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to put a leash on one of our kids and make them take my place.”
    “Remind me to be somewhere else when you try.”
    He bit back a laugh. “Be safe, my beautiful Susa. Call me even if you think I’m asleep.”
    “Same for you. Don’t let down your guard, love.”
    “Don’t worry. Uncle Sam assigned me some company. Three guys. They remind me of Jake and Archer, cool around the eyes and always ready to jump in any direction.”
    Susa’s heartbeat quickened. Their son Archer and their son-in-law Jake had once spent time in the kinds of government service that Congress didn’t oversee. “Don’t worry?” she asked in a rising voice. “What’s going on?”
    “Nothing. The government just thought it was easier to keep an eye on me than to find me if I got lost,” he said.
    She let out a long breath. “Good for them.”
    “You think it’s a good idea?”
    “Anything that keeps you safe is a good idea.”
    At the other end of the line, her husband grinned. Gotcha . “Then you’ll cooperate with Ian Lapstrake.”
    “Who?”
    “The man who’s meeting you at the airport. He’s Lawe’s friend.”
    “Oh, that Ian.”
    “He’s also one of Rarities’ top security men. I’m sure you’ll enjoy his company every minute of the time you’re hauling yourself and your half-million-dollar paintings all over the southern California landscape.”
    “Are you saying—” Susa began hotly.
    “I love you.”
    Being a wise man, the Donovan hung up before Susa could answer.

Savoy Ranch
    Tuesday afternoon
8
    T he room was more than a hundred years old, a symphony of brass and polished wood, thick Persian carpets and heavy draperies, brown leather couches so deep that only a fit man could get out of one without grunting. A wood fire leaped and licked at the huge hearth. Ward Forrest hadn’t changed any of the Savoy decor when he married Gem and united the Savoy fortune with the Forrest ambition. He’d even left the trophy heads on the walls—mule deer, bighorn sheep, elk, antelope, moose, bear, cougar. Though he’d personally shot bigger game, he’d never felt the need to stare at the results over coffee and brandy.
    Ward went back to studying the contract-labor arrangements for the Savoy Hotel. Although it wasn’t well known, the conglomerate that owned the hotel was largely owned by one of the many arms of Savoy Enterprises. It was a belated—and probably too late—attempt to diversify from an entirely land-based business. Because Ward had insisted on overseeing every detail of the hotel personally, down to the kitchenequipment, uniform sources for everyone from cooks to concierge, and security arrangements on every floor for every reason, the Savoy Hotel had taken up a large part of his working days. He would be glad when the damn thing was launched and he could stay home and go back to being semiretired.
    The grandfather clock chimed repeatedly like someone humming the opening note for a choir of angels. The dog at Ward’s feet wagged its tail, dreaming along in key.
    “You lazy old son,” Ward said, and thumped the dog fondly on its well-padded ribs. “Too fat to hunt and too old to care.”
    Honey Bear opened one eye, slicked his tongue over Ward’s fingers, and went back to sleep. Ward smoothed his hand down the dog’s coat several times. He’d had a lifetime of Honey Bears romping at his heels: different dogs but the same sex, breed, and name, the same eager-to-please nature, and the same unquestioning love for the hand that fed them. Smooth coats, too. The older he got, the more he appreciated that silky canine warmth and reliability.
    In his opinion, when it came to company on a lonely night a good dog was worth twenty women. Dogs didn’t ask fool questions, didn’t argue about how the ranch should be run, and didn’t throw a shit fit when they didn’t get what they wanted. His wife had done all that and more.
    Being widowed had its good points.
    “Ward? You back in your den?”
    Rory