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the rest, moving around the side of the house. He was dressed in a tailored grey suit, way beyond the financial confines of a cop’s salary, and, as he moved around the corner, I got a glimpse of his face. Tanned skin, green eyes, blonde hair gelled into place.
    I froze. I knew that face.
    What the hell was Brooks Brothers doing here?
    "Chip!" I barked.
    "Yeah?"
    I gestured to my admirer from the fundraiser as he crossed the lawn. "Who is that?"
    Chip followed my line of vision. "Grey suit?"
    I nodded, my gaze still pinned to the man.
    Chip chuckled. "Lady, are you new or just been living under a rock the last six months?"
    I clenched my jaw, tearing my eyes away from Brooks Brothers long enough to shoot Chip a look. "Humor me, okay? Do you know him?"
    He grinned. "Yeah, I know him. He’s Aiden Prince. The goddammed ADA."
     

 
     
     
     
    CHAPTER FIVE
    _____
     
     
    I blinked. My mental hamster momentarily stunned on his wheel as I starred at Chip. "ADA? As in Assistant District Attorney?"
    He nodded. "That’s the one."
    Shit.
    Not only had my client killed her husband based on the motive I’d provided her with, but turns out the guy in charge of prosecuting her wanted to sleep with me. Derek was going to have a field day with this one.
    I halfheartedly thanked Chip and dug my cell from my pocket as I walked, head down, back to my car. Maya picked up on the first ring.
    "The Bond Agency?"
    "Emergency. I want you to get me everything you can on an Aiden Prince. ADA. Now!"
    "Right. Two seconds." I heard her fingers flying over her keyboard. A beat later she fired back with, "Aiden Prince, 38, graduate of Yale Law, recently employed as an L.A. County Assistant District Attorney. Previously with the Kansas City district attorney’s office, wife died last year from breast cancer, and he relocated to L.A. Oh, how sad."
    "Anything else?"
    "He’s a leftie, ran in the L.A. marathon this year, and donated $20,000 to juvenile diabetes charities last fall. Give me ten minutes, and I can have his credit history."
    "Don’t bother. Thanks, Maya."
    "Any time."
    I hung up and slipped inside my roadster.
    I tapped my fingernails on the console as I watched Aiden examine a spot on the ground. He knelt, careful not to put his knee in the wet soil, poked at something with a pen, then turned and gestured to a colleague – this one clearly marked as a cop by his Sears quality suit. The cop bent down, looked at the ground, then both men straightened and put their heads together, talking, serious expressions marking their brows.
    I would have given my fav Louboutin's to know what they were saying.      
    Instead, I put my car in gear and pulled away from the curb, pointing it toward Studio City.
    As soon as I hit my apartment, I grabbed the trashcan from my bedroom and dumped the contents on the floor, rummaging through until I laid hands on the cocktail napkin. I smoothed it out on my dresser, reached for the pre-paid cell I kept in my nightstand, and dialed the number before I could change my mind.
    One of the things Derek taught me when reluctantly handing over the reins of the agency was to purchase an untraceable burner phone, saying it often "came in handy". This was one of the first times I was glad I had listened to him.
    It rang. And again. Five rings into it, I was just about to give up when his voice picked up.
    "Prince here."
    "Hi, Aiden? It’s Jamie."
    Silence on the other end.
    "We met the other night. At the fundraiser? Black dress?"
    Still silent. Great. How many napkins had this guy given out?
    "The tall blonde?" I prompted again. 
    "Right, right," he said, recognition dawning. "Hi. Sorry, it’s been a long day."
    Tell me about it.
    "Anyway," I went on, "it was so nice meeting you. I... well, I honestly haven’t been able to stop thinking about you."  
    "Really?" He didn’t sound like he was entirely buying it. "And here I thought I’d struck out."
    "Oh, no. You made quite an impression." Which, as of half