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and then some squats to wake his legs up. He was sweaty and short of breath by the time he finished, and could only do seven chin ups on the bar outside. That sucked.
    After a shower, he went naked back into the bedroom with coffee in one hand, planning to get dressed. Sandy was sleeping on her side with the covers kicked off. She’d worn the most frazzled granny gown she owned to bed, making yet another pointless statement, in Mickey’s view.
    He liked to watch her sleep, the way her face settled into calm and looked sweet and untroubled like it had when they were first married. Christ, that seemed like a hundred years ago. She was nearly twenty-five, but if the family genes were anything to go by, she wasn’t going to show any age for a long time. Her mother was in her late forties, and you just flat couldn’t tell how old she was if you didn’t know.
    The stupid granny gown had bunched up in the night so that her hips were bare and Mickey got some wood, just looking. She was some piece, that was for sure. And worth fighting for, although bushwhacking Linus with a baseball bat really hadn’t been much of a fight.
    Mickey wasn’t sorry. The fucker deserved what he got, screwing around with other people’s wives. Plus, Linus was nine years older than Sandy’s father, and that didn’t sit well either, for some reason. Either way, though, you pay if you’re going to play, that was the rule. And badass FBI agent or not, Linus Davidson had damned sure paid.
    Fuck this, Mickey thought. I’m getting laid.
    He put his cup down on the nightstand and was glad that he’d already brushed his teeth. Sandy squirmed a little when he snuggled up to her, not waking. Maybe dreaming a little, or at least feeling him there. Mickey stroked her back and her hips until she shifted a little and woke about halfway up.
    “Leaving already?” she mumbled.
    “Got something for you before I go,” he said, and nuzzled the back of her neck. “Just ease up on your knees, honey. You don’t even have to help.”
    She mumphed and grumbled under her breath, but did as he asked. Mickey got up and slid the meat to her from behind. She gasped and made that little yipping noise as he went inside, and then gushed warm around him even though he’d gone in dry. He held her hips and fucked her nice and slow. It was so relaxed that he reached over for his coffee and finished it without missing a stroke. Sandy didn’t even notice.
    When the coffee was gone he put the cup back and held her hands pinned together at the small of her back like he did the night before. She let him do what he wanted, he gave her a good thrashing and spurted as deeply into her as he could and thought while he did it that he was going to fuck her in the ass one of these days whether she liked it or not.
    “Don’t forget to reset the alarm,” she said, still groggy with sleep, but sounding like she didn’t really mind it too much.
    “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll leave your money on the dresser.”
    “Very funny.”
    It was an old joke, but not so bad, all things considered. Mickey used to say that he was lucky to have married Sandy, because if she’d been a hooker, he couldn’t afford her. She’d always thought that was funny.

Chapter Six
    Palm Beach in the morning was a beautiful place. Mickey found the address and gave his name to a metal box beside a gated driveway. He was told to drive around the house and down to the docks, and found a lot of work going on.
    A narrow little work barge with a skinny jib crane on deck was pulled up to the seawall and half a dozen people were staring down at it with frowns on their faces. Mickey unloaded his dive gear and went out to the boat, a sixty-foot sport fisherman with more teak than a lumberyard. The owner met him down there.
    “I’m Pete Oliver,” he said. “You the diver Jones sent for my props?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    This old boy was no pink-skinned corner office guy. He had a shock of sun bleached hair and