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“Good,” Molly said. Emma was breathing deeply in sleep. Molly lightly touched her hand to his shoulder. “I’m very glad you weren’t hurt.”

He tightened like a spring. He cleared his throat and said, “I’m sorry I’m sweaty.”

“There are three blankets between you and us. You haven’t sweated them through.”

He heard Emma’s rhythmic breathing. She’d crashed. He hated himself, but he couldn’t stop the words. “Tell me about your little brother, Molly.”

He felt her stiffen, then felt the whisper of her sigh in the silence. “He was such a sweet little boy. He was just ten years old that summer. He was a good swimmer, which was why I was on the dock, not really paying all that much attention. I was probably thinking about some thirteen-year-old boy, I was just about at that age. Then he was yelling and going under. I swam to him as fast as I could but he never woke up.

“It was a reporter who first wrote that it might not have been an accident. My father was a ruthless criminal. Why would his daughter be any different? I was devastated. Teddy was dead and I was some sort of evil seed.”

“If there’s one thing I’m sure about, Molly, it’s the quality of your seed.”

She laughed, sadness and relief in her voice, then she leaned over and kissed his shoulder.

He was content when he fell asleep.

* * *

“THE police have already interviewed Rule Shaker, with his lawyer present, of course,” Savich said to a full audience the following morning just after they’d finished breakfast and trooped into the living room. “Detective O’Connor called me just a while ago. He said that Rule Shaker is giving them all the same kind of cooperation the president gives to Congress. That approach stretches things out forever and ends up leading anybody anywhere.

“Rule Shaker just sat there behind his big chrome-and-glass desk, smoking his Cuban cigars, and swearing he just wanted Louey Santera to come play in his casino. He freely admitted that Louey lost a good deal of money at the craps table, so what? What reasonable man, what reasonable businessman, he asked, would kill a man who owed him money?

“When the cops pointed out that Louey might not have been the target, Mr. Shaker very politely informed them that any operation he ever undertook was done right. A screwup would have been impossible with him running it. Then he offered both O’Connor and the Las Vegas detective a cigar.”

Everyone just stared morosely at Savich. Mason Lord said, “That sounds like Shaker. He’s an arrogant little bastard.”

“Sorry, guys,” Savich said, “ain’t nothing easy in this life, even when it involves bastards.”

Miles cleared his throat at the door. “Detective O’Connor is here.”

O’Connor looked very tired; he had bags under his eyes that hadn’t been there just two days before. He tried to smile, but didn’t make it. “Hello. I got by the reporters and photographers intact. Your men are dealing well with them, Mr. Lord, no violence, but they’re firm. There aren’t more than a dozen out there today. Ah, I see that Agent Savich is giving you all a rundown of what I didn’t accomplish in Las Vegas.” He turned to Savich. “Do you have anything for us?”

“MAXINE just might, Detective O’Connor,” Savich said, grinning. “Actually, we’ve had her plugged in all night. We’re just waiting for her to cough something up.”

Mason Lord cleared his throat. “My dear, would you like to ask Miles to bring in coffee?”

“Of course, Mason,” Eve Lord said and rose gracefully from the elegant wing chair she’d been sitting in. She hadn’t said a word until that moment, hadn’t really called any attention at all to herself. But when she stood, all the men’s eyes began to swing toward her. She was wearing tight white jeans, a top tied beneath her breasts, her pale blond hair long and loose, smooth as a silk swatch down her back. Every male eye in the room watched Eve Lord walk to the door, open it, and leave the living room. There was nearly a collective sigh of lust.

Ramsey smiled as he said, “Detective O’Connor, we didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“Well, I can tell you that we spoke