“You got it.”

7

It is inhumane, in my opinion, to force people

who have a genuine medical need for coffee to wait in line

behind people who apparently view it as some kind of recreational activity.

—DAVE BARRY

I had to go through the usual red tape to get to Kit’s office. Metal detector. Pat down. Strip search, but only because I’d asked for one. Guy was hot.

By the time I got past security, Kit’s extra-hot venti mocha latte was no longer extra hot. It was more Skywalker warm. Luke Skywalker warm.

A nice woman in a crisp suit showed me to a conference room instead of Kit’s office. I stepped inside and almost ran face-first into a woman with a chef’s knife. She was pissed. Screaming. Waving the knife. Threatening to call someone’s mother, but only as a last resort because she detested the woman.

Kit was keeping Special Agent Guzman busy while I got a feel for what was going on. I thought the woman might notice me standing there, but she was way too into her rant to pay attention to little ol’ me, so I walked over and handed Kit her coffee.

“Davidson,” Kit said, pretending to just notice me. She took the cup and pulled me into a big hug.

The other agent stood back with a congenial smile on his face as Kit showed an unprecedented amount of emotion. I felt it quake within her.

When she pulled back, her eyes shimmered with it as well. “I’m glad you’re doing so well.”

She meant it. It took me a moment to recover from the shock. Also, I was kind of lip-reading, so I was only guessing at what she said. That departed woman had a set of lungs that went on for days. Kit could have said, “I’m mad you’re going to hell,” but I didn’t know why she would say something like that to me. As far as I knew, she didn’t have that kind of insight.

She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. “This is Special Agent Guzman,” she said before physically turning me to face him like one would a child. I tried not to crack up.

It was hard to actually see Special Agent Guzman. The woman was in his face. Like in his face. Yelling. Screaming at him. But a hand popped out of her lower back, so I took it, praying it was the agent offering a greeting. It was hard to tell at that point.

“Nguyen,” Kit said as her partner in crime walked in. Agent Nguyen and I had never bonded.

The two male agents shook hands, then it was my turn. Agent Nguyen’s gaze landed on me. I waved a tight hello and got the feeling Nguyen was warming up to me. His smile held less acid than the ones he used to offer me, but that was all the warmth I’d get from him.

I chose a chair and started to sit down.

He pulled the chair out from under me and took it for himself.

Oh yeah. I was totally winning him over. The Discovery Channel had a special that said punking their friends was how the FBI genus showed affection. Their mating rituals were stranger still.

Kit and Guzman took a chair, too, so I walked around Agent Nguyen, who was only slightly glowering at me, and sat opposite, well, everyone. This wasn’t intimidating at all.

All three of them looked at me. Kit expectantly from behind her cup. Nguyen impatiently. And Agent Guzman curiously.

“So,” I said, clasping my hands together and probably speaking a tad louder than necessary, “I bet you’re all wondering why I called this meeting.”

Kit fought a grin while the new guy glanced at her in question.

“Davidson is a private investigator,” Kit told him. “She does some work for us from time to time.”

“You hire private investigators?” he asked, surprised.

“Hire would imply payment,” I corrected. “This is more of a volunteer thing.”

“Ah.” He nodded, pretending to understand why we were all sitting there.

“Mrs. Davidson recently came into some interesting information about your wife’s disappearance,” Kit said, and I had to force my smile to stay put.

Not that I hadn’t figured the woman yelling in his face was a skeleton from the guy’s closet, almost certainly a departed wife, but I wasn’t sure how Kit wanted this to play out. Did she suspect the guy of killing his wife? And since when did she call me Mrs. Davidson?

“I don’t understand,” he said, looking as perplexed as I felt.

Mrs. Davidson.

“Are you having her look into Mandy’s case?”

Mrs. Davidson.

Kit shook her head. “No, I think this information just kind of landed in Mrs. Davidson’s lap.”

It was one thing to know I went by Mrs. Davidson.