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a chance she’d set me up. On the other hand, she’d climb Mt. Everest with her silk-wrapped, salon-painted fingernails for a story. Maybe she’d be curious enough to give me a day or two.
    “Okay,” I said at last. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
    When I hung up, Billy flung himself down on the couch with so much force it bounced. “I guess it won’t do me no good to tell you this is the damn-foolest thing you’ve ever done?”
    “Billy,” I said, “desperate times call for desperate measures. And these, my friend, are desperate times.”
    BILLY OFFERED TO DRIVE ME OVER . Instead, I walked a couple of blocks to Broadway and caught a cab to Ashleigh’s place in Green Hills, an upscale neighborhood south of downtown. I didn’t think she’d turn me in until she got her exclusive, but I wanted Mean Billy miles away from the place just in case she did.
    She had a two-story, Elizabethan-style house with a pool in the backyard and a koi pond in the front. The front porch light radiated a washed-out glow that turned her dogwoods and azaleas into jagged black tangles. I had the cab driver circle the block twice to make sure there were no cops around. Then I got out, paid my fare, and threw myself to the sharks.
    Shark.
    Singular.
    She met me at the door with a standard high society hug and kissed the air beside my cheek. The scent of her Bill Blass perfume brought back erotic memories. Rumpled sheets, chestnut hair splayed across my chest, the smell of sweat and flowers on her skin.
    “Jared. It’s good to see you again. You still look scrumptious.” Scrumptious. She actually used words like that. She trailed one finger lightly down the buttons of my shirt and sighed. “Makes me wonder why I ever let you go.”
    “Your source dried up.”
    She pouted prettily. “Now, Jared. Don’t be cynical.”
    “Getting canned because your girlfriend sneaked around and tapped your phone will make a person cynical. Not to mention getting framed for murder.”
    She dropped her hand to her side and took a step back, averting her eyes. “So, how’s Paul?”
    She’d never been comfortable with Paulie. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was a child or because he had Down syndrome. Maybe some of both. Ashleigh wasn’t exactly the maternal type.
    “Fine,” I said. “They’re keeping an eye on his heart, but for now he’s doing okay.” Down’s kids have a tendency toward heart and respiratory problems. Leukemia too, though we’d been lucky on that count. Knock on wood.
    “Well. That’s good, then. How old is he now? Six? Seven?”
    “He’ll be eight next Wednesday.”
    “My God.”
    “He was going on seven when you and I were together.”
    “I was thinking he was younger.” She was wearing a tight black miniskirt with a white silk blouse that skimmed all the right places. Her makeup had been flawlessly applied: smoky eye shadow, thick black lashes, pale smooth skin with a hint of blush, siren-red lips. “Well, enough small talk. Why don’t you sit down and tell me what happened, exactly? I’ll get us a drink. Do you still like Jack and Coke?”
    I thought of the last time I’d had Jack and Coke and grimaced. “Nothing for me, thanks.”
    “Nothing? Bourbon? Beer? Iced tea? Pepsi?”
    “Tea, if it’s already made.”
    She sashayed into the kitchen, hips swaying beneath the short skirt. I knew the show was for my benefit. I also knew that I could have been the plumber or the Terminex man, and she would have felt the same need to make me want her. I was easy pickings, but we both knew nothing would come of it.
    I looked around while she was gone, noticed she’d changed her security system.
    She came back carrying my tea and what looked like a glass of orange juice, but which was almost certainly a screwdriver.
    “Made some changes,” I said, pointing to the new keypad.
    She gave a dismissive wave. “Oh, that. I had a break-in a few months ago. Someone cut the wires on the system. But I guess