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dearest friends. Yes, I’m looking for your opinion on this mess.”
    He slung the towel over his shoulder and rested his hot, moist palms on her upper arms. “You’ll never admit it, but you’re a kind and caring person, Amanda. If you want to make the right decision, listen to your heart.” He touched his finger to her upper sternum. “You can try to deny it, but it’s beating in there.”
    Amanda’s phone vibrated.
    “You’re the most dedicated lawyer I’ve ever met—or maybe the craziest. Are there ‘attorney emergencies’ in family law that require you to tote your phone with you everywhere?”
    “You never know when one of my clients decides to pay back her husband with a frying pan over the skull.” She checked out the number. “But this one’s a treat.” She raised the phone to her ear. “Hey, Zach-Man, what’s up?”
    “Tell ‘em ‘hi’ from me.” Terry waved and sauntered off.
    “Hey Amanda. Um, I thought I’d call and see how you’re doing. Mom mentioned you had a tough day yesterday. Any way I can help?”
    She shook her head. Zachary Kessler, concerned godson. A kid who could barely drive, calling to check on her. Lauren and Dylan could be proud of the kid. “Well, Zach-Man, it’s like this. My dad asked me to help find Rebecca. She and her husband are missing in Cancun.”
    “When are you going down?”
    “At this point I haven’t committed to anything.”
    “Amanda, remember how you told me to forgive my mom for lying to me and to give my dad a chance? Well? Are you going to take your own advice?”
    * * *
    “That condo is one hoppin’ place,” Amanda’s private investigator, Ian Dunn, said over the crackling connection. “I’m sending over another set of photos tonight. Don’t recognize any of the guys, but maybe they’re local to Chicago, like Lamont.”
    Cell reception improved when Amanda stepped out of the elevator on the forty-fourth floor of her apartment building. “Thanks, Ian. I’ll check them out. Any leads on who owns the condo?”
    “Some corporation named Command Commodities. Don’t know much beyond that—but I noticed one thing, although the Johns change every day or so, I see a lot of the same hookers.”
    “You think they order up from an escort service?”
    “These gals aren’t comin’ straight off the street.”
    “Keep an eye on the place for a few more days. I have a feeling about this one.” She finished the call and slid the cell phone into the side compartment in her purse.
    Hopefully something edible lurked in her refrigerator or freezer; Amanda had lacked the energy to haul home take-out.
    The day’s conversations about Rebecca whirled around her skull—Cooper and Terry implying she hid a “soft and gooey center” behind a “tough cookie” veneer. Fantastic. Amanda Sloane, the human Mallomar. Then the phone call from Zach, throwing her advice back at her.
    She needed a good night’s sleep to clear her head. She’d deal with Matt tomorrow.
    The aroma of roasting garlic greeted her nostrils as she opened the door. Although certain her part-time housekeeper hadn’t dropped in to fix dinner, Amanda didn’t reach for the Taser in her bag. If someone meant ill will, he probably wouldn’t be baking a root vegetable in her rarely used oven.
    “Hello?” She hung up her coat and purse and immediately donned her fuzzy slippers, tossing another pair of her heels-from-hell into the hall closet.
    “Hey Babe, I’m in here.”
    “Stop calling me babe. I’m not Cher—or Sonny for that matter. How did you get in?” She shuffled into the kitchen and found Matt cubing a butternut squash. So much for a peaceful evening.
    “I showed up at the front desk with a sack of groceries and told them I forgot the key to your apartment.”
    “That’s all it took to get you in?”
    “Yeah, well…give the guys a break. They’ve seen me stop by constantly. I’m sure they assume I have a key, everybody does—and besides, you wanted to talk,