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reconnaissance work. Of course flying under the radar means different things to different people.
    The dude in charge was picky about who he let into Donovan’s nightclub. The line to enter BOOM moved along at a snail’s pace. I felt uncomfortable without my gun, but everyone was getting a complimentary pat-down on the way in, so I was wise to have left my sidearm in the hotel safe. I figured my police training put me on more than equal footing with any of the other patrons in the club. It was Donovan and his crew that I was worried about. Flynn had given me the scoop on Donovan and his clan of thugs. They sounded like a ruthless bunch. I was a civilian for all intent, and the likelihood of having to use my gun was small. Still, there’s nothing quite as comforting as having thirty-five ounces of steel strapped to your ankle.
    “So this is the drill, Flynn. You point out the players, have a drink, and then get the hell out of there fast. I want you out of there before Donovan or any of his men spot you. I hope there’s a room at the hotel you can crash in for the night, because I don’t want you going back to your own place.”
    His Adam’s apple got stuck in mid-swallow. “That’s comforting to hear.”
    “I’m just trying to think ahead. Better safe than sorry. So what about it, any rooms you can use?”
    “There are a couple of rooms that are being redecorated. Technically they’re unavailable this week.”
    “Good. Don’t tell anyone where you’ll be, not for tonight anyway, not until I have a solid handle on what’s going on.” The line was finally whittling down. Most of the women I saw were wearing … well, practically nothing. Skirts were short and heels were high. Positioned properly, there was enough glistening skin to effectively accelerate particles in a nuclear collider. “Gee, I hope we get in.” I opened the top button on my blouse, just for insurance.
    Flynn checked my cleavage. His eyes widened. “Don’t sweat it. You’re good to go.” I still wasn’t sure as to Flynn’s sexual preference. By his appearance and actions, he was somewhere between gay and metrosexual. I was good either way. Gay men usually have great fashion and beauty instincts, and straight men … well, let’s just say the girls have never let me down.
    “Are you sure? I can totally push them out further. I don’t look as slutty as the other girls.”
    “No,” he insisted. “You’re good. There’s an art to understated dressing these Miami Beach chicas just don’t get.”
    With fashion smarts like that … Okay, I still wasn’t sure, and it was not the time or place to ask whether he liked boys or girls—anyway, what’s the difference?
    “Why, thank you.” We were just a few feet from the door. “Now remember what I told you,” I whispered, “Point out the players and take a hike. Act as casual as possible and don’t draw any attention to yourself. Drive straight back to the hotel, find a room, and lock the door. Are you feeling me?” Flynn nodded emphatically. “Text me your room number after you’re locked in for the night.”
    “Okay.” He seemed frazzled, understandably. “I appreciate what you’re doing,” he said in a soft voice.
    We were finally at the club entrance. A velvet rope and an unsightly gent chewing tobacco stood before us. Ugh! His stanky breath hit me right between the eyes. Really, this is the guy deciding whether I get in or not? Is this a nightclub or a hoedown? He was small and bony with the physique of a squab and a grisly wad of chin whiskers.
    “Hey.” I smiled at him as if he was the last man on earth. “You gonna let me in?” I said in a seductive voice.
    His eyes said, “Mama, you is caviar,” but that’s not what came out of his mouth. “I’m thinking about it,” he said in his heavy Jamaican accent, making it seem as if he was in the process of deep, soul-searching deliberation. He unclipped the velvet rope and tapped his cheek. “Ya got a little