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start smoking again?”
    He took another drag on his cigarette, then put it out in the ashtray. “About four months before we split up.”
    Nicole was wearing khaki slacks and a sweater, but despite the fact that she was dressed down in Saturday clothes, she still looked every inch the efficient federal agent. Her short brown hair was neatly pulled back behind her ears, and she wore just a touch of makeup. A little bit of lip gloss, something on her cheeks to give her face a little color.
    George focused his attention on Monique. “This is my first day off in weeks. There better be a really good reason this couldn’t wait until Monday.”
    Onstage, on her knees, Monique released the frontcatch of her bra, slipping it off. She threw back her head and arched her back, letting the stage lights catch the full glory of her naked breasts, her absurdly large nipples standing at full attention.
    “Whoa,” Nicole said. “Is that all real?”
    George nodded. “Real enough for me.”
    “Is this Kim?” she asked.
    He turned to find her watching him as intently as he’d been watching Monique, her light brown eyes tinged with just a hint of sadness. He turned back to Monique, refusing to acknowledge it, refusing to think about the way their still-too-recent divorce might’ve affected Nicole.
    Because it hadn’t affected Nicole. She was as heartless as she always accused him of being. Whatever he’d just thought he’d glimpsed in her eyes was nothing but an act.
    “No,” he said flatly. “Kim’s up next. You’ll be gone by then.”
    Monique was moving now, her breasts nearly perfectly shaped, two firm hemispheres of flesh. Nicole’s skepticism was well-grounded. The dancer had to be surgically assisted. Had to be.
    “I’m going to be working with the Trotta team,” Nicole told him.
    “In the field?” George’s voice cracked, and he couldn’t keep the horror from his eyes. “With me and Harry?”
    Her smile was tight. “Relax. I’ll be working out of the office most of the time. But you’ll be answering to me.”
    “Oh, that’ll be fun.”
    “Actually, one of the things I wanted to discuss with you is Harry O’Dell. How much of a liability is he?”
    “He’s the best partner I’ve ever worked with.” George met her eyes, daring her to bring up the fact that they’dbeen partners once. A billion years and a christload of aggravation ago.
    Nicole didn’t take the bait. “The psych department thinks he’s on the verge of becoming unreliable. He’s got a pretty serious rep as a wild man. There’s talk his obsession with Trotta is personal.”
    “It’s all personal to Harry. He’s completely insane,” George agreed. “But he’s the best. I’m serious about this, Nic. Don’t pull him off the team.”
    She held his gaze for several long moments, then nodded. “All right. He stays. For now.”
    “Mrs. Lamont. What a pleasure it is to see you again.”
    Michael Trotta sat behind an enormous oak desk. The first glimpse Alessandra had of his office was a surprising one. She’d imagined all dark wood and black leather, but the walls were light, and despite the lack of windows, the room was bright and airy. There were fresh flowers and plants everywhere.
    But then she didn’t see anything but the huge dog, teeth bared in a snarl, straining against its chain, held by a silent man standing beside Trotta’s desk.
    Alessandra moved behind the man with the accent.
    “I’m sorry,” Michael said. “Down, Pinky. Sit.”
    The dog sat, but his ears were up, lips still pulled back, his eyes watching her relentlessly.
    Alessandra’s heart was beating so hard she could barely breathe. Still, she forced a smile. “It’s one of those childhood fears I never quite grew out of. Even friendly dogs scare me a little.”
    “I know,” Michael said. “But Pinky’s not friendly. In fact, he’s been trained to kill.” He smiled. “Won’t you have a seat?”
    The only chair in the room was within a few feet