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this guy could be a little flaky, judging by his credit history.”
    â€œHe got all
that
?”
    Sunny shrugged. “Banking records, too. He’s made some bad stock investments, it seems.”
    It had taken him, what, twenty minutes to snare a stranger’s complete life story? So much for the sanctity of banking laws and institutional privacy.
    Taylor frowned, wondering how easy it would be for someone to get all the details of
her
life, birth records in particular.
    One demon at a time.
“Is it accurate?”
    â€œTrust me, my uncle never gets false information,” Sunny said gravely.
    Taylor could believe
that
. Giving Vinnie de Vito false information could get you fitted for a cement tuxedo and a nice permanent berth beneath the Oakland Bay Bridge.
    â€œSo how’s Rains’ credit?”
    â€œSix cards. All maxed out.”
    â€œNo kidding.” So much for Candace’s assurances that Harris was rolling in cash and expecting a huge stock bonus any day. Stocks didn’t always equate to liquid assets, as any survivor of Wall Street’s latest roller-coaster antics could warrant.
    Sunny unfolded the first piece of foil and stared gravely at Taylor’s hair.
    â€œWell?” Taylor waited anxiously. “Please tell me I’m not going to have hair like Pamela Anderson’s.”
    â€œOf course not. Her hair’s long, and yours is short.” Sunny opened another foil section. “Interesting.”
    Anxiety skittered into panic. “Interesting as in why-is-she-trying-to-look-like-Pamela-Anderson-but-with-short-hair?”
    Sunny glanced at Taylor’s chest. “Sorry, but you’re out of luck in the breast department, too.” She unfolded another piece of foil. “Stop worrying. When I’m done, you’re going to knock people dead.”
    Taylor closed her eyes. Knocking people dead was exactly what she was afraid of. When she looked up, Sanford of the Green Goddess drink was standing beside Sunny, holding out a large basket lined with green paper. “A messenger just dropped this off up front. He said it was for Taylor O’Toole.”
    â€œFlowers ’R Us? That means a secret admirer for sure.” Sunny did a snappy high five with Sanford, followed by some sharp finger moves. “I just love stuff like this.”
    â€œI don’t
have
any secret admirers. And no one knows I’m here.”
    â€œStop being so cynical and open the gift.” Taylor took the basket from Sunny, then tugged at the gaudy metallic bow. “I don’t know about his taste.” She removed the ribbon and dug away three layers of green waxed paper, then stopped cold.
    She swallowed, taking another reluctant look. “Judging by this, I think we can forget about a secret admirer.”

Chapter Four

    FROM TAYLOR’S BOOK OF RULES:

Breathe fast. You might not feel it.
    â€œLet me see.” Sunny shoved her aside. As she did, the basket tipped and half a dozen black blooms spilled onto the floor. “Is this some kind of joke? These are black. For
dead
people.” Her voice rose shrilly.
    Taylor’s heart hammered as she shoved the fallen flowers back in the basket, where they spilled over an intricate funeral wreath, of black irises, tulips, and lilies. “See if the receptionist got the name of the messenger service.” Taylor stood up awkwardly, half in shock. “But first tell me where your service entrance is.”
    â€œPast the bathrooms and through the storage area. Be
careful
.”
    Taylor didn’t need a warning. The situation had turned nasty, and she was taking no chances on a direct confrontation. With any luck she could get a name, description, or a truck number to be traced later. Someone was going to pay for this sick little joke.
    She hit the back door at a run, scanning the sunny parking lot. Two Jaguars. Red Beemer. A young Hispanic man stacking cartons near a Dumpster.
    No floral