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look devastated instead of elated. I swallowed hard and nodded.
    â€œThat’s him,” I said, barely whispering.
    Katie looked at the picture and winced in sympathy. Heather was a jealous wife’s worst nightmare, the kind of woman who would make just about anyone other than a supermodel feel plain and dumpy by comparison.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Katie said softly, giving me a gentle pat on the shoulder. “But at least you have some good evidence you can use to nail his ass.”
    I smiled more broadly than I probably should have in my supposedly devastated state of mind, but I couldn’t help it. I liked this woman and wished I hadn’t had to tell her so many lies.
    â€œCan I trouble you to email this photo to me?” I asked.

F OUR
    I ate dinner in Georgetown, then headed over to the condo I’d refused to give up even though I’d moved into Anderson’s mansion. Little by little, my possessions were migrating to the mansion, making it more and more into a home and giving my beloved condo an empty, neglected look. I didn’t know if I would ever move back in, but I was determined to at least keep the place clean and in good repair. I managed to kill a couple of hours puttering around before heading back to the mansion.
    It was after ten by the time I got there, and I slipped up to my third-floor suite as quickly and quietly as possible. Someone was in the media room watching an action movie with the volume turned up so high the floor vibrated with every explosion, which made a stealthy entrance easy. It looked like I’d managed to avoid Anderson for one more day. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to keep it up.
    The first thing I did after arriving in my suite was to check my email. Sure enough, Katie had sent me the photograph. I downloaded it, then opened it up as big as I could on my relatively small laptop screen, centering the image on Heather and Doug. I cropped that part out and enlarged it even more, and that was when I caught Heather in her first bald-faced lie. It was Doug’s left hand that rested on her hip, and I could plainly see that he was wearing a wedding ring.
    I leaned back in my chair and scowled at the photo. It was far from the first time I’d ever had a client lie to me, and it wasn’t like I hadn’t already been harboring some doubts about Heather; however, I most definitely did not like the portrait of her that was beginning to emerge: a femme fatale who trolls upscale bars and leaves with rich older men without regard to their marital status. Maybe she just had a thing for older men, and their wealth had nothing to do with it. But the fact that she’d lied about Doug not being married bothered me. It was possible she did it because she was embarrassed, or she thought I’d be judgmental about it and refuse to take her case. But instinct told me there was more to it than that.
    I decided to stick my nose where it most likely didn’t belong and did some background research on Heather Fellowes.
    As it turned out, Doug’s marital status wasn’t the only thing Heather had lied to me about.
    Heather was twenty-four and lived in a three-bedroom house in a nice neighborhood in Bethesda. A high school dropout, she’d worked at a dizzying array of crap jobs ever since, from housecleaning to waitressing to retail. A couple of those jobs paid a bit more than minimum wage, but they certainly wouldn’t provide enough income to buy a house. Figuring it was possible she had financial support from her family, I looked into them, too. Her father had been absent from her life since before she was born, and her mother worked as a housekeeper. There were no rich aunts, uncles, or grandparents I could find, so there seemed to be no legitimate way Heather could afford that house.
    A beautiful woman who lived above her means, frequented a posh bar, and made a habit of leaving with rich older men. I couldn’t help