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reserved for Dev when her uncanny intuitive abilities were fully engaged. He’d always been amused by it. Now that it was directed at him, however, he found it far less humorous.
    “What?” A faint edge of irritation crept into his voice.
    “You tell me.”
    “No. You tell me. I’ve had enough riddles for one day.”
    “Our new client brought you a riddle?”
    “Let’s just say she has an intriguing story. And she’s not a client yet.”
    “She will be.” Nikki swiveled back to her computer screen.
    Connor thought about debating that conclusion. Decided against it. In all likelihood, Nikki would trump him, just as she routinely trumped Dev.
    Besides, assuming Cal and Dev concurred, Kate Marshall might very well become their next client—at least for a preliminary investigation. The case interested him.
    As did the woman.
    A fact he did not intend to share with any of his colleagues.

3
    E verything was going to be okay.
    It had to be.
    But how in the world had Kate Marshall ended up in St. Louis?
    And it was her, no question about it. The white pages didn’t lie. Neither did the Post-Dispatch article he’d found on the Net that mentioned her. Besides, the face he’d seen on the escalator last Friday had matched the one buried in the recesses of his memory.
    Keeping his son in sight through the kitchen window, Greg Sanders took a swig from his daily predinner beer. He’d prefer something stronger tonight, but he wasn’t going to let his drinking get out of hand again. Been there, done that, big mistake. Alcohol might numb the pain for a while, but the hollow ache always came back. Better to stay sober and deal with problems straight up as he’d done last time— after he’d dried himself out and gotten his act together.
    Besides, this problem should be much easier to solve. It was really just a waiting game. In a week or two, the incident would fade from Todd’s memory. Although the Marshall woman wasn’t likely to forget it that fast, the odds of her trying to track them down—let alone finding them—were minuscule, and there waslittle chance their paths would ever cross again in a city the size of St. Louis. As for the insomnia once again plaguing him—that, too, would pass.
    He watched as Todd and the boy from next door dashed from the swing set to the tree house he’d designed and built in the spring with the permission of his landlord, the two kids oblivious to the summer heat. That was youth for you. Too bad he couldn’t tap into their endurance. It would come in handy on the scorching construction sites where he spent his days.
    The microwave beeped, and Greg set his beer on the counter. Pot roast tonight, from Trader Joe’s. One of Todd’s favorites. The frozen oven fries he loved would be done in a minute too. And DQ sundaes were on the menu for dessert. Maybe a special meal like this would help distract him from asking any more questions about last Friday.
    If it didn’t . . . he’d just have to keep tap-dancing.
    After setting the roast on the table, he moved toward the oven—but when his cell began to ring, he detoured to the charger on the built-in desk and scanned caller ID.
    Diane.
    Shoving his fingers through his hair, he expelled a breath.
    This would require a whole different tap-dance routine.
    The phone trilled again, and he rested his hand on it. He needed to keep his distance from Diane until Todd stopped asking questions—and remembering stuff he should have forgotten long ago—but he couldn’t lose her. She was the best thing that had happened to him in years. Canceling the standing Saturday night pizza outing for the three of them had about killed him, though his upset-stomach excuse hadn’t been a lie. He’d been queasy since Friday.
    He picked up on the third ring and walked back to the window. “How’s the prettiest woman in St. Louis?”
    “Lonely.”
    The affection in her voice took the edge off her reproach. “Me too.”
    “I was thinking about making