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original copper mining families, had met Jack Sherwood, a shopping center developer who was relocating to Scottsdale from Mississippi. They had been dating for little more than a month but he was already talking marriage. Beth professed strong feelings for the man, but wanted Desert Investigations to give him a once-over. We had, and found him clean—on paper, at least. No wants, no warrants.
    When I called to relate my preliminary findings, she sounded unsatisfied. “Lena, I…I just feel that there’s something…” Her voice caught. “He is from out of state.”
    â€œUnlike yourself, Beth, most people here are from out of state. People move here from other places. Of course, most go back to where they came from after their first Arizona summer.”
    â€œHa ha.” Her laugh held little amusement. “You said, ‘on paper.’ What’s the next step up?”
    Remembering my own fear of commitment, I felt for her. “A more comprehensive investigation. I could run surveillance on him for a few days and check a few out-of-state-sources.”
    A trembly sigh. Obviously, she hated what she was doing. “Yes. Do what you have to. I’ll pay you for another ten, no, make that twenty hours. I want to make certain before I…”
    I could have finished her sentence for her. Before I fall so hard there’s no return. I simply reiterated my fee. “Plus expenses.”
    Another sigh. “Right.”
    In total sympathy with her relationship paranoia, I hung up. The first man in my life, a fellow student in the ASU Criminal Justice program, dumped me for another girl (“I need someone less complicated.”). A few years later, a fellow police officer in Scottsdale PD demanded I give up my career for him (“I want a wife, not a colleague.”). More recently, Dusty had vanished and reappeared in my life depending on his sobriety status, frequently trailed by the women he’d romanced while on his bender. One of them had tried to kill me.
    Considering everything, I was tempted to ask Jimmy to run a background check on Warren before tonight’s date, then decided against it. Anyone with Warren’s high profile would have little to hide.
    â€œHey, Jimmy, I’ll be shadowing Jack Sherwood for the next few days, possibly longer. Would you mind holding down the fort?”
    â€œNo problem.” He looked so relieved to have me out of the office that I figured his conscience had been bothering him. We had started Desert Investigations together and I’d been foolish enough to believe we’d continue running it together until…well, until. Now “until” was here.
    I rummaged through the supply closet for the items I’d need on the Sherwood surveillance. Camera with zoom lens, tape recorder with long-distance mike, two wigs: one brunette, one auburn. From past experience I knew that the wigs, along with the help of makeup, various sunglasses, and extreme wardrobe changes could make me look like three different women. I also needed to rent a couple of cars less noticeable than my customized Jeep. A Neon, perhaps, and some kind of generic Ford? No. Jack Sherwood was a high-flier and the places he frequented would call for something more upscale than Neon-and-Ford territory, such as a Beemer and a Lexus. As I picked up the phone to punch in the number for Hertz, it rang in my hand.
    â€œDesert Investigations. Good morning.” Unless the caller was a new client with a fat wallet, I was determined to get him—or her—off the line quickly.
    â€œIs Miss Lena Jones?” An Ethiopian accent, hollowed by the echoes of other men’s voices. In the background, one man cursed loudly while another wept.
    My stomach clenched. “Yes, Mr. Tesema, this is Lena Jones. But before you get started, I need to tell you that my fee…”
    He didn’t wait for me to finish. “I call you from jail. You will help