n Sarasota, news traveled fast.

Which was why, on Friday morning, ten minutes after Ric was released from the Sarasota City Jail, and two minutes after he got off the phone with his mother at the hospital, Gordie Burns Junior took his call.

He had business, Ric told Junior as he drove himself home, that he wanted to discuss in person. That was not a problem—most of Junior’s business was the kind that couldn’t be discussed over the phone. But Junior wasn’t available until Saturday night, late. They made plans to meet at Tammy’s, which was Screech’s main rival as far as topless dancers went, out west of the highway on Fruitville Road.

Jules Cassidy’s rental car was parked in Ric’s driveway, no doubt because Martell had needed to leave for court. One thing about the little FBI guy—his word was rock-solid. At least when it came to keeping Annie safe.

Yeah, Ric was the one who’d gotten her knocked to the floor of the police-station coffee room last night.

As he let himself into his office, Pierre barked at him from his perch on Annie’s lap. She was working at her desk, Cassidy leaning over her shoulder, scratching Pierre’s ridiculous ears. They’d both been laughing about something that was on the computer screen, but now they looked over at him in silence, Cassidy straightening up. They both watched as Ric found the hanger for his torn and grimy tux jacket and hung it up.

“Honey, I’m home,” he finally said, because someone had to say something, and he knew that expressing his intense jealousy over the fact that Pierre never let him scratch his ears would not be well received. Probably because it was wildly irrational. He didn’t want to scratch the dog’s mutant ears. He slipped his bow tie and cummerbund into the tux jacket’s pockets, his movements a tad too forceful.

Annie and Jules exchanged a message-laden look, as if they’d become best friends in his absence and could now communicate telepathically.

“I’ve been in touch with your mother,” Annie told him. “Your dad’s doing well.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I know. I spoke to her this morning, too.”

She displaced Pierre as she stood up and came toward him—not to embrace him or even punch him in the face, but instead to run the bug sweeper across both him and his jacket. She’d transformed back into a blue-jean-wearing mortal—with a nasty scrape on her right elbow from being tackled to the coffee-room floor.

Ric caught her hand to try to get a closer look, but she jerked it away. “It’s not a big deal, so don’t turn it into one.”

“Not a big deal?” he repeated, sick to his stomach. This was exactly what he didn’t want to happen. “Next time I tell you to leave, you leave.”

“Maybe next time you should tell me what you’re doing,” she fired back.

“I didn’t have time.” He picked up the bug sweeper. “And we didn’t have this.”

“Then maybe we better get another one and start carrying it in the car”—Annie didn’t back down—“because I honestly didn’t know what you were trying to do. I still don’t know why you wanted to—”

“Bottom line is, when I tell you to leave, you leave.”

“You also told me to stick close,” she countered. “To never go anywhere without you.”

Jules cleared his throat, and Ric turned to see that he’d picked up Pierre and was holding the dog the way only Annie could, which just added to his feelings of annoyance. Like Annie, Jules was dressed down in jeans and a T-shirt. He looked more like a student at the Ringling School of Design than an FBI agent.

“I’d offer to run out and get coffee so you guys can resolve this sans audience,” Jules said, “but not only is there already a pot made, but I kinda need to verify that Ric did, in fact, contact Gordie Junior just a few minutes ago via cell phone.”

“What?” Annie asked, looking at Ric. “You called Gordie Junior?”

“Yup,” Ric said. “I set up a meeting to discuss a potential hit on Bob Donofrio, for nearly killing my father.”

“What would Gordie Burns Junior do?” Jules gestured with his head toward Annie. “She told me about your text message.”

“When’s the meeting?” Annie demanded.

As if she thought she was going with him. “Neither of us said very much.” Ric ignored her as he spoke to Jules. “Not over the phone. But I have no doubt that he knows exactly what this meeting’s about. It was obvious he’d already heard about my freak-out at the police station last night.”

Jules nodded as Annie fumed. “So you think it’s the son—smuggling terrorists into the country.”

“No,” Ric said. “I’m not sure he’s smart enough. But one of the things Gordon Senior asked me to do was spend time with Junior. What better way to bond than over a heartwarming plan for a revenge killing?”

Not that it was actually going to happen. No way was Ric going to jeopardize his father’s chance to kick Donofrio’s ass in court—as well as through the media. Which was why, as much as he’d wanted to, he hadn’t put hands on the other detective last night. And he’d never tell Annie this, but having her there, trying to talk him down from the proverbial ledge, had kept him from having to stand there tapping his toes, waiting for the cavalry—what took them so long?—to come and throw his ass into lockup.

“I figured we had our way into Burns Point through your, uh, friend. The movie star.” Ric continued to explain himself to the FBI. “I saw a chance to get close to Junior, so I took it.” He finally looked directly at Annie. “And it’s going to be me going to this meeting. Alone.”

“We’ll make sure he’s got backup,” Jules reassured her. He took a deep breath. “About my…friendship with Robin Chadwick…”

Ric didn’t want to hear this. “You don’t need to explain. Really.”

“A few years ago, I was part of a task force that protected his sister,” Jules said. “He was shot and nearly killed, so you’d think he’d want to stay far away from me, but, um…He is our quickest and easiest way into Burns Point, so we’re going to have to use him. On the slim chance that Peggy Ryan’s still alive, days—hours—could make a difference in keeping her that way.” He put Pierre onto the floor and straightened back up. “But Robin’s completely inexperienced. He’s mercurial and reckless. And an alcoholic. And I will die to keep him safe, so…I thought you should know that.”

Annie was the first to speak after that. “Do you love him?” she asked quietly, as if there were any doubt whatsoever.

Christ. Ric had never really given much thought to what it meant to be gay. At least not in terms of anything but the obvious ick factor. The idea of love being involved…Did Jules love Robin? It was both absurd, and yet so obviously an unnecessary question, because it was clear to him that Jules did.

The FBI agent didn’t seem put off by the personal nature of Annie’s question. He just smiled, albeit ruefully. “Doesn’t everybody love Robin Chadwick?”

“I had no idea he was gay,” she said. “I mean, until last night.”

“Oh, come on,” Ric said. “He’s an actor. They’re all gay. Especially the ones who make a big deal about getting married and having kids.”

Annie looked at him in disgust. “For someone who claims they hate stereotyping—”

“Robin Chadwick’s not gay,” Jules interrupted.

“You mean, he’s never publicly admitted it,” Ric interpreted, but Jules neither confirmed nor denied it. He just stood there, looking as if he’d rather be doing anything else right now—other than having this conversation.

“He’s in the closet,” Annie deduced. “Pretty solidly. He’s done a really good job—I mean the whole womanizing, heartbreaker reputation…Do you think what’s-her-name, Sharkette? Does she know?”

“Dolphina.” Jules corrected her with a laugh that morphed too quickly into a noise of disgust. “Look, you can speculate all you want. I’m not going to comment on—”

“Why would you want to protect him?” Annie asked, because she still didn’t get it.

“Robin’s our way into Burns Point tonight,” Jules told her, doing the age-old government representative’s dodge of not answering the question that was asked, while making it seem as if he was. “After that, he’s out of here. He’s going back to Hollywood. I’ll be making sure of it.”

Ric laughed. “Good luck with that. ”

Jules was a very smart man. He surely knew that Robin wasn’t going anywhere if he didn’t want to. And with Burns all starstruck…Chances were greater that Robin would move into Burns Point as a houseguest before he’d willingly fly home to California—if he felt even a fraction of what Jules obviously felt for him.

“Bottom line,” Jules said, “I’m not involved with him, and I do not intend to become involved with him—not that it’s any of your business.” He deftly changed the subject. “We’ve got a one o’clock spot at a firing range up in Tampa this afternoon.” He turned to Ric. “It’s not necessary for you to—”

“Oh, I’m going,” he said.

“Fine.” Jules gathered up his briefcase. “I’ll make arrangements for you to meet the rest of my team then. As you requested.”

“Good.” It was difficult for Ric to meet the FBI agent’s gaze, now that his gayness wasn’t just rampant speculation.

Jules knew it, too. But he packed up whatever frustration he was feeling, and he took it with him as he headed for the door. Ric knew exactly the kind of self-discipline that required. “I’ll be back later. We’ll need to leave by noon.”

“We’ll be ready,” Annie said.

Ric bent down and caught Pierre’s collar, to keep the little dog from following Jules out into the yard. “Hey, Cassidy.”

Jules turned back, careful to keep his impatience from showing on his face.

“Thanks for, uh, staying here with Annie.” Ric made himself meet Jules’s steady gaze. “I know you got up early to get here before Martell left. I just wanted you to know how much I really appreciate it.”

“Not that it was necessary,” Annie interjected, and Ric rolled his eyes.

Jules smiled. “It wasn’t a problem,” he said, and gently closed the door behind him.

“So let’s have it,” Ric said to Annie as the door closed behind Jules. “You’re mad because you don’t need a babysitter, you’re mad because I didn’t tell you what I was up to last night, you’re mad because I’m not going to let you go to that meeting with Junior…What am I leaving out here? You’re mad because…now you’ve got a police record?”

“Yeah, that’s not going to stick,” Annie told him. She hadn’t done anything wrong. “I’m not worried about that.”

“Good,” Ric said, “because you’re right, it’s gone. I got it cleared up before I left this morning.”

“I am worried about your mother,” Annie said. “I can’t believe you told her that I moved in.” How could he have been so cruel? Karen Alvarado was one of the nicest women on the planet. Annie had always liked her. She was smart and sophisticated and creative and funny and unbelievably kind and she did not deserve to be deceived by her own allegedly loving son.

“She was going to find out anyway.” Ric shrugged and then threw Annie’s own words back at her. “It’s not a big deal, so don’t turn it into one.”

“It’s a very big deal for her,” Annie pointed out as she scooped up Pierre and went up the stairs to the apartment. “And you know it. He’s such an asshole,” she told Pierre, who definitely agreed.

The asshole had the audacity to laugh as he followed her.

So she expounded. “Really, Ric. Her feelings are going to be hurt. She’s going to feel like she was conned by her own son, who didn’t trust her enough to tell her the truth.” Annie went into her room and put Pierre on the bed—which was a big win for the little dog. He was too small to jump up on his own, so it was the most coveted napping spot in the entire apartment.

Aside from Ric’s bed. But he kept his bedroom door tightly closed to keep Pierre out—and probably Annie, as well.

“So we won’t tell her the truth,” Ric said. “We’ll just pretend we broke up. You’ll move out. Everyone’s sad but life goes on.”

“No digging,” Annie warned Pierre, and he settled in with his head on her pillow, apparently fully believing he was a person instead of a dog.

Ric, meanwhile, stood in the doorway, in dire need of both a shower and a shave, the shadow of his beard heavy on his cheeks and chin, his hair charmingly rumpled.

“And yet…I still keep working for you?” Annie asked him.

She could read the giant oops in his eyes, but it wasn’t about the story he was or wasn’t going to tell his mother.

“You’re going to fire me,” she realized. “After this is over. You son of a bitch.”

To his credit, he didn’t try to lie. “You don’t want to be my receptionist,” he reminded her. “And, yeah, I’ve decided that I don’t want you to be anything other than my receptionist, nice and safe here in the office, so…I figured you were going to quit anyway.”

“What about our deal?” she asked. “I get to do the easy cases—the safe ones.”

“The safe ones.” His laughter was scornful. “Like Lillian Lavelle’s?”

“Not every client who walks through your door is going to be a murderous ex–porn star obsessed with avenging her daughter’s death,” she pointed out. At least she hoped not.

“If that’s really what this is about,” Ric said.

“I think it is,” Annie said, sitting cross-legged on the bed next to Pierre, who gave her his why aren’t you petting me look. She obliged. “I’ve been thinking about what Jules told us, the chain of events—the new Trixie Absolute DVD. Why would Lillian come out of retirement for this fledgling company that can’t even offer her a credible contract? Jules showed me a copy of the deal she signed—it was pathetic. We’ve seen pictures of Marcy with Brenda, who was described as GBJ’s workhorse—God, doesn’t that word make your skin crawl?”

“Yeah.” Ric looked up from surveying the contents of her dresser top—her bottles of sunblock and other moisturizers, her hairbrush, the pewter-framed photo of Pam holding tightly to a smiling Pierre, a bandanna on her head because her hair was gone from the chemo. “But this entire case makes my skin crawl, so…” He picked up the photo to look at it more closely.

“Anyway,” Annie continued, dropping a kiss onto Pierre’s head because the sight of Ric touching her things with his long, elegant fingers was just too odd, “we know Marcy had contact with Gordie Junior through Brenda. Who’s to say he didn’t hold Marcy hostage to put pressure on Lillian to make his movie? And you know, it doesn’t even have to be that dramatic. He didn’t have to lock Marcy in the basement. Maybe he just kept her drugged up. If she was an addict, and he made it possible for her to get high for free…”

He put the photo back. “So your theory is that Lillian made the movie for GBJ Productions as part of some kind of deal with Gordie Junior to leave her daughter alone?”

Annie nodded. “But Marcy died anyway. Whether it was Gordie’s fault or not, Lillian blames him and wants him to pay.”

“She claimed it was Gordon Senior who administered Marcy’s overdose,” Ric told her, leaning against the dresser. “That he did it intentionally because Marcy was a witness to one of Junior’s murders. She told me that her killing Junior was meant to be some kind of eye-for-an-eye thing, with the punishment intended for Burns Senior.”

“Hard not to include Junior on that punishment list,” Annie pointed out, “since he’s the one who’ll be dead.”

“Yeah, but it didn’t seem as if Lillian’s goal was to make him suffer,” Ric said. “It’s Burns Senior she wanted to torment—by making him bury his child, the way she had to bury hers.”

“In that way, you’re right, it’s a definite two-for-one for Lillian,” Annie agreed. “It’s obvious that Burns cares about his son.”

“Although maybe it was bull.” Ric sighed. “When Lillian was telling me her sob story, she didn’t mention GBJ Productions or The Return of Trixie Absolute, so it’s possible it was all a lie and—Annie, your arm’s bleeding.”

She tried to look at her elbow, which was impossible to do, so she scrambled off the bed and over to the mirror, where she could see it. Yup, it was bleeding again. It was just a superficial scrape, but every time it started to scab up, she either straightened or bent her arm, and it opened up again. The good news was each time it happened, it looked less raw and angry. “Did I get it on the bedspread?”

“Like that’s what I’m worried about.” Ric came closer, taking her arm and turning her to the light so he could get a better look.

“How’s your leg?” she asked him.

“It’s healing,” he told her.

“You know the cool thing about me?” she told him. “It’s when I get hurt like this? I actually heal, too.”

“Yeah, you’re funny,” he said, still frowning at her elbow. “A real laugh riot.” He was standing so close she could smell the coffee that he’d had on his way home. “I hate that I did this to you.”

“You didn’t,” Annie told him. “Any more than Jules did by giving me those shoes to wear. You’re going to have to get over yourself, Ick-Ray.” Her childhood nickname for him made him smile, but it was far too brief. And he didn’t back away as she’d hoped he would. He was still standing much too close. “You’re not responsible for me.”

“It feels like I am,” he admitted. “I feel like…I’ve fucked everything up.”

“Well,” she said, retreating back to the bed and Pierre. “If that’s really what you feel, then you’re just going to have to figure out a way to fix it. Although, if you want to know the truth—here we are, assisting the FBI in a high-priority investigation. It feels tome as if, despite some of the blunders with Lillian Lavelle, we managed to do something really right.”

Tonight Jules would at least have a shot at searching for his missing agent, Peggy Ryan, in the place where she was last known to be—Burns Point. With Burns’s electronic security, the wall around his estate, and his army of bodyguards, there was no other way—realistically—that Jules could have gotten in.

“I just want it to be over,” Ric admitted. “I want you to be safe and…”

She knew what he wanted. He wanted her out of his apartment. Out of his life.

“I better go shower,” he told her. “You need the bathroom before I get in there?”

Annie shook her head. “Can I ask you something?”

He stopped. Sighed. Turned to face her. “No, I’m not in love with Robin Chadwick.”

“Ooh,” she said. “The famous Alvarado sense of humor might just be making a comeback.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny, I was trying to be ironic. I couldn’t believe that you asked Jules that—first because it was so personal, and second because it was beyond freaking obvious.”

It was a personal question, but Annie and Jules had just had an extremely personal conversation minutes before Ric had returned. In fact, Jules had asked her the very same question about Ric. Was she in love with him?

She’d told him no. She wasn’t that crazy.

But she’d admitted to having these foolish feelings of attraction that just wouldn’t go away. She knew Ric, and she knew he wasn’t going to change. And yet a very significant part of her still wanted to jump him.

There were some people, Jules had told her, obviously choosing his words carefully, that you could never let your guard down when you were around. They were dangerous, not merely because of that intense physical attraction, but because you loved them, even though it was crazy to. It was a shame, really, that you couldn’t just decide to love one person, and decide to not love someone else. But love didn’t know from crazy—it just happened, and the first thing you had to do was be honest about it, at least to yourself.

And then you had to stay far away from that dangerous person, and not fool yourself into thinking you could have any kind of casual, temporary fling with them. It couldn’t ever just be about sex—the crazy thing would be in thinking that sex would be enough.

It could never be casual, and it would always end in heartbreak. In a way, it was a gift—the kind of connection that everyone longed to find. But it was far more valuable when the person with whom you had that connection could also bring you joy.

Ric was standing there now, at the foot of her bed, waiting for Annie to stop staring at him and speak up—Can I ask you something?—looking like a living advertisement for industrial-strength heartbreak.

Annie had told Jules that she loved Ric as a friend.

Yeah, right. And maybe if she kept repeating that to herself, over and over…

“Last night,” she asked Ric now. “How did you fool everyone into thinking you were drunk? You didn’t touch your beer at the party. You had nothing to drink all night.”

Ric nodded. “Not until we got to the police station.”

Where he’d picked up that mug and…

“Johnny Olson laces his coffee with whiskey,” Ric explained. “And at that time of night, it’s usually the other way around.”

As in, he laced his whiskey with coffee. Check.

“I spilled some down my shirt, too,” he told her. “Doesn’t take much to make you stink.”

Annie nodded. “So…how did you know they weren’t going to press charges?”

“Because most of the people there are still my friends, and they’d never seen me drunk before. They also know I’m close to my father, so…” He shrugged. “Everyone gets at least one free drunken meltdown. It’s when it becomes a regular event that you start having real problems.”

“And you were certain they’d think you were drunk, not homicidal, or…?” Having some kind of emotional breakdown, the way she’d thought.

“Absolutely.” He was definite.

“Because…?”

“Cops—even former cops—don’t cry unless they’re faced,” Ric told her. “It’s a law enforcement rule.”

“So you pretended to cry so they’d think you were shit-faced.” It had sounded hauntingly real to her, the memory keeping her awake long into the night.

He surprised her by saying, “No, I really made myself do it. You’ve got to get the fluids flowing to be believable—not just tears, but snot and drool.”

“Ew,” Annie said.

Ric smiled. “It was either that or piss myself, but I didn’t think my stank level would rate that.”

She couldn’t help it—she smiled back at him. “So there’s a science to this.”

“Totally.” His smile faded, and he took a step toward her, but then stopped, his hands on the wooden footboard of her bed. “Can we, um, maybe call a truce here?”

“What kind of truce?” she asked warily. “The kind where I do what you want me to?”

Ric smiled. “Sort of. But…I also do what you want me to do, which is…be safe. Safer. Which is what I’ll be if I don’t have to worry about you skinning your elbow, or worse.”

Annie stood up, rolling her eyes as she crossed to the closet. How many times did they have to rehash this? And what did one wear to a firing range anyway? “You better shower, or we won’t have time to go see your father before Jules gets back.”

“Annie.” Ric actually touched her, turning her to face him. “You didn’t want me to do this alone. I’m not alone now. I’ve got Cassidy and the entire FBI backing me up. You, on the other hand, have no experience, and if you want to know the truth, statistics show that if I’m going to die, it’s probably going to be because of you.”

Annie was silent. What could she say to that?

“I’ve been thinking,” Ric told her, “and what we’re going to do is, we’re going to go to Burns Point tonight, and we’re going to break up. You’re going to be far too interested in the movie star—he’s going to be sniffing around you, too, so it’ll look real. I’m going to get jealous and pissed off and cut you loose. You’re going to tell Burns that Chadwick offered you a job—”

“Doing what?”

Ric’s patience was not very thick. “I don’t know. Building a stone wall around his estate,” he said in exasperation. “It doesn’t matter what, as long as you and Chadwick go skipping off to California, hand in hand. Which, before you protest, is a very important job for you to do because it gets Chadwick out of Cassidy’s hair, freeing him up to think clearly.”

Annie shook her head. “You’re assuming Robin’s going to agree—”

“He will.”

Because Robin was going to be told that he had this big important job to do, which involved making sure she was safe. It was, actually, quite a clever plan.

Still it had some major flaws. “You’ve seen Dolphina,” she said. “Who’s going to believe Robin would dump her for someone like me?”

“Anyone who meets you,” Ric shot back.

So okay, at least he didn’t try to bullshit her by telling her she was just as beautiful. And if anyone could pull off the whole dumping-the-beauty-for-the-dumpy-woman-with-the-great-personality thing, Robin Chadwick, soon-to-be Oscar nominee could.

“Your mother’s going to think I’m a real jerk,” Annie told Ric. “Running off with someone else mere days after moving in with you.”

“I’ll tell her it was my fault,” Ric said. “That I got overwhelmed. Scared. You know, by, um, my terrifying intense feelings for you. I’ll tell her I freaked out and cheated on you first.”

“Which makes me a fool for moving in with you in the first place,” she countered.

“Maybe not a fool,” he said. “Maybe just foolishly in love.”

“Isn’t that redundant?” Annie asked. “Foolishly in love?”

“How did you get so cynical?”

“Hello. You and Bruce were my role models. Does the picture of a soccer goal next to Betsy Bouvette’s name ring any bells?”

His temper flared again. “For your information, I went out with her for a year and a half.”

Annie was stunned. “Are you serious?”

“No, I’m lying.”

“How come I never saw her with you?” she asked.

“Because her father didn’t like the color of my skin,” Ric revealed. “Or the fact that my father had an accent.”

“What?” Annie couldn’t believe it.

“My entire relationship with Betsy was on the down-low,” Ric told her. “And Bruce, he gave me endless crap about it, too. He thought I could do better. Dude, why would you want to limit yourself to just one girl? It’s time to move on. Well, guess what? I was in love with her, Annie. I was willing to sneak around to be with her, but she moved on. She dumped me after she went to college, okay?”

He was serious. Betsy Bouvette had dumped him.

“So Bruce drew the picture of the goal,” Ric continued, “and I tried to pretend that my heart wasn’t broken. At least I lost my virginity, right? Big whoop.”

“Wow,” Annie said. She’d had no idea.

“Don’t assume you know me,” he said. “I am not Bruce.”

“I’m sorry. I mean, not that you’re not Bruce. I’m actually glad you’re not Bruce—”

“Do we have an agreement?”

“Betsy was crazy.”

“Do. We have an agreement?” Clearly Ric had said all he was willing to say on the subject of Betsy Bouvette.

“Will you call me every day with an update?” Annie asked. “And will you promise that you’ll be as careful as you would’ve been if I were with you?”

“Yes. And?” he said because he knew her well enough to know there’d be more.

“Will you cry when I leave? And I don’t mind the drool so much, but could you do me a favor and keep it snot-free?”

Ric laughed. He knew he’d won.

“Thank you,” he said, and kissed her.

On the forehead.

The way he’d done when she was thirteen and he was seventeen and in love with Betsy Bouvette, who’d broken his heart.

Jules could tell, as he came out of the urban warfare course, that he’d impressed the crap out of Ric Alvarado. Particularly when he put his name on some paperwork that Yashi conveniently had on a clipboard, ready for him to sign.

“Whoa,” Ric said. “You’re not a lefty?”

“Nope,” Jules said, nodding his thanks to Yash as he headed for the cage where they’d stashed their gear. “That’s why I didn’t get a perfect score. Still, this isn’t bad for my nondominant hand.”

That was when Ric surprised him. “You know, you don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“Oh yeah?” Jules took off his glove and put it in his gym bag. “When did that change?”

“I don’t know,” Ric admitted, leaning against the chain links. “I guess…today. I guess I realized we’re…more alike than I thought. I’m not gay—that’s not what I mean.”

Jules laughed as he closed the cage but didn’t bother to lock it. “I’m pretty clear on that.”

“I just meant—”

“I got it,” Jules said. “And I appreciate both your candor and your insight. Too many people focus on differences. It’s always nice when someone chooses to join the reality-based world. By the way, I spoke to, um, Robin and I think your plan’s going to work. He’s willing to help—to get Annie to safety. But he can’t leave Sarasota until Sunday night.”

And he’d only leave then, if Jules agreed to set aside some time to sit down and talk with him. Just talk, Robin had stressed. They could meet anywhere—even in public, in a restaurant or a bar. It was Jules’s call.

He would use the opportunity to try to convince Robin to leave earlier, not that he had much hope of doing that.

“He said Annie could stay in his hotel suite, attend the festival with him,” Jules told Ric. “It’s not my first choice, but with the festival’s security, which is extremely tight, they’ll be safe enough.”

Ric wasn’t happy, but he nodded.

Yashi reappeared. “Annie’s getting ready to go in,” he reported as he headed up the stairs that led to the spectators’ gallery. “She’s doubling up with Deb.”

“You want to watch?” Jules asked Ric.

“I’m not sure.” But Ric took the stairs two at a time, following Yashi.

“She did extremely well on the firing range.” Jules followed them, too.

“Yeah, she was excellent.”

But this was an entirely different skill set—not only did these targets move, but they fired back. Of course, there were no bullets being used. It was all done with lasers and computers.

Jules took a place with Ric at the window, looking down at the bombed-out buildings and rubble-filled roads of the course. Out of the many targets that popped up, some would be innocent bystanders, and points would be lost for each of those that were “killed.”

“Traditionally,” Yashi said, “when doubling up, a newbie’ll take out his or her more experienced companion within the first five seconds. Most are dead themselves within ten-point-five seconds after that.”

As they watched, Annie came onto the course with FBI agent Deb Erlanger behind her. Deb, athletic and trim with lank brown hair that she’d tucked up into a baseball cap, was talking, and Annie was listening and nodding.

Deb was probably telling her to wait for a moment, let her eyes get used to the lower levels of light. Only when she was ready should she give the signal to go.

“So what’d you have to do to get this place completely to ourselves?” Ric asked, his eyes on Annie, who was laughing at something Deb had told her.

“Just one quick phone call,” Jules said. “To my boss. You’ve met him, by the way—Max Bhagat.”

Ric looked at him. “Your boss is the head of the FBI’s top counterterrorist division?”

“That’s him.” He could see Ric putting two and two together. If Max was Jules’s immediate superior, then Jules wasn’t just some boots-on-the-ground, low-level grunt who was going to screw things up and get Annie killed. It was interesting, really. Ric didn’t appear to care at all about himself. His single-minded concern was Annie. Jules went on: “Apparently you handled the police investigation when Max’s girlfriend’s motel room was broken into a few years back. It was out on Siesta Key.”

“They stole her prescription meds and underwear,” Ric remembered. “Gina. Her last name was something Italian. She was, um…”

“She’s a pretty good friend of mine,” Jules interrupted. “So you might want to hold the descriptive adjective if it’s not flattering.”

Ric laughed. “No, I wasn’t going to…Beautiful. She was crazy beautiful, with a little just plain crazy thrown in, too. Like most women I know.”

“FYI, Max started a file on you.”

Ric looked at Jules now in disbelief. “Because I hit on his girlfriend?”

Had he really? That must’ve been interesting. “Gina’s his wife now,” Jules informed him. “But no. It’s not that kind of file.”

Down on the course, Annie gave the signal and…

She and Deb moved together, ducking for cover, and leapfrogging their way to the side of the first mock building.

Seconds ticked by and…

Holy shit.

“Beginner’s luck,” Yashi proclaimed. “Got to be.”

Annie’s stance was beyond ridiculous, but with twenty seconds down and still counting, she’d managed to keep from getting hit. She’d even tagged her share of tangos, leaving alive the crying toddler pop-up that Ric had accidentally taken out earlier, when he’d done the course.

“Here’s where Deb buys it,” Yashi announced, but the two women cleared the first building without getting hit.

They moved slowly, carefully, which was going to lose them a few points in their final score. But the truth was that they’d win far more for surviving until the buzzer rang. As Jules watched, they headed toward the second building, stopping to eliminate half a dozen targets along the way.

Again, Yashi gave his dire prediction: “Here’s where they go down,” and again he was proven wrong. Annie was well aware of Deb’s position at all times. Whatever crash course Deb had given her before they went in, she’d obviously been paying close attention.

“Holy shit,” Jules said again. “Are you sure Annie doesn’t have a military background?”

Ric shook his head in wonder as Jules answered the question himself.

“Of course she doesn’t, her stance is fugly.” She looked like an animated crab with a firearm for a claw. Her aim with the moving targets, however, was astonishing. And Deb—a kick-ass field agent—was paying attention, too. She realized it, revising their strategy right there in the middle of the course. Instead of Annie covering her back, she now covered Annie’s—giving her the freedom she needed to take out the targets willy-nilly.

And willy-nilly, take them out she did.

“Look at her,” Jules said, as if Ric and Yashi weren’t both paying attention raptly. “She’s actually listening to Deb’s instructions—she’s able to multitask while under fire—which is more than I can say about you, Yash.”

“Yep, I suck at that,” Yashi agreed. His strengths shone when he sat at a computer, inside of a surveillance van. “Firefights freak me out.”

“She’s always been really good at video games,” Ric volunteered. “She used to play with me and Bruce—her brother—all the time.”

As they watched, after Annie and Deb cleared the third and then the fourth building, the bell rang and the lights came up. The two women high-fived, and Yashi dashed down the stairs, leaving Ric to ask, “About that file you said Max started. The one with my name on the tab. If it’s not…”

“It’s the kind of file that the recruitment department creates, under the recommendation of someone important, like Max.”

Ric laughed his surprise. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Because of Max’s recommendation, you’re in the process of being seriously considered for recruitment,” Jules told him. “It’s been years, I know, since he met you, but apparently—despite the hitting-on-the-girlfriend thing?—you made a strong impression. I’ve seen the file. He’s followed your career, and when he found out you left the force, he got the ball rolling regarding clearances and various other standard procedures. I thought you should know that. Just…so you know that you don’t have to try to impress me. ”

“I can’t shoot for shit,” Ric said. “Not like you. Not like…my freaking untrained receptionist can.”

“You’re not bad,” Jules said, leading the way down the stairs. “You’ve just got to practice. How often do you practice?”

“These days? Never.”

“Well, there you go.”

“How often does Annie practice?” Ric countered.

“Some people are naturals,” Jules said. “For years I had a partner—agency partner—and she was this world-class sharpshooter. She was amazing. And I was like, Wow, you must’ve been practicing since you were three years old, and she was like, Nope. First time she picked up a rifle was after she joined the Navy. It was part of the officers’ program, you know, learning to shoot, and she was like, Hey, look what I can do. I’m not saying she didn’t have to practice a lot—she did. She was extremely disciplined, and practice was the difference between being great and phenomenal. But she started at great. Kind of like Annie.”

And there she was. Loaded with adrenaline. Laughing and talking with Deb and Yashi. Sparkling with enthusiasm and glowing with pride.

Jules looked back at Ric, who’d turned, and was making a beeline for the men’s locker room.

“Good job,” Ric called to Annie before he disappeared.

It was as if he’d taken a bucket of cold water and thrown it into her face. She tried to hide her disappointment, but her smile lost about half of its wattage.

“That was really impressive,” Jules told her, told Deb, too.

“It was fun,” Annie said. “I bet it’s much scarier with real bullets, though.”

Deb handed Jules the printout that detailed their score. “She outshot me, almost two to one.”

“She outscored everyone but Jules,” Yashi observed.

“Because Deb was telling me what to do,” Annie pointed out, glancing over at the door through which Ric had vanished. “If I’d been in there alone, I wouldn’t have scored so high.”

She’d said that—she scored high—as if it were a bad thing. “So what else are you good at?” Jules asked her.

Annie crossed her arms. “You mean like Ping-Pong?” she asked. “Tennis, too, although I don’t really like playing. Golf’s fun…softball, pinball, darts, shuffleboard, pool”—she ticked them off on her fingers—“ultimate Frisbee, volleyball, basketball, skimboarding, waterskiing. I’ve never actually tried regular surfing, but windsurfing rocked, although I only did it once. I think it was supposed to humble me, but I used to fly kites on the beach when I was a kid, so I really had a feel for working with the wind instead of against it. I had a blast, but my boyfriend got a concussion when he capsized and the board hit him in the head. Two days later he dumped me.”

And suddenly it made sense. Annie actually thought Ric had gone off to pout because she’d done so well. Jules wasn’t quite sure what to say, since his interpretation of the motive behind Ric’s vanishing act was far different.

Yashi filled in the silence. “Your boyfriend was an idiot,” he said. “Personally, I love women who can kick me to the curb.”

“Speaking of the curb, we should hit the road,” Deb announced.

“We do need to get going,” Jules agreed. They had to be ready to leave for the party at Burns Point in just a few hours, and there was still a lot to do in preparation. “Let’s meet in the lobby in fifteen.”

Still, he caught Annie’s arm, stopping her before she followed Deb toward the women’s locker room. “Yo, Annie Oakley.” He lowered his voice. “I don’t think Ric’s problem has anything to do with your skill level.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she obviously lied. “It’s not important, either way.”

“You should maybe talk to him,” Jules said. “I don’t think either of you are being honest about—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said again. “What matters is that you’re going to keep him as safe as possible.”

“I will,” Jules promised.

“Good,” she said. “So what am I wearing tonight? Pasties and a G-string?”

Jules laughed. “This time I gave you a choice.”