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annoyed that her friend would even mention something so ridiculous. “I’m forty-two, Lenora. When I start chasing young guys like Kingsley, do me a favor and shoot me. He still lives at home with his parents. He doesn’t even write checks. He has an accountant who pays all his bills for him.”
    “My Julian might live at home until he’s forty,” Wells told her, tapping her fingernails on the table. “That wouldn’t necessarily make him a spoiled brat. My sister still lives with my mother and she has three kids.”
    “We’re not in the same ballpark,” Lily told her. “Matt’s parents own a seven-million-dollar estate. He only decided to enroll in law school after he was thrown from his horse and had to stop playing polo. One of these days I’m going to call Harvard and make certain he didn’t print that diploma on his computer. Either that, or his daddy could have given it to him as a Christmas present. A big endowment goes a long way.”
    “Money talks.”
    “He hands off assignments like he hands over his dirty underwear to the maid,” Lily continued. “Now, do you still feel sorry for him?”
    “Humph,” the investigator said. “Guess you won this argument hands down.” She smiled, causing two deep dimples to appear in her cheeks. “Let’s not call him a spoiled brat, though. I prefer the term ‘rich little prick.’ It’s far more demeaning, don’t you think?”
    Lily felt the warmth of a person’s hand on her shoulder. She knew instantly that it was Richard. She stood, then braced herself against the counsel table. Her friend waited for an introduction, then decided to handle the situation herself.
    “Lenora Wells,” she said, certain they’d met before. “I’m in charge of the investigative unit.”
    “Richard Fowler,” he said, shaking her hand.
    In heels, Lily stood almost six feet. Fowler had to be at least six-five, Wells decided, staring up at his face. But his height seemed incidental to his overall appeal. His dark eyes danced with mischief, a sharp contrast against his fair skin. Nice lips, shethought, not too thin. Although his hair was sprinkled with gray, he had a youthful physique and moved like a highly trained athlete. As an African American, Lenora found Santa Barbara slightly too vanilla. The majority of the men strutted around in moth-eaten cashmere sweaters or their ten-year-old Brooks Brothers suits. She appreciated a man who knew how to dress. Fowler’s pinstripe suit was beautifully tailored, the cuffs of his shirt were emblazoned with his initials, and the leather on his belt was the same exact shade as his shoes. She placed her hand on the side of her neck. Kingsley might be good-looking enough to get her juices flowing, but this was a
man
. “Didn’t you used to be a D.A. in Ventura several years back?”
    “Yes,” he said. “Lily and I used to work together.”
    Wells fell silent.
    “Are you finished here?” Richard asked Lily. “I’d like to buy you a drink.”
    Lily checked the time. She’d told Kingsley to report to her office at five to brief him on the events of the day. “I can’t,” she said. “I have to meet someone in my office.”
    “I see,” he said, disappointment etched on his face. “I could take a walk and come back. That is, if you’re not going to be tied up that long.”
    Lily faced the table, tossing papers and files into her briefcase. Instead of jumping at the chance to be with him, part of her wished he would simply disappear.
    “Tell me who you have to meet,” Wells said. “I’ll take care of it for you.”
    “No, no,” Lily said, strands of hair tumbling onto her forehead. “I have to meet Matt.”
    “Excuse us,” Wells told Richard. She cupped her hand over her mouth as she whispered to Lily. “Matt can wait until tomorrow, sugar. You can’t let this man just stand here. I bet you haven’t been out of the house in weeks.”
    Lily squeezed her forearm. Still, Lenora didn’t get the message. All she knew