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get any worse? “Whatever it is, I’m not interested in talking. So, go away.”
    He met her at the top of the steps, dressed in jeans, loafers, and a black, leather jacket. He had that disarming, journalist’s smile that might lead you to believe they had the best of intentions. He was clean-shaven, blue-eyed, with an unruly wave of dark blond hair.
    Jackie didn’t return the smile. “I mean it. I’ve nothing to say.” Her impression that he would ignore her proved accurate.
    “I wanted to ask you about the incident at the parking garage downtown a couple weeks ago.”
    That froze Jackie mid-step. She frowned, looking up at the journalist with a contemptuous glare. The information on that incident had supposedly been “cleaned” of any suspicious evidence. “Your comprehension skills seem to be lacking, Mr. Margolin. I said no.”
    He followed Jackie to her door, speaking quickly. “I was hoping to clear up some confusing information. Witnesses claim the Cadillac Escalade belonging to one Father Stanford Brisby was empty after it crashed, yet official reports have him dying at the scene.”
    Shit. “You’ll have to contact the FBI, Mr. Margolin. I don’t give out case information that hasn’t been cleared for public consumption.”
    Again with the smile. Jackie had to admit he had that part of the job down pat. “As you can imagine, I’ve met with limited success in speaking directly with the FBI.”
    “And you are expecting me to be otherwise?” Presumptuous prick. “I’m not fond of journalists, and with good reason. I don’t talk to them unless absolutely necessary, and you, Philip, aren’t necessary. Good-bye.” She dug out her keys to unlock the door.
    “How is this related to the fire at the Tanenbaum Funeral Home, Agent Rutledge?” He laid his hand over the keys in the lock. “Please. If you could clear this confusion up for me, I’ll be on my way.”
    Jackie stared at the hand covering her keys and closed her eyes for a moment. “Let go of the keys, Margolin or I’ll remove your hand.”
    Something in her voice must have alerted him, as he abruptly let go, bracing his hand against her door instead. “No need to get prickly. I’m just doing a follow-up story here, and some facts don’t make sense to me. Why did the FBI raid the funeral home after Brisby was supposedly killed?”
    She turned the key in the lock. “You’ve got three seconds to step away before I decide to break your hand. Be kind of hard to write the story then, won’t it?”
    “Agent Rutledge,” he said, the smile wiped from his face now. “I’ll keep digging. The FBI is concealing information on this, and I’ll find it. I was hoping to get something clear from a primary source.”
    Jackie felt a cold rush of air blow through her before a familiar voice spoke softly from behind.
    “Perhaps you should leave Ms. Rutledge alone, sir.”
    Jackie spun around, her heart up in her throat. “Nick! What the hell are you doing here?”
    “Saving a weary FBI agent from a badgering journalist by the look of it,” he said.
    Philip took a step back from Jackie, his bravado vanishing in an instant. “I was just asking the agent a few questions about a case is all, mister.”
    “And I suspect she said no.”
    Jackie recovered from her initial shock and stepped over to Nick. The day was going from horrid to nightmare before her eyes. “Why are you here?”
    “Good morning, Jackie,” he said with a feigned smile. “I was in the area. I tried calling.”
    “Yeah, but I thought—”
    “Agent Rutledge? Did you have any more to say about the Tanenbaum fire?”
    Nick and Jackie replied simultaneously. “No.”
    “I’ll continue to look into this,” Margolin said, looking decidedly uncomfortable now as he had no way around them to get to the stairs.
    “But you won’t be doing it here,” Nick said. “You can leave now.”
    Margolin missed the subtle emphasis on the last word.
    Jackie couldn’t quite believe what