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party and go after Alyssa and Ash?” Jules asked Sam now.
    “I was checking out the security room.” Alyssa's voice carried up the stairs before she appeared, little Ashton—nearly six months old—on her hip. With his baby-smooth mocha brown skin—as beautiful as his mother's —and his father's blue eyes, he was a remarkably cute baby, with a gleeful smile that was all his own. “May I state for the record that this place has a
security
room? There are forty-two video cameras and God knows how many motion sensors, not just out by the fence, but around the house as well.” She exhaled a laugh and added some attitude.
“If you
can call this castle a
house.”
    Sam took Ashton from his wife and sat on the leather sofa with the baby on his lap, putting his cowboy-booted feet up on the heavy wood coffee table.
Clunk, clunk.
“I myself couldn't help but notice the industrial-strength backup generator,” he drawled, heavy on the Texas
—he'p
instead of
help—
as he made a face at his son, who chortled with laughter.
    “And by the way, that fence? Electric,” Alyssa informed Sam as she sat down next to him, fishing in her bag for Ash's binky. “The gate's the kind the government uses at embassies in countries that tend to end in
-stan.
You will
not
be getting visitors dropping by unexpectedly.”
    “You can see for miles from that deck.” Sam turned to Alyssa. “What do you figure? About fifty clicks on a clear day?”
    “At least. Anyone who wants to get through that gate without permission”—Alyssa wasn't done talking about the fence—“ is going to have to use a substantial amount of C-4. And once they do, they've got, what? Two miles of completely exposed driveway up to the house?”
    “One and eight tenths,” Jules corrected her.
    Both of them turned to look at him with nearly identical concern as he made himself comfortable in the easy chair across from them.
    Alyssa put voice to their question. “Is Robin having trouble with another stalker?”
    Jules shook his head. “No. I mean, yeah, there're always the fans who go too far, so we've learned to be careful, but this is—”
    “A freaking fortress,” Sam finished for him.
    “Yes, it is,” Jules agreed.
    “What's going on?” Alyssa asked.
    Jules cleared his throat. Crossed his legs. “Before I tell you this,” hesaid, “I want to state that it's both an advantage and a disadvantage that you guys are my best friends.”
    Sam looked at Alyssa and covered Ash's little ears. “Why can't he ever ask us for a favor without having to make a fucking speech?” Despite the covered ears, he only mouthed the F-bomb.
    “I have no idea.” Alyssa settled back on the couch, getting comfortable. “But part of being a good friend is letting your friends talk, so …”
    Sam turned to Jules, clearly not willing to climb aboard Alyssa's train of serene acceptance. “Yes,” he said. “Whatever you're gonna ask us to do? We'll do it.”
    “But see, that's my point,” Jules said. “I don't want any of us to feel as if I'm taking advantage of our friendship—”
    “Help me out here, Ash,” Sam told his son as he turned the baby to face Jules. “Tell your Uncle Squidward that we're happy to assist.” He spoke in a squeaky baby-voice that was just too funny. “We're happy to assist.”
    Laughing, Jules shook his head as he looked at his friends. Alyssa had been an officer in the Navy before she joined the FBI. She'd worked for the Bureau for years—as Jules's partner. She'd left at about the same time she'd married Sam, who'd served as an officer in legendary U.S. Navy SEAL Team Sixteen. Sam had managed to get himself into some trouble, and rather than take a desk job, he'd retired from the military. At which point the pair of them went to work for former SEAL Tom Paoletti's civilian personal security firm, Troubleshooters Incorporated.
    Alyssa was Tom's XO, or second-in-command, which made her Sam's boss, go figure.
    Jules persisted. “When I