Ryan hadn't mentioned that Roman Slayter and Chichi were connected. Maybe she didn't know. Chichi was from San Francisco, and Roman was, she thought, from L.A. Chichi stood leaning against his car, leaning down talking with him. They knew each other well enough to argue. Charlie's windows were down, but with the breeze rattling the oak leaves it was hard to hear much.

Roman said something that sounded like, Not in front of the station, for Christ's sake! Chichi's answer was lost, but her reply made Roman laugh. She turned away to her own car, and in a moment they were both gone, the black Alpha Romeo following Chichi's Neon out between the bright gardens, surely headed somewhere together. When she turned back, Max and Dallas were coming out of the station.

"Been waiting long?" Max swung in beside her. Dallas got in the back. "Clyde and Ryan are meeting us," Max said. "Tony's okay?"

"More than okay. What's the occasion? What are we celebrating? You make a reservation?"

"Of course I made a reservation." He put his arm around her and blew in her ear, dangerously hindering her driving. "Have you forgotten this is our six-month anniversary?"

Charlie blushed. She loved it when he was this romantic. He was so down-to-earth, so much of the time a hard-nosed cop, that such moments were special.

"Well it almost is," he said. "Close enough to celebrate. There's a parking place, guy ready to pull out."

She waited for an SUV to leave, then slipped into the space. The meter maid was just leaving, she had just missed them.

Tony's was a popular lunch place for the locals, a high-ceilinged structure of heavy timbers and glass, decorated with ferns and other lush plants in huge ceramic pots. Medleys of ferns in baskets hung from the rafters. The dining room seemed as much a garden as did the patio beyond. They followed the waiter to a table in the back patio where Ryan and Clyde waited, Rock stretched out under the table at their feet. Several other dogs lay beneath the tables, all on their best behavior, seeming hardly to notice one another. Restaurant dogs, Charlie thought, would make a nice series of drawings. They had ordered and were talking about the Harpers' new addition, when Charlie glanced across the patio into the restaurant, and saw Chichi and Roman Slayter being seated.

"What?" Max said. Though his back was to the wall, his view in toward the dining room was partially blocked by the ferns.

"Chichi Barbi and Roman Slayter. They met in front of the courthouse while I was waiting for you. I didn't know they knew each other."

Ryan said, "I didn't either; but they're a perfect match." "Maybe Slayter will keep her occupied," Clyde said hopefully. "I wonder if she's a pickup."

"I don't think so," Charlie said. "They know each other well enough to be arguing, she seemed really angry."

"How long were they there?" Dallas asked. "Could you hear any of it?"

"Only that he didn't like meeting in that particular location." Charlie studied Dallas. He nodded offhandedly, and said no more.

Max asked for the French bread and sipped his O'Doul's. He didn't seem interested in what Chichi Barbi did or who she met. He seemed, Charlie thought, strangely miffed at Dallas for his own interest.

But he could be annoyed over anything, could have had a bad morning. Some small problem in the department. Both men seemed edgy.

"They're still arguing," Ryan said with interest. "They do know each other well."

"I'd like to be a fly on the wall," Charlie said. She thought Chichi could be really attractive with less makeup and better taste in clothes. She longed to know what they were talking about.

But even as she wondered, she saw that a spy was already on the scene.

Crouched between two tall pots of ferns beside Roman and Chichi's table, the kit, with her dark fur, was nearly lost among the fern's lacy shadows. How intensely she was watching them, ears sharp, tail very still, her whole being fixed on the couple- as intent as if she were crouched over a mouse hole.

The tiles beneath Kit's paws felt smooth and cool. The potted ferns helped hide her; their shadows blended with her darkly mottled coat, providing a nice disguise. But the restaurant's delicious smells distracted her, made her want to leap onto the next table, into the middle of that broiled lobster or into that great brimming bowl of meaty spaghetti. It took all her strength to resist. But then the conversation directly above her became so fascinating that she forgot her hunger.

"That time in L.A. was hard on you," Roman Slayter was saying. He was very handsome, lean and tall, his dark short hair blow-dried just so, and those gorgeous brown eyes-like a movie star, Kit thought. Yet he scared her.

"I'm glad to be out of that friggin' town," Chichi said. "I'm never going back there, damn L.A. cops are a bunch of hoods."

Slayter's voice turned serious and gentle. "I know you miss him, Chichi. We all do."

"They murdered him! Damn cops murdered him-friggin' cops never pay for what they do. Cheap, lying Gestapo. 'Line of duty,' my ass. He wasn't in the damn bank, no way they could put him there!"

Slayter gave a sympathetic murmur, patting her hand and looking around them like he hoped no one was listening. Quietly he sipped his wine as the waiter appeared with a bowl of French-fried onion rings. Their scent made Kit's claws itch with a powerful need to snatch a pawful. Slayter took some onion rings onto his bread plate and sat munching one, watching Chichi; Kit could not read his expression. She wouldn't want to be trapped with this man. If she were a human lady, she'd stay away from Roman Slayter.

"Never even had a proper funeral," Chichi said. "Stuffed in that vault like a side of meat." She looked up accusingly at Slayter. "And everyone ran, saved your own skins. You vanished quick enough, Slayter."

"What could we do, Chichi? Get ourselves killed? You didn't hang around!"

"Luis dragged me! Luis…"

"Bank guards and cops all over. What the hell could we do but run?"

Kit's heart was pounding. Slayter was part of that gang with the two men Joe Grey saw in Chichi's room. A gang that had robbed an L.A. bank, and the village jewelry store.

Roman stroked Chichi's hand. "Why did you come up here with us? Frank was dead. You could have…"

"I guess I came because Frank would have. I guess," Chichi said softly, "I just did what Frank would do."

Kit itched to find a phone. Captain Harper and Detective Garza needed to know about this. Chichi had started to cry- the kind of crying when a person doesn't want to talk about something, when a woman hides her silence with tears and most men think they're real tears. "And… I didn't have any money. That's part of why I came. Nowhere else to go. That's why I found that house-sitting job, a free place to live. I didn't want to stay up there with Luis…" She looked at Roman. "I'm still pretty broke, Roman. Could you…?"

"I have men in place, Chichi. Rent to pay, food. Those guys don't live on air!"

Chichi reached to stroke his cheek. "But you're living in a nice place, the Gardenview is really nice, I could stay with you. It wouldn't…"

"It's a tiny room, Chichi. The cheapest they had. And right now…" Roman shook his head. "Wouldn't work. You're better off where you are."

He had men in place? Rent to pay, and food? What men? A whole gang of men? And why was Chichi so interested in moving in with him?

To get in his bed? Was she feeling like a queen in heat? Kit thought, shocked. Or did she want to snoop, search his room? Kit's imagination soared, she could hardly be still. She had to tell Captain Harper, had to tell him now.