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skyline, where relentless sunlight ricocheted off a stand of glass-skinned buildings. In contrast to the sterile reception area, the office was comfortably cluttered, with deep leather chairs, and piles of books and folders, and family pictures in black frames.
    After positioning a chair for me, Travis half-sat on his desk, facing me. His features were emphatically defined, the nose straight and substantial, the jaw nearly lacerating in its precision.
    “Let’s make this fast, Ella-from-Austin,” he said. “I got a deal on the stringer, and I’d rather not keep those guys waiting.”
    “You’re going to manage property for them?”
    “Hotel chain.” His gaze flickered to Luke. “You might want to tilt that bottle—she’s getting air.”
    I frowned and adjusted the bottle upward. “It’s a boy. Why does everyone assume he’s a girl?”
    “He’s wearing Hello Kitty socks.” There was a distinct note of disapproval in his voice.
    “They were the only ones available in his size,” I said.
    “You can’t put a boy in pink socks.”
    “He’s only a week old. Do I have to worry about gender bias already?”
    “You really are from Austin, aren’t you?” he asked wryly. “How can I help you, Ella?”
    The task of explaining was so considerable, I hardly knew where to start. “Just so you’re prepared,” I said in a businesslike tone, “the story I’m going to tell you ends with a stinger.”
    “I’m used to that. Go on.”
    “My sister is Tara Varner. You went out with her last year.” Seeing that the name didn’t ring a bell, I added, “You know Liza Purcell? . . . She’s my cousin. She fixed you up with Tara.”
    Travis thought for a moment. “I remember Tara,” he finally said. “Tall, blond, leggy.”
    “That’s right.” Seeing that Luke had finished the bottle, I put the empty container in the diaper bag and draped the baby over my shoulder to burp him. “This is Tara’s son. Luke. She gave birth to him, left him with my mother, and took off somewhere. We’re trying to locate her. Meanwhile I’m trying to secure some kind of situation for the baby.”
    Travis was very still. The atmosphere in the office took on a hostile chill. I saw that I had been identified as a threat, or perhaps just a nuisance. Either way, his mouth was now edged with contempt.
    “I think I get the stinger you’re working around to,” he said. “He’s not mine, Ella.”
    I forced myself to hold that unnerving black gaze. “According to Tara, he is.”
    “The Travis name inspires a lot of women to notice a likeness between me and their fatherless children. But it’s not possible for two reasons. First, I never have sex without holstering the gun.”
    Despite the seriousness of the conversation, I wanted to smile at the phrase. “You’re referring to a condom? That method of protection has an average failure rate of fifteen percent.”
    “Thank you, professor. But I’m still not the father.”
    “How can you be sure?”
    “Because I never had sex with Tara. The night I took her out, she drank too much. And I don’t sleep with women in that condition.”
    “Really,” I said skeptically.
    “Really,” came the soft reply.
    Luke burped, and settled into the curve of my neck like a sack of pinto beans.
    I thought of what Liza had told me about Jack Travis’s hyperactive love life, his near-legendary womanizing, and I couldn’t prevent a cynical smile. “Because you’re a man of high principles?” I asked acidly.
    “No, ma’am. It’s just that I prefer the woman to participate.”
    For just a moment I couldn’t stop myself from imagining him with a woman, what kind of participation he required, and I was disgruntled to feel scalding color rushing over my face. It only got worse when he gave me a coolly interested glance, as if I were an inept criminal he had just collared.
    That made me increasingly determined to stand my ground. “Did you have anything to drink the night you were out with