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take the couch. I'm fine with it, real y." She felt that offering Wade the master bedroom was the least she could do, since he had been forced to sel his business in large part because the government had blacklisted him when Natalie left the Corps.
    As always, Wade refused her consolation. "I'd like to help you make a living."
    "Believe me, Dad--what you save me in day care alone more than pays your room and board."
    The wisp of a smile returned to his face. "That's not work, and you know it."
    "I know. But I also know it means a ton to Cal ie to have you here." She crossed the room and folded her arms around him. "To me, too."
    "Thanks, kiddo." He started to hug her back, but abruptly pul ed away and looked at his watch. "Oh, shoot! Speaking of Cal ie, she must be about done at Dr. Steinmetz's office. I'd better run."
    Natalie tried to stop him as he hurried out of the kitchen. "Relax, Dad, I can get her."
    "No, no--not a problem. See you in a few." He rushed past her and waved a cheery good-bye.
    Natalie snatched the pil box off the counter and went after him. "Wel , at least take your meds--" The front door slammed.
    Natalie sighed, the hand with the pil box dropping to her side. She had moved to return it to the kitchen counter when the front door opened again and Wade leaned inside.
    "Hey, kiddo! There's a guy out here to see you." He cupped a hand around his mouth and lowered his voice.
    "Looks like another client."
    Wade winked and flashed her a thumbs-up, then left again.
    "Wait! Your pil s." Medication in hand, Natalie opened the door to catch him, but found a man with salt-andpepper hair waiting on the front step. He paused with his thick index finger only an inch from the doorbel , chuckled, and put out his hand. "Didn't even have to ring it! Ms. Lindstrom, I presume?" Dressed in a dark, double-breasted suit, he stood a head tal er than she, and she had to perch on tiptoes to peek past his broad shoulders at Wade, who strol ed down the front walk toward his Camry. Noting her gaze, the man on the doorstep indicated her father with his thumb. "Your associate said you were available. Is this a bad time?"
    As her dad got in his car, Natalie gave up on trying to nag him; she'd force the pil s down him when he got home. She turned her attention to the stranger. "I'm sorry. What can I do for you, Mr....?"
    "Amis. Carleton Amis. I understand you've been commissioned to work with Edvard Munch."
    "I've been commissioned to do a painting in the style of Edvard Munch," she corrected him. Since she was no longer a registered member of the NAACC, Natalie
    could not legal y claim her paintings were the products of deceased artists. That was why her works sold for thousands of dol ars, while pieces by Corps artists like Hector fetched mil ions at auction.
    Amis held up a hand, as if to stop her from repeating a speech he'd already heard. "There's no need to mince words with me, Ms. Lindstrom. The col ectors who buy your work know they're getting the genuine article. And I'm prepared to pay a great deal more for what they've been getting on the cheap."
    She eyed Amis, from his smug expression down to his Italian leather shoes, to decide whether he was a legitimate client or a Corps Security stooge sent to set her up. "Oh? You want a Munch original?"
    "Not exactly. My needs are much more specific than that." He smiled. "I want you to persuade Mr. Munch to create an exact replica of The Scream."
    3
    The Crazy Norwegian
    OH, BROTHER, NOT ANOTHER ONE, NATALIE
    THOUGHT. WHAT DO YOU bet he wants a Mona
    Lisa, too? Stil , she tried to exert some professional courtesy. It always paid to be polite to people of wealth--as Carleton Amis seemed to be--no matter
    how clueless they might be.
    "I'm sorry," she said. "I'd like to help you, but I'm ful y booked at the moment." That wasn't real y true, but she hoped Amis would buy the excuse and save her the
    trouble of explaining her real reasons for turning down the assignment.
    No such luck. Amis