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Haeger and Olson called. They want us to do a background check on a list of candidates they’re considering for upper-level positions.”
    “Great.”
    “Terry McMahon called. He needs a search and serve on someone in twelve hours. I told him to bite me. He said he might be able to get an extension until Friday, so I told him okay.”
    “Good.”
    There was a pause on the end of the line before Kat asked, “So, did you find her?”
    “What?”
    “You did, didn’t you?”
    By profession he was a fairly good liar, but Kat’s lie detector radar was always on full alert. He didn’t want her or anyone else to know he’d found Caroline Graham until he was sure of it himself.
    “Sheesh, Jake. If you did, this would put us on the map, you know. This could be big . This could be People magazine big if we did a press release. Small time investigative firm beats out the big dogs. Wow. You still plan to come back by Monday noon?”
    He hesitated a second too long. “Not sure yet.”
    “Give me a break. You found her, and you’re not telling me ? I’m the one who gave you that gallery article.”
    “I never said I found her. I may need to hang around until I have something more concrete than a hunch to go on. I’ll let you know if and when I’m sure.”
    “Fine, and if anything important breaks here, I will hesitate to call.”
    “Very funny.”
    “Is that all?”
    “Don’t get your panties in a wad, Vargas. When I’m ready to talk, you’ll be the first to hear.”

5
    CARLY ALWAYS FOUND THE COVE GALLERY A TRANQUIL RETREAT, especially when traffic was slow and she had the place to herself, like tonight. The cool, austere interior of the gallery was a welcome change from the constant bustle and mingled scents of the diner, like slipping on a warm, comfortable new sweater that fit just right.
    Outside the night air was cool and damp but lacked the biting chill of winter. The darkness beyond the wide, uncluttered front windows was comforting. Bathed in the bright light inside the gallery, she felt isolated and alone but not lonely, as if cocooned by the night.
    Geoff wanted the lights he’d installed to make the place stand out like a beacon amid the other shops on the street, an art show for locals driving by, as well as an enticement to anyone out strolling.
    An artist from Chicago with eclectic tastes and a biting sense of humor, Geoff had begun to eat at the diner nearly every day when he moved to town three years ago.
    He saw Selma’s Plaza Diner as more than just a local greasy spoon with worn Formica tables and decades-old turquoise, black, and white decor, and he quickly dubbed the place retro, spending hours there before he opened the gallery.
    He started sharing his plans with Carly when she showed a genuine interest in his ideas. Geoff Wilson’s enthusiasm matched his devotion to art. Familiarizing himself with popular California artists, he pored over design books and other gallery brochures for hours. While Carly refilled his coffee, he coaxed her into sharing her own ideas on style and design.
    Whenever the diner was slow, she would sit and chat with him on her break. One day she finally confided in him that she once “dabbled” in art but never admitted to what extent.
    She felt safe in establishing a friendship with a man from the other side of the country who had no idea who she was and definitely no interest in her in a sexual way. Their friendship had given her life a boost and allowed her to become part of something she loved and missed.
    It was Geoff who had encouraged her to paint again when he showed up one day with a canvas and bag of art supplies and told her to get busy.
    Tonight he had left a CD of soft, slow jazz playing. The soothing music filled the room, wrapped around her senses as gently as the night outside hugged the building. It was the kind of night that made her wish she had someone to go home to, made her feel that maybe Joe was right. Sometimes a woman needed more than her