding? Where else is the entertainment thrown in for free?” The man had a point. He slammed the door, then straightened up and walked toward the couch, as if every day of the week he came home to find his family’s furniture scattered over the front lawn. Considering his family, he was probably lucky that he didn’t. “What are you two—” Millie raised a hand, shushing him. “Just one more minute, dear.” She hit a button on the remote control, and Mel Gibson’s voice blared out, “They may take our lives, but they’ll never take our freedom!” Millie and Jacey sighed in unison, and Millie patted Jacey’s knee. “Shall we watch it again?” “Oh, no,” David said, almost tripping over the heavy-duty extension cord as he reached over to snatch the remote. His aunt could watch the battle at Stirling ten times a day without blinking. He wasn’t

about to subject Jacey to that. Jacey. He frowned and faced her head-on. “What are you doing here, anyway?” The question came out harsher than he’d intended, but her presence had thrown him for a loop. “Watching Braveheart,” she said, her eyes dancing. “Believe me, it’s been the high point of my day.” “Jacey’s radio got stolen,” Millie said. David took an involuntary step forward. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine. I was furious, but it’s been a couple of hours and I’ve calmed down. Besides, it’s not the first time.” She shrugged. “I’ll have to get my window fixed, but I’ve been wanting to replace my radio with a CD player anyway.” She cocked her head slightly. “I, um, was kind of hoping you could follow me to the glass place and then give me a lift home. They’ll probably have to keep it overnight.” “Sure,” he said, more than a little pleased that she’d thought of him to chauffeur her around. And definitely looking forward to spending some extra time with her. Hell, maybe he’d even take her to dinner. Her eyes met his and held for the briefest of moments. When she looked away, her cheeks were stained pink. David fought a grin. Dinner…and then maybe some after-dinner entertainment. Like Finn said, it wasn’t as if he had to marry the girl. No matter what Millie might think. “We vacuumed out all the broken glass,” Millie chimed in, interrupting his thoughts. “And we would have washed the car, too, but with the window missing we were afraid we’d get the upholstery wet.” “That, and the fact that there’s no water,” Jacey said. “Yes, that’s true,” Millie added. “Good thing we decided not to wash it. We would have been out of luck.” David opened his mouth to speak, decided better of it, and pinched the bridge of his nose instead. Finn slapped him on the shoulder, then leaned in, his voice low. “Glad to see you’ve got this all under control, buddy.” Control was the last thing David had and everyone on that lawn knew it, including Bonkers the cat. “Let’s start over.” He turned to Millie. “Why is the furniture on the lawn?” “Well, Jacey thought the water would harm the wood.” “She’s right,” Finn said. “The legs are solid wood. You’d have to refinish them, but they’d never be the same.” “Thank you, Norm Abrams, for that insight.” Finn shrugged. “No problem.” He stepped around David to sit next to Jacey. “Phineus Teague,” he said, offering his hand. “But you can call me Finn.” “Jacey Wilder,” she said. “Pleased to meet you.” “Are we in the Twilight Zone?” David asked no one in particular. “No, dear, the front lawn,” Millie said. “We considered putting the furniture in the driveway, but that would block the route to your apartment. So Bernie suggested moving everything out here.” “Of course he did. Good for Bernie.” David had no clue who Bernie was, but at the moment that didn’t seem important. “Why was there water in the first place?”

“I told you I had a little plumbing problem.” “A little problem?” he repeated. “You told me the toilet had a tiny leak and kept overflowing.” “Oh, it overflowed. And the kitchen flooded, and there’s really no point in going into the utility room.” “And there’s about a half inch of water in Millie’s living room,” Jacey added. “Too bad, too. This is a great house. I hate to think of all that beautiful wood getting ruined.” She was right. Built at the turn of the century, the house had a charming quality that Millie’s flower gardens and whitewashed fence enhanced. And even if it had been a piece of junk, it still was the repository of David’s childhood memories, and he didn’t want to see it mucked up, either. He rubbed his temples, turning to face Finn. “Would you—” “I’ll go take a look,” Finn said. “I hate to miss how this all turns out, but for you, I’ll make the sacrifice.” David just rolled his eyes and turned back to Jacey as Finn headed for the house. “So who’s Bernie? A friend of yours?” She blinked. “He’s the high school kid who lives two doors down. He mows your lawn,” she added, apparently in response to David’s utterly blank look. “You know Bernie, dear,” Millie said. “He’s over every other Saturday.” “Right,” David said, managing to conjure a vague picture of a pale, skinny kid. “So where is he?” “He shut the water off for Millie at the street, and then he and I moved the furniture—” “—you moved all of this?” David asked. “Not all,” Jacey said. “A couple of Bernie’s friends came by and helped.” “And I carried the DVD player,” Millie said. “And after the furniture was all out, Bernie’s mom called him home for Sunday dinner. Lasagna. His favorite.” “Of course,” David said, rubbing his temples. “I should have known.” The day had started out so promising, but at this rate of disintegration, he expected total meltdown by dinner. “They’re right,” Finn said, heading back toward them. “It’s pretty soggy in there. If you don’t have a wet-dry vac, we should probably buy one.” “There’s one in the garage.” David exhaled, shaking his head. “What a mess.” “Jacey’s an artist,” Millie announced. David squinted, trying to follow his aunt’s train of thought. He opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it, and stayed quiet. “Did you know that?” Millie added. “As a matter of fact, I did,” David said. “I’m not anymore,” Jacey put in. “Nonsense,” Millie said. “It’s like being a redhead. You either are or you aren’t.” “Or you use Clairol,” David said. Millie managed an I’m-older-and-know-better frown. “It’s not something you turn on or off.” “Like the water,” Finn said. He turned to David. “We should probably get that vacuum going.” “Finn, you can start sucking up the water,” Millie said. “David, you and Jacey talk. Jacey, be a

dear and put Mel back in the DVD case. You can’t be too careful, you know.” Millie sat back, her hands clasped in her lap, confident her troops would go about their assigned tasks without argument. In truth, it was a little scary. Millie asked, and they all jumped. Normally, that didn’t bother him at all. Today he felt like he was stuck in a bad remake of The Godfather, only in this flick, the Don was his little blue-haired aunt. David scowled, wondering if he was going to find a horse head in his bed once he went upstairs to his apartment. Actually, though, that might make a good scene. Monroe heads off to find out who killed Big Sal, and the mob boss is sitting on his front lawn surrounded by all his furniture. And maybe a dead body or two. Then again, David hadn’t been planning on tying the mob into this book. And who would believe anyone would be nuts enough to schlep all their furniture onto the lawn? “David?” Jacey’s voice. “You in there?” “Just thinking,” he said. He turned slightly, facing away from Millie and Jacey as he pulled his cassette recorder out of his back pocket. He clicked it on and mumbled, “Mob boss. Lawn furniture. Can it work?” “He keeps doing that,” Jacey said to Millie. She waggled her eyebrows and snagged a cookie. “Very mysterious.” He grimaced. The scene probably wasn’t workable anyway. He’d have been better off keeping his mouth shut. “Oh, my dear,” Millie said, “there’s nothing mysterious about it. David’s just making notes for his novel.” David glared at his aunt. “Why don’t you just take out an ad in the Times?” “Do you want me to?” she asked, all innocence. The back of his neck started aching, a sure sign that a new, improved headache was ramping up. “My David’s going to be more important than F. Scott Fitzgerald,” Millie said. He wanted to tell her to be quiet, really he did. But Millie looked so damn proud of him that in the end he could only sigh. He dropped down, perching on the edge of the coffee table, and shot them both a resigned look. “Somehow I don’t think excerpts of my novels are going to end up in a Norton’s Anthology.” “David writes about stoolies and dames,” Millie said, clasping her hands in her lap. “Oh.” Jacey nodded, her expression polite but confused. “I thought you said you weren’t writing anymore. A PI, you said. That’s what you do.” David grimaced, feeling both trapped and oddly flattered that she remembered his words so specifically. “I’m not writing true crime anymore.” “He’s concentrating on fiction now,” Millie said. “And he can cook, too.” “Desserts, anyway,” Finn added. “He has yet to do a decent chicken Parmesan.” David stifled a frustrated groan. “I swear, you people are going to drive me—” “To drink,” Millie said. “Yes, dear. We know.” She turned her attention back to Jacey. “Writing novels isn’t a traditional job. But he’s still a catch. He doesn’t quite have Mel’s buns, but his are still nice.” She leaned forward. “Empirically speaking, of course.” “Millie!” David fought a cringe, even as Jacey’s lips twitched in obvious amusement. “What?” his aunt asked, her eyes wide. “It’s just a simple observation.”

“Just go. Show Finn where the vacuum is.” He pointed toward the garage, then turned to look at Finn. “Both of you. Go. Vacuum.” Millie nodded sagely. “He’s right. We should go. Jacey and David need to talk.” She smiled at Jacey. “Don’t you, dear?” David looked from Jacey to Millie and back again, a bad feeling brewing in his gut. “What is it we need to talk about?” he asked. Apparently more than just her broken window. He ran his tongue over his teeth, fighting a wave of disappointment. She hadn’t come to see him; she’d come for business. He sucked in air. Well, she was a client, after all. She licked her lips. “Actually, it’s about Al. I—” “She thinks he might be alive,” Millie finished, then took Jacey’s hand. “But, dear, he’s simply not good enough for you.” David couldn’t even respond to that. Alive. How the hell could he be alive? “I think that’s our cue, Millie,” Finn said, steering her toward the driveway. “Yes,” David agreed. “Good-bye.” As soon as they were out of earshot, he turned back to Jacey. “What’s she talking about?” he asked. If Al was alive, he’d managed to pull off what Humpty-Dumpty couldn’t, because according to every article David had seen, the human remains could easily have been scooped into a strawberry jam jar. Jacey gnawed on her thumbnail, then stood up and smoothed her flowered jumper. The gesture was so like Susan that for a second he considered turning around and running for his life. Except with Jacey, he didn’t want to run. And that was a realization he’d just as soon not think about. She took a deep breath. “Something’s not right,” she said. “Other than the furniture on the lawn?” “Other than that,” she acknowledged with a laugh. The joke loosened her up, though, and he could see the tension ease from her shoulders. Her eyes met his, and she took a step closer, her expression grim. “Does it hurt?” It took him a second to realize she was talking about his nose. “It’s okay. A little tender, but I’ll live.” He shrugged. “I’ve had worse.” A tremulous smile touched her lips, and she looked down, aiming her speech in the general direction of his shoes. “Thank you again for rescuing me. I—” She cut herself off, tilting her head back to look him in the eye. “Thank you.” Maybe it was his imagination. Maybe it was the light. Hell, maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while. But whatever the reason, he saw something reflected in her eyes. An awareness. A question. An invitation? No. As much as he might want to finish what they’d started on the floor of the clothing store, the simple fact was that she’d come because of Al, not because of him. And damned if that didn’t grate on his nerves, not to mention his ego. “So tell me about Al,” he said. “Why the hell would you think he’s alive?” “Because when I met him, there was green beer.” She dropped to the couch, smoothing her skirt as she looked up at him, clearly expecting him to jump all over that bombshell. He didn’t have a clue how to respond. “I’m assuming that has some relevance,” he finally said, “but damned if I know what.” “St. Patrick’s Day,” she said, as if that was supposed to mean something to him. “Still clueless.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “March seventeenth. I had a beer with Al on March seventeenth.” “Not following. Sorry.” She raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you go to college?” “Actually, I did. Magna cum laude. So you want to just tell me what I’m missing?” “The idea of March? That guy must have meant the Ides of March, and—” “That’s March fifteenth.” The realization hit him upside the head. She was right. Stemple had said that Al died on March fifteenth. But if Jacey had met him two days later…He tried to remember what the newspaper articles had said about the date of the explosion, but he hadn’t been paying attention to that detail. He’d searched for articles in mid-March and that’s what he’d found. “Stemple must have got the date wrong.” Jacey shrugged. “Maybe. But…” He nodded. “I know. When a guy like Stemple starts quoting Shakespeare—even badly—you have to figure there’s some truth in there.” He held out his hand to help her up. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs and look up the date of the explosion.” She nodded and they headed that way. She paused at the base of the stairs. “If Al is alive, why wouldn’t he let his roommate know?” He turned around to look her in the eye. “Even more important, if Al wants his roommate to think he’s dead, is this a guy you’re still interested in finding?” David’s apartment looked even worse than it had the first time she’d come over, though she wasn’t entirely sure how that was possible. “Did a tornado cut through Pasadena and hit only your house?” He looked at her over the monitor of his computer. “Huh?” She waved her hand, encompassing the room. “It’s a disaster in here.” A shadow crossed his face. “Really? I was cleaning it up.” “Oh.” She wasn’t sure what to say to that. “So I guess it just looks like a wreck because you’re in the middle of organizing everything.” “Organizing,” he repeated, then frowned. “Yeah. Absolutely. The place’ll look much better once it ’s organized.” Maybe the more prudent course of action was to just let the subject drop. She stood up and paced the room, waiting for him to find the articles he’d mentioned. She’d seen the place before, but she hadn’t really looked at it. Now she had the opportunity to take a peek into David’s psyche and she intended to make the most of it. Apparently his psyche was a slob, but she’d already figured that out. She maneuvered around the piles of laundry—two points to him for having actually folded some of it—and headed toward the wall behind his desk. “Do you mind?” she asked, tossing the question over her shoulder as she walked. “Make yourself at home,” he said. “Sorry the computer’s so slow today. I have a dial-up, and it’s taking forever to pull up the page. Finn keeps telling me I need to install some sort of cable modem gizmo, but it’s not exactly high on my priority list.” “No problem,” she said, his comment reminding her of the man she’d met a few minutes earlier. David’s friend was positively gorgeous—tall and lanky, like a baseball player, with close-cropped midnight black hair and equally dark eyes. No doubt about it, Finn scored a big fat ten. But while Jacey could certainly appreciate his attributes, Finn didn’t hold anywhere near the same appeal as David, and she wondered why. Both men

were easy on the eyes, and at least based on their first meeting, Finn seemed infinitely less quirky. But there was just something about David. Something that tickled her insides. Something indefinable, but undeniably appealing. Something she really should ignore… She shivered, her gaze drifting around the room as she forced herself to concentrate on more mundane things, like the mess in David’s apartment. Although, now that he’d mentioned it, there really did seem to be fewer boxes. But the floor was still littered with paperbacks, articles clipped from newspapers, clothes, and quite a few empty Mr. Pibb cans. A bicycle leaned up against the closet door, apparently more useful as a repository for David’s jackets than for transportation or exercise. Every wall was covered—yellow sticky notes, newspaper clippings, sheets torn from steno pads. And, of course, the more traditional framed photos and posters. The posters in particular caught her attention. Old movie posters of noir classics—The Big Sleep, Double Indemnity, A Kiss Before Dying. The stylized drawings fascinated her, and she wondered how the images would look juxtaposed against a more modern style. Or, against something from Picasso’s blue period, or even Dali. The possibilities intrigued her, and her fingers itched to pick up a pencil. She almost reached for one of the pens on his desk, but forced herself not to. Instead, she turned her attention to the map of the world pinned up to the wall between the posters and the kitchen’s pass-through bar. Dozens of red, white, and blue pushpins dotted the continents. “Got it,” he said, but Jacey was more interested in David’s map. “What’s this?” she asked. He looked back over his shoulder. “A map.” “Thank you. I can see that. What’s it for?” A shadow crossed his face and she was about to tell him to forget it when he answered. “Red for where I’ve been, blue for where I want to go, and white for where I’ve written about.” “Really?” She stepped back, examining the map more closely. “I’m impressed.” “That I like to travel?” “No, I pegged that. You’ve got that sort of wanderlust quality about you.” A quality the abundance of blue pins confirmed. The man still had some trips in him. “So what are you impressed with?” he asked. If he had a problem with her wanderlust comment, he wasn’t sharing. “That you’re this organized,” she said. “I wouldn’t have expected it.” “I’m not disorganized,” he said. “I just have a different system than a lot of people.” She laughed. “Oh, is that it?” “Damn straight.” He turned back toward the computer. “Do you want to see this or not?” She nodded, then walked up behind him, leaning over his chair so she could see the monitor, too. Her nose was about two inches from his hair and she breathed deep of the scent of his shampoo. Nothing fruity or minty. Just soap. Clean and undeniably masculine. She stifled a little shiver. “March fifteen,” he said, then twisted around to face her. “Looks like you had a hot date with a dead man.” “That doesn’t make any sense,” she said. Her mouth went dry. Al might not be a serial killer, but something was definitely up. The only question was what.

About that, she didn’t know what to think. The last few days had gone the way of the unbelievable. First she’d almost located her ex-boyfriend. Then she’d found out he was dead. Then she’ d had to face the realization that she was mostly upset because of the way he died. The fact that the man was wholly and completely out of her life hadn’t really fazed her at all. And now she was faced with the possibility that Al wasn’t dead, but for some reason he was willing to let his old roomie believe the worst. Bizarre. Very, very bizarre. And gross, too. She’d actually slept with a not-really-dead guy. She’d had sex with someone who may have faked his own death. She nibbled on her thumbnail as she moved to the couch, settling in with her feet up under her and a pillow tight against her chest. “You okay?” he asked. “I’m fine,” she lied, feeling a little nauseated. She squeezed the pillow. “This is all so odd.” “You’re sure you got the date of the conference right?” That wasn’t even worth answering and she simply raised an eyebrow. “Right. We’ll check that possibility off the list.” He twirled a pencil between his fingers. “So why would Al want his roommate to think he was dead? For that matter, why would he let the whole world think he’s dead?” “Didn’t they run tests on the body?” David shook his head. “There wasn’t much of a body left. They’ll probably run it eventually, but the LAPD’s pretty backed up where DNA’s concerned. And with these kinds of facts, they wouldn’t bother to put a rush on it unless someone raised a question. DNA’s still damned expensive and it’s not like anyone suspected foul play.” “What kind of facts?” she asked, still trying to get her mind around everything he was saying. “According to the article, only Al and Melvin Clements had a key to the office.” “Who?” “Clements was Al’s boss. Al was a lawyer, all right. He worked for one of the biggest sleaze-bag defense attorneys in California.” “Oh.” She tossed the pillow aside and grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil off the floor. Maybe Tasha was right; she was an addict. But if that was the case, who could blame her for needing a fix right now? “The office was a converted house and an old woman still lived in the house next door. Al spoke to her when he went in and told her he was going to be working that night.” David looked away from the monitor long enough to meet her eye. “You with me?” She nodded. “But why couldn’t the body be Clements? He had a key, too, right?” “Probably so, but he was dead. Died of a heart attack two days before in the middle of a rape trial.” “Wow.” “Exactly,” David said. “And that night, the neighbor never saw Al leave, never saw anyone else arrive, and identified Al’s car in the driveway after the explosion. They’d had problems with the heater in the past, too.” He clicked on the mouse a few times. “Oh yeah, and they found a monogrammed key chain in the rubble. Melted together, but identifiable—Al’s.”

“But no body,” Jacey said. David shook his head. “Human remains, but not identifiable. Not even teeth. First the explosion, then the fire. It was pretty bad.” “So maybe it was someone else’s body,” Jacey said. “But why would Al want to fake his death? And even if he did, why would he turn around and introduce himself to you two days later?” He stood up and moved toward her, perching on the armrest. “ ‘Hi, I’m Albert Alcott, please don’t read the L.A. Times, or you might discover I’m dead?’ Doesn’t make sense.” She moved the pencil over the paper, her doodle looking remarkably like a house on fire. “Maybe it makes more sense than you think,” she said. He stayed silent and she finally turned her head to the side, just enough to see him staring at her— and he didn’t look happy. “What do you know, Jacey?” he asked, his voice tight. “Nothing!” Good Lord, did he think she was involved? “Nothing at all. It’s just…” She trailed off with a little shrug. “It’s just that I didn’t tell you the entire truth that first day.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “So tell me now.” “Well, it was just like I told you—” “Except—” “Except I gave Al a fake name in the bar.” She held up a hand, shushing him before he could say anything. “I didn’t know we’d hit it off.” She bit back a grimace, the magnitude of the ick factor hitting her. “And I’d never been picked up before. I thought it was the smart thing to do.” “Okay…” He twirled his hand, urging her to get to the good stuff. She took a deep breath. “And I didn’t feel bad about the fake name, because I figured out that he ’d given me a fake name, too.” She explained about the fellow who approached them in the bar, sure that Charles Lafontaine was Albert Alcott. “I assumed he used a fake name for the same reason I did. It never occurred to me he’d faked his death.” “Well, why would it?” “I did think he was a serial killer,” she added, deciding that so long as she was coming clean, she might as well be squeaky clean. “But I was wrong.” David rubbed his temples, then got up, opened his desk drawer, and popped the top on a bottle of Tylenol. He shook some out, swallowed them dry, then looked her in the eye. “Tell me.” She did, then looked up at him when she finished. “When I saw the news about how they caught the real San Diego Slayer, I realized my mistake. And then I hired you…” “Lucky me,” he said dryly. A bolt of anger shot through her. Unreasonable, maybe, but it had been a hell of a day. She grabbed her purse off the floor, swung the strap over her arm, and stood up. “Sorry to have wasted your time. I better go. Thank Millie for the cookies for me, okay?” He caught her by the elbow. “Sit down.” She bristled. “I have to go to work tomorrow.” He drew in a noisy breath. “I’m sorry, okay?” She hesitated, then nodded. “All right.” She really didn’t want to leave. “Apology accepted.”

David looked her in the eye. “So it looks like we were right—Al wanted to fake his own death.” “Why?” she asked. “Insurance money, escape a bad marriage, escape a buttload of debt, escape—” “I’m picking up on a theme here,” Jacey said. “The guy needed to hide from something. Or someone. And if the someone’s persistent, they’re only going to stop looking if you’re dead.” “But who? And why?” “That, sweetheart, is the question of the hour. And I don’t have an answer for you.” “Guess I didn’t bring you as easy a case as you thought,” she said, remembering what he’d told her that first day. “Guess not,” he agreed. He moved closer, her pulse increasing with his proximity. “And I am glad you came to me. Really.” He grazed her cheek with the side of his hand, the echo of his touch lingering on her skin. “Stay for a while?” Every fiber in her body screamed yes. Her mouth said, “Why?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer. Hoping it was the answer she wanted to hear. “Rain check, remember? I owe you ice cream.” He tilted her chin up. “And if I know anything about women, today’s a definite ice-cream day.” She couldn’t help her smile. “You may be clueless about a lot of things, but you’re right about that.” “So you’ll stay?” “I really do have work tomorrow, and I still need to drop my car off. But, yeah. For a little while.” He grinned. “Are you staying because you want to? Or because you remembered that you need me to drive you home after you drop off your car?” “Both,” she said. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he grinned. “Fair enough.” “So where’s my ice cream?” “Coming up.” She followed him into the kitchen, surprised to see that it didn’t suffer from the same clutter that plagued the rest of the house. “Well, I guess I lied,” he said, staring into the freezer. “Fresh out of ice cream.” He closed the door and looked at her, his expression truly apologetic. “Another rain check?” “You better believe it,” she said. “Only now I think I deserve a sundae.” “I can probably manage that.” He nodded toward the kitchen counter. “Want some chocolate torte in the meantime?” “Sure,” she said. Jacey might be a lot of things, but she wasn’t a fool. And she never, ever, turned down a good-looking man bearing chocolate. “So tell me about Millie,” Jacey said, then licked her fork. She was on the sofa, finishing her piece of torte. For all David cared, she could finish off the whole thing, especially if that kept her in his apartment that much longer. “David?” she prompted. “Millie?”

“Right.” He shrugged. “What can I say? She’s a character, but I love her.” “I can tell,” she said. “You’re…” She trailed off, shrugging. “What?” He glanced toward her from the kitchen where he was making coffee. “What am I?” “Softer, I guess.” He made a whizzing motion over his head. “I just mean that you soften up when you’re around Millie. It’s obvious you care for her. It’s sweet.” He couldn’t argue with that; hell, he didn’t want to. Except maybe for the “it’s sweet” part, but he supposed that went with the territory. Not that he wanted to run around Los Angeles with a reputation for being a marshmallow man. “She’s my father’s aunt and she doted on him before she doted on me,” he said. “My mom and dad moved to London, so now I’m the sole beneficiary of her doting.” “London?” “Yeah, they’re total Anglophiles. They even met over there when they were both backpacking through Great Britain. The way my dad tells it they were both getting the cheap seats for some show in the West End and ended up sitting together behind a post. Since they couldn’t see the show, they talked to each other instead.” “Your mom tells it differently?” she asked. “Nope.” He poured water into the machine, flicked the button, and headed back into the living room. “Same story, she just starts it about five minutes earlier when it’s raining and my dad accidentally pushed her and she fell into a pothole filled with water. So he felt obligated to buy her the ticket.” She laughed and, considering the day he knew she’d had, he was happy to hear it. “So I guess neither one of them complains about how wet and rainy London is, huh?” “Not once,” he said. “So what are they doing in London?” “My dad used to work for the State Department before I was born and they lived over there for a while. Actually, they lived everywhere. But when I came along, they settled in Los Angeles, but they missed London. So now that I’m theoretically an adult, they called on some old friends and found a flat and headed over.” “They finally decided to live the life they’d wanted,” she said. A twinge of something indefinable laced her voice. “Pretty much. They don’t have the money to travel in four-star style, but with the trains and all the bed and breakfasts in Europe, they’re having a blast. It’s what they’ve always wanted to do.” She nodded slowly, as if considering what to say next. She took another bite of torte, then licked her lips. “Why didn’t they go sooner?” “Responsibility, I guess. Me. Work. Dad couldn’t get the government to guarantee he could stay in London and he didn’t want to schlep me all over the world, so he took a job teaching.” The coffeemaker beeped and he got up to pour them each a cup. “Black?” “Cream, if you’ve got it.” He poured some half-and-half into her mug, then brought her the coffee. “You’re an enigma, David Anderson,” she said, taking the cup.

“Yeah, I know. It’s part of my charm.” Her cheeks flushed. “Yes, I guess it is.” She cleared her throat, then used her free hand to hug the pillow. “Anyway, your parents sound great. Nice that they cared so much to sacrifice like that so you could have a normal childhood.” “I suppose. Although I always thought that traipsing around Europe would’ve been pretty cool.” She glanced toward the map. “Looks like you still do.” He couldn’t deny it, so he just nodded. “Not me. I had enough of living out of a suitcase when I was growing up. The only way I want to travel now is on very short trips in very nice hotels with twenty-four-hour room service.” “No cheap bed and breakfasts in funky little European towns?” “Nope.” Her eyes lingered for a moment on his map and then she blinked, flashing a too-bright smile. “At any rate, if your parents are anything like your aunt, I’m sure they’re wonderful. Millie’s a hoot.” He exhaled, more relieved than he would have expected to realize she thought his parents were cool and liked his aunt. He shrugged off the feeling. After all, what wasn’t to like? Other than her meddling and overall quirkiness, that is. “And she certainly adores you,” Jacey added. “Well, I adore her,” David admitted. “She’s the reason I’m here.” “In this apartment?” “In California.” He pointed toward the map. “You could say I keep track of Millie’s finances for her,” he said. “But when I’m sure everything’s taken care of, I’m going to take my backpack, buy a roundtrip ticket with an open-ended return, and catch the first flight to Paris.” “Paris,” she repeated, a note of melancholy in her voice. “I would like to see the Louvre.” “Every artist should,” he said. She opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “Even artists in twelve-step programs.” Grinning, he glanced down at her pad. She aimed a sheepish smile in his direction. “I can’t help it. I sketch. It’s a habit. I do it when I’m alone, or distracted.” She met his eyes. “Or nervous.” “Do I make you nervous?” “No. Of course not. Why would you?” Her words were casual and he almost believed her, except she started nibbling on that thumb. He stifled the urge to pull her up from the couch and hold her close. “Are you sure?” “Of course I’m sure. Why on earth would I be nervous?” “No reason at all. Unless you can read my mind.” Her throat moved as she swallowed. “Why? What are you thinking?” “About you.” He moved closer, knowing it was foolish, but also knowing that sometimes you just had to go with your gut. “About us.” He reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet. “About Chinese food.” Her little gasp tied itself up with his heart and twisted. What the hell was he doing? This was a woman who wanted home and hearth, not a guy like him. He didn’t want to lead her on; didn’t want to pretend to be something he wasn’t. But he wanted her, and right then, that desire was driving him. She licked her lips, her eyes never leaving his face. “Yes,” she whispered, and his body hardened

as her unspoken promises caressed him. “Yes, what?” Her breath was shaky and she gripped that legal pad for dear life. “Yes, I’m nervous,” she said. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. “Should I be?” David swallowed. To hell with it. He tugged her toward him, driven by an overpowering need to touch her. The pad tumbled to the floor as her chest pressed against his, her breasts firm yet soft. “You damn sure should.” “Really?” she whispered. “Why—” But he didn’t let her finish, cutting off her words with his mouth. Her feminine taste was like ambrosia, and he drank deep, urging her closer. He’d been craving her since that too-short appetizer on the floor of the store and now he didn’t intend to stop until he’d had his fill of her. Thank God, she didn’t try to pull away. Instead she eagerly met his lips and his body reacted to her enthusiasm as he knew it would—every cell, every atom, humming and spinning, charged to near radioactivity from the electricity thrumming between them. The base of her neck fit into the palm of his hand and he held her there. He could stay like that forever, tasting her mouth, his tongue warring with hers, his cock getting rock hard at the thought of trailing kisses down the rest of her body. He wrapped his other arm around her waist, gently guiding her closer, his mouth still closed over hers as he pressed his thigh between her legs. The long material of her skirt was in the way and he wished she’d just pull the damn dress off. She squirmed slightly, her tongue dancing with his, and the motion was his undoing. He let go of her neck and reached down, the skirt bunching as he pulled it up and slipped his hand under the material. She trembled in his arms as he trailed his fingers up the tender skin of her inner thigh. Reaching the prize, he cupped her sex, a wash of male pride consuming him when he realized her panties were already damp. He traced his fingertip along the edge of the material, then slipped under, finding her wet, silky folds. She wriggled against him, her soft noises arousing him. Her mouth closed over his lower lip, nipping and pulling, as he cupped her sweet flesh. She sighed, a soft mournful sound, and then she leaned back. Her hands clutched his shoulders as she broke their kiss, his body yelling all sorts of curses as she pushed away. She shifted, then, closing her legs to him and taking a step back, the finality of her actions ringing clear. Damn. Her lips were parted and swollen, the skin around her mouth pink. He rubbed his face, wishing he’ d shaved and at the same time glad he hadn’t. She looked like she’d been made love to—long and hard. Hell, if she looked like that now, imagine what she’d look like after a few hours between the sheets. Tousled, he imagined. And glistening with a sheen of sweat. A silk sheet pulled up under her chin, a hint of modesty after a long night of passion. “You were right,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. “I should be nervous.” A lump grew in the pit of his stomach as she got up and walked across the room to stand behind his desk. Her fingers grazed over his map and then she turned back to him, her smile just a little too bright as she headed for the kitchen. “Jacey?”

She looked at him from over the pass-through bar as she rinsed out her coffee cup. “I hope you get your trip, David. Or trips. You deserve it.” She grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser on the counter and started wiping down the countertop. “Backpacking through Europe. Should be a good time.” Well, hell. What was he supposed to say to that? Her message was clear enough. That wasn’t what she wanted. Which meant he wasn’t what she wanted. Story of his life. “I’ll make it eventually,” he said, referring to the trip. And he would. Somehow, he would. Of course, since Jacey no longer needed his services, his income potential for the month had just bottomed out. Jacey and his paycheck, both down the drain. Apropos, he supposed, considering the rest of his savings was going to a plumber later that week. Jacey was back in the living room, slipping the strap of her purse over her arm. “I guess we should probably go.” She cocked her head, her curls framing her face. “Thank you for everything.” “No problem. It’s not every day I get to find a not-dead dead guy.” He squinted, an idea poking at his mind. “I don’t suppose you’re still interested in finding the guy, are you?” She made a face like she’d just swallowed something unpleasant. “Uh, no. Isn’t that what I’ve been saying?” “You paid me to find an ex-boyfriend. I only assumed you wanted to find him for that reason.” He shrugged. “For all I know, he owes you money.” “I’m not interested in finding him anymore,” she said, her voice more forceful this time. He held up his hands. “Just asking. You don’t have to hit me over the head.” He frowned. Hit him over the— “David? What is it?” “The Dumpster, and then your car,” he said, feeling like an idiot for not seeing it before. “How do we know it’s not Al looking for you?” “That’s silly,” she said. “Lucy’s radio was stolen just like thousands of other radios in Los Angeles. And you said yourself the guy at the Dumpster was probably a crackhead.” He’d said that all right. And he’d believed it at the time. So why the queer feeling in the pit of his stomach? She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head. “Oh, come on.” Disbelief echoed in her tone. “You’ve been reading too many of these novels,” she added, bending over to pick up a handful of paperbacks and stack them neatly on the corner of his desk. She was probably right. Either that or his subconscious was manufacturing reasons to stick close to her. “Maybe so,” he conceded, opening the door for her. “Just my conspiratorial nature.” “I’m safe,” she said. “And besides,” she added, as they headed down the stairs. “How could he possibly be after me? He doesn’t even know my name. Remember?” He did remember. But for some reason, that fact didn’t dissolve the knot in his stomach. “So what’s the story with this Jacey Wilder chick?” Reggie asked. He had the snot-nosed little lawyer handcuffed to the passenger door of his Buick LeSabre. For a while, Al had kept tugging at the cuffs, but then Reggie had made it perfectly clear that mucking up the upholstery or the metal handle wouldn’t be in Al’s best interest. He’d been quiet as a mouse ever since, supporting Reggie’s personal theory that the guy had no

balls. Of course, running out on Joey required some cojones, so maybe there was more to Al than met the eye. Al whimpered. Or maybe not.“The bitch?” Reggie prompted. “She’s got the diamonds,” Al said. “Not me. You’ve got to believe me. She must’ve found them in the car.” His words spilled out, one on top of the other. “Tell Joey I don’t have them. I’d give them to him if I did. I swear. So help me God.” Reggie’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. He wasn’t about to tell Joey nothing. Not yet. He’d already made the mistake of telling Joey what went down by that Dumpster and all he’d gotten for his trouble was a dressing down and a warning to do better next time—or else. Reggie didn’t like the sound of that. So he’d play this his way. And the first thing he was gonna do was search the bitch’s apartment. He pulled the car onto the shoulder and shifted into park, then reached across Al and opened the door. Al half tumbled out, his arm still attached to the door and a string of curses rolling off his lips. “You gotta go?” Reggie asked. “What?” “Do you gotta take a piss? If you do, you better go now.” Because he intended to wait outside Jacey Wilder’s apartment for however long it took. And when he had the chance, Reggie was going to do a little investigating of his own.

Chapter 8 “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help, son.” The Colonel took a puff of his Cuban and exhaled, the greenish-gray smoke swirling around his head. “Naturally, I’m broken up about this.” Naturally. His daughter disappeared and he sat in his conservatory smoking cigars and reading the financial pages. My heart went out to the man. I could see he was pretty broke up. He looked up at me, the polite façade cracking. “Is there something else you need?” “Just answers,” I said. “I’ve given you all the answers I have,” he said. “My daughters lead their own lives. They pretend I don’t know and I pretend to look the other way.” He shook the paper, the pages rattling. “If that’s everything…” It wasn’t, but I could take a hint, so I didn’t put up too much of a fuss when the penguin showed me to the door, with a polite, “Thank you so much for coming.” Funny man. I met Mallory coming up the walk. I smiled at her. She didn’t smile back. “Long time no see, sweetheart,” I said. “What are you doing here?” Her eyes flashed and she still didn’t smile. “I’m doing my job, babe.” “You seem to forget who’s paying your bills, Mr. Monroe. I thought you understood I wanted to keep my father out of it.” “My mistake. I thought you’d be more concerned with finding your sister than with making sure the two of you kept up the innocent schoolgirl routine for Daddy.” She pulled herself up to her full height, which was taller than me in those killer shoes. Without taking her eyes off me, she took a long drag on her cigarette, then exhaled.

And then, just as pretty as you please, she smiled. “Mr. Monroe,” she said. “You’re fired.” David’s fingers paused over the Selectric’s keys, the staccato clacking not as soothing as he’d hoped. Jacey may not have fired him, but the end result was the same. She didn’t want to find Al. She didn’t want David. Bada-bing, bada-boom, end of story. “Writer’s block, dear?” Millie had shown up on his doorstep promptly at nine, decked out in a Chanel suit, rubber-soled orthopedic shoes, and toting a brown leather briefcase. David had no idea what was in the briefcase and he was afraid to ask. “Just thinking,” he said. From the couch, Finn made a low noise in his throat. “About what?” he asked, glancing at David from over the comic pages of yesterday’s Sunday paper. “Or rather, about who?” David ignored him. Finn had followed Millie up, complaining of the dank smell in the still-soggy living room. David didn’t think the smell really bothered Finn. More likely, his friend wanted to watch David squirm with Millie underfoot. Whatever the reason, David had a full house. So much for getting any writing done. Not that he could concentrate on his novel anyway. A certain female was on his mind. Her, and the nagging sensation that something was very, very off. “This box is empty,” Millie said, poking her head up from one of the U-Haul boxes under the window. “I haven’t gotten around to breaking it down,” he said, pulling his thoughts from Jacey. “I started putting some of this stuff away yesterday.” “Really?” Millie said. “Any particular reason?” Finn asked, his voice suggesting that he had David’s number. “I’m just trying to get organized,” David said, glaring in Finn’s general direction. He said a silent thank-you that Millie hadn’t jumped all over that, then headed into the kitchen to warm up his coffee. “That’s not a crime, is it?” “Not a crime,” Finn said. “Just—” “What?” David growled. “Interesting,” Finn finished. He shook the paper and disappeared behind it, but not before David caught his amused expression. Yeah, well, so what? The place was a sty. It was about time he put a few things away. “Here,” he said to Millie, pausing in front of the hall closet. He reached inside and pulled down a box filled with magazine clippings. “Story ideas. You want to help? Start organizing those.” She whipped off a little salute, then headed to the couch with the box. Finn accommodated her by moving to one side, shoving the rest of the newspaper onto the floor. David stifled a grimace. So much for his efforts to clear a path. “Do you want them organized by topic, author, date, or other?” Millie asked. She’d pulled out her reading glasses and now she peered at him over the rims. “Or we could database them. I took a class in online banking last month and got a free database seminar thrown in. I could get on your computer and— ” “Manila folders are fine,” David said. The last time Millie took a Learning Annex computer class, she’d added passwords to all his files, then promptly forgot each password. He’d spent four hours on the phone with Finn, getting the machine back in working order. “And organize them however you want.” Another little salute and then she hauled the briefcase into her lap, sprang the latch, and pulled out

a copy of Lethal Weapon 3.“Background noise,” she said. “Rene Russo kicks butt.” “Good for her,” David said. He popped in the video she passed him, handed her the remote, then settled back down in front of the Selectric. Too bad Jacey didn’t have some of Rene Russo’s moves. He tried to imagine her whipping her leg up and catching her mugger’s jaw with her heel. Nope. Even with his imagination, all he saw was her falling on her ass, the cretin beating the shit out of her, and him arriving too late to save the day. Shit. “What?” Finn asked. David grimaced, realizing he must have cursed aloud. “Just Jacey,” he admitted. He glanced at Millie, expecting a comment on his current state of matrimony, but none was forthcoming. To his surprise, he was actually a little disappointed. Had she decided Jacey wasn’t right for him? Or, worse, that he wasn’t good enough for her? “What about her?” Finn asked. David shook his head. “Nothing specific,” he said, but he got up and headed for the computer anyway. “I’ll bite,” Finn said. “What’s on your mind?” “It’s probably stupid,” David admitted. He clicked the mouse and waited for his web browser to pop up. “I just have a bad feeling.” Finn nodded. “The Promenade and the radio,” he said. He tossed aside the rest of the paper and moved to stand behind David. “You don’t seriously think they’re related?” “I don’t know what to think. All I know is I’ve got a knot in my stomach.” “That’s loneliness,” Millie said. “You and Jacey should be together. With Al dead, there’s nothing keeping you apart.” “He’s not dead, Millie,” David said, absurdly pleased that he was still up to par in Millie’s book. “Remember?” She waved a hand. “Might as well be. He’s not in your league.” Since David completely agreed, he didn’t argue the point. “There’s nothing there, Millie,” he said instead. “I’m not Jacey’s type.” “You haven’t—” He held up a hand, silencing her. “We talked about it last night.” Literary license. They hadn’t actually talked, but Jacey’s message had been clear enough. “She just doesn’t know you.” And apparently she wasn’t going to get the chance. The thought depressed him and he pointed to the television. “Break’s over, Millie. I’m not paying you if you’re not filing.” “You’re not paying me, anyway,” she pointed out. True enough, but David dodged that one by turning back to his computer. “So what are you looking for?” Finn said. David tapped at the keyboard and pulled up a search engine. “No clue.” “So where are you going to start?” David shrugged. “Still clueless.” “At least you have a plan,” Finn said. He grabbed David’s footlocker, upended it, and used it as a

stool. David turned away from the computer to face his buddy. “All I’ve got is a hunch. Something feels off. Maybe I won’t be able to figure out what, but—” “You’re not going down without a fight.” “Exactly,” David said. “And if you do figure something out, you’ve got an excuse to see Jacey again.” “I think I’ll start with his law practice,” David said, ignoring Finn’s low chortle. Clements’s law firm had a web page, but it didn’t say much of anything about Clements’s lone associate. “Poor Al,” Finn said. “Probably doing all the work and getting none of the glory.” “Could piss a guy off,” David said. He tapped a few more keys and headed over to the site for the Los Angeles Times. “Let’s see what kinds of cases were keeping Al burning the midnight oil.” He ran a search for the law firm, Melvin Clements, or Albert Alcott. Over a hundred articles popped up. “Well, great.” He flipped on his computer and followed the instructions to access the articles and print them, one after the other. Then he swiveled around in his chair, taking in Finn and Millie with his glance. “So? Who’s up for a little light reading?” • • • Two hours later, articles littered the floor of David’s apartment, but even after four more computer searches nobody had found anything of interest. David had been shopping that morning and his kitchen was well-stocked, so he took a break to bake a cinnamon apple cobbler. “Energy food,” he said, pulling it out of the oven. “You guys find anything?” Millie shook her head. “This Clements fellow represented some pretty bad dudes. But nothing really jumps out.” Bad dudes? David mouthed to Finn, as he dished them each out some dessert. Finn just shrugged. “Nothing much in my stack, either,” Finn said. “How about yours?” “Nothing around March,” David said. “But I still need to read the articles from earlier in the year.” He riffled his stack. “Looks like maybe five.” He dropped onto the sofa and started flipping pages with one hand and shoveling in cobbler with the other. A paragraph buried in the middle of the second article caught his attention. “Either of you read anything about this? Apparently the cops were investigating Joey Malone for some diamond heist. Clements represented him in the grand jury proceeding.” “Nope,” Finn said. He shuffled through the rest of his papers. “Nothing in here, either.” “Millie?” David asked. “I’ve already finished my stack,” she said, looking up from where she was organizing his clippings. “No mention of diamonds at all.” She paused, then, “Of course, this has to be why Jacey was mugged.” David crossed his arms. “You wanna run your logic by me?” “It’s a hunch,” she said. “We gal Fridays are known for our hunches.” That was good enough for David. He grabbed his wallet off the desk and started heading for the door. “You’re leaving?” Finn asked. “Absolutely.” David paused in the doorway. “Joey Malone, diamonds, Al’s fake name, and Millie’ s hunch. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but I’m pretty sure Jacey’s right smack in the middle of it.”

“And you’re going to go rescue the girl,” Finn said. “As a matter of fact,” David said, “I am.” “You’ve been moping around all morning,” Tasha said. “Call him.” Jacey finished the last of her coffee and signaled to the waitress. She’d had an appalling lack of sleep last night, alternatively kicking herself for walking away from David and praising her ability to stick to her guns even in the face of a massive attack of libido, not to mention the electricity his touch had generated. Instead of sleep, she’d sat up in bed with a sketch pad, a package of Hostess Ding Dongs, and a pitcher of hibiscus tea mixed with Sprite. By the time morning rolled around, she’d turned out some awesome sketches of David and was well on her way to sugar shock. “Jace!” Tasha stabbed her fork into her Cobb salad. “Would you quit ignoring me? Just go see him.” Jacey scowled at her friend as she rummaged in her purse for a pencil. “Why?” “Why should you quit ignoring me? Because I’m your best friend and you love me dearly.” Jacey unfolded her napkin, spreading it out on the table in front of her, then smoothed the creases with her index finger. “I don’t have any reason to call him.” Not exactly true. Off the top of her head, she could think of three good reasons to call—his eyes, his lips, his fingers. “Sure you do. Tell him you want your ice cream.” “I can’t do that. If I say I want ice cream, he’ll think I want sex.” “Which you do,” Tasha said. “But I want more than just sex. You know that.” “David’s more,” Tasha said. “He’s smart and he’s funny and he’s positively gorgeous in a rumpled sort of way.” “That he is.” Jacey let out a long, slow breath, remembering the way he’d looked at her after she’ d pulled away. His eyes, all warm and dreamy, masking a surprising hint of danger, as if they’d spent the morning in bed and he still had more planned. She’d barely gotten the appetizer; she couldn’t help but wonder what he’d look like after the main course. She crossed her legs, her body humming from the memory of David’s fingers dancing over her skin. It had taken all her strength to walk away, but she’d done the right thing. She was sure of it. Too bad being right was such torture. She took three deep breaths, strengthening her resolve. “No,” Jacey said, with a quick shake of her head. “David Anderson is not an eligible bachelor.” “Who cares?” Tasha said. “Have a little fun.” “I care,” Jacey said, but she couldn’t quite meet Tasha’s eyes. Instead, she concentrated on catching the waitress’s attention. No luck there, so Jacey started doodling on the napkin. “David’s a hot fudge sundae,” she said. “With candy sprinkles and maybe even a cherry.” “See? Gorgeous and yummy.” “Sure, until you tip the scales. My hips and thighs can’t take hot fudge day after day—” “Or night after night,” Tasha put in, waggling her eyebrows. “I need steak,” she said, her voice firm, not entirely sure if she was trying to convince herself or Tasha. “Lean meat and vegetables.”

“Well, lean meat is good,” Tasha said. Jacey tapped the pencil against her still empty coffee cup, ignoring the leer in her best friend’s voice. “Stable. Normal. Reliable. That’s what I need.” “Boring,” Tasha said. “Permanent. Real.” David might be sexy, fun, and a damn good kisser, but he wasn’t the settling-down type. And at one month shy of thirty, Jacey wasn’t interested in wasting time with commitment-phobic men. She aimed a scowl toward Tasha. “Besides, you’re one to talk. Bob’s not exactly a one-man Cirque du Soleil.” “He has his moments.” She drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “Not that I’ve seen any, but he swears he has them.” She shrugged. “And we’re not talking about my pathetic love life, we’re talking about your pathetic love life. And my point is that you’re tormenting yourself.” The waitress walked by and Jacey leaned out of the booth, waving her coffee cup. Still no reaction. She turned back to Tasha. “What am I? Invisible?” “You ignore me,” Tasha said, “she ignores you. Karma.” “I’m not ignoring you,” Jacey said. “But the idea that I’m tormenting myself by not dating David is silly. I’m not a sixteen-year-old curled up eating ice cream and pining away for some guy.” No, she was a twenty-nine-year old eating Ding Dongs. “Besides, I think that the fact that he hasn’t called me is pretty telling.” She picked the pencil back up and frowned at the napkin. She’d roughed out a design for one of Gregory’s walls without even realizing she was doing it. “You’re the one who told him to get lost,” Tasha said. “He probably figures you’re happy to be free of him.” “And I am,” she said, adding a little shading. And, theoretically, it was true. “I don’t want to find Al, so I don’t need David. And David’s not boyfriend material, so what’s the point in having him around?” Tasha dipped her fork into the dressing, then snared a bite of salad, her brow creasing. “Haven’t we been over this ground already?” “Yes!” Jacey said. “Can we please drop it now?” “You’re the one who keeps bringing him up.” Jacey stopped shading the Cowardly Lion’s mane. “No I’m not. You’re the—” She held up her hands in surrender. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. The subject’s closed.” “Fine,” Tasha said. “Fine,” Jacey echoed. Jacey managed to finish the lion and get halfway through an outline of a flying monkey before Tasha piped up again. “Still…” Jacey didn’t even answer. Just looked at her friend. “I’m just saying that you like the guy. Why not see what happens? It’s not like I’m going to get all Martha Stewart on you and start planning your wedding. Just go out on a date. Take a risk. Have a little fun. Hell, have an orgasm.” “Tasha!” She looked around the restaurant, wondering how many of the old men chowing down on the senior citizen special had overheard. “What? You afraid they’ll think you’ve never had one?”

“I’ve had plenty, but that doesn’t mean they need to be analyzed in the back booth at Dupar’s.” She fiddled a little with the fez on the monkey’s head. “Besides, liking him isn’t an argument designed to get me and David together. It’s an argument for keeping us apart.” Tasha squinted. “Call me slow, but I’m not following you.” “This is me we’re talking about. Me. The woman with the world’s worst taste in men. If I like him, he must be totally wrong for me.” She remembered the nights she’d spent with Al and felt a little sick. Oh God, if she was going to relive those moments, she really needed to start carrying Tums. “Okay, now you’ve officially stopped making sense.” Tasha tilted her head to the side. “Are you planning on marrying a man you don’t like?” Well, that was a good point. “You’re right. I should just become a nun.” “The benefit is that those habits hide most figure flaws. But the downside is that I don’t think you’ re really cut out for the lifestyle.” Jacey half smiled, but shrugged. “Maybe not. I’m beginning to think I don’t know what I’m cut out for. But right now, I’m not going to worry about it. I’m going to focus on work, I’m going to save money, and if I have to get the house before I get the husband, then that’s just the way it’s going to be. I mean, I’ m perfectly capable of carrying my own mortgage and painting my own walls. Men, schmen.” “You go, girl.” Yeah, she went all right. Right to her three-bed-room house in Valencia with her mortgage and her dog—but no husband. Well, half a life was better than none. “Do you want to get dessert?” Jacey checked her watch. “I don’t think we have time. We can’t even get a coffee refill and I’m supposed to be at work at one to sign all the forms with the human resources lady. It’s already twelve and I don’t want to be late on my first day. Do you have time to drive me home before you head back?” Tasha was technically on her lunch hour, but since she’d been spending the last two weeks at the office reviewing stacks of financial documents for Elliott, she’d been taking longer and longer lunches. “Hon, if it keeps me away from that deathly dull stack of paper for even five more seconds, I’d gladly drive you to San Francisco.” “Just around the corner will be fine. If I want to change clothes, I don’t have time to walk.” “And you do need to change clothes,” Tasha said, holding up a hand to signal for the check. “If you’re going to work in the world of high finance, you need to look the part.” “I’m not exactly doing arbitrage,” Jacey said, smoothing her sundress, then hoisting her foot up onto the bench seat to adjust her sandal strap. “It’s just an accounting firm.” “Even so. You want to make a success of this job, you need to look like you’re serious.” She looked Jacey up and down. “Wear my black suit.” Jacey frowned, trying to picture the thing. “The one you basically have to use a crowbar to get into?” “Your hips are smaller than mine. It won’t be that tight on you.” “It won’t be that tight because I’m not wearing it. It’s not my style at all.” Tasha shrugged. “Suit yourself. Wear one of your dresses, then. Just remember that first impressions count.” Jacey scowled, not wanting to admit out loud that Tasha had a point. She should have bought a suit. Something nicer, with a skirt that hit midcalf. Not that she’d had any time to shop, between missing boyfriends, muggings, and near-sex experiences, her schedule had been pretty well packed.

“And Jace…” She lifted her head. “Yeah?” “Try to focus on the job, okay? Not on Gregory’s walls.” Jacey frowned, looking down and realizing that she’d finished another sketch—an intricate Wizard of Oz design that would look fabulous hanging on Gregory’s west wall. “Right. No problem.” She crumpled the napkin and tossed it onto Tasha’s now-empty plate. The waitress came up with a pot of coffee in one hand and their check in the other. “More coffee before you go?” she asked. She slipped the check onto the table and started to collect the dirty dishes. Jacey tried out her sweetest smile, even as she snatched the crumpled napkin before the waitress could spirit it away. “No thanks. I think we’re fine.” David’s plan to head straight for Jacey’s place was derailed by the plumber—a big bear of a man in gray coveralls with Chuck stitched on the breast pocket. Not only did David need to find out the guy’s estimate, but since Chuck’s truck was blocking the driveway, David wasn’t getting out of there any time soon. After Chuck went through his Top Ten Reasons to Hire Chuck the Plumber list, David let him have free run of the house—inside and underneath—while he waited on the back porch for the bad news. It didn’t take long. “One of the worst cases I’ve ever seen, son,” Chuck said, crawling out from under the house. “Corrosion, leaking, some all-around serious stuff going on in those pipes.” He wiped his hands on his coveralls, little bits of dirt clinging to the material. David’s stomach started to hurt. Serious stuff sounded seriously painful to his bank account. “How much?” he asked. “To do it right?” Chuck gnawed on the earpiece of his glasses. “I’ll have to work up an estimate, but you’re looking at around twenty grand.” David’s reaction must have made Chuck fear he wasn’t going to get the job, because he immediately reminded David that Millie’s homeowner’s policy should cover the work. “Right,” David said. “She’ll just have to cover the deductible.” Which, of course, meant that he’d have to cover the deductible. Which was still a hefty chunk of change. Considering Millie’s strapped-for-cash position after Uncle Edgar died, David had done some serious cost-cutting. Thanks to him, Millie’s annual premium was a lot less—which, of course, meant the deductible was a lot more. His stomach twisted, hating to acknowledge the truth. But he was getting pretty close to rock bottom and with the five grand he was going to have to shell out to cover Millie’s deductible…well, his bank account was about to be brutalized. And he could think of only one way to refill it. “Get me the estimate,” he said, “and then we’ll talk.” But he already knew the answer. Millie needed plumbing and he needed to pay for it. He sighed, finally making the decision he knew he had to make. Marva swore she could sell another book if he brought her a crime. And with Jacey’s help, he might just have stumbled across one. Late, late, late. Jacey was going to be late and she still hadn’t found a pair of shoes to go with Tasha’s

black outfit. After much mental debate, not to mention trying on both outfits twice, Jacey had finally decided against her floral print dress in favor of Tasha’s black suit. Tasha was right. The dress was boring and didn’t make a statement. The black suit, on the other hand, was confidence personified—I am woman, hear me roar. Or, at the very least, I am woman, please don’t fire me. Definitely one of the benefits of a roommate—double the wardrobe. Not that Tasha got a reciprocal benefit. She wouldn’t be caught dead in Jacey’s clothes. Truth be told, Jacey wasn’t all that crazy about being caught dead in Tasha’s clothes. But she needed a power suit and this certainly qualified. Besides, she could always change back into sweats once she got home. Of course, if she didn’t find shoes, she might as well wear sweats to the job. So far, her shoe quest was coming up empty. Frustrated, Jacey gave up on her closet. None of her sneakers would go with the outfit and her single pair of pumps had decided to do a disappearing act. Cursing footwear generally, Jacey raced back to Tasha’s room, her pantyhose-covered feet slipping and sliding on the polished wood floor. She skidded to a stop in front of Tasha’s closet, dropped to the ground, and started rummaging. Considering that Tasha’s organizational system consisted of throwing shoes randomly into the back of the closet, Jacey didn’t worry about making a mess. Instead, she plowed in, tossing nos and maybes left and right until she finally—finally—found a single strappy black pump. A definite yes. Except, of course, its mate was missing. Frantic, she glanced at her watch. She could spare five more minutes before she had to rush down to the parking garage and convince Lucy to start. The new window was great, but Lucy herself had developed attitude. She was slow to start and Jacey was sure the car was doling out punishment for Jacey leaving her all alone. Unfortunately, Jacey hadn’t had the time to take a peek at the engine. This weekend, though, Lucy was definitely getting a tune-up. She rummaged a bit more and found the left shoe, then scooted backward out of the closet. Shoes in hand, she raced back down the hall toward the bathroom, slipping and sliding on the floor so much that she’d be lucky if she didn’t fall and break her neck. Of course, since the possibility of losing this job for being late seemed greater than the probability of total paralysis caused by floor slippage, she didn’t slow down. Instead, she took the corner at a full run, grabbed onto the doorjamb, and swung herself around, pushing the bathroom door in on her upswing. But instead of the door slamming back against the hard edge of the ancient clawfoot tub, this time it opened only a few inches—stopping cold with a sharp crack followed almost instantaneously by a deep, loud howl—a decidedly human howl. “Mr. Lowenstein!” Jacey cried, even as her feet slipped out from under her. Despite scrambling for purchase, she went down, her butt landing with a thwap on the floor. She scrambled to her knees, alternatively mortified that she’d probably just given her landlord a concussion and irritated that the robust old man had come in unannounced to snake the bathtub drain even though she and Tasha had insisted they only wanted him to fix the kitchen sink. With one hand rubbing the sore spot on her butt, she grabbed the doorknob and hoisted herself up. She pressed her shoulder against the door and gently pushed it in. “Mr. Lowenstein? Are you okay?” No answer.

Worried now, Jacey pushed the door open a few more inches. “Sir?” Again, nothing, and she shoved against the door with her full weight, needing to get it open at least enough to squeeze through so she could check on her landlord. It moved about seven inches, then stopped again, hitting up against something soft but unyielding. “Mr. Lowenstein?” she whispered again, as she squeezed through the space between the door and the doorframe. Hip first, then her shoulder, then her head, then— Oh, shit! A scream ripped from her throat, her heart pounding a staccato rhythm as she pressed back against the wall, her gaze pinned to the body on the floor. A body that was so not Mr. Lowenstein. She reminded herself to breathe, gulping air as she edged back toward the door, her eyes never leaving him. A big guy, with hands that looked like they could crush her skull. And with the red, angry scar tracing down his face, she believed he’d happily do so. She gulped air, her mind trying to process the situation. Run. Her feet had turned to granite. Run. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, dueling with the ragged sound of her breath. Run. The human mound on the tile floor shifted, emitting a strangled moan like the sound of a sick cat. The eyes peeled open, bloodshot and angry. Run! Finally, the synapses fired and she ran, racing down the hall toward the door. She flew out of her apartment and pounded on her neighbor’s door. Mrs. Lebowitz was half-blind and half-deaf, but Jacey didn’t care. The second she opened the door, Jacey pushed past, heading for the elderly woman’s phone. “A m-m-man,” Jacey managed, tripping over the words as she dialed 911. “There’s a man on my floor.”

Chapter 9 There’s one thing I can say about me—I don’t take no for an answer. And if somebody slaps a mystery down in front of me, I’m going to solve it. Hourly rate or not. Mallory may have fired me, but I intended to find Sarah anyway, with or without Mallory’s C-notes. The trouble was, I didn’t know where to look. I was back to square one and this time I didn’t even have the promise of Mallory’s lovely legs urging me on. I paced in front of Sadie’s desk and laid the whole shebang out for her. Sometimes another pair of ears helps and sometimes I just need a change of scenery. I’ll say this for Sadie, she was easy on the eyes. “Damn frustrating,” I said, wrapping up my story. “And I’m at a dead end.” “Yeah?” She passed me the morning paper. “Then let me show you a detour.” No headline, just one note in a bulleted list of stories. Kenny Townsend found dead in the Los Angeles River. If Sarah Stamp was still alive, she wasn’t going to be too keen to get the news

that her boyfriend was dead. “Who’s the badge on the case?” I asked, knowing Sadie would have already found that out for me. “You’re in luck. It’s Turner.” I nodded. Turner and I went way back. Officially, he didn’t approve of my methods. Unofficially, he passed me information and on occasion relied on me to take care of a problem or two that he couldn’t deal with without risking his badge. In other words, Turner owed me. And he was as good a place to start as any. David screeched to a stop in front of Jacey’s building, the stone in his stomach morphing into a full-fledged boulder. Three cop cars—lights flashing—were parked in front of the building and an ambulance was pulling away. No light on the ambulance and that wasn’t a good sign. Dead people didn’t need to be rushed to the hospital. With no place to park, he left the car in the street and ran toward the building, hoping against hope that Jacey wasn’t involved, even while fighting the certain knowledge that she was right smack in the middle of it. He bumped into his buddy, Detective Mike Cartwright, coming down the stairs. “Shit, Anderson. What? Do you just smell trouble.” David swallowed. “Who?” he asked, forcing the word past the lump that had moved from his stomach to his throat. “Woman named Jacey Wilder.” Mike flipped through his notes. “Looks like a burglary gone bad.” David thought of that slow-moving ambulance and felt the blood drain from his face. “Is she…?” “The victim’s fine,” Mike said, and David released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Shook up, but fine.” “Thank God,” David whispered. He started to shove past Cartwright, determined to get to Jacey. He needed to see her. Needed to hold her, look her in the eyes, and know that she was all right. Mike looked up from his pad, for the first time really seeing David, and his expression changed, shifting from detached professional to concerned friend. “Aw, hell, David. I thought you were just chasing the police band. You know her?” “Client,” David said, although she was so much more than that. He started toward the stairs again, but Mike pulled him back. “Over there,” he said, pointing toward the entrance to the parking garage. “She wanted to sit in her car until we need to talk to her again.” He caught David’s eye. “The lady’s not having the best of days.” “That’s the understatement of the decade.” He took a step toward the garage, then stopped and reluctantly turned back to Mike. He wanted to see Jacey, but he also wanted to know what the hell was going on. “The ambulance was for the perp?” “If there’d been a perp, yeah, we planned to haul him away in that. Your lady said he was flat on his back on her bathroom floor. By the time we got here, he was gone.” He frowned, his hand balling into a fist. “I hate it when they do that.” “So you got nothing?” “We’ve got blood on the inside of the bathroom door and blood on the side of the tub.” He made a pushing motion with his hand. “I’m thinking she went slamming into the room, whonked him a good one on the nose, and he fell back and cracked his skull on the porcelain.”

“So all we need to do is find a thug with a headache,” David said with a wry smile. He cocked his head toward the garage. “We’ll talk later. I’m going to go check on her.” He found her sitting in her car, her hands clutching the steering wheel so tight her knuckles were white. When he bent down and poked his head in the window, she jumped so high he thought she was going to hit her head on the roof. Her hand flew to her chest and she twisted around. The second she saw him, her eyes lit up and she smiled. For that one brief moment, David was certain his heart was going to melt. “David!” she said, fumbling to get the door open. She couldn’t seem to manage, so he opened it for her and she all but collapsed into his arms. “Hey, hush, it’s okay,” he whispered, stroking her back as she clung to him. “It is not okay,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by his shoulder. “There was a man in my bathroom. How could it possibly be okay?” “I know, babe. But you’re okay now.” He pulled her close, overwhelmed by an urgent need to protect her. “I’m here now.” He held her tight and kissed her forehead. Somewhere along the line he’d fallen for this woman. A girl he had absolutely no intention of falling for. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks and he pushed the thought away. He could worry about that later. Right now, he was just happy that she was safe. He looked at her again. “You are okay, aren’t you?” She nodded. “I’m fine. I thought my heart was going to explode out of my chest, but I’m fine now.” “Cartwright said you banged into him?” She nodded. “I was rushing to get dressed and I ran into the bathroom. I guess I knocked him out with the door.” She shivered. “And then I saw him.” She hugged herself. “I don’t really want to think about it right now,” she added. He nodded in understanding, willing to let her take her time telling him. After a second, she aimed a tentative smile at him, her hands moving to smooth her skirt. That’s when he noticed her outfit. He took a step back, his eyes skimming down her body even as his fingers itched to follow the same path. “You look…different. Hell, you look hot.” Did she ever. In that tight skirt, tailored jacket, and silk shirt, she looked like she could have stepped off the pages of his novel. “You’re just saying that to get my mind off all of this,” she said. “No, sweetheart, I’m saying it because it’s true. You’re hot.” Damn hot. And although he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, his body seemed more than happy to just enjoy the ride. Her eyes, red and weepy, met his. “Really?” “Hell yes.” She lowered her gaze, her cheeks stained with pink. “Thank you,” she said, talking more or less to her shoes. Like the rest of the outfit, the shoes played right into his own personal fantasy. The one where he was Monroe and the sexy client stripped down in his office and they did it on the desktop—with her still wearing a garter, stockings, a push-up bra, and fuck-me heels. He shifted, trying to ignore the way every ounce of blood in his body was rushing to his crotch. “So why the new duds?” “First day on the job. I wanted to make an impression.” “I guess so.” She glanced at her watch. “Of course, I’ll probably make a huge impression coming in three hours

late.” “Are they still expecting you?” She shook her head, exhaling a loud breath. “No. I called right after the police got here.” She shrugged. “I just feel guilty for coming in so late.” He laughed. “Sweetheart, there was an intruder in your apartment. I think that falls under the heading of legitimate excuse.” “I guess.” She still looked dubious. “Even if you could leave right now, you still wouldn’t get there before four.” He shifted her, draping his arm over her shoulder and pulling her close. She pressed against him, a little sigh escaping her lips even as her floral scent tickled his nose. Light and flirty, the scent stood in stark contrast to the all-business suit she had on. To David’s surprise, he found her softer scent even more of a turn-on than the tight suit with the fuck-me heels. The scent was Jacey. The suit was a businesswoman he’d never actually met before. “Just blow it off,” he said, trying to get his head back to the matter at hand. “Go in tomorrow and start fresh.” He looked down at her. “Besides, we need to talk.” For a second, he thought she was going to argue. But then she nodded. “All right.” She twisted around, looking toward the parking garage exit. “Do you think they’re about through? I need to get back in my apartment.” “Are you nuts? You’re not staying in that apartment tonight.” She looked at him like he was nuts. “Of course I’m not sleeping here. I’m heading straight to a hotel and ordering room service.” He chuckled. Apparently he’d watched one too many horror movies where the innocent little female stupidly insists on going back into the murderer’s house. “Good. Until we get you an alarm system and check your locks, it’s too risky.” “We?” He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I want to make sure you do the job right.” “Oh.” She didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Thanks.” She drew in a long breath. “But I do need to get my overnight bag and call Tasha so she knows to stay the night at Bob’s.” She gnawed on her lip. “Not that I’m too crazy about going back in there right now.” “So don’t. I’ll go up for you. And you can call Tasha from my cell phone.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of everything.” She nodded, then nibbled on her thumbnail as she considered him, her head tilted slightly to the left. “What?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, even as his other hand sneaked a quick check of his fly. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing. It’s just…” She trailed off with shrug. “You’re just being so…never mind.” She looked up at him. “Like I said, thank you.” “You’re welcome.” Her green eyes burned with emerald ice and he felt his mouth go dry as he fought the sudden, overwhelming urge to kiss her. That was an urge he needed to fight. He might want to make love to her, but he didn’t want more than that. And Jacey had made it perfectly clear that unless she was getting the whole package, she wasn’t interested in the man. “So what do we need to talk about?” she asked.

He frowned, not wanting to bring Al into the mix. “Later, sweetheart. Let’s get you through this first.” She nodded. “You want to follow me to the hotel? We can talk there, I guess.” “No way, babe,” he said. “You’re staying with me.” Jacey swallowed, the idea of staying in David’s house intriguing her more than it should. She shook her head; she needed to be practical. Reasonable. Smart.“I think maybe a hotel would be better.” “I don’t,” David said. She ran her tongue over her teeth. “Considering it’s my credit card and my life, what I think carries a little more weight.” The corner of his mouth curved up, revealing the dimple she’d noticed before. “What’s the matter, babe?” he asked, a tease in his voice. “Don’t trust yourself with me?” She took a deep breath, deciding that maybe honesty was the best policy. “As a matter of fact, I don’t.” She’d already let him go too far—and the temptation to jump right into a repeat performance was strong. His eyes widened and she realized that she’d surprised him. He opened his mouth and she steeled herself for a sarcastic comeback. Instead, he just closed his mouth as his shoulders sagged. He ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head almost imperceptibly as real compassion reflected in his eyes. She nibbled on the side of her thumb, not at all sure what to think. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Forget what happened in the store and in my living room,” he finally said, his words both soothing and surprising. “You take the bed and I’ll take the couch. Nothing’s going to happen.” His chest rose as he drew in a breath. “I know you’re not interested—” “I didn’t say that,” she protested, wanting to be certain he understood. “It’s just that—” “You don’t want to be interested.” She pressed her lips together and nodded. “You’re not looking for a guy like me and I’m not looking for a girl, period,” he said, his summation making her a little sad. “But there’s chemistry here,” he said, gesturing between the two of them, “and I’m not scared to admit it.” She crossed her arms, meeting his challenge. “I’m not scared to admit it, either. Heck, I just did admit it.” He rolled one shoulder. “Well, I know I can control myself.” He tilted his head. “Or are you worried about how you might behave…?” She was afraid; she was very afraid. That, however, wasn’t something she was willing to admit. “I ’ll take the couch,” she said. “I’m not going to kick you out of your bedroom.” The skin around his eyes crinkled. “We’ll see,” he murmured. His gaze burned against her and she wondered if he intended to back away from his promise to control himself. She hoped not, because if he backed off of his promise, her resolve would surely shatter. David had a way of looking at her that broke down all her barriers, that was uncomfortable and flattering all at the same time. Basically, David’s lingering glances made her feel sexy. And until she’d met David, she hadn’t felt sexy in a long time. Not since March. Not since Al. She bit her lip. She’d gone looking for one man and she’d found another. And it turned out that neither man was right for her. One had apparently decided to fake his own death—not a trait of prime husband material—and the second didn’t have a domestic bone in his body.

Still, she wanted this man. The quirky, unstable, bad driver with the nutty family and eyes that seemed to look all the way into her soul. A man with hands big enough to hold her and make all the scary stuff go away. She wanted him more than she should, especially since she didn’t want him forever. Her only hope of salvation was that David had more willpower than she did. She really didn’t want a one-night stand. That wasn’t her style. She couldn’t sleep with a guy and then be all friendly and oh-wasn’t-the-sex-great but-we’re-really-just-friends. Tasha, maybe. But not her. Instead, she’d be all clingy and stupid and generally hating herself in the morning. Which meant she needed a shot of willpower and she needed it bad. “Jacey?” She looked up, hoping the flush on her cheeks wasn’t giving her thoughts away. “Sorry. Pretending I’m you for a second.” He chuckled. “You can be me and space out all you want in the car.” He took her by the elbow and urged her toward the entrance to the parking garage. “I’ll drive you to my place. I know the detective in charge. If he needs you, he can call you there.” She stopped, tugging him back toward the car. “I need to drive there myself.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “No way.” She cocked her head. “And why not?” “You just had one hell of a shake-up. I don’t want you zoning out on the freeway and rear-ending some gangbanger.” She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again. The truth was, he was right. She did feel unsteady. “I can’t leave Lucy here,” she said, her gaze darting to the car. To David’s credit, he didn’t even have to ask. “She’ll be fine. It’s a secure garage.” “No, I need my car.” Lucy was as much security blanket as she was transportation and Jacey didn ’t intend to run off without her. “Fine. But someone else drives her to my house. I’ll have Mike make sure she gets to Millie’s, okay?” “Mike?” “Detective Cartwright.” He took her hand and squeezed. “Okay?” “Fine.” She smiled. “Thanks for understanding.” “No problem.” He hooked an arm around her shoulder and she leaned against him, safe once more. They left the parking garage and paused at the base of the stairs to arrange Lucy’s travel plans with Detective Cartwright. David gave her a gentle tug on the arm. “We should probably get going,” he said. “I’ll go up and pack some stuff for you. Anything in particular?” “I’ve already got an overnight bag packed in my hall closet.” She ran her teeth over her lower lip as she glanced up the stairs. “You can just grab that.” “You’ve got a bag—” He cut the question off with a wave. “Never mind. Sure.” He held up a finger and trotted to his car and for the first time she realized it was parked in the middle of the street, blocking traffic. A uniformed officer was writing a ticket and slipping it under the windshield wiper. After a few seconds, David came back with a cell phone. “Call Tasha.” She nodded, punching the number for Tasha’s office as David headed up the stairs. She knew he’ d find the bag easily, and it had enough clothes and toiletries for three days. She hadn’t used the bag

once in all the time she’d lived in the apartment, but living with her mom had taught her to always keep one packed. It was a habit she’d never managed to break. Tasha wasn’t there so she left a voice mail, then borrowed some paper from Detective Cartwright and wrote a note for him to tape to the door, just in case Tasha had manufactured a meeting and skipped out to go shopping at the Beverly Center. By the time she finished, David was heading back down the stairs, her small Samsonite case in one hand. He moved with an athletic grace and as she watched him, a slow burn started in the base of her belly, spreading out to her fingers and toes. Alone with David. She was going to be alone with David. Right then, she couldn’t think of anything she wanted more. And that realization scared her to death. “Are we ready?” David asked, his hand pressed casually against her back. She stifled a shiver and nodded. “I guess we are.” He aimed her toward the Studillac, pausing long enough to grab the ticket off the windshield and shove it in his pocket. She took a deep breath as he held the car door open for her, realizing that this was the point of no return. She was heading home with David, to his tiny, intimate, one-bedroom apartment. As she slid inside, she concentrated on taking slow, even breaths. She might have thought she was scared earlier when she’d tripped over the burglar, but now she realized she’d been wrong. That was nothing. Going home with David—that was scary. • • • “No diamonds?” Joey yelled. “No fucking diamonds?” Reggie pulled the phone away from his ear, cringing. “Don’t call and tell me you can’t find the goddamn jewels. What the fuck am I paying you for?” Reggie clamped his hand over his throbbing nose and stammered something, all the while shooting glances at Al, who was once again cringing in the passenger seat. Little twit. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t run off with the diamonds in the first place— “Am I making myself clear?” Joey asked. Reggie sat up straighter, his muscles aching with the effort. “Yes sir.” He had no clue what his boss had been saying, but he could guess. Find the diamonds or find a hole and crawl into it. “Well?” Reggie swallowed. “Uh…” Joey exhaled, and Reggie imagined the vein on his forehead bulging. “How do you know the bitch doesn’t have the diamonds?” Joey asked, speaking slowly and clearly, like Reggie was slow or something. “I searched her apartment real good. No rich girl stuff. All her things are organized in drawers or labeled in boxes and things. Not a hint of the diamonds. Not one.” “And you say you caught our friend Al in her car?” Reggie scowled at Al while he answered. The little lawyer’s eyes went wide and he scooted even closer to the passenger door. “That’s right. He says the diamonds weren’t there, either.” “They weren’t,” Al said. “I swear.” Reggie clamped his hand over his phone’s mic. “Shut up.” “Did you search him?” Joey asked.

Reggie balled his fist, stifling a groan. He hadn’t searched Al. But he would now. “Yes sir,” he lied. If he found the diamonds on Al, he’d still end up being the hero for the day. “Then maybe the diamonds are still in the car. Maybe you and Al need to go find the damn Volkswagen and take another look.” Joey paused. “And maybe you should have a little chat with our friend about where exactly he hid my merchandise.” “Yes sir.” “And Reggie,” Joey added, “be persuasive.”

Chapter 10 Turner couldn’t meet with me right away, so I figured it was time to tackle my next problem. I needed to tell Mallory about Kenny’s unfortunate demise. And I needed to tell her I was still on the case—whether she wanted me on it or not. I was in a seedy bar just off Wilshire and she’d promised to meet me there. I looked up when she slid into the booth beside me. “Kenny’s dead,” I said, foregoing the usual pleasant preliminaries. “I know. I read the papers.” “And Sarah?” I asked. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Isn’t it obvious, Mr. Monroe. Sarah’s gone.” “You don’t know that.” She took a sip of her drink, her lipstick leaving a print on her glass. “I do know that, Mr. Monroe.” I picked up my glass and shook it, the clatter of ice cubes keeping time with my random thoughts. What was she saying? I didn’t know, but I intended to find out. Her hand pressed down on my thigh. “Please, Mr. Monroe, just walk away.” “I can’t do that, babe.” “Why not?” she pouted. “I’m not paying you anymore.” “Guess I’m just the curious sort,” I said. She leaned closer. “Well, don’t be.” She stroked my cheek. “It’s over, Mr. Monroe.” Her finger traced my lips and I groaned. “It’s over,” she repeated, her lips brushing mine. “Just let it go.” I tried to resist, but she was like a drug. Addictive, but oh so appealing, and damn my soul to hell, I lost myself again in those lips. A drowning man, true, but a man happy to go under one more time… David blinked, pulling his thoughts back to the reality where he wasn’t making love to Jacey. The reality where she was standing in the doorway looking more than a little wary about the looks Finn and Millie were shooting her way. Right. Time to rescue the girl. He took her elbow and steered her inside, nodding in turn to his aunt and his friend. “Millie and Finn are helping me out today.” He aimed a you behave look at Millie, then said, “Jacey’s apartment was burglarized. She’ll be staying with me for a while.”

Finn immediately jumped up, clearing a place for her on the couch. “Are you okay? Did they take anything?” Jacey glanced at David, as if seeking strength, and his heart lurched even as he told himself he was being stupid. “I’m not even sure he got into the rest of the apartment,” she said. “Jacey ran into him in the bathroom,” David said, pantomiming a door smacking the burglar in the face. “Our Jacey’s got some pretty attuned self-defense skills.” She laughed and he gave himself a brownie point. Then he made a mental note to teach her some real self-defense skills. From the way things were shaping up, it looked like she was going to need them. Millie left her stack of folders on his desk and came over to sit down next to Jacey. She patted her hand. “You poor dear, to be in the middle of all of this.” “Millie…” David laced his voice with a tone of warning. He hadn’t mentioned anything about Al to Jacey yet, and he’d hoped to approach it a little more subtly. “Now, David, don’t be modest. Your hunch was right.” “What hun—” “My David will protect you,” Millie continued over Jacey. “Don’t you fret.” Jacey looked from David to Millie to Finn and back to David again. The fear he’d seen in her eyes earlier had returned. Shit. He rubbed his temple, moving to sit on the armrest, and taking her other hand, his fingers twining with hers. Millie’s approving expression didn’t escape his notice, but he didn’t care. At the moment, he wanted Jacey to feel safe, and if that fueled Millie’s delusions of matrimony, then so be it. David shrugged. “I’ve been doing a little snooping around, trying to find out about your Al.” Jacey’s eyes widened. “Really? Why?” A hard question. “Nosy, I guess.” Finn coughed into his hand and David shot him a scathing look. “The point is, there’s some funny stuff going on,” David said. The fear left Jacey’s eyes, replaced by interest. “Are you saying you think my mugging was related to this afternoon?” “I’m saying I don’t know,” David said, moving to sit on the coffee table so he was facing her and Millie. “It’s pretty convoluted, but in a nutshell, Al worked for Melvin Clements. Clements represented Joey Malone, who’s a big deal mob boss, and the cops think Malone stole about a million dollars’ worth of diamonds. Except no one can find the diamonds. Then Al gives you a fake name and everyone in the world except you thinks that Albert Alcott is dead.” He met Jacey’s eyes. “You see where this is going?” “Oh, yeah.” Jacey licked her lips. “Wow.” “No shit,” Finn said. “We could be plotting one of David’s books.” True enough. Except in this case, David already had a plot. Jacey’s story—or, rather, Al’s story —had fallen into his lap. He’d called Marva after Chuck had left and told her to do the deal. It galled him to have to put his novel on the back burner, but this was something he had to do. And Marva promised that the deal would be final by the end of the week. In just a few days, he’d get his advance and his bank account would be replenished. Not a fortune, but enough to pay off Millie’s debt, make the IRS happy, and finalize the plans for his trip to Paris. “What does any of this have to do with me?” Jacey asked. “I don’t know anything about diamonds.”

David and Finn exchanged glances. “That’s the part we don’t know,” David admitted. “But you’re in this somehow.” “Maybe it’s all coincidence?” Jacey said, the question in her voice making clear that she didn’t believe in coincidences any more than he did. “Maybe,” David said, happy to let her live in fanta-syland for a few more minutes. “Nonsense,” Millie said. “We gal Fridays are right on the money with our hunches.” She took Jacey’s hand and squeezed. “But don’t you worry, dear. David will make it all right.” “Your loyalty is overwhelming,” David said. “But I was trying to make Jacey feel better.” “Oh,” Millie said, managing to look a little sheepish. “It’s okay,” Jacey said. “Millie’s right. If I’m in the middle of this, I need to know. Pretending it’s not happening isn’t going to make it go away.” She looked from David to Finn. “But are we sure? And if I am in the middle, then why?” “No definitive proof,” Finn admitted. “Unless…” “What?” David, Jacey, and Millie asked in unison. “I was just wondering if the burglar was spilling his guts to the cops.” “He’s probably shooting his mouth off all over the place,” David said. “But not to the cops. He was gone by the time Cartwright and crew got there.” “Well, damn,” Finn said. “Fingerprints?” Millie asked. David nodded. “They’ll dust, but who knows if they’ll get a clean print.” He turned to Jacey. “Was he wearing gloves?” She closed her eyes, then slowly shook her head. “I don’t think so, but I’m not sure. I got out of there pretty fast. I mostly remember his big feet and his face.” David twirled his hand in front of him. “Well?” “Oh. Right. I told the detective all this earlier.” She tucked one leg under her. “He had dark hair— Finn’s color, so a little darker than you, but shorter. His eyes were closed, but his eyebrows grew together in the middle. Not heavy, but enough to be a unibrow. I think he’d broken his nose a couple of times and it was red, like he’d been in the sun too long.” She drew in a breath, shivering a little. “But the thing I really noticed was the scar.” She traced her finger over her cheek. “Thin, like from a sharp blade, but really jagged.” She pulled her hand away to hug herself. “I don’t think he’d had it stitched up.” “Shit,” Finn whispered. David turned to him. “What?” “Just a sec.” He got up and moved to David’s computer and started typing, while Jacey, David, and Millie exchanged clueless glances. After a few minutes, he called Jacey over. David followed. “Is that him?” Finn asked, pointing to the monitor. Jacey gasped and stepped back into David’s arms. He held her close, absurdly pleased that she’d moved so automatically into his embrace. “How’d you know that?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper. Finn twisted to face them, his face more serious than could remember. “That’s Reggie Barton,” he said. “Joey Malone’s head honcho thug.”

Jacey’s stomach clenched and she was grateful for David’s strong arms around her. Considering the way her knees felt, he was probably holding her up. “Joey Malone,” she repeated. “The same Joey Malone you said was a mob boss? My burglar works for him?” Finn nodded. “Afraid so. He was all over the news before I moved to Boston. It was right around the time Mike made detective.” He turned to David. “Remember?” David nodded. “Yup. Barton was bad news.” “This just keeps getting worse,” Jacey said. She closed her eyes, soaking David’s strength in through his touch, at the moment happy just to have his support. Who would have guessed that the same man who drove her nuts last week would be the man she was now looking to for comfort? “Nasty machine Malone’s got in place,” Finn added, pulling Jacey away from her thoughts. “The mafia?” Jacey asked, managing to talk despite the cotton that was suddenly filling up her mouth. “What does the mafia want with me?” “Technically, Malone’s not the mafia,” Finn said, getting up and leaning against the wall. “He’s more like—” “I don’t care what he is,” Jacey said, her voice practically a screech. “He’s a thug and he’s bad and he’s after me!” She paused to catch her breath, turning to face David straight on. “Why?” David’s hands closed over her shoulders. “My guess is that he thinks you’ve got the diamonds,” he said. Jacey searched his eyes to see if he was serious. Apparently, he was. “That’s insane. Why on earth would I have them? If anyone has them, it’s Al, and he’s skipped the country or something.” “That’s true,” Millie said, getting up and heading for the kitchen. “I bet he assumed a new identity so he could sip daiquiris on a beach.” “Right,” Jacey said, with a wave toward her new ally. “Millie’s totally right. Al took off with the diamonds and is living the high life somewhere. So why would anyone in their right mind think I have any connection to the diamonds whatsoever?” “Oh, my dear,” Millie said. She glanced at Jacey over the pass-through bar as she adjusted the heat under a kettle of water. “I don’t think Joey Malone is in his right mind.” “At the risk of inflating her ego,” David said, his hands leaving her shoulders as he walked back to the couch, “I’m going to agree with Millie on that one.” Jacey groaned, then took Finn’s place behind David’s desk. She buried her face in her hands, idly wondering whether, if she kicked her heels together, all of this would go away. She tried it, then peeked through her fingers. Nope. Nothing had changed. She took a deep breath to summon courage, then looked up. “How you doing, kid?” David asked. She grimaced. “Still wondering what I did to deserve this.” “Want to hear my theory?” She nodded. Beside her, Finn chuckled. “Considering the books he writes, this should be interesting.” “Who’s for tea?” Millie asked. Jacey held up a hand, happy to latch onto something as normal as tea while her world was tilting on its axis. “I think they saw you,” David said, ignoring Earl Grey and jumping straight into his theory.

She blinked. “Come again?” “In San Diego. They saw you and Al together.” “He’s got to be right,” Finn said, nodding. “And they figure you’re in cahoots with Al,” Millie said, carrying in a tray laden with teacups, a cream pitcher, and a sugar bowl. Finn took the tray, while David moved into the kitchen and turned the fire off under the kettle. “Cahoots,” Jacey repeated, feeling a little sick to her stomach that her wild weekend had landed her in this much trouble. So much for safe sex. “You know,” Millie said. “In on it.” “I know what it means,” Jacey said. “I just can’t believe that they’d really think I’ve got a cut of the diamonds.” “Either that or they think you know where Al ran off to.” David reappeared, carrying a tea kettle. He put it down on the coffee table, using some ripped-out magazine pages as a coaster. Jacey frowned, then glanced around the apartment, realizing for the first time that it seemed cleaner than it had when she was there before. “Tea?” Millie asked, reaching for the kettle. “Yes, please,” Jacey said. She shifted, aiming her words at all three of them. “But I don’t know where Al is.” David and Finn glanced at each other. “So maybe that’s what we need to figure out.” David’s gaze met hers. “If we find Al, we find the diamonds. And if we find the diamonds, we can get these guys off your back.” Jacey licked her lips. “We? What about the police?” “The police have other things to do. Right now, I’m wide open.” She nibbled on her lip. “I don’t know if I can afford to pay for this. I mean—” David shook his head. “Gratis,” he said. “I want to help you.” He drew in a deep breath. “And the fact is, you’d be helping me, too.” Jacey frowned. “I’d be helping you?” David raked his hand through his hair, then explained about the book. “It seemed like too good an opportunity to turn down,” he said, not wanting to get into the money thing with Millie in the room. “But to do it right, I need your help. What do you say?” She didn’t answer right away and David was almost afraid she was going to say no. Then she nodded and he did a mental high five. “So where do we start?” Jacey asked. “At the beginning, of course,” Millie answered, dropping two cubes of sugar into a cup, then filling it with tea before passing it to Jacey. “Two lumps, right?” Jacey nodded and David marveled at his aunt’s social etiquette in the face of the gathering storm clouds. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. If he got sidetracked every time they were faced with one of Millie’s eccentricities, they’d be there until Christmas. “We start with Al,” he said. He got up and headed for the computer. “What do we know about him and what can we find out?” “Right,” Finn said. “He must have had help. A fence to sell the diamonds, maybe. Someone who

arranged a fake passport.” “Someone to provide the body,” Jacey said, her voice barely a whisper. David turned to her, noticing immediately how pale she’d become. All the blood had drained from her face and her freckles seemed to be floating. “Come on,” he said, gathering her up and leading her to the couch. “You need to lie down.” She followed willingly and he squeezed in beside her, holding her hand. She clung to him and he closed his other hand over their intertwined ones, silently letting her know that he’d be right there for as long as she needed him. “She’s right,” Finn said. “They found a body.” He shrugged. “Or, not a body, but…” He trailed off with a pointed glance toward Jacey. “Pieces,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. I can handle it. It’s just a little overwhelming.” “But no teeth,” Millie said, and everyone turned to look at her. “Didn’t the article mention that?” Finn nodded. “Even with the explosion, there should have been something. Maybe not enough to match a dental record, but still—” “Pieces,” Jacey said again. “There should have been tooth pieces.” She grimaced. “This is getting really morbid.” She shivered, then pulled down the quilt that was draped across the back of David’s couch, curling up underneath it. She tugged her hand away in the process and for a moment David felt a little lost. If she could comfort herself so easily with his quilt, then what the hell did she need him for? He gave himself a mental kick in the balls, which apparently had stepped in and taken over for his brain. She didn’t need him. Not for the long term. And that was fine with him. “Child, you’re exhausted.” David looked up to find Millie hovering over Jacey, who took a deep breath and nodded. “It’s been a long day.” David felt like a heel for not realizing how tired she was. “Okay, everybody out. We can play detective again tomorrow. Tonight, Jacey needs some sleep.” “I’m not sleepy,” Jacey said. “Just wiped.” “Whatever,” David said. “You need to relax and get your mind off this.” “Mel,” Millie said, pulling her Lethal Weapon tape back out of her briefcase. “You can relax with Mel.” She nodded, as if she’d just doled out wisdom worthy of Confucius and plunked the tape down on the table next to Jacey’s tea. Jacey smiled, as if Millie was the most normal old lady on the planet and damned if David didn’t want to kiss her for that. “Thanks, Millie.” Millie patted her hand and headed for the door, accepting David’s kiss on her cheek before she stepped outside. Finn followed, ready to help her navigate the stairs, but David pulled him aside at the door. “Al’s old roomie seemed more than a little odd,” David said. “Will you do me a favor and give Cartwright a call. I’d like to see if anything interesting pops up on Brad Stemple.” “For you? Not a chance. For her? No problem.” David rolled his eyes. “Very nice. Remind me to trade you in for a new best friend.” Finn chuckled. “I’ll be sure and bring it up.” He glanced over David’s shoulder into the apartment. “In the meantime, maybe you should go back in there and see what you can do to take the lady’s mind off her troubles.” David grimaced, but didn’t answer. Because, truth be told, he’d been thinking that exact same thing.

Jacey kept the quilt tucked firmly around her, afraid that if she let go, she’d also let go of her self-control. It had been a strange and unusual couple of days and at the moment she didn’t really trust herself. Not that she ever had the best judgment where men were concerned, but right then she definitely wasn’t operating on all cylinders. Behind her, the door creaked open and she twisted around to see David come back in. “Lucy’s here,” he said. “Finn’s going to pull her into the garage and lock her up for the night.” He pointed to a key hanging from a nail near the door. “That’s the garage key if you need to get anything out of her later.” Jacey smiled. Silly, but she felt better just knowing Lucy was nearby. “Thanks.” She considered going down right then, but ruled it out. David’s apartment had become a pseudo-sanctuary and she intended to stay put for as long as she could. David stood there, his hands shoved in his pockets. She licked her lips, not certain what to think about the way his gaze covered her, but aware enough to know that it made her shiver. After a few seconds, he shook his head, as if clearing spiderwebs. “Why don’t I move your bag to the bedroom and get you some fresh sheets?” “I told you,” she said. “The couch is fine.” “Sweetheart, my Knight in Shining Armor card comes with strict rules and regulations. You don’t want me to lose my charter membership, do you?” She fought a grin. “Well, I would hate for something like that to be on my conscience.” She shifted on the couch, turning to see him better. “So what other rules are there? Am I going to get any more benefits? Or just a double bed instead of a couch?” His eyes widened. “Double bed? Woman, you wound me. I wouldn’t deign to sleep in anything smaller than a king.” “Really?” She hugged herself, tingling slightly at the thought of rolling over and over with David on a big, firm, king-size mattress. Mentally she shook her head, forcing herself back to the reality where she was sane and not doing stupid things in the name of lust. “Well,” she said, conjuring a perky smile, “guess I’ve fallen into the lap of luxury.” “I’d say so.” He met her eyes, his dark with something she dared not analyze. “Hell, my bed’s so big we could both sleep in it and practically be in different counties.” Jacey swallowed. Maybe he was right, but she wasn’t about to tempt fate. If they both went into that room, sometime during the night one of them would cross the county line. And although the thought of finding sweet forgetfulness in his arms was tempting, her head kept reminding her that she didn’t believe in one-night stands. “I’ll take the bed,” she finally said. “But let’s not test your theory, okay? You get the couch.” Disappointment flashed in his eyes so quickly she wasn’t entirely sure she saw it. Then he grinned, revealing that adorable dimple. “Your wish and all that jazz.” “From the Knight Etiquette Handbook?” she asked. “I think you need a little practice.” She sat up, tossing the quilt aside and twisting around so her feet were on the floor. She was still in Tasha’s suit —still wearing the jacket, even—but she couldn’t quite bring herself to change clothes. Somehow, the idea of going into David’s bathroom and stripping down to her undies, then pulling on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt seemed too intimate, too dangerous. Best to stay for a while as she was and pretend to be cool and professional. She could have the illusion even if she didn’t have the reality. “It’s not that late, but you’ve had a long day.” He nodded toward the room. “If you’re ready to

crash, don’t feel like you have to stay up and be polite.” “I’m not being polite,” she said, then clapped her hand over her mouth when she realized how that sounded. “I mean—” He laughed. “Don’t worry.” “Open mouth, insert foot,” she said. “How about inserting dessert instead?” He headed for the kitchen. “You hungry?” She nodded, realizing with a start that she hadn’t had anything except Millie’s tea since lunch with Tasha. “Starved.” He paused long enough to look back at her. “Would you rather have real food?” The corner of his mouth curled up, a slow, languid movement. “I could order Chinese.” She matched his grin, feeling surprisingly comfortable despite the unspoken offer. “Just dessert,” she said, her voice firm. “Besides, you owe me ice cream.” “That I do.” He headed the rest of the way into the kitchen. She followed, then leaned up against the counter, as he pulled a skillet from one of the lower cabinets, giving her a nice view of his rear. Yup. Just as nice as she’d noticed the other day. She drew in a breath, wondering if she wouldn’t have been smarter to wait on the couch. “You’re lucky,” he added. “I went shopping. I’ve got ice cream and all sorts of good stuff.” “Get bit by the domestic bug?” she asked, thinking about the dent she’d noticed in the mess he called his living room. He dropped a stick of butter onto the skillet, the instant sizzle making her jump and the decadent smell of butter immediately assaulting her senses. “Nothing that drastic. Just stocking up on supplies.” As if to illustrate, he opened his cabinets and started pulling brown sugar and cinnamon from their depths. He turned to face her and she recognized the expression on his face—the same excited look she’d seen in the mirror when she was working on a collage or a mural. “Take a look in that cabinet, would you?” he asked. “I’m looking for banana liqueur.” She complied, pleased to be helping, even if only a little. Her culinary skills sucked, although she could whip together a pretty good tuna salad—assuming the kitchen had tuna and the rest of the ingredients. In her kitchen, that was a big assumption. David, on the other hand, moved like a natural in the kitchen. And, frankly, those movements were pretty darn erotic. She found the bottle and passed it to him. “What are we having?” “A surprise,” he said. “Ever been to New Orleans?” “No.” She’d always wanted to go—she’d heard the galleries were amazing—but had never managed to pull it together. “A New Orleans favorite,” he said. “I think you’ll like it.” “I’m sure I will,” she said, not doubting it for a minute. Heck, the butter alone smelled delicious and he hadn’t done anything more than turn on the heat. Bottle in hand, David turned back to the stove, then started mixing the sugar and cinnamon. Despite the incongruity of his well-muscled arms, he looked perfectly at home with a metal bowl and a whisk. She just watched him for a minute, taking in his fluid movements, imagining how his confidence in the kitchen would translate in the bedroom. Her pulse beat in her throat and she swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, apparently parched from the heat spreading through her body to pool between her thighs.

David poured the sugar mix into the skillet, stirring the whole concoction until it started bubbling. The syrupy sweet scent enticed her and she edged closer, peering over his shoulder and breathing deep. The smell evoked memories—county fairs with candy vendors hawking their wares while her mother sold fifteen-minute portraits to tourists. “Want to stir?” he asked. She jumped, realizing he’d stopped and was holding the spoon at the side of the pan, ready for her to take it. “Oh, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t know—” “You can’t ruin it. Don’t worry.” Before she could protest, he moved so that now she was in front of the stove, with David standing behind her—a solid male wall. She clutched the wooden spoon and swished it around on the pan, sure she was going to turn whatever he was making into inedible goo. His breath teased the hair near her ear, his low chuckle trilling up her spine. “Not like that,” he said. He reached around her, moving closer so that her back was pressed against his hard chest and her rear was firmly tucked against him. She was flattered but not surprised when she felt his erection push against her. After all, her body had reacted to nothing more erotic than his proximity and now that he was touching her, she was having to call on every ounce of willpower to keep from begging him to make love to her. It would be so easy, too. All she needed was to wiggle her butt. Just tease him a little so that he lost control and she could get swept away in the moment. But no. She couldn’t go there. Making love to David wasn’t part of her plan, even if it was getting harder and harder to remember why. So instead, she held her breath, using all her concentration to focus on the stove. His hand closed over hers, gentle yet insistent. A man’s hands, whose fingers could stroke and play her until she couldn’t do anything but beg. Oh Lord. She exhaled, then inhaled again. Clearly, she needed to get oxygen to her brain. “Don’t try so hard,” he said, guiding her hand in firm, yet fluid motions. “Pretend you’re painting a sunset.” She nodded, wanting to please him, to show him that she could do this. With her eyes closed, she imagined she was holding a paintbrush, the bristles drenched in a golden orange as she feathered the sky with hints of color. “That’s it,” he said. His arm tightened around her waist and she leaned against him. Heat spread through her, radiating from the points where their bodies touched. She sighed, losing herself to everything but the moment as his heat consumed her. “You’re doing great.” She smiled, idly wondering if they could just stay that way all night, touching and stirring. But all too soon, he backed away and her body mourned the loss of his heat. “You’re not leaving me to do this alone, are you?” “I have faith,” he said. He cocked his head toward the opposite counter. “And if we’re going to eat this dessert, I need to cut up a few bananas. Unless you’d rather cut while I stir.” “No,” she said, the word escaping even before the sound of his last word faded. Silly, maybe, but handling phallic-shaped fruit probably wasn’t in her best interest at the moment. Not if she intended to sleep alone in David’s bed. And that was still her intention, no matter how hard her body was arguing otherwise. His grin zipped all the way to her toes and Jacey felt her cheeks warm, sure that he had completely clued in to her reasoning. “No problem,” he said, moving across the kitchen.

Strong and confident, he wielded the knife as he peeled then quartered the bananas, the muscles in his upper arm tightening under the thin material of his T-shirt. He set them aside, then moved to the freezer and pulled out a gallon of vanilla ice cream. He scooped a hardy portion into two deep cereal bowls before moving back beside her. “You want the honors, or shall I?” “You,” she said, stepping aside and handing him the spoon. He set it on the drainboard and picked up two forks before dropping the banana pieces into the skillet. She watched as David easily basted the bananas, getting them all nice and gooey in the sauce. She was impressed. If she were doing that, she’d have ended up with strained bananas whether she wanted them or not. Jacey stayed right behind him, drawn like a moth to a flame. No one in her family cooked worth a damn, Tasha could barely boil water, and the only guy she’d ever heard of who cooked on a regular basis was Wolfgang Puck. To say she was impressed was an understatement. “Where’d you learn to cook?” she asked, peering over his shoulder and breathing deep. Yum. Her mouth watered some more. “Taught myself,” he said. “It seemed like a cool thing to do.” “Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “Most guys think demolition derbies are cool. Not messing around in a kitchen.” “Spenser,” David said. Jacey frowned. That made no sense. “Huh?” “Haven’t you read Robert B. Parker?” He was still stirring, so she just aimed a blank stare at the back of his head. He turned around. “No?” “No.” “Pass me the liqueur,” he said. She did, unscrewing the lid for him before handing it over. “Spenser,” he continued. “Totally cool private eye in Boston. He cooks.” “Oh!” Okay, that made some sense. “I’ve seen some of the TV movies.” She frowned. “But isn’t he like some gourmet cook?” “I went straight for the important stuff,” David said. He moved the skillet off the fire, then poured some liqueur carefully into the pan before aiming a wide grin at her. “Are you ready? Because it’s Showtime.” Jacey had no idea what the big deal was. It smelled wonderful, true, but it looked pretty goopy. Still, David seemed to be expecting a response, so she said, “Sure.” And when she did, David tilted the pan. A pure blue flame burst forth, leaping and dancing almost as high as the stove hood. Jacey clapped, totally delighted. “Wow,” she said. “And here I thought Chips Ahoy dunked in ice cream was a fancy dessert. Shows what I know.” David’s eyes crinkled. “Don’t knock the simple pleasures,” he said. His slight grin zinged straight to her heart and she gasped, suddenly sad when he looked away. “Why don’t you grab those bowls?” She nodded, then passed the bowls his way, watching as he scooped two slices of banana out for each of them, then drizzled some of the warm syrup on the ice cream. A bit of syrup spilled over the edge and David caught it with his finger. “Bananas Foster,” he said. “I hope you enjoy.” She swallowed, imagining her lips closing on his fingertip. Oh, yeah. She’d enjoy all right. “Jace?”

She blinked, her cheeks warming when she realized where her mind had wandered. “Oh, right. I’ m sure I’ll love it.” If that wasn’t the understatement of the year. One spoonful and she was in heaven. The dessert was practically orgasmic and she idly wondered if she ought to get David to share the recipe with Tasha. Maybe her roomie could use the dessert as a substitute for sex with Bob. “What’s so funny?” David asked. She shook her head, not about to share that secret with him. “Just my mind wandering.” She took another bite, letting the confection melt in her mouth. “This really is amazing.” “I’m glad you approve,” he said. He took a step closer and Jacey automatically stepped back, until her hip bumped the edge of the sink. A lazy grin spread across David’s face as he reached out, the edge of his thumb grazing the sensitive skin of her lower lip, leaving it tingling in his wake. All her blood pooled between her thighs and her knees threatened to give out. “You dribbled some,” he said, his voice a low rumble. And then, without ever taking his eyes from hers, he put his thumb in his own mouth and licked the sauce off. She pressed her lips tight together, afraid that if she didn’t, she’d mew like a kitten. This was a bad idea—where her thoughts were heading, where he was heading—a very bad idea. She knew that. Somewhere deep down inside, she knew it well. But damned if she could remember why. No, right then, all she wanted was to toss the dessert aside and taste this man. Forget sweets, forget ice cream. She wanted spicy. She wanted hot. So help her, she wanted David. “I think I missed some,” he said. His thumb brushed her lip again. “Right here.” He touched her mouth with his thumb, gently urging her to part her lips, to let him in. She did, her mouth opening with a little sigh as he slipped his thumb inside. She licked the sauce from his thumb, her tongue laving the slightly rough skin. Then, without ever taking her eyes from his, she closed her lips around him and sucked, drawing his thumb in and out, in and out. The erotic rhythm took hold and her body pulsed in anticipation. David groaned and Jacey felt her nipples peak, his response turning her on as much as his touch. She concentrated on his thumb, wanting to hear his sounds of passion, wanting to give him pleasure. With her tongue, she teased and tasted, letting this wild, wanton feeling in her body build slowly. He kept his eyes closed and a wave of power crashed over her. She was doing this. She was turning this man on. The thought intoxicated her. Heck, he intoxicated her. And when he opened his eyes and looked at her, she knew she’d suffer through the worst kind of hangover if it meant she got to spend the night making love with this man. “Have you ever made love in a kitchen?” he asked, his voice raw. She shook her head, sure she was blushing. She’d been thinking that very thing, but somehow it was so much more decadent to hear the words spoken. “Unless you tell me to stop now, sweetheart, you’re about to.” “I’m not going to say a thing,” she whispered. She felt bold and wild and the sensation was freeing. “Good,” he said. He took her hands in his, urging her to tug on the hem of his shirt. She did, pulling it out from the waistband of his jeans. Slipping her hands under, she splayed her fingers over the

solid wall of his chest, smooth except for a silky smattering of hair. Boldly, she urged the shirt up and over his head, then let it drop to the floor behind them. Bending at the waist, she pressed her lips against his skin, his warmth surprising her. The man was a furnace, all heat and power, and right then she wanted nothing more than to be consumed by that power—and to tame it. She dusted his chest with light kisses, pausing to tease his nipples with her tongue before moving up to kiss the soft spot at the base of his throat. She felt as much as heard his low noise. A wild, primal sound of longing. In a rough move, he grabbed her by the hips, then slid his hands up to her waist and around until he found the skirt’s zipper. She heard the distinctive sound of the metal teeth parting and then the skirt hung loose on her hips. David eased it down, letting it drop to the floor as the cool air caressed her now bare thighs. She stepped out of the circle of the skirt and he kicked it away. “The jacket, too,” he said. She nodded and slipped her arms out of the sleeves. “It’s Tasha’s,” she said, as he tossed it into the corner with the skirt. “I’ll buy her another,” he said, his gaze burning a path down her near-naked body. She stood before him now, clad in only the silk blouse and her underwear. Her body tingled all over, aching for his touch, and she moved toward him, silently begging for his caress. He heard her plea. Reaching down, he slipped his hands between her thighs, stroking her sex through the thin material with the palm of his hand. “Is that what you want?” he asked, his voice hoarse. She nodded, not sure of her ability to form words. “Or maybe it’s this,” he said, slipping first one finger, then another under the satin crotch. Jacey moaned, wet and desperate, her hips moving of their own volition. His fingers delved into her soft folds and her body tensed, every nerve on hyperalert as he stroked the ultrasensitive skin. He teased her a bit, his finger dancing near to her core, but never quite there. She squirmed under the sweet torment, silently begging him for more. Instead, he slid his hands away and she moaned in protest. “Trust me,” he whispered, grabbing her by the hips and lifting her to the counter. In one definitive motion, he spread her legs, moving between them, so that the cool countertop pressed against her rear contrasted with the warmth gathering where their bodies touched. He kept one hand on her hip, pinioning her in place, as the other cupped her mound, stroking her through the thin material of her panties. The feel of him there made her ache for more intimate contact and she arched back in need, her pulse pounding through her body, its tempo increasing with the unspoken promise of his touch. “Kiss me,” she begged, straightening and looking deep in his eyes. His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue, hard and demanding, seeking entrance. She opened to him, the kiss hot and wet, tinged with the seductive taste of cinnamon and sugar. A slow heat spread through her and her body tingled, the sensation pooling at her core. His fingers still teased her and she wriggled her hips, the decadent sensation overwhelming her. His mouth moved over her and the kiss turned wilder, more demanding. He took his hand off her hip, moving it up to cup her head, his fingers twined in her hair as he held her in place, his mouth taking what he wanted, his need palpable. Electricity burned through her veins and she met his kiss with a hunger of her own. When he pulled away, breaking contact only slightly, she moaned in protest. “Tell me,” he murmured, his lips touching hers even while he spoke. “Tell me what you want.” She didn’t even hesitate. “You.” She locked her legs around his thighs, urging him even closer, cursing the damn jeans he still wore. “I want you,” she whispered. “I want all of you.”

Something flashed in his eyes. Something hot and dangerous. “Ah, sweetheart,” he said, his fingers grasping at the thin material of her panties. He pulled and her gasp rivaled the sound of the material as it ripped away. “I think you just about made my day.”

Chapter 11 I knew she didn’t want me. I wasn’t the kind of mug a dame like Mallory went after. No, the woman had an agenda. She wanted to distract me. To keep me from looking for Sarah. And damned if I didn’t play right into her hands. “It won’t work, Mallory,” I whispered. “You can’t distract me that easily.” “Can’t I?” she asked. And then she proceeded to try. Her lips enticed and her body made promises I knew she wouldn’t keep. I was a fool for falling for her and I damn well knew it. But I couldn’t help myself. Sarah, I could look for later. Right then, all I could do was hang on and enjoy the ride. • • • Damn, but he wanted this woman. Even though he knew he shouldn’t. Even though he knew he wasn’t what she wanted and that in the end he’d disappoint her. Despite all that, he wanted her. And right then, that was all that mattered. “David.” His name on her lips was like a sigh and he quit thinking. Instead, there was just Jacey. Her scent, her touch, and the promise that he could bury himself in her and finally quench the fire that had been burning since she’d walked into his life. Her nipples, already ripe and hard, pressed against the silk of her shirt, begging for his touch. She must have been wearing only a thin bra, because he could see them clearly, and he moved his hands down her sides, letting his thumbs graze her breasts, then inched in to tease those peaks. A breathy noise escaped her and he bent down, taking her breast in his mouth even through the thin layer of silk. She moaned, her legs clamping tighter around him as she leaned back, propping herself on the countertop, the movement giving him easier access to her breast. His stiff cock pressed against her, pulsing in demand, and he stifled the urge to unzip his jeans and sink himself deep inside her. Soon. Very soon. “Is this what you want?” he asked, taking his mouth away just long enough to form the words. “Yes,” she whispered, as his mouth closed over her again. Then, “No. More. Oh God, David, please, more.” The desperation in her voice fired him and he had to see her, had to touch her. He slipped his hands under the soft material. Her skin burned hot against his fingers, and he groaned, low and deep. He pulled his hands free, then went to work on the tiny buttons on the front of the shirt. “What is it with these damn little pearls?” he asked. She didn’t say a word, just clutched his shoulder with one hand as she undid each button with nimble fingers. She moved her hand down to the counter, using it for balance again as he pushed back the shirt until it fell off her shoulders, the material locking her arms behind her. Her bra clasped in front and with a quick snap, he unfastened it, freeing her breasts. Her nipples stood ready and at attention, the rosy skin around them puckered and tight. He bent low, covering her breast with his mouth. He licked her nipple, then concentrated on the other one, while her hands stroked and caressed his back. The taste of her enticed him and a primal need

burned through him, heating his blood to near boiling. When he’d had his fill, he lifted his head to smile at her. “Delicious.” “Glad you think so,” she said, her voice low and sexy. She shrugged out of the shirt, the bra falling to the counter with it, and he could only stare at the beautiful, naked woman trapped in his arms. “Let’s see if the rest of you is as delectable.” He drew a path with his tongue between her breasts and down toward her stomach, nipping and tasting, indulging in the sweet, salty taste of her skin. He dipped lower, teasing her belly button with the tip of his tongue. She writhed against him, silently letting him know she wanted more. His knees pressed against the tile floor as he knelt in front of her, his hands tight around the curve of her waist and his mouth skimming the soft skin of her inner thigh. He breathed deep, the musky, feminine scent pushing him toward the precipice. He shifted his gaze to the triangle of copper curls, now damp with longing. “David,” she whispered, and he heard the uncertainty in her voice even as she tried to press her thighs together, her efforts blocked by his shoulders. “Don’t you dare,” he said, tilting his head back to look her in the eye. “You’re beautiful.” He punctuated the words with a kiss on her thigh. Then another and another. When he felt her body tremble under his fingers, he dipped his head, laving her wet, slick heat with his tongue. She moaned, deep and wild, with an abandon that tugged at his groin. Her fingers plunged into his hair, holding tight even as her legs closed, her inner thighs clamping down around his ears. While his tongue danced over her, his hands caressed her butt, lifting her partially off the counter and holding tight as she trembled against him. She was so responsive, and with every little moan, every little shiver, he just got harder. He wanted to take her to the edge and so he didn’t waver in his ministrations. But when she started to quake he pulled back. Too soon. Much too soon and he wanted to see her face when she came. “David.” His name was a whisper of protest on her tongue. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said. “We’re just getting started.” He stood up, trailing kisses as he did so. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed. She reeked of sex and sin and she was all his. He was near exploding just from looking at her. Her eyelashes fluttered open and he caught the dreamy expression in her eyes. She sat up straight, hooking her arms around his neck. He fought the urge to undo his fly, grab her by the hips, and thrust forward, impaling her on him. Soon, but not yet. For all he knew, he’d never make love to Jacey Wilder again. He intended to do everything in his power to make it last as long as possible. As if reading his thoughts, Jacey’s delicate hands traced down his chest, then moved down to the closure of his jeans. She tackled the button, then started to inch his zipper down. David caught her hands, stopping her. Considering how turned on he was at the moment, he feared a serious zipper accident unless he handled that bit of choreography himself. “What—?” He silenced her with a finger to her lips. “Let me,” he said, pulling his jeans and boxers down and stepping out of them. He moved back toward her, settling in as her thighs pressed against his sides, the softness of her bare skin against him teasing his senses. His erection stood out, firm and demanding, poking against her. Just one quick thrust and he could be inside her, buried deep in her velvety heat. “David,” she whispered. “Hush.” He intended to go slow, speeding up only when neither one of them could stand it anymore.

His fingertips grazed over her face, down her nose, over her lips, down her chin. He traced the elegant curve of her neck, then down until his fingertips closed around her nipple and he rolled the tight little nub between his fingers. She moaned and he closed his mouth over hers, stifling the sound. This was a three-fold assault and he eased his hips forward, reaching down to guide himself into her. But just barely. Just enough to torment them both. He rocked forward, sinking slightly into her as she contracted around him. She squirmed forward to meet him, her fingers sinking into his shoulders when he pulled back. Again he lost himself to her sweetness, barely entering her before pulling back, just enough to whet her appetite and his. She broke their kiss, her head tossed back in passion, her arm around his neck clutching tight to him. “David,” she begged. “Now.” He needed no further encouragement. Grasping her hips, he sank all the way into her. Her wet heat enveloped him completely and he rocked into her, watching her face as the cyclone built. Her breath came in unsteady spurts and he shifted slightly, the need to find the exact spot overwhelming. She gasped, letting him know his efforts had succeeded. He thrust harder, lifting her hips to go even deeper. A flush spread over her body and she contracted around him, tighter and tighter as she clung to his neck. Her body quaked and shivered and she cried out as the force of her orgasm took her. He thrust again, harder and deeper until his explosion came as he clutched her with one hand even as he steadied himself with the other. A fine layer of sweat covered him and his heart pounded in his ears. When he was sure of his footing, he clung to her, burying his head between her breasts and breathing deep as the world slowed back down to its normal speed. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “Are you nuts?” she whispered as she stroked his hair. “What for? That was wonderful.” “No bed.” He tilted his head back to look in her eyes. “I don’t think the kitchen sink’s even on Hugh Hefner’s list.” She ran her fingers over his shoulders. “Maybe it should be.” She cocked her head to the side, her eyebrows furrowing. “What?” “Then again, maybe we should try the bed.” She licked her lips, her eyes dancing. “Maybe I need to do a little comparison shopping.” “You think so?” he asked. She nodded, her expression serious. “It would be the prudent thing to do.” “Hmmm. Comparison shopping, you say?” She nodded and he shifted her body, hooking his arm under her knees and carrying her toward the bedroom. “For you, sweetheart, anything,” he said. And he meant it. He made love to her over and over. Fast and hard, then slow and easy, like a sensual dance, until they were both too exhausted for any more and they fell asleep, the covers tangled around their legs, and David wasn’t sure where he ended and she began. Jacey pocketed the key as she slipped into the garage, the band around her chest dissolving a little when she saw Lucy. She traced her finger along the curve of the hood, cherishing the illusion of normalcy the car provided. Silly, really, since reality was peeking around all sides of the illusion. And reality was a world she

really didn’t want to deal with right then. Because in the real world, she was pretty sure that she was falling for the wrong man. She’d had to summon all her willpower to slip out of the warm circle of his arms, but she needed to get away. She needed distance, because David emitted signals that messed with her brain. Sighing, she pulled her cell phone out of the pocket of David’s sweatpants. She’d checked her messages before coming downstairs and Tasha had said she could call any time before two in the morning. Typical Tasha hours. “Well?” Tasha asked, the second she answered the phone. Jacey grinned; the miracle of caller ID. “As far as I know, the cops haven’t caught the guy. But Finn recognized him from my description.” She brought Tasha up to speed. “Wow,” Tasha said. “I’m just going to stay at Bob’s until this is all over. But that’s not what I was asking about.” She paused. “How was David?” Jacey frowned. “How on earth did you know?” “Oh, please.” Tasha said. “I saw the way you two look at each other. It had to happen.” “It was great,” Jacey admitted. “He was great.” Tasha released an exasperated groan. “Man, oh man. I never thought I’d see the day when I was living vicariously through you.” “Me, neither,” Jacey admitted. She opened Lucy’s door and pushed the driver’s seat forward, then started rummaging around in the backseat for her box of tools. Her fingers closed around an ignition wrench before she leaned back with a sigh. “Oh, Tash. What am I going to do?” Her heart wanted to crawl back into bed with David. Her head thought that would be royally stupid. “Do? Do David. Hell, I thought you already had.” “Very funny. I’m serious.” “I don’t see what the big deal is. You went for it. You enjoyed it. Good for you.” “Good for me,” Jacey repeated, musing. “I don’t know.” “Yes, good for you,” Tasha insisted. “You like the guy. Why torture yourself?” Jacey latched onto Tasha’s reasoning, turning the possibilities over in her head. “Maybe…” When they’d first met, she might have thought he was an asshole. But now she knew that, not for the first time, her impression of a man was diametrically opposed to the way the guy actually turned out to be. David wasn’t a jerk. He was sweet. Sweet and nice and sexy, and oh so hot in bed. And while they were investigating the whole Al’s diamond thing, it wasn’t as if she was going to have much time to spend looking for more promising long-term commitment prospects. No, she was pretty much stuck with David. So maybe it made sense to make the most of it? “No maybe about it,” Tasha said, her comment speaking directly to Jacey’s musings. “Enjoy yourself. You deserve a little fun.” Jacey took a deep breath. “You know what? You’re absolutely right.” “Good,” Tasha said. “Because I don’t really understand the downside of having a little fun with David.” Jacey had to grin. “Believe me, there’s no downside to the actual fun portion of the equation.” She sighed, remembering his hands on her body. “No downside at all.” “So you’re going to go crawl back in bed and jump him?”

Jacey laughed. “Maybe,” she said, before saying good-bye and clicking off. Maybe she would. Then again, the man did need his rest. And she needed to think. She traced her fingertip over Lucy ’s hood. Maybe she’d just tinker a little… “Jacey?” She jumped, her hand fluttering over her heart as she turned around to face David. “I woke up and you were gone.” He moved to stand by her, his presence distracting. He wore only sweatpants—no shirt and, unless she missed her guess, no underwear, either. Ironic, since she was wearing exactly the same thing, except she’d grabbed one of his T-shirts off a pile at the foot of the bed. She swallowed, resisting the urge to reach under the waistband and check her theory. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just wanted to see Lucy.” He stroked her cheek. “No, I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath, his chest rising, and she reached out, pressing her hand against the hard muscles, soaking in his warmth, her fingers twisting in his smattering of chest hair. Tonight, she’d claimed this man. For right then, anyway, he was hers and no one else’s. She swallowed, realizing the implications. No matter how proprietary she felt toward David, sometime in the near future some other woman would have her hand pressed there, would feel the ripple of David’s hard muscles under her skin. She frowned, not liking that scenario one little bit. His words registered and she looked up at him. “Sorry? Why on earth would you be sorry?” She pressed closer, wanting him to know how much he’d given her, how much she’d enjoyed giving right back. “I promised you. Some promise. Didn’t take me long to lose control.” “That’s okay. I didn’t manage to exert an overwhelming amount of restraint, either.” He twisted a strand of her hair around his finger, his eyes dancing. “No, I’d have to say you showed no restraint at all.” He raised his eyebrows. “I like that in a woman.” “Do you?” She licked her lips. “I do,” he said. His face turned serious. “But I can keep a promise. If you want—” “No.” She took a deep breath. “I know we’re looking for different things and I don’t have any illusions. I promise I won’t be some clingy female when it’s over, but in the meantime—while we’re trying to figure out this diamond thing—I want…” “What?” She took a deep breath, steeling her courage. “You.” She licked her lips. “In the meantime, I want you.” “You’re sure?” He tilted her chin up, the expression in his eyes somehow both sad and happy. She nodded, hoping she was doing the right thing for the moment, even if it wasn’t the right thing for her heart. “You’ve got me, babe. At least for now.” He cupped her cheek with the palm of his hand. “I’m sorry I’m not the man you’re looking for. But I can’t be something I’m not.” “I know.” She shrugged. “It’s like you said. We want different things.” “Exactly. It’s all about what we want.” His words were laced with an unfamiliar harshness and she cocked her head, trying to decipher the unspoken message. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Nothing. Just feeling sorry for myself.” He took a step, hooking his thumb over the waistband of

the sweats. “I’ve been working so hard on this damn novel and now I need to set it aside.” He shook his head. “I want it, but every time I reach out for it, I end up closing my fingers around something else.” “You’ll make it eventually. It’s a creative thing. It doesn’t work on a timetable.” “You’d do good to take your own advice,” he said. She swallowed. “I know. But I want more than just a career in art. I want—well, you know what I want. And since I can’t seem to have both, I had to decide which was more important to me.” Surprisingly, he nodded. “Believe me, babe. I know all about priorities.” “Can I read it?” she asked, then immediately regretted the words. She regretted them even more when she saw the way his face closed off to her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” “Yes.” He nodded, then, more strongly, “Yes, you can.” He smiled then, sincere and trusting. “I think I’d like that.” “You’re sure?” He nodded. “I’m sure.” “Thank you.” She wanted to say more, to let him know that she understood how much he was offering her, but she couldn’t really find the words. “I don’t understand what’s getting in your way,” she said instead. “If this is what you really want, then why are you writing Al’s story?” “I need the money. My ex-wife. The damn IRS.” He half snorted. “There’s more, but you get the drift. Everything’s conspiring to push me away from fiction and right smack into true crime.” “I guess that’s a good reason,” she said. Certainly she couldn’t argue. After all, she’d traded in her paintbrushes for a spreadsheet. “The upside is I’ll have enough money to go to Paris. The downside is I can’t go until I finish researching this book. Then I’ll hole up over there and work on writing it.” “You’re going to throw all that money away on a place to sit and write?” she asked. She’d slap that money down on a house so fast it would make a realtor’s head spin. “I’ll take day trips,” he said. “Weekend excursions. But, yeah. Absolutely.” She frowned, not approving of the plan at all, but it wasn’t her plan to yay or nay. “Well, at least I’ m helping,” she said, needing to change the subject and not think about David leaving the country, leaving her.“I do feel a little guilty that you’re looking for the diamonds and Reggie and all this stuff for me, but I’m not paying you.” “Maybe I want payment in trade,” he teased, moving toward her. Her pulse picked up its tempo. “Yeah? What could I possibly have to barter with?” He slipped an arm around her waist, urging her closer. “I bet you can think of something,” he said. “Maybe something like this?” she murmured. With her heart pounding in her chest, she raised herself on her tiptoes and closed her mouth over his. He tasted like midnight, full of depth and promise. David might not be her forever man, but she intended to cherish the time they did have. A low moan rose in his throat and his tongue swept into her mouth, hot and demanding. He urged her closer, his erection under the soft material of his sweatpants poking between her thighs, leaving no doubt as to just how turned on he was. He broke the kiss, his lips still dancing across her cheek. “Oh yeah,” he said. “I think that currency will work fine.” “All debts, public and private,” she said. “We’ll concentrate on the private ones.” He traced a path with his fingertip from her chin, between

her breasts and down to her belly button. “You look pretty damn cute in my sweats,” he said, his hands sliding down under the elastic waistband. “I bet you’ll look even cuter out of them.” She’d pulled the sweats on before she’d grabbed the garage key, but she hadn’t bothered with underwear and now the cool air caressed her rear, the sensation incredibly erotic. “Take them all the way off,” he whispered. She nodded, pulling her feet free of the confines of the clothes. His fingers kneaded her flesh, cupping the curve of her butt. A slow burn started in her body, its flash-point under his fingertips, then spread out to the very ends of her fingers and toes. But most of that heat found her core and settled there, raw and needy. “David,” she squeaked, a weak protest. “What?” “Someone might see.” “The door’s shut.” That dangerous hand snaked lower and she moaned, automatically shifting, spreading her legs for him. His fingers teased her, making her wet, his name barely a whisper on her lips. “Do you like that?” His soft words tickled her ear. She couldn’t speak, could only nod, her body prickly with the heat of desire. Her hips moved on their own, silently urging him not to stop. He understood, of course, and his finger dipped lower, finding her core, now slick and wet with passion. He teased her, his fingers skimming her flesh and it was all she could do to murmur, “Please.” “Please what?” “More,” she said. “Please, David.” She sounded desperate even to her own ears, but his hand was stroking her, teasing and dancing, and, well, she was desperate. Her body quivered, no longer listening to her commands, but responding solely to David. She squirmed, trying to silently urge him on. “Oh, no. Not so fast,” he said. “Yes, fast,” she said. “Fast and hard and now.” Fire burned in his eyes. “If that’s what you want, babe. Your wish is my command.” He let his own sweats drop around his ankles, then stepped out of them and kicked them aside. In a bold movement, he twisted her around, bending her over Lucy’s hood. She felt the hard length of him press against her rear end, his velvety smooth heat stroking her skin. She squirmed under his touch, spreading her legs for him, feeling wanton and wild, but not caring because she wanted this. Wanted him. “This?” he asked, his fingers slipping inside her. She whispered yes and he stroked her heat, his fingers teasing and exploring, his touch already bringing her to the edge of an orgasm. She was still tender from earlier, but she didn’t care. She wanted him inside her right then. “Deeper,” she said on a sigh. “Harder.” One hand grasped her waist and with the other he spread her wide, then sank himself deep inside. She gasped, her body rocking back to meet him as he thrust, again and again. A blast of heat spread through her, wrapping her entire body in an electric warmth. Her release came immediately, strong waves washing over her, and she lifted her hips to meet his thrusts. The waves got closer and closer, the pressure building within until, finally, she felt him lose control inside her. With his final, deep thrust, she rode the crest of her own release, her body exploding into a million bits of color.

He collapsed beside her and she twisted to face him. He caressed her cheek, his breath coming as hard and fast as hers. “Wow,” she said. “No kidding.” “I’m not sure Lucy’s ever seen anything like that before.” His mouth twitched and he tilted his head just slightly to look toward Lucy’s hood. “Sorry about that, girl. Guess you’re no longer an innocent.” Jacey snaked her arm around his neck, urging him close for another kiss. “That’s okay. We can corrupt her anytime.” He stroked her hair, meeting her lips for a kiss, then rolling them both so that his back was pressed against Lucy and he was holding her close. After a second, his gaze dipped down and he frowned. “An ignition wrench?” “What?” She turned, following his line of sight. “Oh. Right. I dropped it. Good thing I missed your toe.” “You were working on the ignition?” She shook her head. “No, I was just rummaging in my tools and got distracted. Actually, I was looking for the timing light. I think her timing’s a little off.” He grasped her shoulders and pushed her gently back, just enough to look her in the eye. “You work on your car?” “Mm-hmm. That was my job back when my mom was being such a flake. In high school. I told you, remember?” He nodded. “I thought working for a mechanic would be more fun than bagging groceries. And since Mom needed her car to cart us around, but couldn’t afford to get it fixed, it just made sense.” “You’re a strange woman, Jacey Wilder.” She bristled. “What? Because I like cars? You like cars.” He laughed. “Calm down. I think it’s great you like cars. I’m just laughing because you didn’t have a clue whether or not you had a pipe wrench.” “Oh.” Well, he had a point there. She rolled one shoulder. “We moved so much there wasn’t really any point in learning to fix that. Mom figured that was the landlord’s job.” “So did you rebuild Lucy?” She shook her head. “No, Lucy was in pretty good shape when I bought her. I just do upkeep.” She ran her finger along the roof. “I did have her repainted about a year ago. And a couple of months ago, I ran across some Recaro seats. So I took out the originals and replaced them with the new ones. Normally, I’d rather have the original stuff, but the upholstery had gotten pretty ratty and the slipcovers I’ d made were ugly. I figure I’ll fix them up some day and put them back in.” She nodded through the window. “In the meantime, the new ones are pretty snazzy, huh?” “Nice,” he said. “I’m impressed. Where do you do all of this? Your parking place looked too cramped.” “No, Mr. Lowenstein would have a fit if I changed oil in his parking garage. I rent a neighbor’s detached garage. That’s where I keep spare parts and my paint supplies and stuff.” Her cheeks flushed. She’d told Tasha she’d thrown out all her art supplies, but the garage was still pretty well stocked.

He just stared at her, his eyes twinkling. She shifted, uncomfortable under his steady gaze. “What?” He stroked the side of her face, pushing her hair back behind her ear. “You’re not quite the woman I thought when you walked into my office.” She swallowed, undone by the intensity reflected in his eyes. “So you didn’t like me then?” He stepped closer, once again closing the distance between them, once again hard against her. “I wouldn’t say that. I just thought you had a smart mouth.” She arched an eyebrow. “I do have a smart mouth.” David brushed his lips over hers. “Yes, but now I get to claim that mouth. And that makes all the difference.” As if to prove his point, he closed his mouth over hers again and Jacey melted against him, idly wondering if she’d ever spent an entire night having sex. If not, now was as good a time to start as any.

Chapter 12 I didn’t know why Mallory wanted to keep me from searching for Sarah, but I did know that she was doing a damn good job. “Come back to bed, lover,” she said, peeling back the sheet to reveal a creamy smooth leg that seemed to go on forever. We’d ended up together in my apartment and we’d already burned up the sheets a time or two. My body wanted to crawl right back in there with her. The functioning part of my brain knew I needed to get to work. “Can’t do it, babe.” I got out of bed and pulled on my pants. Then I grabbed a Chesterfield and lit it, taking a deep drag. What I needed was a shot of whiskey, but this would have to do. She might have succeeded in distracting me for a while, but no longer. I was going to focus. I was going to gather my energy and go hit the streets. I needed to find out what happened to Sarah. And I couldn’t do that while I was in Mallory’s arms, no matter how very nice those arms might be. David concentrated on his book, trying to focus on the words and not the woman in his bed. His plan was foiled when she stirred, her lips parted in sleep. David’s hands paused over the Olivetti’s keys, as he looked at her, this woman who’d appeared on his doorstep and moved into his life. She rolled over, taking the sheet with her, her calf and thigh no longer covered. His fingers itched to touch her, to stroke her. To bring her to the absolute heights of passion and then back down again into his arms. Never before had he been with a woman who affected him like Jacey. He wanted to make love with her, sure, but he also wanted to take care of her. To protect her and keep her close. Quietly, so as not to wake her, he pushed away from the card table he’d dragged into the bedroom. What she’d said last night was true—it was all about priorities. And while he needed to write Al’s story to make money, he had to write Monroe and Mallory’s story. Like Jacey, those characters had taken hold of him and wouldn’t let go. Maybe he couldn’t devote all his time, but he’d squeeze in a scene here or there. Eventually, he’d finish their story. Hell, he owed them that much. Right now, though, his thoughts were on Jacey. Barefoot, he walked to her, careful not to slide on any of the papers still strewn about his floor. He stood there for a minute, simply watching her. Then he reached down and pulled the quilt up over her bare leg, tucking it around her arms to ward off the morning chill.

A little sigh escaped her lips and she twisted, her hair sticking out a million different directions on the pillow. Basically, she was a mess, yet he thought she looked absolutely adorable. He had no idea how long he stood there staring, but there he was when she finally opened her eyes. At first her face was blank and then, as she awoke, the sweetest grin touched her lips. “Good morning,” she whispered. “Good morning to you, too,” he said. “Fifteen.” She pushed herself up on her elbows, the sheet against her chest. “Fifteen?” “Freckles. There are fifteen freckles on your nose.” With one hand, she rubbed her nose, as if she could count them herself. “Too few or too many?” “Just perfect,” he said. He turned away and headed for the door. “Breakfast?” “Coffee,” she said. “After that, I’ll take stock again.” “You got it.” He headed into the kitchen and pulled open the junk drawer, prepared to rummage in the pile for the little plastic thing to scoop out the coffee. No pile. For that matter, no junk. Odd. Where he used to have random bits of paper, coupons, nuts, bolts, coffee scoops, paper clips, rubber bands, fingernail clippers, and everything else that didn’t have someplace better to live, he now had a plastic divided tray. Nothing random about that. And the junk had been winnowed down and organized. Rubber bands in one section, nuts and bolts and screws in another, coupons neatly clipped together at the side. But no coffee scoop. “I, uh, couldn’t sleep.” Jacey’s voice. He turned to find her standing in the doorway in just his T-shirt, looking a little sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind. I was looking for the silverware and I ran across this drawer and, well…” She trailed off with a shrug. “Oh.” He frowned. The last time a woman had been ballsy enough to strut around his apartment making it her own, he’d clipped off the relationship right then, right there, and he waited for the urge to tell Jacey to take a hike to hit him. But it didn’t. Just the opposite, in fact. The opposite being that he felt bad that he hadn’t finished straightening up the place before she’d temporarily moved in. “David?” Her arms slipped around his waist and he pressed his hands over hers. “Do you mind?” He shook his head. “No, babe. Not at all.” He spoke the words without thinking, but they were absolutely true. Jacey was turning his world upside down and, he had to admit, the ride was sweeter than anything he’d ever found at Disneyland. “I do have one question, though. What did you do with the coffee scoop?” “By the machine,” she said. “Just where it should be.” And so it was. David finished making coffee while she took a shower. She was just coming back into the room, snuggled up inside his terry cloth robe, when someone knocked on the door. “I’ll get it,” she said, heading for the door. David gripped the edge of the counter, the scent of brewing coffee surrounding him. There was something a little too homey about the scene—him puttering in the kitchen, her opening the house to guests. Scary. And what was really scary was how comfortable the morning felt with her around.

“I hope that’s not decaf,” Finn said, as Jacey moved aside to let him follow Millie into the room. “Not a chance,” David said. “Decaf’s for sissies.” “Not real men, like us,” Finn said, throwing his arms around both Millie and Jacey’s shoulders and squeezing tight. “Isn’t that right, darling ladies?” Jacey laughed. “You’re in an awfully good mood this morning.” “Hard work will do that to a man,” Finn said. Millie rolled her eyes. “Pshaw. He made breakfast. I did all the work.” David came in from the kitchen, carrying a mug of coffee for Jacey, and they shared a smile. “What work, Millie?” he asked. “Finding out about your Mr. Stemple, of course.” “It’s true,” Finn said. “I made eggs and toast and Millie surfed the Net. The woman is hell on wheels with a mouse.” “But not with a frying pan,” David said. “Exactly,” Finn agreed. David stifled a grin. Millie had been known to throw anything she had in the kitchen into her scrambled eggs. The result was either wonderful—like when she’d had smoked salmon and gouda cheese left over from a party—or hideous. David could still taste the apple-tuna eggs she’d made about a year ago. Millie pulled her cardigan tight. “No respect,” she said to Jacey, who looked bemused by the whole exchange. Finn leaned over and kissed Millie’s cheek. “You know we love you.” The older woman snorted. “Just get me some coffee,” she said. She turned back to Jacey. “Men.” David passed the mug to Jacey, then sat beside her on the sofa while Millie took the desk chair. Finn clattered around in the kitchen. “You cleaned your junk drawer,” he said. “It was time,” David said. “So tell us about Stemple.” “He’s a mortician,” Millie said, nodding sagely. “So he’d have access to bodies,” Jacey said. “Gross.” “No kidding,” David said. “We know anything else about Stemple?” “I gave Mike a call. A lot of arrests,” Finn said. “No convictions.” He came back into the living room, carrying mugs for himself and for Millie. “He looks to be a small-time player with some big-time friends.” “Think he could’ve fenced a million in diamonds?” David asked. Finn didn’t even hesitate. “Mike said no. But I bet he’d know how to find someone who could.” “So we go talk to Stemple?” Jacey asked. Finn shook his head. “He bugged out.” Jacey frowned. “He’s gone?” “Yup,” Finn said. “I was getting into this private detective thing, so I called to talk to his landlord.” He took a sip of coffee. “Skipped out on the rent and didn’t leave a damn thing in his apartment.” “Well, great,” she said. “What now?” “I’m guessing he found a fence for Al in San Diego,” David said. “The meet was probably set up

for the hotel. I’ll see if I can get Cartwright to ask his cop friends in San Diego for a list of known fences down there.” “And we can ask around at the hotel, too,” Jacey added. “See what else anyone remembers about Al.” “Exactly,” David said. “Who Al met other than you, what address he gave the hotel, anything at all.” “Follow his tracks,” Millie said. David took Jacey’s hand, delighted when she squeezed back. “So,” he said. “Why don’t we throw your bag in the car and head down to San Diego?” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll give Cartwright a call and then we can hit the road. Chances are we’ll get there in time to have lunch by the beach.” Jacey’s head was spinning. Dead bodies with teeth pulled out of them. Stolen diamonds. Fencing goods. Exploding buildings. Missing boyfriends. And the most amazing sex of her life. Not exactly an average week. All in all, Jacey thought she was handling it pretty well. But going down to San Diego? Right then? No way. “I’ve got a job,” she said. She glanced at her watch. “I’m supposed to be there in an hour and I haven’t even put Tasha’s suit back on.” She frowned, remembering the way they’d treated the poor suit last night. Hopefully it wasn’t too wrinkled. Not that she regretted the wrinkles… “Work?” David said. “You’re going in today?” “Of course I’m going in. That’s one of the defining characteristics of a job. They expect you to show up.” “You haven’t so far,” he said. She shot him a dirty look and he held his hands up as if in self-defense. “Why don’t we go down on Friday night?” she asked, trying to suggest a reasonable alternative. David got up, apparently annoyed that she wanted to be responsible. “I really think we ought to go now. We need to know what the hell’s going on.” “And I need a steady job,” she said. She flopped back against the cushions, wondering if he was even really listening to her or if he just wanted to jump right into his book. “You don’t even want the job…” he said, his voice laced with undisguised exasperation. “I do want this job and I’ve told you why,” she said. “And the truth is, we may never catch this guy and I can’t rearrange my life until we do. But if you’re worried about me, then you can drive me there and pick me up.” “Jacey—” David began, but Millie cut him off. “Shoo!” She stood up, waving him off the seat next to her. “We girls need to talk.” She urged him away, then took the space he vacated. “You two run along outside. Go repair something. Go build a fence. Go do manly man things.” Jacey stifled a grin as David and Finn exchanged glances. After a second Finn shrugged. “What do you say? Want to go hunt some bison?” David looked from Jacey to Millie. Finally, he shrugged. “What the hell. Let’s go.” David followed Finn out and Millie put her hand over Jacey’s the second the door closed. “Now, dear. Why don’t you tell me what’s really the problem?” Jacey blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re scared because you’re falling in love with my David.” Jacey opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again, accepting the unwelcome fact that Millie might just be speaking the truth. But that didn’t have anything to do with her job or with San Diego. “It’s a job, Millie. I need to go to work.” “Why?” “Why?” Jacey repeated. “I don’t know. Because I like to eat?” The woman sat back. “Now that he’s got this book deal, you two can get married.” “I wouldn’t start ordering invitations yet, Millie,” Jacey said. “We’re hardly engaged.” Millie just patted Jacey’s hand. “Don’t you worry, dear. It will all work out.” Jacey frowned, wishing she had Millie’s confidence. “My David will take care of you,” Millie said. “He certainly takes care of me.” Jacey cocked her head, not entirely sure she was following. “What do you mean?” Millie leaned forward, as if gossiping over tea and crumpets. “Now don’t tell him I know—he seems to enjoy playing Robin Hood—but I found out that David’s been putting money in my bank account every month. A good thing, too. My husband more or less screwed me in the financial department.” She took a sip of coffee and smiled at Jacey over the rim. “Really?” Jacey frowned. From what David told her, he’d only agreed to do the book because he was in such financial trouble. And yet he’d been taking care of Millie. And apparently, he hadn’t told Millie what a toll his outlay of cash was having on his bank balance. Just one more layer on the man time was revealing as David Anderson. The man she’d thought was an overgrown teenager was turning out to be pretty darn responsible. Not to mention sweet and charming and downright sexy. But while she liked him more and more with each passing moment, what she thought of David didn ’t matter. Not in the long run. Not when this was over and she was back to her life and her apartment, all alone with no yard and no family except a mother who kept in touch by sending various artifacts COD from around the world. She considered telling Millie the truth about David’s past finances, but kept her mouth shut. That was between David and his aunt. Instead, she focused on what she knew. “David’s drooling at the thought of moving into that Paris apartment as soon as he finishes researching this book. I don’t think marriage is at the forefront of his mind.” A sad fact, but unfortunately very true. “David’s always wanted to move to Paris,” Millie said. Jacey nodded. “I know. And if he’s always wanted it, don’t you think that someday he’ll do it?” “Absolutely,” Millie said. “Unless he has a reason to stay.” Jacey nibbled on her thumb, wishing she could be the reason, but knowing that wasn’t the case. It would be so easy to give in to passion. To convince herself that they’d formed some sort of bond, merging their lives when they merged their bodies. But she knew better. That kind of thinking was the exact reason she’d told herself not to sleep with him in the first place. The best laid plans and all that… And it would be so easy to give in and just skip down to San Diego. It wasn’t as if she wanted to go sit in front of a computer for eight hours a day. But more and more she was veering from her plan— giving in to the allure of David, sketching despite her threat to enroll herself in Artists Anonymous. Heck, she’d even picked up the phone to call Gregory twice. She’d stopped herself before the second ring, but, dammit, she did not need to be scraping by painting murals for pennies.

She was a grown-up now and she didn’t want anyone saying she’d grown up into her mother. She wanted to be responsible. Even Tasha had a nicely padded retirement account. Jacey had three hundred and forty-seven dollars and ten shares of Disney stock. Pitiful. So no. Going to San Diego would be a mistake. This thing with David would all be over soon and then where would she be? Thirty and jobless and without a love life. Not a pretty picture. Standing up, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Millie. The only one who’s going to take care of me is me.” “So much for Millie’s world-famous persuasion,” Finn said with a nod toward the garage. David turned around in time to see Jacey reaching for the handle to pull open the door. “Well, hell,” he said. That was an understatement. He wanted to go to San Diego to investigate Al. He also wanted to get Jacey away from Los Angeles, a city that had recently become hazardous to her health. But mostly he was looking forward to days and nights in a beachfront hotel with Jacey, room service, and a Jacuzzi tub. Considering she was heading for Lucy, that fantasy probably wouldn’t play out until the weekend. Damn. He headed that way, watching as she grabbed the handle of the old-fashioned door and twisted, then tugged until the spring caught and she lifted it above her head. The sun rose behind the garage, so he couldn’t see the interior and he knew from experience that she couldn’t, either. Then she reached to the side and found the switch. Even from where he stood, he could see the fluorescent lights buzz to life. He saw Lucy then. And at that same moment, Jacey started screaming. “I can’t believe they did this,” Jacey mumbled, her face pressed against David’s shoulder as she tried to calm down. She pushed back, searching his face for answers he just didn’t have. “I mean, what kind of sick people are we dealing with?” “It’ll be okay, babe.” He rubbed her back, trying to be calm despite the fact that someone— probably Reggie Barton—had broken into his garage. And that meant that someone had followed Jacey from her apartment, because how the hell else could they know where the car was? “We’ll fix her up.” Lucy sat there in front of them, injured and forlorn. Her doors hung open, the seats slashed with stuffing poking out, the headliner hanging limp, and the glove box flopped open. Even Lucy’s shiny lime green paint, though not scratched, seemed tarnished. The police hadn’t arrived yet, but Finn had left to call them. Soon, David knew, Jacey would be giving yet another statement. For her, it was shaping up to be one hell of a week. “Lucy will be fine,” Jacey said. “I can fix her up. But these people are in my life, David. It’s personal and way too close for comfort.” She ran her hands up and down over her arms, as if she were freezing. “I want to get these guys off my back. I want to know what happened to Al.” “In that case, sweetheart, we should go to San Diego.” “I know.” She shrugged, a watery smile playing at her lips. “What the heck, right? I mean, there will be other accounting jobs. Won’t there?” “If you want them, sure.” But he knew she didn’t. For her sake, he hoped she figured that out before she twisted herself inside out trying to be someone she wasn’t. He’d gone down that road himself; it wasn’t a road he wanted to watch someone he cared about travel. He aimed them for the door, his arm swung around her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s pack up and hit

the road as soon as the cops leave. The beach air will do you good.” She shook her head, stopping. “This afternoon,” she said. “After I have a chance to patch up poor Lucy. Or at least start on it.” David nodded. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll patch her up together.” • • • “You little shit.” Reggie paced, pounding his fist into the palm of his hand, while Al cringed, waiting for the fist to smash into his face. “In the seats, you said. The diamonds are in the seats.” He turned, a big human wall looming over Al. “Well, we tore the fucking car apart and guess what—not one single diamond.” This was a nightmare. Al kept hoping he’d wake up, but he knew he wouldn’t. A fucked-up situation overall and he was right smack in the middle of it. “You lying little piece of sh—” “No way,” Al said, holding up a hand to ward off the blows he expected any minute now. “I didn’ t lie. I swear. I put the diamonds inside the passenger seat. There was a slit and I tucked them up inside, all rolled up in one of those soft cases women use for their jewelry.” He rubbed his palms over his face. “She must have found them. That’s the only explanation.” “I don’t give a rat’s ass what the explanation is. I can’t go to Joey with an explanation. He’s gonna have my ass if I don’t find those diamonds and that means I’m going to have yours.” They were in a motel room about a mile away from the old lady’s house. A tacky place. The kind of place that probably wouldn’t blink if it found Al’s bloody and battered body splayed out on the floor. His stomach lurched and he clapped his hand over his mouth. “Or maybe you’re trying to make me look bad,” Reggie said. “Then once Joey dumps me in the L.A. River, you’ll step in and show him where the diamonds are.” Reggie moved closer and Al gagged from the putrid smell of his breath. Stale hot dogs and beer. “Is that your plan, Al? Is it?” “No,” he howled. Then, calmer, “Of course not.” He took two deep breaths. He needed to think. Needed to figure a way out of this. What would the hero in a legal thriller do? He’d twist the situation around to suit himself, right? Right. But how? Reggie took a step forward and Al said the first thing that popped into his head. Anything to keep that fist from connecting with his jaw. “Joey doesn’t sound like an easy guy to work for,” he blurted. Reggie just squinted at him. “I, uh, mean that he doesn’t seem too appreciative. You work so hard.” He shrugged, the gesture exaggerated. “And all he does is yell at you. Sounds like you got the short end of the stick, buddy.” “I ain’t your buddy.” “No,” Al said, scrambling to deflect that blow. “But you’re not Joey’s, either. You think he’s gonna share any of the take with you once you find those diamonds?” He didn’t give Reggie the chance to answer. “Of course not. And that sucks, since you’re the one busting your ass to find them.” “Damn straight,” Reggie said. Al latched on, moving to sit on the side of his bed closest to Reggie before moving in for the kill. “So why give them to him at all?” Reggie frowned. “What the fuck are you driving at? Joey doesn’t make nice with folks who doublecross him. Folks that do that end up dead.” “Not if Joey can’t find them.” Al shrugged. “And half a mil can buy a lot of distance between you

and Joey Malone.” Reggie squinted. “What are you talking about?” Al pulled in a breath. Moment of truth time. “I’m saying, why don’t we find the diamonds and split the loot.” He’d be half a mil broker than he’d planned, but right now, that looked better than the alternative. “I can help you get out of the country. I had it all worked out for me.” Reggie cracked his knuckles and Al could practically see his brain processing the information. “You fucking weasel,” Reggie said. Not exactly the response Al had been hoping for. “You do know where the diamonds are, don’t you.” Al shook his head. “No. No, I don’t. But if we have to do all the legwork to find them, don’t you think we should get the benefit?” He held his breath, waiting for Reggie’s response. Finally, the burly guy nodded. “So where do we start?” Al’s sigh of relief was counterbalanced by the fact that he had no ideas. He got up and started pacing, trying to figure out what had happened. The girl really didn’t seem to have them, but he’d checked the car and they weren’t there, either. Reggie had ripped the upholstery apart, and then Al had searched, too. Hell, he could still remember the feel of the cloth under his hand— Cloth? “What?” Reggie asked, staring at him. Al held up a finger. “Give me a sec.” He tried to remember back to March. It had been dark when he’d gone to the car, but he remembered vinyl. Not cloth—vinyl. “She changed out the seats,” he said. “The diamonds are in different seats.” He slammed his fist down on the bed, punctuating the words, then started pacing again. “We need to find the original seats.” “So we go back to the old lady’s house, we wait for the chance, and when she’s alone, we grab the girl.” Reggie pounded his fist into his palm. “We make her talk.” Al wasn’t entirely convinced that Reggie’s plan would lead to the seats. But he didn’t have a better idea. Of course, the thought of watching Reggie pound Jacey to a pulp wasn’t too appealing, either. But what the hell? Better Jacey than him. Right now, at least, Reggie was on Al’s side. And Al intended to do whatever it took to keep him there. Jacey kicked her leg up, pretending she was aiming for Reggie’s chin. She lost her footing, tumbled backward, and ended up with her butt in the sand. So much for kicking the shit out of the bad guys. She smiled sheepishly at the lifeguard David had asked to keep an eye on her, just in case. “I guess I still need a little practice,” she said. “Maybe just a little,” he agreed. “Oh, I don’t know,” David said, walking over the beach toward her. “The muggers always appreciate it when you knock yourself down. Much less work for them.” “Ha, ha.” She grabbed the hand he offered and climbed to her feet, then brushed the sand off her rear. “What did you find out?” “Not a damn thing,” he said. “Apparently Al wasn’t even registered at the hotel—not as Albert Alcott or as Charles Lafontaine.” “Did anyone recognize him?”

“Couldn’t find one person,” David said. She snorted. “What?” he asked. “Just what I told you earlier. After we registered, I was basically seeing Als everywhere.” Maybe not everywhere, but twice she’d thought she’d seen him in the bar, but when she’d looked back, of course he wasn’t there. All in all, a weird kind of déjà vu moment and she chalked it up to having last been in the hotel with Al. She shook off the thought; now, she was with David and, really, there was no comparison. “So what do we do now?” she asked. He glanced at his watch. “We’re meeting that fence in fifteen minutes. You ready?” She nodded, then said good-bye to her lifeguard buddy before they headed for the terrace restaurant. The fence was already there, looking all shifty-eyed and criminal. “Clive Randall?” David asked. The guy nodded. “My parole officer said you folks had some questions. You want to tell me what’ s up?” “Diamonds,” David said, as they took their seats. “I’m wondering if you were hired to fence about a million in diamonds about four months ago.” The guy licked his lips and Jacey twisted her napkin in her lap. She was spending a lot of time around the criminal element lately and it was wreaking havoc with her nerves. “Don’t worry,” David said. “I’m not a cop. I’m trying to find the guy who hired you.” “Stemple,” Clive said. Jacey looked at David, who was nodding at Clive. “Right. But who were you supposed to meet?” “Some lawyer on the take,” he said and Jacey silently cheered. They’d been right. Al had stolen the diamonds. “But you didn’t meet him?” Clive shook his head. “I was in the clink waiting for my old lady to bail me out. Damn shame, too. I could’ve made a bundle on that deal.” Jacey leaned forward, starting to get into this interrogation thing. “Do you know if someone else in…uh…your line of work showed up?” “Don’t know,” Clive said. “But I don’t think so. I would’ve heard through the grapevine.” David asked a few more questions, but Jacey knew they were done with Clive. He’d helped, but he hadn’t answered the biggest question: Had Al managed to fence the diamonds? “So we’re back to my original question,” Jacey said as they left the terrace and walked back down to the beach. “What now?” “Tomorrow we start all over with interviewing the staff. This time, the morning shift. Right now…” He trailed off, his voice laden with possibilities. “Mmm,” she said, moving into the circle of his arms. “I think I like the right now option.” “I don’t know,” he teased, burying his nose in her hair and tucking her head under his chin. “Maybe you should keep practicing the moves I showed you.” She pulled back, scowling. “Well, it’s kind of hard to practice shoving your fingers into the bad guy’s eyes if there’s no bad guy to practice on.” She licked her lips. “Besides, I liked Millie’s idea better.” She slammed her leg out, holding on to him for balance, in her imagination executing a perfect kick to Reggie’s scarred face.

In reality, she probably looked like she was having a seizure. “Don’t take this the wrong way, sweetheart, but if you’re in a situation where you can’t jam your finger into his eye, but you could kick—” “Yeah?” “Run.” She sighed, then snuggled against him. “Maybe you should just stay close to protect me,” she murmured, then immediately regretted it. He didn’t answer and she regretted it even more. When she tilted her head back, his expression was sad. “I wish I could, babe, but I won’t always be there.” He stroked her hair. “And whether I’m there or not, I want you safe.” She nodded. He hadn’t exactly said that there was nothing permanent between them, but the message was still there. Nothing had changed. She licked her lips. Not true. Everything had changed. Whereas before she hadn’t wanted David —not for real, not forever—now she did. But not enough to risk the life she’d always wanted. Which meant she needed to cherish all the more the time they did still have. She pressed her face against his chest, breathing deep of his clean, masculine scent. Savoring the moment, because who knew how many more moments she would have with him. “Want to take a walk on the beach?” he asked. She shook her head. “No. I want to go to the room.” She leaned back to look at him, her gaze boring straight into his soul. “Make love to me, David. Make love to me all night long.”

Chapter 13 “So I finally get to meet the famous Mr. Monroe.” The soft feminine voice pulled me away from a dream. Across my bedroom, a blonde girl with a black-and-blue shiner tapped out a cigarette, then lit it. “Want one?” “Those things will kill you,” I said. “A lot of things will do that, Mr. Monroe.” The dame had a point and I looked at her, wondering if she was as deadly as her words. A dainty blonde, but tough as nails, with a regal haughtiness. “Sarah Stamp, I presume.” “I told you he was smart.” Mallory’s voice. And then the woman herself, stepping in from the bathroom. “Well, looks like the gang’s all here,” I said, my mind trying to sort through the possibilities. “Maybe it’s time I took you home.” Sarah shook her head. “I don’t think so, Mr. Monroe. You’re not taking me anywhere.” “You’re not on the case, Mr. Monroe,” Mallory added. “Sarah’s safe. You can just go now.” “That’s why you got me here? To show me she’s safe and send me on my way?” “Exactly,” Mallory said. “You can go back to your little life and I’ll go back to mine.” “I don’t think so,” I said. “It doesn’t pass the smell test.” I sniffed the air. “There’s

something going on.” “Even if there is,” Sarah said, “you have no idea what or where to begin.” I took that in. The dame was right. But still, there was something. Something I was missing… And then I remembered and the pieces fell into place. Most of them, anyway. “Oh, yeah,” I said. “I know where to begin.” “You’re bluffing, Mr. Monroe,” Sarah said. “Am I? Where’d you get that black eye? From Kenny before you killed him? Or did you trip on those high heels?” Mallory licked her lips, as she and Sarah exchanged glances. “What are you going to do?” I looked at her, trying to decide. The truth was, right then, I didn’t give a damn about Sarah or the Colonel or the asshole who’d hit me upside the head. The only one I gave a damn about was Mallory. I wanted her. I wanted Mallory and, one way or another, I was going to have her. She wasn’t there when his eyes fluttered open and David immediately mourned the loss of her warmth. Rolling over, he glanced at the clock: 3:28. He fell back against the pillow. Too early. Way, way too early. He lay there listening for Jacey, concerned when his eyes adjusted and he didn’t see her sitting on the room’s one sofa. He glanced toward the balcony, assuming she’d stepped out to look at the beach in the moonlight. No Jacey. Worried, he tossed off the covers and flipped on the light. Where the hell was she? And then he saw the sliver of light peeking out from under the bathroom door. He exhaled, only then realizing just how worried he’d been. He tapped lightly on the door. “You okay?” “I’m fine,” she said. “Just taking a bath.” A pause, then, “Want to join me?” He chuckled. “You’re going to wear me out.” “We’re going to wear each other out.” He pushed open the door, his body reacting immediately to the slick, wet woman in the tub. Her hair was damp, hanging in random curls around her face. A pile of bubbles covered her, totally modest, yet also totally erotic. A stack of papers was on the closed toilet lid. He looked closer. Was that—? “You said I could,” she said. “I’ve been careful not to get the pages wet.” His manuscript. She’d brought his manuscript. His stomach clenched. He’d never let anyone read his stuff and he waited for the wave of regret that his cock had overwhelmed his brain when he’d given her permission. But the regret didn’t come. Just the opposite, in fact. “What do you think of it?” He half held his breath, her opinion meaning more to him than he’d expected. “I love it,” she said. “Really love it? Or we-just-had-mind-blowing-sex love it?” Her laughter teased his senses and made him hard all over again. “Both,” she said. “But mostly I really loved it. It’s fun and different. You shouldn’t give it up.” He shook his head. “I’m not. Postponing a little, maybe. But I can’t give it up.”

She pressed her lips together and he wondered if she was thinking of her art. Then her face cleared and she aimed a grin his direction. “So how does it end?” “Don’t know,” he said. “Monroe hasn’t told me yet.” “You’re an odd one, David.” He nodded, picking up the pages and sitting down on the closed lid. “That’s part of my charm, sweetheart.” “Yeah,” she said, a tone in her voice he couldn’t quite identify. “You’re right about that.” “Tired?” “A little,” she admitted. He held out his hand and she took it, then pulled as she rose from the water like a goddess emerging from the sea. Soap bubbles clung to her, almost as if pointing the way to her most touchable areas. He fought the urge to reach out and claim her, bubbles and all. They needed sleep, and as much as he wanted to make love to her, he also just wanted to hold her close and drift off. With one hand, he grabbed a towel, then moved to drape it over her. “Come back to bed with me?” he asked. She nodded, following. Under the covers, she snuggled close, already drifting off. The woman was heaven in his arms. No way he could ever write something that conveyed how special she was. She stirred against him, already dozing, her body pressed close even in sleep. He sighed. Damn her for wanting a life he didn’t want. And damn himself for falling for her in the first place. Jacey woke up to David’s arm around her. She snuggled close, feeling warm and safe and loved. The loved part, of course, was an illusion. She knew that. They wanted different things and nothing real was going to develop between them, no matter how good they were in bed. And no matter how much her heart ached for this man. Frustrated, she slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him. The world outside the window was painted silver, lit by a full moon, and she stepped out onto the patio, imagining the symphony of color that would emerge with the sunrise. She stood there a moment, feeling small and lonely, before going back inside and grabbing her cell phone. She didn’t feel too guilty. Tasha only left the phone on when she was awake. And considering Tasha’s addiction to really bad B movies, finding Tasha awake in the middle of the night was never too difficult. She took one more look at David, his strength palpable even in sleep, before she stepped back outside, closing the door behind her. “Hi,” she said, the second Tasha picked up. “Oh my gosh,” Tasha said, her voice straining with excitement. “I was going to call you in the morning. I’ve been pacing around the house wanting to talk and wishing I could justify calling the hotel in the middle of the night. How’s San Diego? Find out anything?” “Nothing about Al,” Jacey said. About her feelings for David? In that department she was having some intense moments of clarity. She shook the thoughts off and gave Tasha the rundown on their lackluster investigation. “We’ll keep trying, but nothing so far.” “Well, there’s nothing going on here from the police end,” Tasha said. “I haven’t heard a word about the creep you bonked in the apartment.” She paused. “But in other ways, there’s a lot more than

nothing going on.” All of a sudden, Tasha’s voice was so sparkly that Jacey could imagine her half dancing around in the kitchen. “Guess.” “You and Bob did the deed,” Jacey said. “Nope,” Tasha said, sounding happier than Jacey would have assumed where a lack of orgasms was concerned. “What then?” Jacey asked, not in the mood for guessing games. “I finally confronted him.” “No way!” Jacey leaned against the balcony, her problems momentarily forgotten. “What did you say?” “I asked why he’d never made a move to sleep with me.” “You need to learn not to beat around the bush,” Jacey said. “Why should I? That’s what I wanted to know.” “Okay. So what did he say?” “He asked why I expected it so much and had I slept with my other boyfriends right away?” Jacey scowled. “That sounds kinda rude.” “I thought so, too. I thought maybe I was going to get some lecture about diseases or something. But I decided to just play along and so I said yes.” “And?” Jacey twirled her hand, urging her friend along, even though Tasha couldn’t see the motion. “And he kissed me and said that’s why.” Tasha sniffed, her voice cracking. “He wanted to be different from the other guys.” “You’re crying?” “Yeah,” Tasha said, then sniffed again. “Why? What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” Tasha said, starting to really blubber. “But after he said that, he asked me to marry him.” “Oh my gosh!” Jacey wiped her face, realizing she was crying, too. “You’re engaged. Oh, Tash, that’s wonderful.” It was wonderful, but Jacey couldn’t help the little niggle of jealousy twisting away in her stomach. And as soon as Tasha hung up—promising to show off the ring as soon as possible—Jacey gave in to the jealousy bug and started bawling in earnest. Tears streamed down her face and she wiped them away with the back of her hand, moving toward the one lounge chair the hotel had provided. She turned it to face the room, then sat down, her knees pulled up under her chin to ward off the ocean’s chill. The waves pounded below, punctuating her thoughts. Sleeping with David had been a mistake. A wonderful mistake, true, but a mistake nonetheless. She wanted a man who was going to be there for her. Not just until they found some missing diamonds, but forever. A man who’d help fill up that attic she wanted. A man who wanted a home and a family as much as she did. And unless he’d had a rather abrupt change of heart, David wasn’t that man. She swallowed, watching him through the sliding glass door. Every moment she spent with him

was making it that much harder to walk away. She’d suspected all along she couldn’t handle a one-night stand or even a multiple-night stand. But she’d let amazing sex—and an amazing man—cloud her judgment. Now, though, she was just torturing herself. And it was time to stop. She loved him. Damn it all, she really, really loved him. But if she couldn’t have him forever, she didn’t want to have him at all. Not again. Not anymore. Her heart just couldn’t take it. David woke up when the bed moved. He peeled his eyes open, squinting from the desk lamp shining in his eyes. Jacey sat next to him, teetering on the edge of the mattress. He scooted over to make her more room, then pulled the sheet back. “Come on in,” he said. “The water’s fine.” She smiled, but didn’t move and there was a sadness in her eyes. Danger signals went off in David ’s head. He knew that look—he’d seen that look on Susan’s face, only with Susan, he’d been secretly relieved. Seeing it now on Jacey just made his insides cringe. He took her hand, hoping he was wrong. “No?” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “What’s the matter? Did we meet your quota?” Her lips thinned and David wondered if maybe he hadn’t picked the best way to keep the conversation light. “I can’t do this anymore,” she said. She stood up, both hands raking her hair away from her face, making it stand up like a fiery crown. “I thought I could and I love making love to you—really, I do—but I’m just not the kind of girl who can do this.” She was pacing, moving back and forth as if she needed to move to keep in control. He slid out of bed and went to her, catching her as she headed back toward him. He gripped her by her shoulders and held tight. “Do what? What can’t you do?” “This,” she said, gesturing between the two of them. Tears spilled from her eyes and he saw real pain there. “I can’t keep pretending this will turn into something real.” “It’s something real to me,” he said, his throat tight. She blinked, heavy tears hanging from her lashes. For a moment, their gazes locked. Then she looked away. “But is it permanent?” she whispered. And there it was. The knife she was twisting in his heart. He took a deep breath, knowing he couldn’t be any more or less than the man he was, but not knowing if that was good enough for her. It sure as hell hadn’t been good enough for Susan. He stroked her cheek, his heart near breaking when she looked at him, her green eyes wide and sad. “Sweetheart, that depends on you.” “On me?” she asked. “I want more than just a quick fling,” he said. “Hell, Jacey, I want you.” Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but her happiness had a wary edge. “But?” “No buts.” He moved to the patio door, looking out toward the waves crashing on the beach below.

“Is this a proposal?” Her whispered question washed over him, taking hold of his heart and squeezing. He took a deep breath, turning to face her. He wanted her. God help him, he did. But he had to be honest. He’d hidden himself from Susan, tried to play a role, and he’d hurt her. He wasn’t about to hurt Jacey, too. Not like that, anyway. “I don’t want the house and I don’t want the kids. Maybe sometime, but not yet. And I don’t want a mortgage or an SUV. I want to travel. I want to write.” He looked her in the eye. “And if you want to come with me, then yeah. This is a proposal.” Slowly, she pressed her fingers to her lips, her eyes wide. “Well,” she finally said. “I guess I was right.” He blinked, not expecting that response. “About what?” “There was a but.” Her eyes bore into his. “There’s always a but. So much for permanent. I love you, David. I really do. But I can’t do that. I can’t.” Love. The word consumed him, urging him to make promises he knew he’d break. Enticing him to promise her he’d get the salary and he’d mow the lawn and he’d rip up his Eurail Pass. But he knew he wouldn’t do any of that and in the end, she’d walk away, just like Susan. It was hard enough losing Jacey now, before he really had her. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing her once she really became his. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to find words to convince her that her insistence on tucking her life away with neat little hospital corners was going to cost them both the world. Dammit, he didn’t want to lose her just because she was being stubborn. “For Christ’s sake, Jace. Forget your plan. Come with me. Paint on the street in Paris. Sell your art in galleries in Nice. What the hell are you afraid of?” “It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?” she asked, her eyes rimmed with red and her voice harsh. “Jacey…” “Isn’t it?” He nodded; what the hell else could he do. “Yes. It is. Being myself is about as easy as it gets.” “Lucky you,” she said. “It’s the hardest thing in the world for me.” Her eyes brimmed and a single tear spilled over. David’s gut wrenched and he held on tight to the back of the desk chair, forcing himself not to go to her and brush away the tear. She took a deep breath, then met him head on, a hint of a smile dancing on her lips. “When we first met, I thought you were a jerk. I was wrong. You’re wonderful.” His head swam, sucking in her words like nectar, but knowing that in the end they wouldn’t change anything. “If I’m so wonderful, then what’s the problem?” “You’re you and I’m me. And I don’t want to live the way you do. I can’t do that. Not anymore.” “You’re just scared,” he said. He wasn’t playing fair and he knew it. But he wanted to make her see. Wanted to convince her. “Yes, I’m scared,” she said. “I’m almost thirty years old and I’m not anywhere close to getting the life I want. Or are you planning to use some of that advance money to buy a house with me?” He shook his head. “Well, there you go.” She crossed her arms. “How come I’m supposed to pick up and traipse around the world with you, but you’re not willing to compromise for me?” “Because you’re not being you.”

“Excuse me?” she said, her voice icy. “Dammit, Jacey. You’re an artist. Be an artist.” Her lips pressed together in a thin line. “Fine. I will. We’ll buy a house, but we’ll convert the garage into a studio. And we can turn one of the bedrooms into an office for you. And four times a year we’ll travel someplace exotic like Tuscany with your typewriter and my sketchpad.” She propped a hand on her hip. “Sound reasonable? Because if it doesn’t, I don’t think you have the right to criticize.” He didn’t say anything. She was right. Damn her, she was absolutely right. “What?” she said, her voice rising. “Not jumping at the chance? I didn’t think so.” “Jacey…” She held up a hand. “No, don’t say anything. I’m sorry. I started this, but I didn’t want a scene. I knew what the ending would be even before I opened my mouth.” More tears trickled down her cheek, and she brushed them away. “Tomorrow when we get back to L.A., can we install the alarm system?” He nodded, understanding the silent demand—do whatever was necessary to make it safe for Jacey to go home. To leave his apartment. Hell, to leave him.

Chapter 14 “How did you know?” Mallory asked. “It all came together when I remembered Giles’s voice. Your father’s penguin. And he’s got a hell of a way with a gun.” I laid it all out for them. The bruise on Sarah’s face, Kenny’s reputation for being less than a gentleman, Big Sal’s death. And Colonel Stamp’s statement that his girls could take care of themselves. Sarah had really disappeared, but after Mallory hired me, Kenny had gotten wild. He’d killed Big Sal and he’d roughed Sarah up. She’d feared for her life and exited stage left. By the time I saw the Colonel, he knew his little girl was back—but he also knew she was on the lam. “You’re good, Mr. Monroe,” Mallory said. “But then, I know just how good you are.” Her words zinged to my gut and I remembered one or two occasions where I’d have to say Mallory was pretty damn good herself. “Why’d you call me off?” I asked, not quite ready to drop the subject. “If you had kept looking for Sarah, Daddy would see to it you ended up dead.” Mallory shrugged. “He knew that sooner or later you’d realize that Sarah killed Kenny.” I lit a Chesterfield and took a long, deep pull, then exhaled into the dim room. “So she did.” “What are you going to do with me?” Sarah asked. I shook my head. “Nothing to do. I’m off the case, remember?” Hell, the girl did the world a favor. One less Kenny Townsend taking up space. I turned to Mallory. “Why all the trouble to make sure I didn’t snoop around? Why not just let Daddy take care of me?” “What’s the matter, lover?” she asked, brushing up against me. “You’ve figured everything else out, but haven’t a clue about me? About us?” The words coming from her lips were like music to my ears. “Sweetheart,” I said, pulling

her close, “some things are just too good to be true.” David’s fingers paused over the keyboard. He should be typing up his notes for the Al story, but somehow he kept returning to Monroe and Mallory, trying to give them a happy ending where he couldn’ t manage one for himself. From behind the bathroom door, he could hear the pounding of the shower and he imagined Jacey, naked under the water, her body slick and smooth. He wanted to go to her, wanted to hold her close and tell her he loved her even as much as he wanted to sink himself into her. But he couldn’t. She’d made it perfectly clear that if she couldn’t have forever, she didn’t want right now. And forever was something he couldn’t do. Not on her terms. Not when forever meant sacrificing who he was and what he wanted. He’d played it right with Jacey, fixing the mistake he’d made with Susan. With Jacey, he’d laid it all out for her. The life he wanted, the life he needed. No misrepresentations, just truth. And she’d said no. Just like Susan should have, so many years ago. Like Susan finally had, when she’d filed for divorce. But with Susan, there wasn’t an ache. With Jacey, David felt like his heart had been shattered. And the pain was all the more raw because he knew she was making a mistake. The woman was an artist, not an accountant. She should see Paris. She should sketch the Spanish steppes. She should paint the colors of the rising sun reflecting on the cliffs of Dover. And it frustrated the hell out of him that she was so damn obstinate she wouldn’t listen to him. He half snorted. Jacey and obstinate. Why the hell should that surprise him? The bathroom door opened and he realized with a start that the shower had stopped. She stepped out, wrapped in a robe, a billow of steam surrounding her. “Hi,” she said, shifting her weight from one foot to another, an awkwardness developing between them that he hated, but didn’t know how to erase. “How are you doing?” he asked. “I’ve been better,” she said. He just nodded. “How are you?” she asked. He shrugged. “The same.” She twisted the tie of her robe in her hands. “So what do we do now?” “We’re back to square one,” he said, referring to the case. Where he and Jacey were concerned, they’d already passed the finish line. And that fact was burning a hole in his gut. “I’ll try again,” Reggie said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as Al watched, trying to regroup after the useless trip to San Diego. Reggie didn’t want to attack with David around. But David or a lifeguard or half a dozen hotel guests were always around. “She’s got to be alone sometime.” “There’s got to be a better plan,” Al said. They’d left San Diego when Jacey and David did and now they were back in Los Angeles, sitting in the car in front of David’s apartment. “Yeah? Like what?” Reggie shot him a dirty look, but this time Al wasn’t cuffed to the side of the car. A definite improvement in status. Not only did he have his freedom, but Reggie was looking to him for marching orders. So far, so good. Except that he didn’t have a clue how to answer Reggie’s question.

“We need to find out if she still has the original seats,” he said. “No kidding,” Reggie said. “But where? They’re not in that little parking space she’s assigned.” True enough. And that meant she either got rid of the original seats altogether—an option Al wasn ’t interested in considering until he absolutely had to—or she had someplace else for her stuff. He tossed the problem around in his head, thinking about the day he’d followed her. She’d hit every Starbucks in a three-mile radius. She’d gone to a newsstand. She’d bought paint. He perked up, remembering what she’d done next—she’d carried it into a neighbor’s garage. So maybe she stored her stuff there? “I’ve got an plan,” he said, gesturing for Reggie to start the car. Hopefully he was right. Because if he wasn’t, he was fresh out of ideas. “This it?” Reggie asked. Al nodded as Reggie maneuvered his car into the empty driveway, right up to the detached garage. The house looked empty; hopefully the owner was at work and wouldn’t notice the two men poking around in the backyard. Reggie got to the door first, picking the lock easily before pulling it open. “It’s like a grocery store in here.” Al had no clue what Reggie meant until he reached the door himself. Sure enough, everything was stacked on shelves in neat little categories. Even at first glance he could see that all the paint was stacked by color. The boxes on the far side were sorted by size. Everything was labeled in printed green Magic Marker. And right there, pushed in the back corner and covered with a clear shower curtain, were two bucket seats, both covered in those cheap seat covers that full-service car washes tended to stock. Reggie rushed over, pulling off the plastic, then turned the seats over and slit the bottoms with his knife. He reached in and started pulling out stuffing, first one seat, then the other. Al held his breath. “Nothing,” Reggie said. He looked up, anger boiling behind his eyes. “There’s not a damn thing here.” He stood up, the knife in front of him, and walked toward Al. Al backed away, swallowing, trying to compensate for his suddenly dry mouth. “You dirty, double-crossing—” “I didn’t do anything,” Al said. “I swear.” He edged toward the seats. “Let me check.” But he didn’t really need to check in the seats’ innards. He knew as soon as he got close enough that these weren’t the right seats. Squatting down, he stuck his hand inside the upholstery anyway, wanting to buy time, needing to think. He’d hidden the diamonds in vinyl seats and these were cloth. So Jacey must have replaced the original seats sometime after March. Then, after Reggie had slashed the hell out of Lucy, she’d put the original seats back in. She’d brought the slashed seats here, covering them with the ugly seat covers to hide the knife marks. Considering Jacey had rinsed out all the empty hotel shampoo bottles and stacked them neatly to dry, he shouldn’t be surprised. And if his theory was right, that meant that the diamonds were now back in Lucy—just where he’ d left them. The cool blade of Reggie’s knife pressed against the back of Al’s neck. “You better tell me you’ ve found some diamonds, you little shit.”

“They’re not here, Reggie,” Al said. “But I swear, I put them in these seats. I don’t know. I don’t know where they are.” Reggie grabbed Al with one meaty paw and jerked him to his feet, then slammed him face forward into the wall. Al felt and heard the sickening crack of cartilage in his nose and he fought the urge to pass out. “If you’re lying to me—” “I’m not,” Al lied, clamping his hand over his nose. If he could just get away—if he could just get to the old lady’s garage—he could pocket those diamonds and be out of the country by nightfall. “We’re partners, Reggie,” Al said. “I’m not going to screw you.” “You better not,” Reggie said, tossing him aside like so much garbage. “Because if I find out otherwise, you’re a dead man.” Al swallowed, but kept his face passive. That much, at least, he already knew. “So what do we do now?” Reggie asked. “Give me a second,” Al said, stalling while he tried to think of a way to escape. “I’m thinking we should go back to San Diego,” he finally said. Maybe the cops would pick up Reggie and Al could be rid of him that way. “I’m thinking you need to take another go at the girl.” “Hey!” A voice came from outside the garage and both Al and Reggie turned. An old man was standing beside his car, the door open and the engine still running as it idled in the driveway, blocking their exit. “What are you doing in my garage?” Reggie looked at Al and Al looked right back. Then he took off running—not thinking, just grabbing the opportunity and running like the devil himself was chasing. Under the circumstances, Al supposed he was. He shoved the old man aside, scrambled into the car, and peeled out of the parking lot. Hopefully, Reggie wouldn’t follow. But even if he did, Al had a plan for that. Yes, the whole thing was coming together—finally gelling. He’d be back in Mexico by morning, this time as a rich man. He better be. He was betting his life on it. “San Diego was beautiful, even though we didn’t find much new information. Still the fence did say he was supposed to meet a lawyer. We figure that had to be Al,” Jacey said as Millie poured tea into a mug. They’d told Millie about the trip, but not about their talk. That wasn’t a conversation she ever wanted to have. Saying it out loud would make it more real. And right now she was happy to avoid reality. “You two are quite a team,” Finn added. “Nick and Nora don’t have anything on you.” “Except they actually solve their cases,” David said. “A minor point,” Finn said. “Except it’s not,” Jacey said. She got up and walked to Millie’s sink, her gaze drifting toward the garage. “We aren’t any closer to the answer and in the meantime, I’m getting mugged and Lucy’s getting trashed.” She’d checked Lucy even before they went inside and the car was fine. But who knew for how long. David came up behind her, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder. The gesture was friendly, not intimate, and she blinked back tears. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll find Reggie. And we’ll figure out what happened.” She turned around to face him. “How can you be so sure?” “We have to figure it out,” he said with a grin. “I’ve got plans for that advance money.”

She knew he was joking, but there was a truth there. He did have plans. And the plans didn’t involve her. Or, rather, his plans didn’t mesh with her life. A question of semantics, really. Either way, the result was she didn’t have David. So much for happily ever after. Finn cleared his throat. “Well, you guys might be Nick and Nora, but I’m sticking with Bond.” He caught Jacey’s eye and smiled and she said a silent thank-you that he’d somehow read her mind and lightened the moment. “Now all I need to do is find a woman in a bikini with a gun and I’ll be all set.” “Better start beachcombing,” she said. He tapped a finger to his nose, then pointed to her. “Clever girl. I never would have thought of that.” “So let’s think about where we are and what we know,” David said, leaving her side to walk to the refrigerator. He pulled out some eggs and Jacey’s mouth started watering, anticipating a warm confection in about an hour. “We’re in Millie’s kitchen and we don’t know nearly enough,” Finn said. “We know Al was involved in the diamond theft and we know that Reggie’s after our Jacey,” Millie said. “The question is where to go next,” David said, pulling out a mixing bowl. “I talked to Cartwright earlier and so far the cops don’t have anything solid.” “It’s such a shame we don’t know where Al is,” Millie said. “He could probably tell us everything.” Finn and David and Jacey exchanged looks. “I don’t think that’s going to be happening,” David said. “I’m betting that right about now Al’s ordering a mai tai from one of Finn’s bikinied babes.” “I only said it was a shame,” Millie said. “I didn’t say he was going to knock at the door.” Hiding a grin, Jacey turned back to the sink, looking out the window toward the garage. She squinted, her brain trying to process what she was seeing. “A man,” she said. “There’s a man breaking into the garage.” “Hold it right there.” Al froze, his hands on the garage door, silently cursing. The garage faced a side of the house with only one tiny window. He’d banked on being able to sneak in and sneak out fast. So much for luck. It seemed to be in short supply for him lately. He turned around slowly, facing Jacey and David Anderson and the other guy who was living in the old lady’s house. The old lady herself was walking up the drive toward them, carrying a rolling pin. “Albert Alcott?” David said. “Al.” Jacey said at exactly the same time. “What the devil are you doing here?” the other guy said. “You want to escort Al into the house, Finn?” “Please,” Al said, hoping some of that nonexistent luck would come his way. “You have to help me.” Finn clutched his upper arm, aiming him toward the house. “I don’t think we have to do anything.”

“Shall I whack him?” the old lady said, the rolling pin raised. She squinted at Al’s nose. “Guess he ’s already been whacked, huh?” “I’m in trouble,” Al said, blurting out the first thing that came into his mind. “Joey Malone’s trying to kill me.” Finn and David looked at each other and Al kept going, sure that they’d taken the bait. Now all he had to do was reel them in. They’d get Reggie off his back and Al could exit stage left at the first opportunity. “I, uh, took something from Malone, and now—” “The diamonds,” David said. “Where are they?” Al licked his lips. He hadn’t realized just how much these folks knew. But like his father had told him, if he was going to tell a lie, use as much truth as possible. He looked at each of them in turn. “I hid them in Jacey’s car.” “Of course,” the old lady said. “I should have realized that right away. The Krugerrands were in the car in Lethal Weapon 2.” Al had no idea what the biddy was talking about, but he didn’t have time to ponder since Finn was tugging at his arm. “Let’s go have a look at these diamonds.” “They’re not there,” Al lied. David frowned. “You just said they were.” “Reggie has them.” Jacey and David exchanged glances. “When Lucy got trashed?” she asked. Al nodded. “They were in the dashboard, hidden down behind the glove box.” He had no idea if there was room for diamonds back there or not, but he was betting they didn’t, either. Finn shoved him through the door and into the kitchen. “That explains why I haven’t had any more trouble since that night,” Jacey said, looking at David. Al breathed a sigh of relief. Good. He’d been afraid she’d seen him or Reggie in the hotel. The old lady turned the fire on under a kettle, then clapped her hands together. “So,” she said. “Who’s up for tea?” Al looked at the other three, who didn’t seem too off-put by the bizarre request. After a second, he nodded. Why not? At the moment, he could damn sure use a spot of tea. David didn’t trust Al as far as he could throw him, but the only angle he could figure was that Al had lost the diamonds to Reggie and he was hoping that David and Finn and Jacey would somehow help him get them back. “So why is Reggie after you?” he asked. He glanced out Millie’s kitchen window. The one part of Al’s story he believed was that Reggie was after him and that meant Reggie might well show up on Millie’ s doorstep. “Malone wants revenge,” Al said. “Even though he’s got the diamonds back, he wants me dead.” He swallowed. “I want help. I want protection.” David crossed his arms over his chest. “So why come here? Why not go straight to the police?” David hadn’t called Cartwright yet; he wanted to talk to Al first. But whether Al wanted it or not, the police were going to soon be in the picture. “I, uh, I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to have time to think.” “And you thought you’d break into my aunt’s garage to do that?”

“Yes. I mean, no.” Al frowned. “I mean, the only place I knew for certain Reggie wouldn’t look for me would be with Lucy.” He shrugged. “He doesn’t have any reason to come back here.” “Now he does,” David said. “You’re here.” And he wanted to get as much information as possible out of Al before Reggie showed up. He stood up, pulling Al by the arm. “Let’s go have a little chat.” Al swallowed, but nodded. David looked at Finn. “Stay with Jacey,” he said. “Talk to him in my room,” Finn said. David nodded and started leading Al out of the room. Millie followed and he raised an eyebrow. “What?” she asked. “I’m your gal Friday. You need me to take notes. Besides,” she added, “I have some handcuffs in the chest of drawers. We can use them to detain our perp.” David rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask Millie what she was doing with handcuffs. “Well, I’m staying right here,” Jacey said. He nodded, happy to hear that she didn’t want to spend any more time with Al than absolutely necessary. Even after everything they now knew about Al, David still couldn’t help the unreasonable spurt of jealousy. Hell, if he was honest with himself, he was jealous of everyone Jacey had been with before. And he pretty damn near hated everyone she’d be with in the future. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the current Al situation, not his life with or without Jacey. “Do you want me to stay?” he asked. “No.” Her eyes met his. “You need to talk to him for your book. And I’m fine. I just don’t want to see him right now. And I don’t even want to think about the fact that I’ve been driving around with a million dollars in diamonds for four months.” Jacey felt a little bit like a wimp, but David seemed to understand. He gave her a quick kiss before leaving her with Finn. She pressed her fingertips to her cheek, wishing she could somehow save the kiss and pull it out whenever she was feeling sad or lonely. “He loves you, you know,” Finn said. “I’ve never seen him really in love before.” Jacey blinked, an unwelcome tear spilling out. “I love him, too. But we want different things. Different lives.” “I know all about that,” Finn said. His eyes met hers. “But I’ve never looked at a woman the way David looks at you.” “I hope someday you do,” Jacey said. Finn grinned. “Thanks.” The sharp crack of breaking glass ripped through the apartment. Finn was immediately on his feet. “That came from the living room,” he said, edging toward the hall. He pointed a finger at her. “Don’t move.” Jacey nodded and he slipped around the doorframe. She drew in a breath, waiting, hoping it was just neighborhood kids and a stray baseball, but pretty sure that it wasn’t. Her body was on hyperaware, every creak and groan of the old house making her jump. The kitchen door burst open and Jacey let out a scream.

Reggie. He rushed in, his scar bulging, and she screamed again, but this time he clamped a hand over her mouth, yanking her to her feet and slamming her back against the refrigerator. “Tell me now, where the fuck are the diamonds?” Jacey tried to speak, but couldn’t with his hand over her mouth. The cold steel at her throat wasn’ t doing much for her ability to form words, either. Tears traced down her face, tickling a bit since she wasn’t able to wipe them away, and she wondered what the hell she’d done to deserve this. Nothing. Not a thing. Except pick up the wrong guy in a hotel four months ago. “You have the diamonds,” she said, which was stupid, since he obviously didn’t. “What the hell are you talking about?” Reggie said. “I don’t got shit. But I’m going to get my face smashed in by Joey if I don’t go back with those diamonds.” “Al said you have them,” she said, hoping David and Finn had heard her scream and were coming to rescue her. She summoned her courage and met Reggie’s eyes. “That’s all I know. I swear.” “You swear?” He pushed the gun in harder, until she was sure she’d have a barrel-size bruise on her neck. “You swear? And I’m supposed to believe that?” Something moved near the now-open door and Jacey froze. “I can’t help what you believe,” she said, half trying to convince him and half trying to keep him from looking toward the kitchen door. A foot appeared and then a hand with a gun. David. Her heart twisted. She’d known he wouldn’t let her down. He loved her. The thought brought more tears to her eyes. She’d been clinging to an illusion. She didn’t need bricks and mortar. The stability she craved was in David, not in an address. The truth had been right there all along, she just hadn’t wanted to see it. “Maybe you and I should take a little walk to your car,” Reggie said. “We’ll take her apart piece by piece and see if we can’t find those diamonds.” A slight movement caught her attention and she twisted just slightly, then realized that Finn was lurking in the hallway, his hand dwarfing a tiny little pistol that probably belonged to Millie. Except since Reggie was practically on top of her, neither one could get in a good shot. Something needed to give and the only thing she could think of was her. Shit. David’s eyes met Jacey’s and he saw the fear there, but also the trust. It was the trust that made his gut twist. This asshole had David’s girl, dammit, and David couldn’t do one damn thing. Not until he could get a clear shot. They’d already called Cartwright and told him to get the hell over here, but unless Reggie surrendered, they wouldn’t be in any better position. Worse, maybe, if Reggie decided to use Jacey as a hostage. So it was imperative that David rescue Jacey now, before Reggie got any bright ideas. His blood boiled and he fought the urge to lunge. What he wanted to do was barrel down on Reggie, then shove his piece into the oaf’s stomach. He wanted to wrestle the guy to the ground and bend his arm backward until he cried uncle. Hell, he wanted to rescue his girl in an action scene worthy of one of Millie’s movies. Monroe could manage something like that, no doubt about that. But this wasn’t fiction and David wasn’t taking any chances with Jacey’s life.

David’s entire body went cold and he willed himself not to even think about that. He was going to get Jacey back and that’s all there was to it. She didn’t deserve this. No, she deserved safety. A lush green lawn. A little fence. Maybe a rose bush. And a nice garage for Lucy. She deserved all that and she deserved a man there with her. A man who loved her. And he was that man. Reggie was moving her, inching around. Any second now, he’d come full circle and see David and Jacey was still in the way. Damn. And that’s when she did it. Brilliant and stupid all at the same time, Jacey pretended to trip. And in the split second when Reggie moved the gun away to keep her steady, Jacey jammed a finger into his eye, just the way David had told her. Reggie howled and David rushed forward, Finn moving just as fast from the opposite direction. Reggie tried to get off a round, but David thrust his leg out, kicking Reggie in the wrist and sending the gun clattering across the tile to the far side of the kitchen. After that it was easy. With no Jacey in the line of fire, and no gun in Reggie’s hand, David just aimed his own gun at Reggie’s chest. “Don’t worry, Reggie,” he said, as sirens whined in the distance. “We already arranged a ride home for you.” David had rescued her, just like she knew he would, and now all she could do was cling to him. And if she had her way, she wasn’t ever letting go again. “Nice moves,” Finn said. “Just like Rene and Mel,” Millie added, coming into the room. Jacey exhaled. She’d known Millie was safe, but seeing her now, she felt a lot better. Especially since Millie had been in the back of the house with Al and she didn’t trust him at all. She cocked her head, looking from David to Finn. “So where’s Al?” “Handcuffed to a chair in Finn’s room,” David said. Millie shook her head. “No he’s not. I followed David after Jacey screamed—” “Millie,” David said with exasperation. “I told you to stay put with Al.” “Well, I went back,” she said. “But Al wasn’t there.” David and Finn exchanged lightning-quick glances, then raced out of the room. Jacey followed. Sure enough. No Al. Just a smashed wooden chair. “Lucy,” Jacey said, everything clicking into place. “He’s going to slash her seats.” They hurried to the garage, but Al had already been there, too. Sure enough, the passenger seat was slit open, Millie’s letter opener sitting neatly on top. “How the hell did you know that?” David asked. “Reggie didn’t have the diamonds,” she said. “So I started thinking. I know every inch of Lucy,” she said. “But I’d replaced the seats.” She shrugged. “Until Reggie trashed Lucy, the diamonds were sitting in my neighbor’s garage.” “And we put them back in before we went to San Diego.” Jacey nodded. “Well, Cartwright will put an APB out for him,” Finn said. “But my guess is that by this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a beach sipping a mai tai.” “Fine by me,” Jacey said, moving into David’s arms. “I owe him big-time anyway.”

“You owe him?” David asked. “Sure,” she said, twisting around to see him better. “If it weren’t for Al, I’d never have met you.” She was safe. Thank God, she was safe. The mantra ran over and over in his head, like an old LP with a scratch. He’d rescued the woman he loved and now he’d do anything to keep her safe and happy. He was starting simply—a double chocolate torte with a strawberry glaze—but he intended to move up the ladder from there. All the way to marriage, on her terms. Pretty damn scary, but there you had it. He wanted Jacey and he wanted her all the way. And if that meant doing the suburban thing again, well, he could handle that. For Jacey, he was willing to handle just about anything. He turned the fire down under the saucepan where he was working on the glaze and turned to her. She smiled at him, looking perfectly content sipping tea at Millie’s kitchen table and wearing his sweatshirt and pants. “You doing okay?” he asked for about the eighteen millionth time as Millie patted her hand. They’ d described the action in the kitchen that Millie had missed and since then, the older woman had been doing one heck of a lot of hand-patting. Jacey’s grin shot straight to his heart. “I told you. I’m fine. And you really don’t have to feed me.” She licked her lips. “Not that I’m complaining.” “Good. You better not be.” He moved to the far side of the room, grabbing the newspaper he’d marked up after the police had left. He dropped the real estate section on the table in front of her. “And this is for you, too.” At first, confusion lit her face. Then she looked up at him, her bright smile letting him know he’d done the right thing. “Model homes?” she asked. “You’ve circled model homes.” He nodded. “We can start shopping whenever you want.” “Shopping,” she repeated. “For what?” He took a deep breath. “For a house. For us. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. Suburbs. Fence. Swing set. The whole nine yards.” “Well, it’s about time,” Millie said. David ignored his aunt, all his attention focused on Jacey. She didn’t answer right away and his stomach jumped from nerves as she looked back down at the paper, her finger tracing the house he’d circled on the very first page. When she looked back up her eyes were bright, but brimming over with tears. “We can’t do this,” she said. “What?” His voice was only a whisper. “I don’t want to make you move to the suburbs. I don’t want you to give up traveling.” She brushed a tear away as he held his breath, still not sure where she was going with this. “I thought I wanted the fairy tale. The castle and all that. But, really, all I wanted was the happily ever after.” She smiled and he knew from the love he saw shining there what her answer would be. “You ’re my happily ever after, David. Here or in Paris or in your tiny little garage apartment.” She smiled. “ You’re the constant. Not some stupid house, but you.” She shrugged. “Cliché, but home is where the heart is.” “You’re sure?” She nodded. “I’ve been pretending to be something I’m not and making plans for a life that I wouldn’t really be happy in. It’s scary, but I need to just be myself and trust that it’ll work out. And I

want a man who loves me for me. Even if I have some crappy job painting murals on the walls of a studio resale shop, or if I never manage to sell one single painting from the banks of the Seine.” David laughed. “Then I’m your man.” “I know you are.” He held her gaze for a moment, then realized his glaze was burning and spun around to the stove. “When you’re not traveling, you should live here,” Millie said. “I hate to think of the house having renters.” David turned back from the stove. “Renters?” he repeated. Millie nodded. “Yes, dear. I’m moving to a charming little apartment community in Altadena. The staff helps with meals, and there are organized activities, and every apartment comes equipped with a cable modem.” David blinked, sure he couldn’t possibly have heard right. “You’re moving?” “I think it will be a lovely change of pace. And you two can live here. In fact, I should just deed the house over to you now.” She patted Jacey’s hand. “After all, David’s been paying the property taxes and the insurance and all the other bills. I think that’s only fair.” David swallowed. “You knew about that?” She nodded, looking particularly pleased with herself. “Like Finn said, I’m hell on wheels with a mouse.” “But—” David cut himself off, not sure what to say. All his work to keep it a secret and she knew. He ran his fingers through his hair, cursing computers and online banking and Uncle Edgar, too, just for good measure. “David loves this house,” Millie was saying to Jacey. “And if he hadn’t helped me cover the bills, I would have lost it.” “You should have just told me you knew,” David said. “Oh, no.” Millie shook her head. “That wouldn’t have been proper at all.” She folded her hands in her lap. “And this way everything worked out just fine.” David squinted. “What worked out?” “The whole shebang,” Millie said, while Jacey put a hand over her mouth to hide a grin. “I know how much you love this house, but if I’d asked you to buy it from me so I could move, you would have felt obligated. You would have stopped planning for your trip to Paris and the house would have seemed like a burden. But this way, you felt good because you were helping me, and I felt good knowing that since the house would soon be yours anyway, it wasn’t as if you were throwing your money away on me.” She turned to Jacey. “Not bad thinking for an old lady, huh?” “Not bad at all.” David silently agreed. He took Millie’s hands and pulled her out of her chair and into a hug. “I love you, you know,” he said. “Well, of course I know, dear. Why else would you put up with me?” She stepped back, still clasping one of his hands. “I’m right, aren’t I? You do want the house?” He looked at Jacey, who was positively beaming. “Oh yeah,” he said. “I want it.” He frowned. “But I don’t like the idea of you moving out.” “It’s a big place,” Jacey said. “Why don’t you stay?” “Absolutely,” David said.

“Nonsense,” Millie said, sitting back down at the table. “I’ve been looking at this community for a long time. They have polka classes and classes in html. And the young man who teaches badminton looks remarkably like Mel Gibson.” Jacey laughed. “In that case, I’m sure there’s no changing your mind.” “Then it’s settled,” Millie said, effectively cutting off any further protests. She reached into the bag of knitting beside her chair and pulled out a magazine. She passed it to Jacey—Modern Bride. “Now, dear. About your wedding dress…”

Epilogue The Colonel put his arm around Sarah and led her back into the house. Turner looked at me. He knew something was up, but he also knew he wouldn’t hear about it from me. Smart fellow. “Someday you’ll have to tell me what I’m missing,” he said. I put my cigarette up to my lips and inhaled. “Someday I might,” I said. “But I wouldn’t bet the ranch.” He turned away, heading down the driveway toward his heap. I went in the opposite direction, drawn like a moth to Mallory’s flame. She was there on the front porch, her eyes bright, and when I came up the steps she held out a hand for me. “Thank you,” she said. “Any time, sweetheart.” Her eyes met mine. “I hope you mean that, Mr. Monroe.” I only hesitated a second. “Every word, Ms. Stamp.” She licked her lips, then walked down the steps and headed for my car. “I didn’t used to believe in happily ever after,” Mallory said, opening the door and slipping inside. “I do now.” I closed the door and walked around to my side of the car, dropping my Chesterfield to the pavement and grinding it out with the toe of my shoe. As they say, all’s well that ends well. In my case, I have to say it ended just fine. I found Sarah, solved the mystery, and forged some sort of truce with the Colonel. Most important, I got the girl. Not bad for a gumshoe from the San Fernando Valley. Not bad at all. Jacey put down the galley pages for Dead Before Dawn and looked up at him. David swallowed, even more nervous than he’d been when he’d said “I do.” “Well?” “Not bad,” she said, with a grin. “Not bad at all.” “So you like it?” She laughed, coming over to kiss him on the cheek. “I love it. I think it’s great they’re releasing it and Hot Ice at the same time.” David nodded; it was a great idea. The publisher was releasing his novel and his exposé on the diamond theft together and sending him on a twenty-city book tour that coincided with a bunch of media interviews Reggie had lined up from inside the minimum-security penitentiary. Reggie had plea-bargained his way to a reduced sentence and Joey was the one who’d really gotten nailed. In addition to theft, Reggie’d been the state’s star witness for a whole laundry list of charges, starting with racketeering and

basically covering the rest of the California penal code. “We’ll be living out of a suitcase for at least a month,” David said, hooking his arm around her waist and pulling her down onto his lap. “Think you can handle that?” “I already handled three months in Paris in the world’s tiniest apartment while you were writing the books,” she said. “So long as I’m with you, I can handle anything. And so long as we come home in the end.” “Good,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose. “Because you’re stuck with me.” “Yeah?” “Absolutely,” he said. “Didn’t you hear? Me and Monroe—we always get the girl.” She snuggled close. “That’s good,” she said. “Because the girl wanted to be gotten.” He held her that way for a few minutes, then she tilted her head back, a question in her eyes. “What?” “I was just wondering,” she said. “Do you think they’ll ever find the diamonds? Or Al, for that matter?” “I don’t know, sweetheart,” he said, pulling her close again. “I really don’t know.” • • • Al pushed his sunglasses up his nose, then took a long sip of his frozen daiquiri. This was the life. This was what he’d deserved. Those four months in squalor were just a bad memory. Now he had sparkling white sand, the crystal clear blue ocean, fine food and drink, and an endless parade of bathing beauties. He might have taken a slight detour, but eventually, he’d made it to heaven. “Is this seat taken?” Al looked up, drawn to the melodious feminine voice. A tall brunette in a sarong skirt and a barely-there bikini top smiled down at him, gesturing to the lounge chair beside his. He shook his head. “It is now, I hope. By you, that is.” She smiled, then sat on the edge, crossing her legs to reveal a bit of perfectly shaped calf. The chairs were close together and when she leaned forward, he got a fabulous view straight down her cleavage. Oh yeah. Al had found his evening’s entertainment. “I’m Al,” he said, holding out his hand for her to shake. “I’m Amber,” she said. “So pleased to meet you.” And then she leaned over, close enough to kiss him. Her lips brushed his ear, her breath tickling him. “And Al,” she whispered, as he felt the cold steel of a gun barrel press into his chest, “I think we’ve got about a million little things to talk about…”

POCKET BOOKS Proudly Presents

THE SPY WHO LOVES ME JULIE KENNER

Available January 2004 from Pocket Books Turn the page for a preview of The Spy Who Loves Me…. With a practiced hand, agent Phineus Teague—code-named Python—adjusted the bow-tie of his midnight blue Briani tuxedo, aiming the miniature camera toward the statuesque blonde seated at the baccarat table on the far side of the casino. Static hissed in his ear, then, “We got picture. You ’re good to go.” Finn tipped his head, letting his partner know he’d copied the message. But he didn’t move. Not yet. The timing needed to be perfect. This mission was just too damn important. “Le Grande,” said the croupier. “Madam wins.” The woman nodded, her face impassive. She slid a hundred-franc chip across the table, a tip for the dealer. Then she stood, her shimmering evening gown clinging to her extravagant curves. At least he knew she was unarmed; there was no place to hide a gun under that dress. As she gathered her chips, her gaze met his. Her lips curved into a seductive smile, but it was her eyes that caught Finn’s attention—ice-blue and treacherous. Tatiana Nicasse. A double-agent, only she’d gone bad. Very bad. There was no hint of recognition in her eyes, just a pure, sexual heat. Good. He needed information, and he was happy to extract it by whatever means necessary. He stepped away from the wall, moving toward her, ignoring the appreciative glances from the other women in the room. A waiter passed, and Finn took two flutes of champagne, holding one out to Tatiana. She took it, then held the glass up in a silent toast before taking a sip, her lipstick leaving an imprint on the glass. “You know the way to a woman’s heart,” she said, her accent alluring. Her gaze drifted down, then back up again, and his body fired in response. She might be the enemy, but he wasn’t dead. Far from it. “What else do you know about women?” she asked, the invitation in her voice unmistakable. “I think it’s fair to say I’m an expert,” he said. He drifted closer, brushing his fingers over her bare shoulder and down her arm. The woman was pure danger, all wrapped up in a silky black dress. “And modest, too.” She raised one delicately shaped eyebrow. “I like that in a man. Perhaps we can determine the extent of your expertise, no?” She reached between her breasts, extracting a thin, gold-plated case. She clicked it open and pulled out a cigarette, clearly expecting him to light it. He didn’t disappoint, and her hand curved around his as he held the burning match. The tobacco glowed red, and she leaned back, exhaling toward the ceiling. “Merci, Mr.…?” “Teague,” he said. “Phineus Teague.” Finn rubbed his palms vigorously over his face, pulling himself out of the fantasy, and trying to concentrate on the pile of work stacked up on his kitchen table. It wasn’t easy. The work was deathly dull, the blonde across the courtyard so much more intriguing. He didn’t know one damn thing about her, but already she’d sparked his imagination. She rarely closed her curtains, and her patio door was right across from his kitchen window. Fair game. Especially since he enjoyed watching her move a hell of a lot more than he enjoyed reading briefs.

The woman was spectacular. Tall, like a model, but not stick thin and flat-chested like so many of the magazines liked to hawk these days. The kind of woman a man could get his hands around. He imagined she knew her appeal, too, and used it to her advantage. Probably smuggling something into the country, using her feminine wiles to bribe customs agents, kissing them with poisoned lipstick if other means didn’t prevail. Not that he had any real reason to think that. From what he could tell, her life never veered from the normal. She worked out every night in a skin-tight black leotard, then popped a movie into the VCR. Every once in a while, she’d practice some kicks—like she thought she was Buffy or something. Once in a while she dressed up, and Finn could only assume she had a date. If so, she met him somewhere, because loverboy never came to her door. Overall, pretty standard stuff. Compared to him, though, her life was a mile-a-minute thrill ride. His was a slow ride on a kiddie train. Law school. What the hell had he been thinking? He’d fantasized about pacing a courtroom, a modern day Perry Mason, and winning the day for truth, justice, and all the rest of it. Not hardly. And now he needed the salary to pay off the law school loans. Trapped by his own stupidity. Damn it all, he should have just been a bartender. With one frustrated swipe of his arm, Finn sent the stack of interrogatories and deposition transcripts flying onto the floor. So much for the exciting life of a trial attorney—he was bored out of his freaking mind. For one solid week, he’d pulled seventeen-hour days at the office, researching bullshit procedural points, objecting to discovery, and summarizing depositions. The promise of the upcoming weekend had been the only thing that kept him sane. And now his much-anticipated weekend had arrived. A glorious Southern California day. Not a particle of smog in the air. The beach five blocks away. A perfect seventy-eight degrees. But was he outside enjoying it? Not hardly. Instead he was holed up in his apartment, trying to concentrate on the pile of work due first thing Monday morning, and fantasizing about the woman in the window. Shit. He snorted, disgusted with himself, and got up to inspect the contents of his refrigerator. Nothing except a bottle of Gatorade and a three-day old burrito. Hell, even his food was dull. Whatever. The bottom line, it was going to be a long weekend. And if he was going to survive it, he needed coffee. With his Starbucks goal firmly in mind, he grabbed his keys off the microwave and headed for the door, yanking it open with more force than he intended. The woman in the hall jumped, turning to press her back against the wall. “Oh!” she said. “You startled me.” “Sorry.” He stepped into the hallway. “Amy, right?” “Amber,” she said. “Amber Robinson.” She was decked out in sweatpants and a T-shirt topped with a hooded jacket. A backpack hung casually from one shoulder. She wore no make-up and her long brown hair was pulled back from her face, a few tendrils, damp with sweat, curling around her hairline. She’d lived next door to him for a month now, and he’d never seen her in anything but baggy jeans or sweatpants, her hair always pulled into a ponytail, her face usually hidden by a baseball cap. She could probably be pretty, he supposed, but she didn’t seem like the type who cared. “Going out?” she asked, making small talk. From what he could tell, she was something of a recluse, and they rarely saw each other. When they did, the conversation was polite. Neighborly, but boring.

“Coffee run,” he said. He considered asking her to join him, but ruled it out. “I’m working at home.” “You lawyers. They grind you into the ground.” “No kidding,” he said, wondering when he’d told her his profession. Maybe in the laundry room…? She aimed a thumb at her doorway, facing him as she walked backward in that direction. “I should be getting inside. Good to see you.” Her hand closed around her doorknob, and she leaned in as the door opened, then disappeared from his view. Something akin to disappointment settled in Finn’s chest, and he frowned. Clearly, he was working too much, not getting enough quality interaction with the opposite sex. Amber Robinson was definitely not his type. Not even close. No, if he was stuck in a boring job, he wanted excitement in the rest of his life, and particularly in his bed. An adventurous woman. One who could keep him on his toes, both in and out of the bedroom. The woman in the window, maybe. Amber? Definitely not. • • • Amber clicked the door shut and locked it, the precaution automatic. She reached behind her to the waistband of her sweats, her fingers closing around the molded butt of her Walther PPK. She slipped the gun free as she walked into her living room, tossing it onto the couch as a vivid curse slipped from her lips. She’d been careless out there, stupidly adjusting the gun when Finn had opened his door. Dumb and dangerous. She wasn’t usually so sloppy—hell, she’d developed a reputation within the Group as being dead-on perfect—and her lapse pissed her off. “Temper, temper,” a voice chastised behind her. She whipped around, muscles tight and poised, the knife she’d sheathed under her sleeve pulled out and ready. From her bathroom doorway, Brandon Kline held up his hands, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Shit, Robinson, it’s just me.” “Dammit, Brandon.” She pitched the knife next to the gun. “Haven’t I asked you nicely to please not break in? Someone might see.” “Not to worry,” he said, moving to sit on one of her barstools. “I’m good.” She frowned, but didn’t argue. He was good. They’d been recruited together by the Group, and had become fast friends. She’d trusted Brandon with her life on more than one occasion. “So what’s got your panties in a wad?” he asked. “I just did a stupid thing, and it’s irritating me.” She kicked off her running shoes, careful not to damage the camera hidden in the toe, then unzipped her warm-up jacket and threw it over the back of a chair. The tank top followed, then the sweatpants. Each layer revealing more of the short, flirty black dress she’d worn earlier. Brandon raked an appreciative gaze over her. “You know, kid, there are times when I think maybe we should just get it on,” he said, a tease in his voice. “What? And ruin my perfect record of being completely unable to have a romantic relationship?” She shook her head. “Not even for you.” “So how’d it go?” he asked, turning serious.

“Smooth as silk. Everything’s in place.” Translation, she’d tagged their target with the homing device. “Good girl. Sorry for such a mundane assignment.” “No problem,” she said. “It was the highlight of my month.” Maybe that was the cause of her earlier faux pas in the hallway—too much observation and not enough action. And today, when she’d been temporarily pulled off her current assignment, she’d let the thrill of having something active to do go to her head. A serious mistake, especially considering Phineus Teague was a living, breathing question mark. She knew a lot about him, but still he was a mystery. A lawyer, but there was clearly more. A background check revealed that Finn had bounced from career to career, before acing law school and settling in at Levitt, Marc, Goodson & Blair, a huge Los Angeles–based firm that did ninety percent of the legal work for ninety percent of the defense contractors in the area. A coincidence? Maybe. But Amber didn’t think so. Especially since she’d first run across Finn’s name when she was tracking down Albert Alcott and the diamonds he’d stolen. Gemstone quality stones, the proceeds intended to go to the Group to finance their operations. When Joey Malone had stolen the diamonds from the Group’s primary financial backer, that had been a serious setback, and it had only gotten worse when Al had managed to get the diamonds out of the country. More brownie points in her favor when she’d recovered Al—along with his numbered bank accounts. And now Finn had his eye on her current quarry. From what Amber had seen, Finn was keeping a close watch on Diana Traynor. The question, of course, was why. Brandon headed for her kitchen, then pulled a beer out of the refrigerator and popped the top. “Anything new on your neighbor?” he asked, apparently reading her mind. “I was just thinking about him,” she admitted. “There’s more to Phineus Teague than meets the eye.” “I’ll buy that,” Brandon said. He tossed her a beer. She caught it one-handed. “But who does he work for? We already checked him out thoroughly, and not a damn thing showed up.” “He must be a new recruit,” Amber said. “Or a civilian pulled in to do a team’s dirty work.” “Fair enough,” Brandon said with a nod. “But if that’s the case, he’s in over his head.” Amber silently agreed. If their information was right, Traynor had managed to infiltrate Aeronautical Engineering Labs—a major defense contractor—and acquire the plans to a state-of-the-art communications satellite. In other words, a spy satellite. But Traynor herself was just a guppy. The Group, a shadowy organization that did everything from hostage rescue to out-and-out espionage, had been called in to catch the bigger fish. So far, Amber had spent three weeks observing Traynor, waiting for the woman to slip up. Nothing. Traynor was a professional. Teague, however, was not. It had taken her less than a day to make him, and she wondered if Traynor had made him, too. If so, unless Finn learned the rules of the game pretty darn fast, chances were he’d be fish food before long. A shame, actually. The man was exceptionally good looking. Nice, too, if their short conversations in front of the mailboxes were any indication. She might have an allergy to relationships, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate a well-built man—and she certainly knew what to do with one. “There are too many questions out there for me to be comfortable,” she said, thinking aloud. “Teague’s firm represents AEL. He moved in across the courtyard from Traynor. And when he’s home, he keeps a pretty close eye on her.” She popped the top on her beer. “That must add up to something.” The corner of Brandon’s mouth twitched. “Seems like you know an awful lot about Mr. Teague’s

habits.” Her skin flushed warm. She was not going to go there. “The man’s got his eye on my quarry. Damn straight I’m going to watch him.” Was it her fault the view was nice? She raised her chin. “As a matter of fact, I’m planning on doing a bit more than watch.” Brandon’s eyebrows raised. “Oh?” She nodded, the plan forming even as she opened her mouth. “That’s right. Teague’s an unknown quantity, and I don’t like unknowns. Too messy. Is he friend or foe? We need to know who he works for. Hell, we need to know if he works for anyone at all.” “And how do you propose to find that out?” Brandon asked, amusement lacing his voice. “Hidden cameras? Listening devices? A hypodermic filled with truth serum.” “Last resorts,” she said, meeting his smile. “First, I’m going to simply get close to Mr. Phineus Teague.”