Whatever it is, Im listening.

I ordered you from the universe.

Rick laughed, not sure hed heard correctly. You want to elaborate on that a bit?

Josie gave him a crooked smile. Its a long story, but I interviewed this old lady for her husbands obit, and when I was leaving she told me that before the next morning I needed to make a list of the exact qualities I wanted in a man and send it to the universe.

Interesting, he said.

I finished typing it into my laptop just before I walked into the Celestial Pet grooming salon, the morning we met.

Thats very romantic.

Josie laughed. Its spooky, is what it is. She took a deep breath. This lady also told me that it would take courage to accept the man I had requested.

Rick raised an eyebrow. No kidding?

And then she came into the paper the other day to tell me she sensed you were in danger.

Rick stiffened. Who the hell /is/ this woman?

Mrs. Gloria Needleman, eighty-four, of Cayuga Terrace.

Josie. Josie. Josie. Rick pulled her into his arms and squeezed her tight. Someday, when we tell our grandkids about how we met, theyll think were completely crazy.

Maybe theyll be right, she said.

All that had taken place hours before, and now Rick lay in the dark, Josie asleep at his side. In his last few moments of consciousness, he made his list for the day. He was grateful for the gift of communication. He was grateful for the freedom that came with honesty.

Once again, he was grateful for Josie.

Gwen had been taught not to cry. She was told that it spoiled her ivory complexion and made her eyes red, her lids puffy, and her nose obscenely swollen. Crying didnt flatter even the most beautiful of women, as her mother used to tell her. Extraordinary women, she said, knew the most important accessory was composure. The way to catch a rich, powerful, and handsome man was to be beautiful, intelligent, /and/ serene, even if it were only on the outside. /Oh, really?/ Gwen thought, looking into the mirror. /Go fuck yourself, Mother./ She peered closer into her huge bedroom mirror, attempting to assess the damage caused by too much wine and a two-day temper tantrum. She turned her face to catch the light. She looked undone. Hungover. Ruined. No man would want her like this, and certainly not Rick Rousseau. He didnt want her at her very best.

Gwen ran a hand through her knotted hair. It was a shame, really. A waste. She was thirty-two, and shed thrown away the very best years of her life chasing a phantom. Her mother had advised her to never give up on Rick Rousseau. She told Gwen that he was too perfect a catch to let get away. Her mother had laid it out like this: very rich men who make their mistakes early in life were the ones worth pursuing. /Wrong again, Mother/.

Gwen stumbled across the luxurious white carpet of her bedroom and down the hallway. She veered into the study, and fell into her desk chair.

She rooted through the drawers, creating havoc in her perfectly organized home-office environment.

She knew shed hidden Bennett Cummingss personal cell phone number somewhere. It wasnt exactly something she could put into her BlackBerry or leave lying around her condo, now was it? If Worrell ever found out Cummings had written to her last yearand she hadnt reported itGwen would be out on the street. Worrell was insane when it came to loyalty. He was insane when it came to Rick.

She remembered how, the day she was hired to run Meadowbrook, Worrell pulled her aside and said hed always have his eye on her. He explained that Ricks trust in her was conditional, dependent on one thing and one thing aloneWorrells opinion.

That man was such an ass. She hated him. She hated Rick, too. She hated him for not wanting her. /Well, fuck you, Rick,/ she thought. /Good luck finding some other love-struck sycophant to run your stupid foundation./ Its not like shed taken the job for the professional challengeshed taken it for /him/!

A dry sob escaped from Gwens throat, which promptly turned into the hiccups. Where was that damn thing? Where had she put it? /Hiccup!/ Her fingers touched a small piece of cardboard taped to the back panel of the bottom desk drawer. Aha! Now she remembered. She was so cunning! /Hiccup!/ Maybe she should look into a position in the intelligence community.

Her hand emerged from the drawer clutching a standard-sized business card, off-white, embossed with two large letters in an elegant script/BC/. On the back was a handwritten series of numbers.

Of course she couldnt use her home, office, or cell phone to place the call, which meant shed have to find a pay phone somewhere. The idea was so retro she quivered. Gwen ran into her bedroom and dressed as quickly as she could while still looking presentable. She slipped on her David Yurman watch, her Ed Hardy sneakers, a pair of silky Versace drawstring pants, and a classic Armani cashmere hoodie. She tied her hair up into a sleek knot at the back of her neck, shoved a ball cap on her head, and slipped on a pair of Dolce amp; Gabbana sunglasses big enough to cover any sign of a mental breakdown.

She walked about eight blocks, through the Pacific Heights neighborhood.

Intentionally or not, she found herself in front of Ricks housea modern, four-story glass and stucco structure surrounded by gates and fences and the best digital security money could buy. Shed been there only once, and shed been stupid enough to think Rick had invited her for something more than work. His living room was built for romance, the entire city spread out like De-Beers diamonds in the dark. But they sat at a small table and discussed the legalities of endowment planning.

Gwen charged down the hill. She noticed a small bar and grill at the dividing line between chic Pacific Heights and the more commercial Cow Hollow neighborhood. She spied a pay phone on the sidewalk.

Gwen pulled out the business card, then put about six quarters in the coin slot, figuring that should at least get her started. She dialed.

After two rings a recorded message activated. It said, Leave your information. I shall call. /Beep./ Brief and to the point. Gwen appreciated that Cummings didnt waste anyones time. Thats probably how he got so rich. Gwen left her name, the public phone number, and a tantalizing hint of what she had to offer him. She waited in the booth for ten minutes, feeling awkward as people walked down the street and stared at her. She supposed her wardrobe didnt exactly mesh with the demographics of a woman who relied on public phones. Cummings didnt call back.

Perhaps that was for the best, Gwen thought, sliding open the phone booth door and trudging back uphill. She wasnt entirely sure what shed say once she reached him. She knew Cummings hated Rick for what hed done to his daughter, his only child. She knew Cummings wanted revenge. She knew Rick had destroyed Cummingss life, much like Rick had just destroyed hers. Perhaps they could offer each other some kind of assistance.

It was the only way to make it in this world, her mother had always saideat or be eaten. Those were her only choices, right?

Absolutely not.

Josie looked at him with that now-familiar expression of acceptance. Big eyes. Barely discernible nod of the head. Little smile. In general, he loved Josies generous, forgiving nature. At that moment, however, it annoyed the hell out of him.

Shed just asked him if hed take her on a motorcycle ride. The request had been harmless enough, he supposed, but now he was fighting off a rush of dark fear roiling in his gut. His body had begun to tremble.

Just the idea that hed ever put Josie on the back of his bike made him nauseous. The idea that she would wrap her arms around himthe way Margot hadand rely on him to keep her safe made him sweat. The idea that hed be holding her life in his handsall that goodness and laughter and sweetnessmade him want to run out of the barn like a madman.