ules sat at Ric Alvarado’s conference table, listening as the former police detective filled him in on the events of the past few days.

He made notes on a legal pad, to help him keep the cast of characters straight. Lillian Lavelle, Brenda Quinn, Gordon Burns and his son Gordie Junior. A henchman named Foley, the doctor—a local surgeon—who wouldn’t reveal his name, but whom the FBI had already identified as one Dr. Kyle Givens.

Ric sat across the table from Jules, next to his gal Friday, a freshly pretty young woman named Annie Dugan, and his frowning lawyer, another former Sarasota cop named Martell Griffin.

Annie was obviously intelligent, and extremely capable-looking—no fragile flower she—but, as Ric emphasized for about the twelfth time, she was a complete novice in terms of law enforcement experience. She hadn’t even so much as held a handgun, let alone fired one.

Her response to that? So teach me.

She and Alvarado had been friends for years. That much had been clear from the moment Jules walked in. They finished each other’s sentences and obviously exchanged boatloads of information with the briefest of eye contact.

Jules would’ve guessed that they were romantically involved as well—until Ric told him about Lillian Lavelle’s seduction attempt, and their decision to keep Burns’s name out of the police report by identifying Lavelle not as a woman looking to kill Gordon Burns’s son, but as one of Ric’s many jilted lovers.

At that point in the tale, Griffin kind of casually leaned over and draped his arm around the back of Annie’s chair. What was that about? Ric noticed it, too, giving Griffin a look that Jules couldn’t quite read. Griffin’s response was an extremely nonsubtle So?

Big and black, with his shaved head gleaming, Martell Griffin was dangerous-looking in spite of—or maybe because of—his nicely tailored suit.

The two men were longtime friends as well—the info in Jules’s report had them working together in the Sarasota Police Department for quite a few years. Martell left first, to get his law degree. Ric had resigned more recently, after a deadly shoot-out with a teenager, in which the teen had not survived.

It was interesting, actually, to watch just how protective both men were of Annie. It was no accident that she was sitting in between them.

And when she chimed in with the fact that Gordon Burns had thought she’d be good girlfriend material for his crazy-ass psycho of a son, the tension level of both men went through the roof.

Jules half expected Annie’s little dog to start growling, too, from his spot on the floor, next to Jules’s feet. And that was apparently something of an aberration—the fact that Pierre was so taken with Jules. Apparently the dog didn’t bond like this with everyone.

It was something of a dubious honor, due to Pierre’s not quite daisy-fresh dog-breath.

Ric wrapped up his story by telling Jules that Gordon Burns wanted to hire Ric—and Annie, she’d chimed in—to befriend and protect Gordie Junior. Oh, yeah, and spy on him, too. Of course, if Gordie found out about the spying part, he’d be pissed.

And when he got pissed, he got violent. And when he got violent, people disappeared.

Talk about an impossible—and dangerous—job. One that it was clear Ric didn’t want Annie to have any part of.

Of course, there was also Lillian Lavelle. She was out there, a loose cannon, still gunning—literally—for Gordie Junior. Anyone near him was in danger of being caught in her apparently less-than-careful cross fire.

Jules immediately called Yashi and set the wheels in motion for the FBI to find Lillian Lavelle first.

And then it was his turn to talk.

“As you’ve probably figured out,” Jules told them, choosing his words carefully, “the FBI’s been investigating Gordon Burns for quite some time. We believe his organization is involved in smuggling al Qaeda operatives into the United States.” No doubt about it, he now had their full and undivided attention. “We believe that sometime soon, Burns will receive a ‘shipment’ that will contain a high-ranking terrorist—Yazid al-Rashid al-Hasan—whom we do not want inside our borders. But we don’t just want to keep him out—we want him in custody. We’re currently at a serious disadvantage, because our agent inside Burns Point, who was monitoring the situation, has disappeared.”

He took a photo from his briefcase and slid it across the table to Ric and Annie.

“Her name is Peggy—Margaret—Ryan,” Jules told them, and they both looked at the picture. “She was working at Burns Point as a housekeeping assistant.”

Ric picked it up, looking at it even more closely. But he shook his head as he passed it to Annie. “I didn’t see her last night. Did you?”

Annie shook her head, too.

“The only female servant I saw was an older woman,” Ric told Jules. “Puerto Rican. Graying hair. Her name was Maria.”

“That’s right,” Annie agreed. “Maria. I didn’t see any other women, either. I’m sorry.”

It was funny, actually, how much Jules had hoped that one or the other of them would look at the photo and say, Hey, I saw her there. She was serving drinks out by the pool. She’s fine—definitely healthy and very much alive.

He put the photo away—and laid everything else out on the table. “You’re currently my best way in,” he told Ric, told them. “Into Burns Point, into Burns’s organization. I know it’s dangerous, and, yes, as you’ve said, Annie’s got no experience, but—”

“I’m up for it,” she said. “I want to help. I’ll do whatever I can.”

Ric was not happy. “Great, you can go be Gordie’s new girlfriend. Christ, Annie.”

She looked at him in a way that only an old friend could, to convey her total conviction that he was an idiot. “Like that would work. Since when have you ever gone out with a woman that your father wanted you to date?”

“I don’t want you near either of them. Gordie or his father.” Ric turned to Jules. “If we do this, how will you ensure Annie’s safety?”

And wasn’t that the million-dollar question? Jules met Ric’s eyes and gave him an honest answer. “I can’t.”

Ric laughed. “Well, that’s great.”

“What, you want me to bullshit you?” Jules asked. “I’m not going to do that. This is a highly dangerous situation, and I can’t ensure your safety any more than I could Peggy Ryan’s. But my hope is to go in with you—provide backup by being as close at hand as possible.”

“Go in how?” Ric asked. He was not happy, but Jules had read him right and won some serious points by being point-blank honest.

“The strategy I’ve chosen is to have you introduce me to Burns as a silent partner in Alvarado Private Investigations,” Jules told him. They were working right now on obtaining Gordon Burns’s social calendar—the idea was to have Ric, Annie, and Jules “accidentally” run into Burns in a social setting. “The hope is to pique his interest by telling him that I’ve made some lucrative investments in movies as well, and that I’ve even got producer credit for several upcoming big-name films. My team is building me a page on the imdb—the Internet Movie Database—as we speak. Burns is a huge movie fan—”

“We know,” Ric said.

“Our story will be that you and I met through your father,” Jules told him.

“Oh, good,” Martell said, who was far less impressed by everything Jules had said, “let’s bring Ric’s father into this highly dangerous situation, too.”

“—who did the score for one of my soon-to-be-released films,” Jules continued. “We’re making a webpage for that, too. And we won’t actually be bringing your father into it, although if we did, he’d probably be the first—after Annie—to volunteer to help.”

“Oh yeah,” Martell was indignant. “I’m sure you know Teo Alvarado real well.”

“I’m a fan of his music,” Jules said. “I know he volunteered to serve in Vietnam. I know he risked a lot to come to Florida from Cuba, back before you were born.” He also knew that Karen Valdez, of Valdez Imports out of Miami, had been disowned by her family when she married Ric’s father. Risk taking ran in both sides of Ric’s family. He looked from Ric to Annie and back. “Some things are worth the risk.”

“I agree,” Annie said, but the look in Ric’s eyes was pure easy for you to say—what are you risking?

“We’ll try to phase Annie out as soon as possible,” Jules tried to reassure him, “but at this point it sounds as if she’s a major part of the reason Burns wants to establish a business relationship with you. We’ll have to play it by ear. If it looks as if he won’t want anything to do with you if you break up”—that was the cover they’d already put into place, that Ric and Annie were more than business associates—“then we’re going to need to keep her around.”

“I should also point out that this assignment could take a great deal of time,” Jules continued. “Yes, we believe al-Hasan will be entering the U.S. in the near future. But plans change—particularly when an FBI agent disappears. If Peggy Ryan was compromised, if her identity as a federal agent was discovered, the entire operation may have been temporarily shut down, and al-Hasan’s mission delayed. It could take months. Or longer.” His cell phone was vibrating in his pocket. It stopped, but then started shaking again, so he took it out. It was Yashi. “I’m sorry, I have to take this call.”

Jules stood up and left the room as he punched his phone on. “Yeah, Yash.” He closed the conference-room door behind him—actually behind Pierre, who’d followed him into the outer office.

“Hang on a sec, sir,” Yashi said, and put Jules on hold.

The dog was standing there, looking at him expectantly, so he crouched down next to it and scratched its endearingly silly ears.

Yashi, Deb, and George had all flown down with him, from D.C. They’d spent the afternoon wooing the locals at the Sarasota FBI office—making sure they’d get the computers, telephones, fax machines, desks, and, yes, the full cooperation that they’d need.

Feelings often got ruffled when higher-ranking agents from D.C. swooped in to take control of an ongoing investigation.

Jules would have been over at the local office himself, singing and dancing his way into their hearts if he had to—had it not been so vital to move forward as quickly as possible with this new connection to Gordon Burns.

“Sorry about that.” Yashi apologized as he came back on the line. “Got some info re Burns’s schedule,” he told Jules, sounding, as always, as if he were about to fall asleep. “Thought you’d like it ASAP,” he said about as slowly as was humanly possible.

“Yes, I would,” Jules confirmed, standing up and moving into Ric’s office to better hear him. It sounded as if Ric, Martell, and Annie were arguing in the conference room. Something about The Odd Couple?

“Sarasota Film Festival starts tonight,” Yashi reported as Pierre followed Jules over to the couch and jumped up onto it. He stood there, looking at Jules, his head cocked. So Jules sat down, and the dog plopped next to him, his head on his leg. “Burns is attending an opening-night star-studded extravaganza at the Bijou Café—I’m reading this right out of something called the Pelican Press. Tickets are five hundred bucks a pop, yowser, guess I won’t be attending—all proceeds going to support the festival. Open bar courtesy of…drumroll please…Gordon Burns.”

“Get me tickets,” Jules said, scrunching Pierre’s ears.

“Consider it done,” Yashi told him. “So what are you going to wear, boss? And do you think Tom and Katie’ll be there?”

Jules laughed, because Yashi, with his perpetually bored-sounding, nearly monotone delivery was the furthest thing from a gushing fan that he’d ever heard. But then he stopped laughing. Because what if…? No. No way. Robin Chadwick didn’t have a new film out. Did he?

And that was the dead last thing he should’ve been worrying about.

“We’ll need electronics.” Jules refocused. “Mics. Minicams. A surveillance van—”

“Deb and George are already on it,” Yashi reported. “I’m handling the, uh, important stuff.”

Jules had worked with Yashi before. He was, no doubt, printing out local take-out menus and MapQuesting every Starbucks within city limits. “What time does this thing start tonight?” he asked.

“Twenty hundred,” Yashi said—military-speak for eight o’clock. “You got the Scooby Gang on our side?”

“Yeah,” Jules said. “They’re in.” He looked down at the little dog, who was leaning against his leg, gazing up at him lovingly. “Including Scooby.”

“As your attorney,” Martell said, after Jules Cassidy left the room, “I can’t recommend that you do this. No offense to the little FBI guy, but he’s your backup? What’s he gonna do, bite Burns on the ankle?”

“I like him,” Annie said. And Pierre obviously did, too, the little traitor. She stretched in her seat. God, but she was exhausted.

“I like him, too, but he’s so…” Martell searched for the word.

“Gay?” Ric supplied.

Annie looked at him in scathing disbelief.

“What?” he said. “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it. I’m just saying that he sets my…what’s it called—gaydar clacking. That’s all.”

“No, he’s not exactly gay,” Martell mused. “More like…precise.”

“The same way I set it off?” Annie asked Ric.

“But it’s not like he’s fussy,” Martell continued, “like Felix on The Odd Couple. More like…careful. A brainiac instead of an ass-kicker, but maybe that’s a good thing.” He frowned at Annie as what she’d said finally penetrated. “The same way what?”

She turned to him. “Bruce told Ric that I was gay. And he believed him.”

Martell laughed. “No way.” He looked from Ric to Annie and back. “Really?”

“Yes really,” she confirmed. “And by the way—Felix? Totally gay.”

“Dude was married,” Martell pointed out.

“Yeah, and his wife threw him out because she at least figured out that he was totally gay.”

“Can we please talk about our potential impending deaths?” Ric implored.

“You know…” Martell leaned closer to Annie. “If you’re into women, I have this friend, Brandi? And I’m thinking if you and she and I all got together—”

“Stop,” Ric said. He sounded annoyed.

“Martell’s kidding,” Annie told him.

“About the three-way,” Ric said. “But he’s moving in on you. I see him—I’m watching him—and he’s moving in.” He looked at Martell. “So just fucking stop.”

“Boy Scout dropped the F-bomb,” Martell whispered to Annie.

She nodded. She’d heard. Ric didn’t like to say that word in front of women, which was kind of funny, considering how much he apparently liked doing it, as a verb, with them.

“This is what I mean.” Ric bit off each word, his mouth a grim line. Was it possible that he was actually jealous? After last night’s sex show starring Lillian Lavelle and her giant boobs?

“Although, okay. Fine,” Ric continued. “Maybe we can create a triple-win scenario.” He looked past Annie to Martell. “You want her? You got her—but it’s got to be for as long as this investigation lasts, and I know even a week is long for you. But I’ll give you fifty thousand dollars to help you suffer through.”

“Oh, this is nice,” Annie exhaled. “I knew I hadn’t seen the last of that bribe.”

“It’s not a bribe, it’s payment.” Ric’s volume increased. “You can take her to Europe, take her on a cruise—I don’t care—just take her. Get her out of here. Cuff her and throw a bag over her head if you need to—just fucking keep her fucking safe.”

In the silence that immediately followed Ric’s outburst, Annie realized that the FBI agent had opened the conference-room door and was standing there—looking as if he wished he’d waited outside.

But no way was Annie going to let Ric’s crap go. “You have a hell of a lot of nerve,” she lit into him. “Offering to pay Martell to kidnap me in front of a federal agent?”

“Bad time to come back in,” Cassidy decided, starting to back out the door.

Martell stood up. “I was just going to go out, too, give ’em a little space—”

But Annie didn’t want space. She didn’t want to sit here with Ric and rehash everything they’d already said last night. They were both running on empty—they’d had about two hours of sleep this morning, after the police had finally left and before the various window-and windshield-replacement trucks had arrived.

“I’m doing this,” she told him.

Ric nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m…” He rubbed his forehead, pressed the bridge of his nose. Annie could relate. She had one hell of a headache, too. “Sorry,” he repeated. He turned to Jules. “Here are my terms. She’s never alone. If she’s not with me, she’s with Martell or you. Or one of your other agents, but I want to meet them first.”

Jules sat back down at the table. “Is your apartment big enough for a roommate?” he asked Annie, taking his pad out of his briefcase, so he could make notes.

“No.” Ric answered for her.

“Yeah, actually it is,” Annie said, but Ric wasn’t listening.

“She moves in here,” he told Jules. “That’s nonnegotiable.”

“Do you know how much I hate it when you talk over me?” Annie asked.

Ric didn’t even bother to look at her. “This is a deal I’m making with Cassidy. It’s his job to figure out how to make you comply. I want to be compensated appropriately for our time,” he told the FBI agent, “both Annie and me. And Martell, too, if we need him. I don’t know what the going rate is for consultants or contractors or whatever you call this, but I’ll check it out and let you know.”

“I’ll check as well.”

“I’m not looking to get rich here,” Ric stressed. “Just fairly compensated.”

“I understand.”

“I want Annie to go to a firing range sometime in the very near future. I want her to get a look—up close—at the weapons that Burns and his men will probably use to shoot her.”

That was meant to scare her, but Annie didn’t have to protest. Jules did it for her. He looked up at Ric. “We’re going to do our best to prevent anyone from—”

“Yeah, and how’d your best work out for Peggy Ryan?” Ric countered.

The mention of the missing agent was clearly a sore spot for the FBI agent. The two men stared at each other for several long seconds before Jules answered. “Not well,” he admitted. He looked back down at his list of Ric’s demands. “What else?”

Ric glanced at her. “I want Annie to be able to walk away at any point in this investigation. Just pack up and leave, if she wants to.”

Jules nodded.

“And witness protection, if necessary. Regardless of whether or not Burns is convicted. Regardless of whether or not he’s even charged, or whether she stays through to the end. Monetary compensation in the event of death. A guarantee of covered medical and physical therapy expenses in the event of injury.”

“You want health insurance,” Jules concluded. “Where do you think you are, Canada?”

It was clearly a joke, but Ric didn’t laugh. “I want a guarantee of covered—” he started again.

“Thank you,” Jules cut him off. “I got it.”

“That’s it,” Ric said.

The FBI agent looked at the list, reading through it again, flipping back a page to where his notes started. When he was finally done, he looked up at Annie. “Is this all right with you?”

She nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Because we start tonight.”