I KNEW THAT wasn’t the smartest thing to do. I half expected her to jump up and shove me away: Have you lost your mind?

But she didn’t. Ellie just sort of lifted her chin and parted her mouth, and her tongue danced around mine a little, soft and warm. The whole thing took both of us by surprise. Suddenly I had my arms around her and I was pulling her against me, until I could feel her heart beating against my chest. You know, sometimes it takes just one kiss to find out if the sparks are really there. They were.

I held my breath as we let go. I was scared of what she was going to say. I brushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes.

Her eyes were sort of blinking – as though maybe she wasn’t sure about what had just happened, either.

“It’s not right, Ned.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Ellie. It was just that it was so good to finally hear that you believe me. And you were looking so cute up on that terrace. I guess I was overwhelmed.”

“Not that.” She looked at me and curled a little smile. “That part was great. I was just thinking about Stratton. He’s got these amazing new acquisitions. If he did this theft for the insurance, why press finding the stolen art? He’s got what he wanted.”

“Maybe he wants them back,” I said. “You know, have his cake and eat it, too.”

“Listen,” she said, focusing herself, “don’t get attached to this, Ned. This was basically a handshake. To reflect our new working agreement.”

I tried to pull her close again. “I was hoping we might take it straight to contract form?”

“Sorry,” she sighed. “Call me old-fashioned, but you’re a wanted man and I’m the FBI. Besides, there’s work to do.” She reached out and pulled me up. I was surprised at how strong she was. “You gotta go. You won’t be offended, will you, if I ask you to leave by the back door?”

“No,” I laughed, “it’s become part of my regular routine.”

I went to the porch door and slid it open. I looked back at Ellie. I didn’t know if it was a mistake, what we’d done. Or if it would happen again. I understood the risk she was taking with me. Our eyes met.

I smiled from the door. “Why are you doing this, Ellie?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Let’s just say I’m boxing, Ned.”

“Boxing?”

“I can’t explain right now. You gonna be okay?”

I nodded. “Well, whatever it is, thank you, Ellie.”

“I told you, it was just a handshake,” she said with a wink.

I shook my head. “I meant for believing in me. Nobody has in a long while.”

THE TALL MAN was hunched down in the front seat of the tan Ford, resting the Nikon on his lap, about fifty feet from Ellie Shurtleff’s house. He was getting too old for this. And these cars were too cramped. He was thinking about the old days, when you could really stretch out your legs in a Cougar or a Grand Am.

He saw someone leaving Ellie Shurtleff’s house from the back. Okay, he thought, angling the Nikon, time to shift into gear.

Holy Shit! He jumped up, did a double take. That was Ned Kelly walking into the street.

It was definitely Kelly. He clicked off a few frantic shots. Click, click, click. He felt as if he were having a heart attack.

All he was supposed to do was keep a tab on sweet little Ellie. He never expected anything this good. He followed Kelly down the street and zoomed in with the lens.

Click, click.

Of course, he knew the schmuck was innocent. Obviously the FBI gal felt that way, too. Or she was in cahoots with him.

He started thinking about what he should do. He could run up and arrest Kelly. Build a whole career on this. Get his face on the front page of USA Today. Course, then he’d have to explain what he was doing keeping tabs on Ellie.

He zoomed in and took a last shot of Ned Kelly climbing into some old clunker. Close-up of the North Carolina plates. Another shot on Kelly’s face. Guy didn’t look too bad for the wear and tear.

Oh, you got balls, honey, the tall man had to admit. The whole world was out looking for him, and look where he was – at your house.

The tall man put down the camera and, flicking a matchbook deftly through the fingers of his right hand, watched Kelly drive away.

Diminutive, he thought, nodding to himself, but ballsy.

BY THE TIME I got back to Champ’s cycle shop it was close to midnight. To my surprise, I spotted a light on inside. Then I saw Champ’s Ducati parked by the Dumpster.

“Late night?” I heard him say as I slipped in through the door connected to the garage bay. Champ was sitting down with his feet up on the counter, his chair angled back, and the omnipresent bottle of beer. The TV was on. Jay Leno interviewing Nicole Kidman.

“National Pride Night?” I said, taking a seat in a chair next to him.

“She’s an Aussie, mate. I’m Kiwi,” Geoff replied, a little peeved. He offered me a beer. “I don’t assume you know last night’s curling results just ’cause you were born up near Canada, do I?”

“Guilty,” I said, and clinked my bottle to his. I leaned back next to him with my feet up, too.

“So, how was the party, mate? Any good women?”

“One,” I said.

“These tall bitches…” Geoff ignored me, nodding toward Nicole on the TV screen. “Always found them a little difficult to handle myself. Legs get in the way. I know this one gal -”

“Champ,” I interrupted, “do you want to hear about what happened tonight?”

“Actually,” he said, lowering his chair and facing me, “if you must know, I want to tell you what a well-formed decision you made when you signed me up. This gal I was mentioning is a real night owl. She’s a clerk twice a week. At the Brazilian Court.”

I brought down my feet and stared. “Okay.”

“First, you may have to accept, mate, that that pretty Aussie girlfriend of yours wasn’t all she led you to believe.”

“I think I’m past that,” I said.

He pivoted and faced me, forearms on knees. “Seems that she had some frequent visitors to her room there. Some prominent ones. How does the name Stratton sound to you, Neddie-boy?”

“Like old news,” I said with a sigh of disappointment. “Dennis Stratton. He was seeing Tess. I’m already there.”

“You’re barely in the neighborhood.” Geoff shook his head with a smile. “I’m not talking the old man, mate. I’m talking Liz Stratton. Dennis’s wife.”

He saw my shock and rocked back, taking a self-satisfied swig of his beer. “Whadya think, I got a knack for this sort of work, or what, Neddie-boy?”

A LOT OF THINGS had shocked me since I left Tess’s suite at the Brazilian Court and thought my life was about to take off. But what could Stratton’s wife have to do with Tess?

Ellie and I had settled on a code if I needed to contact her at the office. I’d use the name Steve, as in McQueen. And I did, first thing the following morning. I told her what Champ had told me.

“I think we have to talk to Liz Stratton, Ellie.”

“First,” she said, “I think we have to find out who Liz Stratton really is.”

I had a trump card I’d been holding back, and I was thinking now might be the time to use it. “I may have a way.”

“No, you don’t do anything,” Ellie shot back. “You stay put. I’ll get you when I know something. You comprende, Steve?”

So I played it like a good little fugitive. I spent the day holed up in the small room above Geoff’s garage, picking through some microwave lasagna and his John D. MacDonald crime novels, watching the news on TV. The next day, too. Ellie didn’t return my calls. I felt like Anne Frank hiding from the Germans. Except it wasn’t just the Germans who were after me, it was the whole world. And it wasn’t some doctor’s family who was protecting me, or Brahms I was hearing through the walls, but some loony cycle racer blaring U2, revving up his Ducati.