"Swear to God." LoriSue held up the zucchini slice, then took another nibble. "Drives a black Mustang. Divorced. No kids. Dark hair just past his ears. A little goatee. Earring. I'm telling you, he is one juicy piece of man."

Bonnie snorted again.

Charlotte went back to cutting vegetables.

"His name is Joseph Mills. I don't know if people call him Joe. He didn't say. He didn't say much of anything, really. Not the friendliest guy in the world, not that it matters." LoriSue giggled. "I'll tell you what-this has been so much fun! We should hang out together more often, just us girls."

Suddenly it all made perfect sense to Charlotte. LoriSue was in her kitchen because of its geographic proximity to the Chippendales' bachelor pad.

"Would you like to stay for dinner, LoriSue? We'll be eating about six, and then it's off to baseball and Boy Scouts."

"Oh! No-but thanks. Got to get back to the office. Do you think you could give Justin a lift to the scout meeting?"

"Of course," Charlotte said. Like tonight should be any different.

When LoriSuer was safely on her way and the lasagna was in the oven, Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest and frowned in Bonnie's direction. "Do you think she's right about the guy next door?"

"No way," Bonnie replied, slowly shaking her head. "LoriSue's on the prowl, honey, and when a woman's on the prowl, she can convince herself that the FedEx guy is a man in uniform. I know. I've been there."

Charlotte laughed and set the oven timer. "You're a riot, Bon."

"I speak only the truth. I once was sure that Ned was the spitting image of Robert Redford."

Charlotte spun around, her eyes quite wide. "Whoa. When was that?"

"When I was on the prowl. You see what I'm saying?"

He probably shouldn't drink beer in the middle of the day, because that's when he would start to feel a little sorry for himself. That's when he'd start to think of Charlotte Tasker.

He'd wanted that woman for years. And he was certain that if things had been different-if his situation and hers had been different-they could have been happy together.

Jimmy Bettmyer sat at a table at the Creekside Inn and savored his Budweiser, thinking about the conversation they'd had yesterday in the school parking lot. Charlotte was a fighter, that was for sure, but he figured all the stubborn resistance would make the eventual surrender that much sweeter.

And she was going to give it up sooner or later. He knew it. A babe like her couldn't survive without a man. He could see it in her eyes.

Jimmy looked around the bar and counted four women he'd slept with. Then he counted the total number of women in the place and realized he'd nailed about a fourth of the females present. Not a bad handicap.

Jimmy had no intention of getting drunk this afternoon. He had a showing at 6:00 and a closing at 7:30. He decided to head home, and left a buck on the table, he chuckled to himself at the use of the word home, because for the last five months home had been the basement rec room of the custom-designed $400,000 New Frendi chateau he refused to vacate to the bitch who would eventually be his ex-wife.

Jimmy stood up and stretched, briefly wondering if chasing women would be nearly as much fun once he was divorced. He wondered if being married was half the thrill. He'd find out soon enough, he supposed.

Roger was perplexed, but Joe wasn't about to paint a detailed picture for him.

"We met a long time ago. That's all."

"When, exactly?"

"Thirteen years ago."

"Where? Quantico?"

"Not really."

"DEA-related? Was she an informant or something?"

Joe couldn't stifle the laugh that erupted from his chest.

"Joe, for God's sake, does she know your name? Does she know what you do for a living? Help me out here!"

"We never exchanged names."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I can't stay here."

"You've already told me that."

"Just get me out-out of the Cincinnati area entirely."

"You want another temporary assignment? You want another field office? But I promised Rich Baum you'd help him out with-"

"Just make it happen, Roger. Please. I need you to do this for me."

"What exactly happened with this woman?"

Joe couldn't answer…

"Oh, hell, Joe. Not that." Roger sighed. "Look, I'll do what I can, but it's going to take a couple weeks to find another place-and it won't be near as nice. You know I don't have any more country estates up my sleeve."

"A hotel is fine.".

"A goddamn hotel is not fine! You are a marked man!"

"But-"

"Unless you believe yourself to be in imminent danger of discovery, you will stay put until I can get something arranged. Do you hear me?"

Joe said nothing. He was on a landline telephone that prevented him from wandering back to the bathroom and peeking out the window, so he just stared at the closed blind, his breathing shallow, thinking of her.

"You still there, Bellacera?"

"Can you send that family's background file to me? Give me an hour to get on the network-my computer stuff is still in boxes. They live in the house immediately to the"-Joe craned his neck to judge the angle of the sun-"immediately to the southwest of this address on Hayden Circle. I don't have a street number. Yellow two-story. Kids, probably."

Roger sighed again. "Yeah. Sure."

'Thanks."

"One thing before I go." Roger's voice was strained. "The nastiest Mexican drug cartel I've seen in twenty years in law enforcement killed your partner and has a million-dollar reward out for your head. I just want to make sure you understand those little details."

Joe closed his eyes.

"Just hang tight until I tell you otherwise."

As Joe disconnected, he told himself he?d be hanging all right-hanging upside down from the doorjamb by a string tied around his nuts at this rate.

How could this have happened? There she was, right next door! After all the years he'd searched for her, she was an arm's length away and he couldn't go to her! He couldn't talk to her! He couldn't get to know her!

Joe methodically sliced open the boxes one-by-one with his pocketknife, aware that the violent slashing motions might be on the verge of overkill. But it felt good. And as soon as the computer was up and running, he'd find where the movers had stashed his punching bags. Then he'd fight himself into a state of oblivion.

Ah, hell. She was so obviously married. Those were her kids. She was probably content in her little life here in Bum-Fuck with her lucky son-of-a-bitch husband, whoever he might be.

She probably didn't even remember him.

Joe was sweating by the time he'd reached the last box and caught his reflection in the floor-length closet mirror. He stopped, straightened, and jogged to the glass, where he bared his teeth.

The left front tooth was as straight and white as its companion, but anyone who looked close enough could see it had a story to tell. It was his story, and hers, and dammit, every time he saw that tooth he thought of her, which meant he thought of her at least twice a day. Over thirteen years that was, what-nearly ten thousand times? And that didn't even count all those times she'd invaded his dreams, when she'd come to him sticky with honeysuckle juice, her skin hot to the touch, so much fire in such an innocent-looking little package.

When she drove away that day, he'd forced himself not to turn around and memorize her license plate number. And it was surely the single biggest mistake he'd made in a life full of them. What had he been thinking? He hadn't been thinking at all, of course. He'd been young and stupid and so damn sure that there would be an endless supply of incredible women in the world that he just let her drive away.