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prepared to stick to her like a staph infection. Because he worked for the FBI. She had issues with Trip Jones, but she definitely didn’t trust the FBI. They had Lucius under lock and key somewhere. If it wasn’t for the fact that all America knew of the crime and the deadline for his release, he’d probably be in FBI hell until he decided to tell them what they wanted to know.
    As it was they wouldn’t let her visit him, for his safety they’d told her. That she believed. The kind of people he must be incarcerated with wouldn’t hesitate to torture him for the whereabouts to a fifty million dollar stash of goods, most of which could be easily broken up and fenced, and all of which had already been settled by the various insurance companies. She hated that he was alone, that she’d been denied even fleeting moments with her father, but it was worth it if it kept him safe—safe from criminals, but at the mercy of the FBI.
    The lesser of two evils, she reminded herself, glancing over at Trip Jones with his handsome face, mouth-watering body, and tendency to bend the truth to suit his needs. When Lucius was released from jail in a few weeks, the whole lost treasure aspect of his crime was going to blow up in his face. And hers. Considering the morning’s events, Norah knew she wouldn’t be able to protect herself, let alone her father. She didn’t trust the FBI, but they were supposed to be the good guys, right? They wanted the loot, but they wouldn’t hurt or kill her father to get it like the criminals would. She really had no choice.
    “Earth to Norah.”
    “We need rules.”
    “Rules,” he repeated, like he’d uttered another kind of four-letter word.
    “Before I agree to let you stay with me, I’ll need you to promise to obey some rules.”
    “Promise?”
    “Do I need to get you a dictionary?”
    He slid her a look, just the corners of his mouth tilting up. “I’m listening.”
    And that, she decided, was a start. “First, you won’t do anything to harm my father.”
    That surprised him.
    “Lucius has his faults, and he’s definitely a criminal,” Norah said, “but he’s never done anything to hurt me intentionally. He can’t help who he is.”
    “Neither can I.”
    “Yes, you can. You’ve already proven that you’re very good at controlling yourself. So. No harm comes to my father.”
    “Or what?”
    “Look, we both know I can’t do anything to prevent you from hanging around, but I can make it difficult, or I can make it easy.”
    “So I listen to your rules and you’ll cooperate?”
    “No, you promise to abide by my rules and I’ll cooperate.”
    “What makes you think I’ll keep my promise?”
    “You value your word.” But she knew he’d crawl through loopholes, bend the rules as far as he could, and if it came down to life and death, he’d break them. But if it came down to life and death, and breaking the rules made a difference, she’d want him to. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t make an effort to establish those rules, if only to protect herself. “Second,” she said, “I want the truth.”
    “There are all kinds of truth.”
    “Never play mind games with a psychologist.”
    “If someone comes at you with a gun you won’t have time to psychoanalyze them, Norah. Not that you’ll need to. Shoot first and ask questions later is a pretty straightforward concept.”
    “You said they want to use me as leverage, not to kill me.”
    “Yeah, but after a few seconds of conversation with you they’ll probably change their minds.”
     
    “NICE,” TRIP SAID WHEN THEY PULLED UP IN FRONT of her house, a Queen Anne perched between a Greek Revival mini-mansion and a half-timbered Tudor on a street of architecturally diverse homes, in a neighborhood inhabited by families who could trace their roots back street by street and parish by parish for over a hundred years.
    “It’s kind of like you,” he said, stepping out of the car and stopping to take a good long look at