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They were all smiling as if the Cowboys had just won the Super Bowl. Maybe it could work.
    “Budin de Papitas Fritas con Pollo. I like it!”
    “Problem solved,” Rosie said. “Now help me clear the table and let’s get on with the card game. I have a fistful of pennies, and I’m feeling lucky. Let’s see who’s gonna get screwed tonight.”
    By the time the party broke up and Jordan returned to her apartment, she was twenty-two cents richer but exhausted. She decided she’d stay in bed until lunchtime tomorrow, errands or not. Another piece of Chocolate Decadence Cake to eat in bed in the morning would have made it perfect. She’d have to make do with a bagel.
    On the way to the bedroom, she pulled the cell phone from her back pocket, surprised to see a voice message. No one ever called but her mother, and she’d already talked to her today. Listening to the playback, she was surprised to hear J. T.’s voice. She hadn’t expected him to move so fast. Most guys went all macho and played the make-the-girlwait game before the first few dates.
    “Jordan, it’s J. T. I’m at work now, but I have to talk to you. It’s really important. I get off at ten, and unless you call back and tell me no, I’m heading your way.” There was a pause. “Jordan, I really need to talk to you tonight.”
    How easy did he think she was? Did he seriously think an extra piece of cake entitled him to a late-night booty call? Did his mother never tell him girls liked dinner and a movie first?
    She glanced at the clock over the couch. Ten fifteen. He should be there any minute. She’d let him know, in no uncertain terms, she was not the kind of girl he expected—or hoped for. Brad Pitt eyes or not, he’d have to at least feed her first.
    She sprawled on the couch to wait and quickly fell asleep, dreaming of ducks with tubes down their throats. The machine feeding them made a rip-roaring noise as it pumped down the corn.
    “Police, open up.”
    What were the police doing in her dream? When the pounding grew louder, she sprang from the couch. This wasn’t a dream. Someone was banging on her door.
    She made her way over to peek through the peephole. It really was the police.
    “You have ID?” she asked, suddenly apprehensive. A while back, she’d seen a TV show where a rapist had used phony police identification to gain access.
    The officer pulled a badge and ID card from his chest pocket and held it up to the small opening. It looked genuine.
    Slowly, she opened the door, keeping the chain intact. “What do you want?”
    The cop was short and a little on the stocky side, not much older than her. “We need to talk to you.”
    A taller man about the same age emerged from the shadows, and Jordan jumped back in surprise, stifling a scream.
    “Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you. We just need to ask a few questions.”
    She slid the chain latch and slowly opened the door. “What’s this about? What time is it, anyway?”
    “A little after one in the morning, ma’am,” the short one said. “I’m Sergeant Calhoun and my partner here is Officer Rutherford. Do you know a gentleman named Jason Spencer?”
    She thought for a moment. “No.”
    Both men eyed her suspiciously. “You’re sure about that?”
    “Positive. Why would you think I know him?”
    “He had your name and phone number in his pocket,” Rutherford said.
    She thought harder. “I really have no idea who the man is, Officers. Maybe he was making a delivery or something.”
    Calhoun smirked. “At midnight?”
    She was positive she didn’t like what he was insinuating. “Look, I had a late night and I have a busy day tomorrow. So, if there are no further questions, I’d like to catch a few more hours sleep before my alarm goes off,” she lied.
    “Late night? Where were you?”
    Jordan’s annoyance level rose, but it didn’t require an advanced degree to know getting cranky with the local cops wasn’t smart. She’d probably get a speeding ticket every