“I can’t do that.”

I pressed on the rows at the top with my finger. That was about mid-thigh for him. “We would be interested in these women.” I ran my finger down the page, which happened to be up his thigh. “But not these.”

He sucked in a breath that caught in his throat. I turned my upper body toward him. “Come on, Stewart. Let me see our competition. Angel doesn’t have to know.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t…” I put my hand full on his thigh, and he jumped. “Or won’t?” He held perfectly still. He didn’t even look as if he were breathing.

“You said she sometimes paid you with sex. I know that’s not true, Stewart. She won’t let you near her women.”

“So?”

“So, maybe we can work out a side deal. An exchange of services, so to speak.” I let my fingers begin that slow climb again, up the inside of his thigh, moving steadily until I was close enough to feel his response. I’d never done anything like this with someone to whom I didn’t have at least a passing attraction. I had to be careful not to push too far too fast. He was pretty excitable. “You’re the one with all the power, Stewart. She needs you”-I gave him a little tweak-“as much as you need this.”

As his desire surged, so did my own sense of confidence, and for the first time, I started to understand what Angel knew. Sex was power, but power was the aphrodisiac. There was nothing about Stewart to get hot about, but making Stewart do what he didn’t want to do, that was hot, and when he reached for the keyboard and started typing, I felt almost as flushed as he looked.

I tried to get hold of myself by mentally mapping out the exhibits I would spin for Harvey out of this solid gold information. Angel was about to get slam-dunked, another thought that was nearly orgasmic, yet another indication that I had to get off this case, and fast.

Stewart finished and leaned back. I looked at the screen, and they were all there. Angel’s name was right at the top. Below were Sally’s and Charlotte’s and Ava’s and the rest. I slipped my hand off his leg, and he gasped again. I moved it up and laid it on his soft chest, a touch that elicited a low, ragged groan from him. “Print those out for me, baby, and make me a diskette.”

He couldn’t move fast enough. He typed in the commands, copied the files, and handed me the diskette. Then he got up and left, which made more room for me. As the pages rolled from the printer, I pulled them off one by one and tried to think if I dared ask for anything more. It was too late. I had to get going.

Where was…I turned around to find where Stewart had gone. He was on the edge of his bed peeling his clothes off. Uh-oh.

“Stewart, stop.”

“Why?”

I slipped the printouts into a file folder, dropped the disk into my pocket, and gathered everything together. I stood up and faced him, faced the result of my deception. He was already naked from the waist up, which was highly distracting, considering the way he was shaped.

“I misled you, and I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m leaving now.”

“You’re-” He reached up and scratched his left shoulder with his right hand. “Aren’t we going to fuck?”

“Not tonight. I need to get this stuff to my clients. The faster they see it, the faster you get your offer. Think of it that way, and…” I inched toward the door. “Thanks for your help. You’ll be hearing from us soon.”

THE LAST EXHIBIT SHOT OFF TOHARVEY VIA e-mail around three in the morning, East Coast time. He was so nervous I decided to stay up in case he called with more questions. I did, in fact, stay up, but not awake, and when I heard the neighbor’s door slam and opened my eyes, it was six-thirty. The last time I remembered checking the clock was at three twenty-five.

I went into my room and fell onto my bed without bothering to change. The next time I was conscious was after eleven. When I sat up, my neck was stiff. I couldn’t turn it to the left without sending shooting pains down my back, and I wondered if I would have to make only right turns all day. I also wondered about the nagging feeling that kept tapping me on the shoulder, telling me I was supposed to be somewhere. It was as if I could feel it, but when I whipped around to see it, it was gone. I chalked it up to oversleeping.

It was eight o’clock on the West Coast, which meant that Harvey ’s presentation was in progress. I probably should have felt nervous in sympathy with him, but I didn’t feel much of anything. There was no more that I could do. I thought I should have felt more satisfaction. We were going to nail Angel. But all I felt was spent-physically, emotionally, and mentally. I felt like one of those climbers standing on the summit of Mount Everest. To me, they always looked as if they were dying. They had spent so much of themselves to get there, there was no way to enjoy it. They didn’t always get back all that they had spent, either.

By the time I dragged myself out, it was eleven-twenty. I was headed for the shower when I thought to wake up my computer and check my calendar for whatever important thing I was supposed to be doing. When I clicked up the activities for the day and saw what it was, I froze, then grabbed my backpack and flew out the door, wearing the clothes I had slept in and an expression of sheer panic.

Four people were already lined up at the Boston Police Department shooting range when I stumbled in. They had their weapons ready and their headgear in place. The officer conducting the test patrolled the platform, arms folded over the clipboard trapped against his chest.

He barely acknowledged me when I approached him, which made for an awkward pause as I tried to catch my breath. “I’m…”Breath… “Alex…”Breath… “Shanahan.”

“You’re late.”

“Yes, I am, and I’m…”Breath… “Sorry.”

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. Every cell in his pressed-uniform body said it for him. What kind of an idiot shows up for her range test late, smelling like a locker room, and looking as if she’d slept in her clothes? I had done exactly what Tristan had told me not to do-screeched into the Moon Island parking lot late, rattled, and unprepared. If we had still been friends, he never would have let me do this.

The large-boned, dour-faced officer waited. I figured the fewer words, the better. “I’m a flight attendant, and I had a difficult time setting up this test around my flight schedule. I’m sorry to disrupt things. Will you allow me to take it even though I’m late?”

Either he appreciated the direct approach, he felt sorry for me, or he wanted to see if a flight attendant could shoot. I wasn’t sure which it was, but he pulled out his clipboard and made a notation. “Take the last target. You’ve got two minutes to set up.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

It took the whole two minutes to get settled and two seconds to realize what a mistake I had made. As soon as my hand closed around the.38, I knew I should have rescheduled. My shoulders ached, my hands felt weak, the gun felt heavy, and I could not picture any set of circumstances under which I would pass this test today. I hadn’t fired a shot, and I’d already failed, and I knew it.

When I got the signal, I squeezed the trigger, the gun kicked, and the round was on its way. It missed. I let out a long, slow breath and tried to adjust. Squeezed off another round. Missed. The weapon was like some alien object with a foreign mass and shape that I’d never touched before. I wanted to stop, to tell them right then and there that I could shoot. I really could shoot. I had worked and practiced and refined my skills, but this was a bad day, and I had made a bad decision by racing over here, and could I go away and try another day?

Round three, and it was getting worse. I was starting to shake badly. The cumulative effect of the exhaustion and the missed shots was adding up to a weight I couldn’t bear.Grow up, I told myself.Pull yourself together. If you’re this intimidated by the cops, how will you fare with the bad guys who are not just laughing at you but trying to kill you, to boot?