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name as well. Apparently he blames you and your brother for his son’s struggles.”
    “I’ve never even met Diesel’s dad. And what’s my brother got to do with it?”
    “You’re welcome to ask. He’s just now come through the door.”
    “There? At my shop?”
    Scratching on the other end. Some whispering. “Howdy,” Johnny Ray said. I sighed in relief. “Sorry I didn’t get back to you earlier, kid. Been in the studio. You oughta hear this new track we’re layin’ down.”
    “Did you get my message? I’ve been … you know …”
    “Worried about me?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Still in one piece. My Palm Pilot slid under the bench in my truck. That thing’s nothing but a distraction.”
    “Did Detective Meade swing by?” I scanned the museum’s foyer, feeling as if I was being watched.
    “Yeah, but I was recording. I think they told him to come back later.”
    “He was looking for details about last night. I’m thinking maybe you should lie low for a while.”
    “Not gonna happen. With my tour kickin’ off next week, this was just some free advertising. My publicist sent out a press release: ‘A Cutting-Edge Artist.’ ”
    “That’s sick and wrong.”
    “Hey, we’re already getting calls from CMT and
Access Hollywood
.”
    “Happy for you. But you make me a promise this time.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Stay put, and don’t leave the shop till I get back.”
    “Nice to know you care, but you’re talkin’ to a hungry man here.”
    “Grab whatever you like. It’s on me.” I saw a figure flit through a doorway on the second floor. “Do me a favor. I’ve got to go, but call Sammie. See if she knows anything about that redhead last night.”
    “Good thinkin’. She knows just about everyone in this town.”
    “I’m worried about her. She hasn’t called me back.”
    “That’s not like Sammie. Is this about that urgent call she got at the park last night?”
    “Yes yes. Call her for me. Gotta go.”
    “You wouldn’t be getting into more trouble now, little brother? You promised.”
    “Back as soon as possible.”
    I snapped the phone shut and looked up at the mantel clock: 3:59 p.m. One minute to showdown. An elderly woman stood nearby, a museum volunteer with kind eyes and powdered cheeks. Behind her, a large-bellied security guard was making his rounds. After asking for the Fabergé exhibit and being given the option of an elevator or the sweeping staircase, I felt my .40-caliber gun jostle against my skin with the ascent of each stone step.
    Time to do this.
    I was armed, feeling justified and vindictive.
    Nothing prepared me, though, for the sight of the person turned away and slightly bent at the waist, hands clasped behind the back, eyes gazing at a Fabergé imperial egg. The slender frame made me hesitate, but the face reflected in the glass case caused me some real confusion.

6
    F elicia?”
    My former girlfriend straightened and swiveled toward me. We hadn’t seen each other since Portland, and volatile emotion whipped through my chest. What was she doing here, this woman who’d left me for another man? Had she sent the e-mail?
    A part of me wanted to throw out hurtful words and head back the way I’d come. Another wanted to pull her into an embrace and keep her close, bury my nose in that shiny blond hair the way I used to do.
    I stood riveted to the hardwood.
    “Aramis, you look good.”
    “What’re you doing here? You live in Nashville now?”
    “Just visiting for a few days actually.” She tilted her head back, looked at me from beneath her straw hat tied with a yellow ribbon. Her knee-length spring dress was circled by a white belt matching her gloves. “I was hoping to see you.”
    “Here I am.”
    “You sound upset.”
    “You cheated on me. Remember how we ended this two years ago?”
    She took a step toward me. “You weren’t the same person I’d fallen in love with. And I lost everything trying to make it work.”
    “And then you left. Didn’t seem you