Emma pulled away from his side to get a good look at him. "Thomas, you and Leelee are two peas in a pod-oh! Wait-that reminds me!" She was suddenly gone, and his arm fell to the couch cushions.

Emma sat on her heels as she rummaged through the lower bookshelves, and Thomas had to look away. He'd managed to get through the whole night without a single lustful thought about her-okay, that was an exaggeration-but he'd done pretty damn good and he didn't want to blow it now.

She returned to the couch, her finger holding her place in a big photo album. She didn't open it. Instead, she looked up at him with uncertain eyes.

"This is going to be a strange question, and you might get pretty angry. But, well, Becca-"

"Wasn't the world's most conscientious parent?"

Emma shook her head sadly. "There's no polite way to ask you this, Thomas. See, Leelee doesn't know who her dad was and you two look so much alike that I just have to know." She unceremoniously flung open the book and jabbed her finger at the glossy page. "Did you ever sleep with her?"

The album hit his lap with a thud, and he looked down at an eight-by-ten color photo of two beautiful women. One of them was a fresh-faced, joyous Emma, the wind blowing her hair back from her face as she laughed. The other was obviously Becca.

And Becca was drop-dead gorgeous. Like a movie star. Like an angel. And he'd never seen her before.

"How old were you two here?" He realized his finger was lightly tracing the shape of Emma's face in the photograph.

"Twenty-five. I was in vet school and was visiting her in L.A. when this picture was taken. Leelee would have been about three."

Thomas dragged his eyes from the photo and looked into Emma's face. She was waiting for his answer, holding her breath, that small divot carved between her brows.

"I never slept with Leelee's mother," he said, watching her eyes close in relief.

"I'm so sorry I had to ask you that," she breathed.

"I don't sleep around, Emma. My last relationship lasted four years. I've had one or two brief encounters, but I remember them all and I'm fairly certain I don't have any offspring running around unaccounted for."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He closed the album and handed it back to her. "I've got to get going. I've got to call Reg Massey on my way to Hancock-she's the detective who's handling Slick's case. Where did you put-"

Emma handed him a stack of computer printouts-everything she'd discovered about Simon Slickowski, the dog disco dancing king-and walked him to the door.

"Thank you for a wonderful night, Emma." Thomas felt he was forgetting something, then remembered that Hairy was spending the weekend with Leelee.

"You're angry with me."

He looked down onto Emma's bent head and, without thinking, touched his fingers to her chin and raised her face.

"No I'm not, because you're right, Emma-she looks like me. In fact, she looks just like Pam did at that age. It's kind of spooky and I'd be lying if I said I didn't wonder the same thing for a second. But I'm not her father. I never had sex with Becca Weaverton. I think I would've remembered."

"I imagine you would."

Thomas cupped her face tenderly in his palm. "You two must have made the boys nuts."

Emma snorted. "Becca was the nut-maker. I just went along for the ride."

Thomas smiled down at her. Emma of the baggy sweatshirts really didn't know how beautiful she was. He leaned close.

"Well, you make me nuts, Emma Jenkins. But I guess I'll just have to learn to live with that-for the time being."

He kissed her on the cheek and left.

Chapter 13 The Hustle

The guy who'd just walked into the bar had to be Tom-he looked like one seriously cold son of a bitch.

The hooker said to expect a big guy who'd been on the receiving end of a few punches. This man certainly fit the bill. Aaron watched him casually scan the dark room until his eyes stopped right on him. With a slight nod, he walked toward Aaron's table.

No, Tom didn't exactly look like a rocket scientist, but he appeared ruthless enough to do what had to be done-what he didn't want to have to do himself.

"'Evening, Larry." The hit man slid into the booth.

"Tom?"

"That's my name."

The killer sprawled back against the seat like he was bored. His eyes were mean. He obviously was not going to be the one to start this conversation.

"So how long you been in this line of work?" Aaron asked him.

"Long enough," the killer said.

"Ever been caught?"

Tom blinked at him. "No, Larry. If I'd been caught, I'd be in jail."

"Right. So what'll you have?"

"I'll take a Bud."

Aaron jumped up from the booth and ordered a bottle of Budweiser for the hit man. Nothing more for himself; he needed to keep sharp.

When he reached into his pocket for five dollars, he noticed his hands were shaking. God, he was really going through with this-he was going to pay someone to kill Emma.

If she'd only given him the money. If she'd only listened!

"Here you go." Aaron tried to keep his voice steady.

"So what's the story, Larry?" The hit man took a big swig and stifled a belch. "Something I can help you with?"

Aaron stared at the killer. He seemed awful blasé about the whole business, but he supposed it was just another job to him. Yet the man's expression was anything but relaxed. His eyes were intense. Wise.

"It's my ex-wife," Aaron managed. "She's worth a small fortune."

"Yeah? How so?"

"Life insurance."

Tom frowned. "You're still the beneficiary?"

"Yeah. We agreed to stay on each other's policy for two years to make sure one of our uh… businesses stayed afloat should anything happen."

The killer leaned forward on his elbows and straightened the bill of his cap. He yawned. "What line of work are you in?"

Aaron flinched. Tom sure was asking a lot of questions. Like a cop.

"My work isn't important."

Tom shrugged. "So what can I do you for?"

"I think that's obvious."

The hit man smiled. "Look, Larry. I'm a busy guy. You need a hand with something? Fine. You changed your mind? Great. But I got better things to do than sit around here and play footsie with you." He stood up to leave.

"Wait."

The hit man hovered over him and looked mean as hell. He was perfect for the job. Aaron couldn't risk trying to find someone else. He was probably just being paranoid. And he'd come this far…

"Just wait a minute, okay?"

"You ready to do business?

"Oh, God," Aaron said. "I don't have any choice."

Thomas didn't trust the guy. Not that he trusted any suspected solicitor, but this one set off all his warning bells.

He was half in the bag and covered in a week's worth of scraggly beard, but his bright blue eyes burned with an eerie, sly intelligence. He spoke like someone with a college education. He was a small man, no more than five-nine and one sixty, but he held himself like someone used to a position of authority.

Thomas watched Larry go up to the bar, scanning his clothing for any signs he was carrying concealed. He saw nothing obvious.

When Thomas stretched and said, "Let's party," he knew he'd appear to be talking to himself should anyone be looking. In reality, he was doing another sound check.

Chick was tending bar tonight, and gave Thomas a slow nod to indicate everyone was on board. Thomas reviewed to himself where the others were stationed. Manny and two technicians were in the electronic surveillance van down the street. Paulie was alone in the next booth with his head bowed over a beer, just like every other sorry sack in the place.