“I’m not sure how he knew to come here,” Leland went on, sounding aggrieved.

That was easy. Jacky was the one who had set up the Home & Garden TV gig. That meant he knew all about the house on Manzanita Hills Road. He probably also knew that Ali spent time there on a daily basis.

“What does he want?” Ali asked.

“Other than hinting it’s a matter of some urgency, he didn’t say,” Leland answered. “I gave him a cup of coffee and stowed him at the table outside. I used the excuse of making him an omelette to come inside and call you. If you’d like me to tell him you’re unavailable and send him on his way…”

“No,” Ali said with a laugh. “I’ll handle it. I’ll be there in a few.”

“Very well,” Leland said. “I’ll do my best to keep him occupied in the meantime.”

Putting down the phone, Ali closed her computer and threw on some clothes. After pulling her hair into a ponytail and without bothering to apply any makeup, she headed for Manzanita Hills Road. All the time she was getting dressed, she was trying to figure out what Jacky was doing here. After all, Sedona was a long way out of his natural habitat in southern California.

Although Jacky had been Ali’s agent for years, she was more than ready to be done with him. In the aftermath of her divorce from the network bigwig Paul Grayson, Jacky had distanced himself from her completely. Yes, he had come up with the home-remodel filming project, but Ali suspected he had done that more because it would be good for him than because it would be good for her. Ali really was interested in the process of bringing back and preserving architectural treasures that were in danger of being bulldozed. Jacky, on the other hand, was interested in Jacky.

Ali had considered leaving him on more than one occasion, especially now, when she had no intention of going back to work. But with only a few months left on her contract, she had decided to run out the clock rather than making a break. Letting their agreement simply disappear would be a lot less messy than going to the trouble of ending it prematurely. Had he somehow gotten wind of her possible defection? Had someone mentioned to him that Ali Reynolds was about to flee the Jacky Jackson coop?

That brought her back to her original question: What was Jacky doing here? Maybe he had ridden into town at the behest of Raymond and Robert, the camera guys. Was it possible the enterprising videographers had found someone willing to pay top dollar for the off-limits homicide-investigation portion of their film? Ali suspected it wouldn’t be terribly difficult to find someone willing and able to outbid Home & Garden TV’s lowball offer. If Raymond and Robert were hoping to transform their remodeling gig into something else, maybe Jacky had come to see her in hopes of convincing Ali to change her mind and let them run with it.

As usual, the lower part of Ali’s driveway was lined with pickup trucks, which meant that even without Bryan Forester, his work crew was on the scene. After threading her way up the hill to the top of the drive, Ali found a rented Lincoln Town Car in her accustomed parking spot. Count on Jacky to grab the prime spot, she thought as she made her way over to the covered picnic table where Jacky was seated. Wearing a down vest and huddled next to the roaring propane heater, her uninvited guest was polishing off the last few bites of what appeared to be one of Leland Brooks’s fluffy three-egg omelettes.

“My, my, my,” Jacky cooed as Ali approached. “Wherever did you find such a marvelous cook way out here in the sticks? I don’t think I’ve ever had a better omelette.” He handed his empty plate over to Leland, who took it with a stiffly polite nod and walked away. Jacky’s referring to Leland Brooks as a cook was a joke. He might as well have called a Kentucky Derby-winning thoroughbred a nag. Yes, Leland cooked on occasion, but he was far more than that. At a time when he might reasonably have put himself out to pasture, he had stayed on to help Ali with the complicated remodel and had morphed into a friend. She sometimes suspected that in helping her, Leland was also helping himself as he, too, tried to move beyond his own set of betrayals.

“If you ever want to unload him,” Jacky continued tactlessly, “I’m sure I could come up with a list of ten people who would be happy to snap him up.”

“Mr. Brooks is fully employed,” Ali said. “He’s not available.”

“Too bad,” Jacky said. Belatedly, he rose to greet her. After a peremptory kiss on each cheek, he held her at arm’s length and examined her. There was no disguising the dismay that registered on his face.

“My goodness, Ali!” he exclaimed. “Just because you’re stuck here in lovely, charming, perfect Sedona is no excuse for letting yourself go. What are you thinking? No makeup, bag-lady clothes, hair in a ponytail? Bad for your image, darling, very bad. What would people think?”

“They might think I was having to deal with company that hadn’t bothered calling in advance,” she said. “And if you’ll pardon my saying so, you don’t look all that great yourself.”

“Oh, that,” Jacky said with a dismissive wave. “That comes from flying at such an ungodly hour. Had to be at the Burbank airport at oh-dark-thirty this morning. I’m missing several critical hours of beauty sleep. And can you believe it? Even at that ungodly hour, the plane was totally packed. Not a single empty seat to be had. Squalling babies everywhere.”

“Yes,” Ali agreed. “I see what you mean. It’s always a shock to see how the other half lives.” It annoyed her to realize that Jacky somehow brought out the worst in her. It was as though his perpetual bitchiness were a communicable disease.

Leland returned from his trailer, poured Ali a cup of coffee, and handed it over. “Will you require anything else, madam?” he asked formally, nodding imperceptibly in Jacky’s direction.

Ali smiled at him. “We’re fine for now, Mr. Brooks,” she said.

As Leland headed back to his fifth wheel, Jacky watched him go with mouthwatering intensity. “Such a lovely man,” he said admiringly.

“Knock it off, Jacky,” Ali ordered. “I already told you Mr. Brooks is not available. He’s fully employed. He’s also taken.”

“Spoilsport,” Jacky said.

Ali was tired of small talk. “I’m pretty busy at the moment,” she told him. “What is it you want?”

“Don’t be so cross,” Jacky purred. “I’ve got this wonderful, wonderful opportunity for you, something you’d be utterly perfect for. And you know me. I never discuss important negotiations over the phone. I’m a face-to-face, belly-to-belly kind of guy. So that’s why I’m here: to offer you a golden opportunity to go back to work doing what you love-to get you back where you belong, in front of a television camera. Fortunately, the project is being put together by some very talented people who happen to have enough money at their disposal to do things right.”

“Sounds intriguing,” Ali said. “What project do you have in mind?”

“All right, so maybe it’s a bit of a knockoff-a second-generation America’s Most Wanted, if you will, but do you know how long that program has been on the air? Besides, as they say, imitation is the highest form of flattery. You’ve built up a bit of a crimefighting reputation since you’ve been off the air. It seems to me this would be a great fit.”

“What are you asking me to do?” Ali asked. “Host it?”

“Oh, no,” Jacky said too quickly. “Nothing like that. They’ve already lined up a man-type to do the actual hosting job. They want you to be one of their personalities-one of the team of on-air folks and producers who go around the country and pull together various independent segments. You’d have a lot of autonomy, Ali. You’d be able to call your own shots.”

Unfortunately, Ali was able to read between the lines. She understood what Jacky wasn’t saying as much as what he was. No doubt one of his other clients-a male big-name client-was being tapped for the host job. What Jacky was doing was pulling in people to fill out the rest of the package.