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in circles Donald Trump can’t afford.”
    “Not all rumors in this business turn out to be true,” he said, his head cocked to one side. “You know that as well as I do.”
    Grr, she hated hearing her words coming out of his mouth. “Sorry, Charlie. I really don’t know how I can help.”
    “There are parties referenced in the dossier who wish to remain anonymous.”
    She wondered who he was working for since obviously it was neither her father nor General Duggin. She knew there had been other men involved in the scandal, but their names had never been released.
    Not that she cared what Charlie or anyone wanted since she planned to make the documents public. “Again, I don’t see how I can help you. I barely have enough money to pay for the hamburger I never got to eat. I can’t afford to bid on the General’s grocery list.”
    “Then you need to find the item before it goes up on the block.”
    “And do what?”
    “Steal it, of course.”
    “I don’t think so. That’s your area of expertise. Not mine.” An obvious truth based in part on her recent arrest.
    “I’m counting on your having learned from your mistakes.”
    One night in a county jail was hardly enough time to reflect on anything. “It doesn’t matter what I know or might have learned. The preview is tonight, the auction on Sunday. There’s no time to do what you’re suggesting even if I was criminally capable. Which my record proves I’m not.”
    “Working under the gun will give you the motivation you need.”
    She really did not like the way he dropped the word gun into the conversation. And so she sat where she was, one leg bouncing, her short fingernails digging into her arms as she tried to hold herself together. She was not going to work for this man, do his dirty deeds, play his game.
    When she didn’t respond, he signaled for one of his men. The dark-haired thug came over, bent for Charlie’s whispered order, retrieved the wallets Tracy had collected earlier.
    Georgia’s driver’s license and forty-five bucks seemed of little interest. He passed the card holder across the table; she raised one hip and slid the ID into her back pocket while he studied the others.
    “The dossier is in the general’s possessions. And, like my client, you know it’s there.” He tossed the cook’s wallet back into the tub, picked up the one belonging to the convertible driver, and Finn’s.
    “I don’t care how you get it.” His gaze came up then, snagging hers coldly and with cruel intent. “But you’re going to bring it to me. By Monday, one P.M. That gives you seventy-two hours. Use it wisely.”
    Was he insane? “And what? You’re just going to wait for me here?”
    “I won’t be waiting alone.”
    The air conditioner kicked on, a chilling buzz in the silent room, and Georgia began to shiver. “I can’t do what you’re asking in seventy-two hours. Not by myself.”
    He held Finn’s wallet in one hand, the stranger’s in his other. “The name McLain gives you a stake in this one’s well-being.”
    She didn’t say anything. She barely managed to swallow.
    “Mr. van Zandt. Please come here,” Charlie called out, and behind her she heard vinyl squeak and what sounded like shoes and men scuffling. A quick glance at the waitress’s wide-eyed expression confirmed for Georgia that Mr. van Zandt was less than willing.
    Finally, and under escort, he arrived at the table and stood without speaking. Honestly? After that dive he’d taken across the counter, she’d expected no less. A man of action, this one, rather than a man to mince words.
    She sensed a restrained energy and waves of pulsing anger, and cast a quick glance to the side, taking in no more than the fit of his blue jeans and the size of his hand, curled into a fist, before dropping her gaze to the auction invitation that seemed to be mocking her failure.
    “Mr. van Zandt. This isn’t your battle. You could abandon Ms. McLain and go on your way. For, I believe, her