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model prisoner record and his allegation of finding God, she affirmed her conviction of why a huge chunk of the smartest people on the planet were criminals. The man was brilliant, but she had a few street smarts of her own, and the only way to get the edge on Wilmington was a face-off.
    She left everything in the car except her ID and a copy of the e-mail with the encoded message. Her heart thudded, betraying her misgivings, but soon she faced a door opposite Plexiglas. She shivered, wishing she’d learned from textbooks what she’d experienced from life. With Morton Wilmington, her street smarts might need a refresher course.
    Her nemesis appeared in the doorway. Smug. Full of confidence that came from those he’d crunched or eliminated while amassing money and power. She hadn’t seen him since the day of his sentencing, after life took another ugly twist. Then he wore a contemptuous sneer and an imported silk suit worth more than her US-made car. Later he verbalized how she’d meet her demise.
    The guard stood behind him, a young man who looked fresh out of the corrections academy.
    She studied Wilmington in an attempt to see his soul, as if he had one. Still buff. Still carried his ego in his hip pocket. Still a lady’s man from the way his gaze ravaged her. But now he resembled a painter wearing a white jumpsuit. He seated himself, his hands cuffed in front of him. She wouldn’t let him intimidate her.
    “Hello, Morton. Still playing Monopoly?”
    “It’s my favorite.”
    “How’s the hotel business?”
    “Did well on Boardwalk, but I misplaced my get-out-of-jail-free card.”
    Same wit. “Heard you were looking for it.”
    “I am, without a single bribe.” He smiled, a lift of the right side of his mouth that didn’t dispel the anger in his eyes. “I’ve achieved the game’s objective   —I’m still the richest player inside and out.”
    “I’m not bankrupt.”
    “Pretty lady, you didn’t pay the rent, and the longer time passes, the more you owe.”
    She reached deep for the balance in her training and logic. “I recall the situation a little differently. The rent was more than paid.”
    He shook his head. Paused. Ah, the dramatics. “The past has a way of jumping into the present.”
    “Like the agent you murdered?”
    He glanced down as though filled with regret, but the truth always surfaced. “Guilt is a flesh-eater.”
    She willed her emotions to stay stoic. “It was murder. Your so-called repentance doesn’t change a thing.”
    His body language stayed intact. “Justice prevailed,” he said. Did Laurel imagine the sneer in his tone?
    “I’m sure his wife and kids think differently.”
    His face softened. “I’ve been tamed. My slate’s clean according to my status with God.”
    Her stomach rolled. “You expect me to believe you?”
    “ Your opinion doesn’t matter to me. Only God’s.”
    “Your charade doesn’t fool me.”
    “Doesn’t have to.” He smirked as though he’d uncovered every detail of her life. “I know your habits like you know mine. There’s a big difference between us. While I’m in church on Sundays, you’ll be riding Phantom, wishing you hadn’t spent your childhood in a foster home, wondering why no one ever loved you. Hoping no one finds out you see a shrink. Trying to figure out what’s wrong with you.”
    She glared at him, the words forming. But could she handle his response? “Do you still want me dead for sending you to prison? I’d like to hear where I stand before I talk about another matter. Total honesty.”
    “Do you still want me dead for shooting your partner?”
    “I asked first.”
    “I’d like nothing more than to see you pay for what you did to betray me.” The lines around his eyes deepened. “But until you make your peace with God, you’ll spend every day of your life looking over your shoulder for who plans to end you. The sad part is you’ll welcome it. I hope you find comfort soon. I found mine.”
    His