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shining. He glanced down the street in both directions. It was a quiet, pleasant neighborhood from what he could tell, and Alex’s two-story, brown Victorian was like any other on the block. He stood for a moment and admired her newly purchased home. He was proud of her—damn proud. It had been a long, painful road from the roach-infested Spanish Harlem neighborhood of her childhood. She had fought and scratched every inch of the way out of there. He knew his childhood had been a cakewalk in comparison to that.
    His finger was inches from the doorbell when the door swung open. Alex wore a huge smile as she stood and stared at him, her finger on her chin.
    “Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “I think I recognize this face.”
    “I just couldn’t take being away from you,” replied Nick, smiling back.
    “How sweet. And I suppose a twenty-two-million-dollar case has nothing to do with it, huh?”
    They embraced tightly. Nick caught a trace of a perfume he remembered from years ago, and the memories of their days (and nights) together at Texas U. washedover him. He had forgotten the name of the fragrance, but whatever it was, it still smelled incredible. He took a step back and looked her over. With her perfect olive-toned skin and wide brown eyes, Alex could still easily pass for a newly enrolled coed. The product of Spanish and Cherokee parentage, she was every bit the head-turner she had been fifteen years before. The beautiful, big-boned frame always seemed to carry those extra five or ten pounds so perfectly.
    Nick slung his bag over his shoulder and looked about the interior of her home. “The place looks great. I want the full tour before we get to work.”
    “Well, follow your tour guide.”
    The house was roomy but comfortable. Three bedrooms, two baths, and a spacious den. Alex was glowing as she showed him around. He could see it in her eyes; she was proud of herself, and she had every right to be. She had beaten some pretty nasty odds from day one, and Nick was happier than anyone for her. She was the only one in her family who had earned a college degree, who had made anything of herself. She had happily abandoned her career as a lawyer when Nick had introduced her to heir finding.
    The coffee was ready in the kitchen. Alex filled two mugs and offered one to her partner.
    “Let’s take these upstairs, Nickie. I’ve got some good stuff to show you.”
    They climbed the stairs to the second-floor office. Nick looked about his East Coast base of operations approvingly. Alex had made positive renovations. She had purchased the high-backed leather chair he had recommended and a large executive’s desk, and the fax, computer, and copier were smartly placed and unobstructed by the mess of papers he was accustomed to seeing. He also noticed the fire safe he had been nagging her to buy.
    “Like what you see, Mr. Nitpicker?” asked Alex.
    “Love it. Hey, and it only took you four years to get organized.”
    “Be nice, Nick. You remember how tiny my apartment was.”
    Nick removed his sport coat and settled down at the desk. “Let’s talk Jacobs. We got documents?”
    “And more,” Alex said, pulling up a chair next to him. She reached for a small photograph and handed it to him. “Special bonus, courtesy of a friend in the coroner’s office. Say hello to Mr. Jacobs.”
    The photo was a Polaroid, taken from the shoulders up. The head was nearly bald, the doughy face a sunken collection of wrinkles. The milky-white flesh of the corpse contrasted sharply with the cold gray of the medical examiner’s gurney.
    “Handsome devil,” said Nick, placing it aside. “What else?”
    “Lotsa documents but a whole lotta nothing,” said Alex, handing him a sheet. “Here’s the DC. We’ve got ourselves a real
unk
man.”
    Nick scanned the death certificate for the most important section. Both “Father’s Name” and “Mother’s Maiden Name” gave the same classification:
unk
—unknown. He followed his finger