Maddie made her opinion known with one short sentence. Dont engage the freaks.

Lucy laughed and glanced at her calender. Next Saturday, she had to speak at the Women of Mystery readers and writers group, but other than that she was free. She talked to her friends all the time, but she hadnt been out with them for a month. Lets get together Monday for chimichangas and margaritas, she suggested to her friends, then pushed Send. Next she brought up Quinns e-mail and clicked Reply. She didnt have time for a man, especially a hardluvnman who wanted to gaze into her eyes and turn her spark into a flame. A single votive candle flickered within red jars in the center of each table inside the Red Feather restaurant and lounge. The noise level rose and fell, from the obnoxious laughter of those whod had a few too many, to the steady murmur of those who hadnt. Quinn sat at a table with his back to the wall, the entrance and the door to the kitchen within view. He didnt expect trouble. Not tonight, but sizing up his surroundings and zeroing in on the most advantageous spot was so ingrained that it was a part of him, like the way he tied his shoes or brushed his teeth or read a persons demeanor. Within minutes of walking into the lounge, hed ascertained the lowlives in the place. It didnt matter that some of them wore expensive suits and drank expensive wine. Hed arrested enough of them to know that criminals crossed all social and economic bounds. Quinn pushed the sleeves of his thick olive green sweater up his forearms and reached for the drink menu propped next to the candle. The flat transformer was once again taped to the small of Quinns back, just above the waistband of his black trousers. Across the street, Anita sat in the van, with her receiving equipment filtering out background noises, while Kurt waited in the kitchen to snag a glass with legible fingerprints. Tomorrow night, they would repeat the same process with Maureen Dempsey. The door to the Red Feather Lounge opened, and Quinn lifted his attention from the drink menu. Lucy Rothschild stepped inside looking even better than he remembered. It had taken Kurt two e-mails to coax her into meeting Quinn, but here she was, wrapped up in a black trench coat that tied at the waist and covered her to her knees. She wore red shoes with high heels, and for one brief second, Quinn let himself wonder if she was naked beneath that coat. She looked right at him, and he stood and moved from behind the corner table. Subdued bar lights shone in the gold hair curling about her shoulders. She walked toward him looking like a centerfold and turning heads. Her hair bounced a little with each graceful step. Too bad she might be psychotic. He took the soft hand she offered him. Her fingers were chilled, and he looked down into her face, searching for signs that she was crazy. The kind of crazy that slipped a bag over a mans head while she rode him like Seabiscuit. All he saw was a hint of humor shining in her deep blue eyes. Youre on time, she said with the same humor curving her red lips. Your dog didnt get into the trash tonight? No. I put the garbage in the garage before I left. She let go of his hand and set a small red purse on the table. I was a little surprised to get your e -mail. She reached for her belt, and Quinn moved behind her. The first e-mail? Or the second one, when I had to beg? The tips of his fingers brushed the smooth skin of her neck as he moved her hair aside and grasped her coat by the collar. She smelled like his mothers garden in sp ring, and holding her hair was like holding a bit of sunshine. Likehe stopped. Good Lord, he was beginning to sound

like those sappy e-mails Kurt sent. Even in his own head. If he wasnt careful, before he knew it hed be listening to Jewel and writing shitty poetry. She looked up at him over her shoulder, and her cheek brushed the backs of his fingers. You didnt beg. You were persistent.