For six hours.

Needless to say, after that the McCall brothers had all developed a healthy appreciation for the benefits of being lawabiding ten-, nine-, and seven-year-olds. The only person more traumatized by the lockup had been their mother, who’d spent the six hours crying, refusing to speak to their father, and making lasagna and cannoli – three helpings of which she’d practically force-fed each of her sons immediately upon their homecoming from the Big House.

“The last person who called me that watched while three footballs crashed through his living room windows,” Nick said.

“Seeing how you can’t seem to find your way to New York to save your life, I’m not too worried,” Matt shot back. “You’d better be saving the world from a biological weapons attack or foiling a plot to assassinate the president.”

“Nope. That’s next week’s agenda.”

“Seriously, Nick – you couldn’t even make it to Ma’s party? We’ve been planning this for months.”

Feeling like a major asshole, Nick distracted himself by looking out the rear window of the cab and keeping an eye out to see if he was being followed. “I know. But something came up that made leaving impossible. I’ll figure out some way to make it up to Ma. How bad is she taking it?”

“She says she’s not FedEx-ing you any more arrabiatta sauce,” Matt said.

Nick whistled. His mother had to be really pissed if she was threatening to cut off food. “That is bad.”

“Unless you suddenly announce you’ve got a girlfriend or you’re getting married or something, I think you’re going to be on her shit list for a while.” Matt chuckled. Being the middle child and peacemaker of the family, he didn’t hold grudges for long. “She’s getting crazy with this grandchildren stuff, you know. If I so much as mention that I’m having drinks with a woman, she’s on the phone with Father Tom, asking what days the church has free for a wedding.”

“Unfortunately, there’s no imminent announcement on my end, so I’ll be in the doghouse for a while.” Nick oddly caught himself wondering what his mother would think of Jordan. Tough to say whether the billion-dollar inheritance or the convicted felon of a brother would freak her out more. Not that it mattered. “I’m planning to come out there as soon as I finish this project with work. If Ma won’t let me in the door, think I can crash with you?”

“Sure. And don’t worry about Ma,” Matt said. “I’ll tell her there’s a new cute assistant DA that I ran into at the station. That should distract her for a while from your sorry-ass excuse for a son.”

“Thanks. And out of curiosity, did you actually run into a new cute assistant DA?”

His brother sounded sly. “Better than cute. You know I’m a sucker for a woman in high heels and a power suit. Hey – Anthony wants to talk to you next. Here he is.”

Nick heard muffled sounds as Matt handed the phone over, then his youngest brother came onto the line.

“Hey – anyone ever tell you that you’re a douchebag?”

And so it went.

AFTER THE EXCITEMENT of the weekend, it felt strange for Jordan to return to her normal routine on Monday. All day at the store she was on edge, waiting for something to happen, some problematic development in the case: Xander had discovered the recording devices in his office; Mercks had clued in to Nick’s real identity; the FBI, for whatever reason, had decided to call the whole thing off.

It didn’t happen.

By Tuesday night, it was fair to say that she was essentially back to her normal routine, with one notable addition: Nick called to check in every night at nine thirty when she got home from DeVine Cellars. Through him, she learned that Xander and Trilani had met that morning, which meant first and foremost that Xander wasn’t suspicious – yet – and second, that the FBI was on their way to getting the evidence they needed to make the arrests.

“If this keeps up, you won’t be stuck with me for long,” Nick said teasingly. Then, for the third evening in a row, he asked if she had noticed anything unusual during the day.

“You keep asking that,” Jordan said. “Trust me, you’ll be the first person I call if anything seems out of the ordinary. I have no lofty ambitions of being a hero in all this.”

“Just keeping an eye on you, Rhodes.”

The next day, Jordan fought the downtown traffic and headed back to MCC. So much for last week having been my final visit, she thought as she rode up the elevator.

She and her brother got their usual table, right in front of the grimy, bulletproof window covered with steel bars. Nothing but the best seat in the house when visiting Kyle Rhodes.

He laid into her the moment he sat down. “Who’s Tall, Dark, and Smoldering?”

Jordan’s mouth dropped open. “Shut up. You’ve been reading Scene and Heard?”

Kyle gestured to the bars. “What else am I supposed to do in this place?”

“Repent. Reflect on your wrongdoings. Rehabilitate your criminal mind.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

Yes, she was. Because her brother was number two on the list of people she really, really didn’t want to lie to, right after her father. “It’s no big deal. He’s just a guy I brought to Xander’s party.” Who, yes, happened to be tall, dark, and smoldering. Allegedly. And who occasionally made her smile, when he wasn’t busy getting under her skin. Like an itch she couldn’t scratch. Or a tick.

“For five thousand dollars a head, I doubt he’s ‘just a guy,’ ” Kyle said.

Suddenly, their friend Puchalski, the inmate with the black snake tattoo, was at their table. “So who’s this tall, dark, and smoldering jerk?” he asked Jordan, seemingly affronted.

Jordan held out her hands. “Seriously, does everyone read Scene and Heard in this place?”

Puchalski gestured to Kyle. “I snagged it from Sawyer here while he was reading the financial section. I’ve got to keep up with current events.” He winked. “I won’t be in this place forever, you know.”

“You will be if you don’t shut your yap and start following the rules, Puchalski,” a guard warned as he passed by.

The inmate scuttled off.

Kyle picked up where they’d left off. “So now the big secret’s out.”

Jordan glared at her brother, who apparently had decided to be more annoying than usual on this particular subject. “Yes, it’s true – I had a date. Ooh, shocking.” Then she thought of something. “Wait, does Dad know about the gossip column?”

“He didn’t mention it when he visited on Monday. I doubt he reads Scene and Heard.” Kyle eased back in his chair, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “This is an interesting situation, Jordo … What’s it worth to you to keep this information under wraps? Because I’m going to need some income when I get out of this place, and I hear that wine business of yours is really taking off.”

“Get real. You owe me.”

Kyle sat up, indignant at that. “For what?”

Jordan folded her arms on the table. “Sophomore year. You took Mom’s car out of the garage in the middle of the night – without a license – to drive over to Amanda Carroll’s. Dad thought he heard a noise when you tried to sneak back in, so I distracted him by saying that I’d seen a strange person in the backyard. While he was looking out my bedroom window, you crept by and mouthed, ‘I owe you.’ Well, now I want to collect.”

“That was seventeen years ago,” Kyle said. “I’m pretty sure there’s a statute of limitations on IOUs.”

“I don’t recall hearing any disclaimers, expirations, or caveats at the time.”

“I was a minor. The contract’s not valid.”

“If you want to weasel your way out of this, I suppose that’s true.” Jordan waited, knowing she had him. Despite the impression one might get from the orange jumpsuit, her brother was quite honorable. And he always kept his word.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “I finally get some dirt on you, Ms. Perfect, for the first time in thirty-three years, and it’s wasted.” He grinned. “Good thing that trip to Amanda Carroll’s was worth it, or I’d be pretty pissed about this.”