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  Eddie squinted. "Yeah."

  I gave him a wide smile. "I thought so. Eddie Lucas, right? I've seen you on TV. You made some pasta dish on the morning news. It looked so good."

  He gave me a short nod and took a long drag on his cigarette, the red tip glowing in the fading light of alley.

  "I'm Sarah," I said, stepping forward and extending my hand. I added a shake of my hair, just in case he hadn't caught on to my flirting. He seemed distracted. Not to sound vain, but that usually didn't happen to me.

  He shook my hand, and when I didn't let go right away, he gave me a once over and a confused look. I let my clutch dangle from my left wrist, held the subpoena, and tried to slide it into his right hand.

  "Eddie Lucas, you're subpoenaed to testify at—"

  He jumped back as if he'd been scalded, and the subpoena fell to the ground.

  "Bitch!" he spat out, then threw his lit cigarette at me and ran toward the end of the alley. I picked up the folded subpoena from the ground and took off after him.

  Damn it. I hadn't expected him to run. My kitten heels were entirely the wrong shoes for the rutted alley. The one thing I had going for me was that I was in better shape than the portly chef, and I didn't smoke. But that would only help if we were going to be running a long distance, and I prayed that wasn't his plan.

  Eddie was surprisingly fast for a guy with his bulk, and he made good time toward the dark end of the alley. When he reached the end, he'd have to go left or right, or straight into traffic. He glanced back and saw me chasing him, and his expression changed from anger to surprise and then to fear.

  At the corner, he wobbled, seeming uncertain which way to go. I figured he'd turn right and run down the street away from the restaurant and toward the parking lot in the rear of the neighboring building. But the little man in the white chef's coat went left, heading toward the front of his restaurant. I followed, my ankles objecting to the uneven terrain, the subpoena gripped in my fist. I'd never failed to serve a subpoena in the five years I'd been working for Rob Fogg. I was not about to be outrun by the tubby chef.

  I rounded the corner at full speed, just in time to see Eddie plow through a line of Nom customers. The people scattered, and I had to scramble to get through, spinning around a woman carrying a massive bag then ducking under a tall man's elbow.

  Thanks, mom, for forcing a dozen years of ballet on me. She'd never approve of how I used those lessons, but then again, I wasn't about to tell her.

  Eddie was struggling to get through the crowd, but I could tell he was aiming for the other corner. He pulled his car keys from his pants pocket, and then I saw the corresponding flash of lights in the car parked in a reserved space at the curb.

  I made a desperate grab at his arm, ignoring the shouts and gasps from the crowd around me. My fingers gripped the fabric of his coat, and he yanked his arm, but I held tight and stumbled after him. But Eddie really didn't want that subpoena in my other hand because he swung his arm back at me. I barely got out of the way of his elbow and had to let go of his jacket.

  I recovered quickly and started to go after him again, but Eddie had a few surprises left in him. One, he turned and came at me. And two, he raised both hands and shoved me. I briefly wondered what those in the crowd and the outdoor diners at the patio tables thought of the middle-aged man aggressively pushing a young woman. A well-meaning bystander jumped in with a shout and tried to keep Eddie away from me, but his efforts just propelled me backward. I took a step back and tried to catch my balance, but my legs hit a low box-planter that edged the dining patio, and then momentum carried my body backward over the top of the rosemary shrub.

  I landed amid a tangle of screaming women, who moments earlier had been enjoying a nice girls' night out, until I crashed the party.

  "He's getting away!" someone yelled. "Call the police."

  I cringed and struggled to get up. That was the last thing I needed. I pushed a chair off my legs and tried to stand, but before I could get to my feet a pair of strong hands reached down and easily plucked me out of the carnage.

  "Sarah?" Christian said, his expression even more confused than usual. "What's going on?"

  The sound of car wheels screeching away answered the question for me. Eddie had gotten away without the subpoena.

  Now it was personal.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The unrelenting mid-day sun beat down on my helmet and leather riding gear. A trickle of sweat rolled from the base of my helmet, down my neck, and between my shoulder blades. A sane person would roll the bike forward a dozen feet into the shade. If I did that, though, I wouldn't be able to see Eddie Lucas, who was at that moment flirting with the girl behind the meat counter at the deli.

  I'd been following Eddie since just before seven in the morning, from a distance, so he wouldn't recognize me from the other night. I wasn't sure how much of a look he got at me in the alley before he bolted, so to be safe, I rode my BMW 650 and kept my helmet on and the face shield down. With my hair in a ponytail that was tucked into my jacket, there was no way he'd recognize me.

  But if he didn't take a break soon, there was also no way I'd survive this assignment without heat stroke. I hadn't yet figured out how I'd get close enough to him to serve him, so I just devoted the morning to learning his routine.

  So far, I'd tailed him to the farmers' market, to a commercial grocery store, two banks, and then back to Nom, where he swapped his van for a lime green muscle car. He hadn't been at the restaurant for fifteen minutes before he took off, letting his employees unload the van. While the car was an eyesore, it was sure easy to tail it to the strip mall that housed Marcella's Deli and a few other high-end specialty shops.

  My stomach growled as I watched Eddie sample a thin-sliced meat. Probably prosciutto. It was nearing noon, and I was starving, and I'd pretty much kill for a prosciutto and brie panini, Marcella's specialty. But instead of noshing on the best sandwich in town, I'd sit and watch and plot.

  Not only was it my job, it was for a client who I liked. I mean, I generally liked most of the clients Rob defended, but Leo Adler's case was the worst kind, because he was probably innocent. Leo had poured his heart and soul into starting his restaurant, Lemon Basil Bistro, with the help of his silent partner, Eddie Lucas. Leo was heartbroken when the bistro caught on fire, leaving only a shell of a building behind. When the fire investigator said it was likely started with a crème brûlée torch, Leo blamed himself, assuming that he must have left it on before he locked up the restaurant that night.

  Then the investigator turned up evidence of arson, and Leo's self-blame was construed as a confession, especially after he filed an insurance claim. Now he found himself facing a trial in two weeks, accused of burning down Lemon Basil Bistro for the insurance payout.

  You'd think that Eddie would be eager to help his former business partner, but so far, he'd been elusive—refusing to talk to our investigator, Burton Worthington, and evading my subpoena. The slippery chef definitely had something to hide.

  Eddie walked out carrying a small white paper bag, not the large box I'd been expecting. All morning, he'd been buying in bulk for the restaurant, but now it looked like he was having lunch.

  My stomach protested, and I hated Eddie Lucas just a little more.

  Eddie turned and walked into the wine store, and I groaned. I couldn't see him in the store, and if he was ordering for the restaurants, I could be in for a long, hot, hungry afternoon.

  Within a few minutes, Eddie was back outside, carrying a wine gift bag. He started back toward his car, then he kept walking, and I watched him cross the street to a two-story house that had been converted into a lingerie boutique. He waltzed in, the door closed behind him, and I couldn't see a damn thing.

  I started the bike, pulled into the strip mall's parking lot, and parked. Then I walked into the coffee shop on the corner, taking my helmet off as I entered the cafe. The Bean & Biscuit coffee shop had large plate glass windows that looked out directly on the fro
nt of Red Silk Ribbon, a very expensive lingerie shop that catered to the city's elite. I'd shopped there a couple times but had yet to buy anything. Paralegals were not the target demographic for the pricey silky underthings.

  The reflections on the shop's windows obscured my view of the inside of the Red Silk Ribbon. I ordered an iced tea and a snickerdoodle cookie that was the size of my head and settled into the seat by the window, watching for Eddie.

  I couldn't go over there without revealing myself to him. And walking in wearing a black helmet with a tinted face-shade would be far too conspicuous. I reached for my phone. It was time for reinforcements.

  "Miranda Vaughn."

  Miranda wasn't just my best friend. She was also my coworker, providing Rob with the financial expertise for his white-collar criminal cases. Hopefully, she'd abandon her spreadsheets to help me out.

  "Hey, what are you doing right now?"

  Ten minutes later, Miranda's dented white Volkswagen GTI, known as the Golf Ball, sputtered to a stop in a parking space in front of the Bean & Biscuit. She found me in the cafe and took the seat across from me.

  "What's our mission?"

  Gotta love Miranda. Her personal life may be a mess, but she's always up for an adventure. And I knew she'd have my back, no matter what. That's what best friends do.

  "Eddie Lucas."

  "You want me to serve him? I haven't done that before."

  "It's not hard."

  "I heard what happened on Friday, so I don't believe you."

  I rolled my eyes. "He's in the lingerie shop across the street. If I go over, he'll run. So either you serve him, or you flush him out, and I serve him."

  Miranda smiled and tried to hide a laugh. "I think it's better if I serve him."

  I pulled the subpoena from the pocket inside my jacket. "He's faster than he looks."

  "I don't know why you don't let Burton do this," Miranda said, sliding the folded papers into her purse.

  "Oh no," I said. "I can do my own damn job."

  She sighed and rolled her eyes. I knew she suspected that I had a crush on Burton Worthington—the tall, dark, and gorgeous investigator who shared the office with us. That couldn't be further from the truth. Sure, he was handsome and charming, but he knew it. And he'd never let me live it down if he had to step in and do my job for me. I'd rather chase Eddie Lucas down a hundred alleys than spend the rest of my life hearing Burton bring up how he bailed me out on a simple subpoena service.

  "Okay, then, I'll do your damn job," Miranda said, then jumped up and moved toward the door before I could react to the dig. I could hear her laughter as she slipped out the door.

  Grumbling to myself, I leaned back in my seat and kept my eye on my friend, jogging across the street to Red Silk Ribbon. Miranda looked like the target demographic for the shop—young, professional, and stylish. She had her shoulder-length blonde hair in a low, sleek ponytail and she was wearing my favorite summer dress, a pink A-line number that she'd borrowed at least a month ago. I'd complain, but half my closet was filled with Miranda's clothes that I hadn't yet returned. Plus, it was better for her coloring.

  Miranda disappeared into the shop, and I pulled out my cell phone in case she called for backup. Maybe she'd pick up something she could use to seduce the seriously sexy FBI agent renting the apartment over her garage, finally. She certainly deserved to find a good man, and from what I knew of Special Agent Jake Barnes, he was a decent guy—for a fed. He was certainly an eyeful of awesome and was making our lazy summer days at the pool much more scenic.

  A few long minutes passed, and then my phone beeped—a text from Miranda.

  They're having a sale on swimsuits.

  I frowned and typed my response. Focus. Eddie. Where is he?

  Don't see him in the store.

  I leaned forward and saw the green car still in the same parking space. Eddie hadn't left, at least not in his car. Oh, damn, what if he made me? Could he have slipped out a back door and left with someone else?

  The phone beeped again, and a photo flashed on the screen—a picture of a blue-and-white-striped cover-up.

  This is half off. Cute?

  I sighed. Put down the muumuu, and get back to work.

  Jesus. The woman had a sexy federal agent panting after her, and she wanted to cover up? Bad strategy, especially considering she was doing as much panting as he was. Also, she had a job to do. My job, but still.

  Moments later, another photo appeared in my text messages—a very tiny teal green bikini.

  Better. I texted back. Now where's Eddie?

  Still don't see him.

  The phone in my hand rang, and I saw Miranda's number pop onto the screen.

  "What do you mean he's not there?"

  Miranda's voice was low. "I looked around. He's not here."

  I tapped my fingers on the tabletop and thought about that. "Is there a back door?"

  "Hold on." I could hear Miranda moving and a low murmur of women's voices in the background. "Yeah, and there are two doors past the dressing rooms. One goes outside, but it has an alarm. The other looks like it goes upstairs."

  I frowned again, and instantly my mother's voice invaded my head, reminding me that my scowl would be memorialized in wrinkles. I shook my head and focused on the store across the street.

  "Can you see what's up there?"

  "Not easily. I'll call you back."

  The line went dead, and I gritted my teeth. Could Eddie have spotted me and slipped out earlier? His car was still in the parking lot, so he'd have to walk out of the alley next to the lingerie shop's building. I sure hadn't seen anything that looked like a chef sneaking away. Plus, the motorcycle and the gear were a good disguise. I barely resembled the young woman who had accosted him just a couple nights earlier.

  Several more minutes passed, and I stood, fidgeting in front of the window. Where was Eddie?

  Finally, the phone buzzed again.

  "What's up?" I asked.

  "He's upstairs," Miranda whispered.

  "Can you get to him?"

  "Pretty sure he's, uh, busy."

  I paused. "What do you mean?"

  "There's an apartment up here, and I think he's with someone," she hissed.

  "Go back downstairs and wait there. What's out the back door?" I tossed my empty iced-tea cup into the trash and left the cafe.

  "Just an alley behind the store. Looks like a couple of reserved parking spaces."

  "Be right there."

  I darted across the street through a break in traffic and walked down the block past the lingerie shop, peering between the buildings. There wasn't any access to the alley from this street, so I rounded the corner and saw the opening. I found the door Miranda had described and reached for the knob, only to find it locked, and then remembered that Miranda had said it looked like there was an alarm on it.

  Through a glass window covered with lace, I saw Miranda at the end of a short hallway, still loitering in the shop and glancing back toward the door. That didn't look suspicious.

  I glanced up and down the narrow, empty alley. There was a sporty little red convertible parked behind the lingerie shop with a personalized plate that said "4 Rita." It was in a reserved spot, I assumed, for Rita. I took my phone out and sent a text to Miranda.

  Stay there. When Eddie comes down the stairs, he'll have to get past you.

  Through the lace curtain, I saw Miranda look down at her phone then up toward me and nod. There was nothing to do but wait for Eddie's lunch, or tryst, or whatever, to end. I looked around for some shade in the late-morning sun. There wasn't much of a shadow as the sun was nearly overhead. To stay cool, I imagined diving into the pool behind Miranda's house, the refreshing water enveloping me, the weightlessness of being submerged. My imagination didn't cut through the 100-plus degrees that were baking me. But at least I knew where I'd be heading as soon as that subpoena hit Eddie's palm.

  Minutes ticked by slowly as I waited and hoped that none of the neighbors thoug
ht I was casing their houses. It was hard to blend in when I was standing in an empty alley, wearing black riding gear, and holding a helmet.

  Every once in a while, I saw a glimpse of Miranda or other store patrons browsing inside the air-conditioned shop, but Eddie was still upstairs. Then I heard footsteps inside, probably coming down the staircase. I flattened myself against the wall, so the person walking downstairs couldn't see me, then waited. I expected to hear Eddie put up a fight when Miranda tried to serve him. At least I'd be there and could witness that he'd been served. Assuming the back door wasn't locked, at least.

  After a couple minutes passed, and I didn't hear a commotion, I sent Miranda another text. Was that Eddie?

  She got back to me nearly instantly. No. The owner came downstairs. Alone.

  I peered through the glass and saw a tall redheaded woman with her back to me, her long hair flowing down her back as she held up a skimpy piece of lingerie for a client. I ducked back before they saw me.

  Maybe you can sneak upstairs now.

  I'll try.

  Good girl. I moved a few feet away to stand in the small strip of shade provided by a tall shrub near the corner of the building, sweat trickling between my shoulder blades. Yes, a dip in Miranda's pool was exactly what I needed. I was still a little sore from the tumble over the hedge on Friday, and a nice long swim would help work out the knot in my shoulders.

  I felt, rather than heard, the bang of a door inside the shop. I rushed toward the back door, just as it flew open, smacking my arm and sending me reeling backward. I landed on my ass in the gravel and looked up to see Eddie's red face gaping in surprise and anger as he recognized me.

  "You!"

  He barely paused before racing toward the convertible and jumping in, Dukes of Hazzard style. I scrambled to get up as Miranda raced out of the back door, the subpoena still gripped in her hand, and a shopping bag dangling from her other wrist. I snatched the subpoena and ran toward Eddie, but he threw the car in reverse and backed up, heading toward me.

  In that split second, I had to decide whether to dive over the convertible's trunk and into the backseat, or get out of Eddie's way. I opted for self-preservation, leaping to one side and stumbling to the ground. The car missed me by inches then Eddie slammed it into drive.