But how was he supposed to convince an eight-year-old that he wouldn’t abandon her again? Not sure he was ever going to find that answer, he pulled into the parking lot and cut the engine.

After taking the stairs two at a time, he walked into Hollis’s office and took a seat.

“I’m here,” he said flatly.

Hollis smiled. “How are things going with Emily?”

As if he would tell this guy anything. “Great. She’s adjusting well.”

“Any behavior issues?”

He thought of the monochromatic food/clothing problem. Emily still required her meals to match her clothing. He and Bev were working together to find creative solutions to the potential difficulties. Thank God, it was summer and there were plenty of fresh fruits around. Berries had saved his butt more than once.

He studied Hollis—the man’s small, round glasses, his prissy shirt, the air of “I know everything and you don’t know shit” about him.

“We’re doing just fine,” he said.

Hollis nodded and made a few notes on his pad. “I’m happy to hear that. She’s sleeping well and eating?”

“Sure.”

“I see.” Hollis scribbled some more. “I have some thing I want you to read.” He bent down for something.

Mac expected an article of some kind, but the social worker handed him a book on anger management.

Instead of taking it, Mac leaned back in his chair and tried not to punch the little prick for presuming. “What makes you think I need this?” he asked.

“It’s a by-product of what you do. Your high-stress job requires a lot of aggression without letting you act on it. Tension builds up and eventually explodes.” He set the book on his desk and pushed it toward Mac. “I would like you to read the first three chapters by our next meeting.”

Mac could feel an explosion coming on right this second. “Want to explain why you have such a thing against cops? Was your dad one?”

Hollis gave him a superior smile. “There’s no reason for you to try to analyze me.”

“This had to come from somewhere?”

“Why? The statistics speak for themselves. I’m trying to help you be a good father, a good citizen and a good person.”

“You’ve taken on quite a job, then, Hollis,” Mac said as he picked up the book. How dare this kid try to tell him what problems he had. The kid didn’t know him from a rock.

But Mac was well and truly trapped. Hollis was his key to keeping Emily for the summer. If the social worker called the court and said he wasn’t cooperating, his daughter would be taken away within hours.

He picked up the book and flipped through it. “I thought our meetings were going to be every other week,” he said. “I just saw you last week.”

“I know, but I’m allowed to change the schedule as I see fit. I’m thinking we’ll go another ten days or so. And I will be checking on Emily in the next few days.”

Perfect. With Hollis likely to turn up any second, Mac had no choice but to give in on the food issues. Hollis would accuse him of starving his daughter and it would be all over.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“That’s everything. Have a good holiday,” Hollis said.

Mac stared at him. He had about ten thousand tourists showing up in a town with a normal population of less than twenty-five hundred. There would be heat, surf and too much liquor. Yeah, it was going to be a peachy time.

“Thanks,” he said as he stood. “You, too.”

He left the room and walked to his truck, where he tossed the book on the passenger seat. What he really wanted to do was drive over the pages until they were dust. Instead he pulled out his cell phone and called Wilma.

“I’m done with my meeting and heading back to the office.”

“You’ll never guess,” she said breathlessly. “I’ve been getting calls for the past half hour. The Mafia guys are at Jill Strathern’s office.”

SURE ENOUGH when Mac pulled up in front of the small building with the Dixon and Son sign out front, he found a black limo parked in front. A little unusual for Los Lobos, he thought as he got out and walked toward the door, but hardly reason to assume that organized crime had come to town.

Too many people with too much time on their hands, he thought was he walked inside. When he heard voices, he called out a greeting.

“In my office,” Jill said. “Come on back.”

Mac walked through the fish-filled reception area and into Jill’s fish-filled office only to come to a stop when he saw her drinking coffee with two men who looked like extras from the Godfather movies. Holy shit.

They were both dark, Italian looking, wearing expensive, well-cut suits and pinkie rings, and an air of menace.

The men stood. Jill pointed to the taller of the two, a man in his mid-fifties. “This is Rudy Casaccio and his associate, Mr. Smith. Rudy, this is Mac Kendrick, our sheriff and a friend of mine.”

“Sheriff,” Rudy said with a smile as he shook hands. “A pleasure.”

Mr. Smith also shook his hand but didn’t speak. He was much bigger than Rudy and several years younger, with massive shoulders and hands as big as hubcaps.

Mac didn’t know what to say. He’d figured the reports had all been exaggerated and brought on by too many late-night movies. Obviously he’d been wrong.

The Mafia? Here? With Jill?

“Coffee?” she asked. “You can stay for a bit, can’t you?”

“What? Oh, sure.”

Rudy pulled up a chair. “Interesting office,” he said as he motioned for Mac to take a seat. “I like the fish, but Jill isn’t so sure. She says they smell.”

“They do,” she called from the storeroom. “I’m thinking of bringing in a few candles, but I’m not sure if stuffed-fish fumes are flammable. I’d hate to see the whole place go up in flames.”

Mac accepted the mug she offered. She seemed perfectly at ease as she settled back behind her desk and picked up her own cup.

“Are you in town long?” he asked Rudy.

The other man smiled. “A few days. I wanted to come see Jill. When we spoke on the phone, she said she was fine, but I didn’t believe her.”

Stunned, Mac could only stare. “You’re that close?”

“Jill is our attorney. She’s the best. We had hoped she would make partner this year, but after what Lyle did…” His low voice trailed off.

Jill held up a hand. “We don’t know if he actually did anything. Innocent until proven guilty and all that? Re member?”

Rudy shrugged, then put down his mug. “We should be going. Nice to meet you, Sheriff.” He rose and turned to Jill. “We’ll talk soon.”

“Absolutely. Have fun.”

He left with the silent Mr. Smith. Mac turned to Jill.

“What the hell is going on? My office has been getting calls all morning with hysterical people telling us the Mafia has arrived. I thought it was joke.”

Jill could see that Mac wasn’t handling this well. “They’re not the Mafia.”

He put his mug on her desk. “What would you call them?”

“Businessmen who like to talk about having connections. The key word is talk. Rudy has far too many legitimate business interests to have the time or energy for anything else, but he likes to act menacing and it doesn’t bother me.”

Mac didn’t look convinced. “So you’re not involved in organized crime.”

“Of course not. I’ll admit Rudy is a colorful character, but he’s not in the Mafia.”

“Right. So how connected is he?”

“Oh, please.” She laughed. “He’s a sweetie. He’s al ways been perfectly normal. He brings me a lot of nice legal business and he pays his bills on time.”

“Did he offer to take care of Lyle for you?”

She pressed her lips together.

He swore again. “Tell me you didn’t accept his offer.”

“Of course not. Besides, he wasn’t really saying he’d do anything.”

“Are you willing to test that theory by accepting?”

Actually, she wasn’t, but Mac didn’t have to know that. “He feels badly for me. He knows how hard I worked and how much I enjoyed the different challenges.”

“Are you working for him now?”

She leaned forward. “You can’t seriously be worried about him being in town.”

“I don’t like it and you didn’t answer the question.”

“Technically, I don’t have to, but for the sake of peace between friends, no, I’m not currently doing any work for him. I don’t have the resources here to do a good job.”

“That’s something.”

She hated seeing him worried for no reason. “Mac, relax. Rudy’s going to stick around for a few days, take in the local sights, then head back to Vegas. I promise, he won’t make any trouble. Why would he?”

“Because it’s what he does.”

“You don’t know that for a fact.”

“I know it in my gut. Would it do any good to tell you not to see him again?”

She shook her head. “Besides, talking about actual corporate law is way more thrilling than worrying about wills and fences.”

He stood and paced the length of her office. She liked watching him move, although she felt a little guilty about the tension tightening his body.

“I saw Hollis today,” he told her. “The little twit gave me a book on anger management. He said it was be cause all cops have anger issues. It made me want to beat the crap out of him.”

“Which might have proven his point.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He turned to face her. “I don’t need these guys hanging around, Jill. You may think they’re here to vacation, but I don’t agree. Men like Rudy Casaccio can’t help making trouble—it’s in their blood. You may be passing through, but I’m making a home here for myself and Emily. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect this town. No one is going to get in the way of that. Not Rudy and not you.”

“IS MAC STILL ANGRY with you?” Bev asked a few mornings later as they loaded the picnic basket for the Fourth-of-July celebration.

“I don’t know,” Jill admitted. She hadn’t seen him since he’d stalked about of her office. “I think he’s wildly overreacting to the whole thing.”

“He has a lot to deal with right now. His new job, Emily, the social worker.”

“I know.” She remembered Mac’s complaint that Hollis had given him an anger-management book and wondered if he’d had any time to read it. Maybe when he got to the chapter on jumping to conclusions, he would be less crabby with her.

Technically, she hadn’t done anything wrong, but she still hated that he’d left in a temper.

“Men,” she said.

“They can be a trial,” Bev agreed. Her long sundress swayed as she worked. As always, she’d pulled her wavy red hair back in a braid. “That’s another reason I stay clear of them.”

“I’m going to follow your example,” Jill said with de termination. “Lyle was a complete disaster. Mac is con fusing. I don’t need this pain in my life. I’m happy and successful on my own.” Well, maybe not successful considering her current circumstances, but she had been before and she would be again.

“Where’s the car?” Bev asked as she tucked sandwiches into the insulated picnic basket.

Jill carefully stacked frosted cookies into a plastic container. “The beach parking lot. You know, I’m be ginning to think Lyle arranged for some kind of Gypsy protection on that damn car. It’s been nearly two weeks and there’s not a scratch on the thing. I left it by the shopping-cart return for three days. That should have done something. With the black paint, every little mark shows up. But is there even one? No. I really hate that.”