“Okay, then plan on Friday, and I’ll start the diet on Saturday. We both need to have some fun,” Cordie protested. “Last week was awful for me. Monday one of the kids dropped a box of supplies, and every one of the new beakers broke. Then Tuesday I found out my budget for next year has been cut in half. In half,” she stressed. “Oh, and on Wednesday Sophie called and asked me to do an errand for her, and that turned out to be pretty awful too.”

“What was the errand?”

“She made me go to the police station to check on something.”

“What something?”

“You’ll have to wait to hear the gory details. Sophie made me promise not to say anything. She wants to explain it to you.”

“She’s cooking up another scheme, isn’t she?”

“Maybe,” she answered. “Uh-oh. One of my students is frantically waving to me. Gotta go.”

She hung up before Regan could say good-bye. Five minutes later Sophie called. She didn’t waste time on pleasantries.

“I need a favor. A big one.”

“Rome was fine. Thank you for asking. What kind of favor?”

“Say yes first.”

Regan laughed. “I haven’t fallen for that ploy since kindergarten.”

“Then meet me for lunch. Not today,” she hurried to add. “I know you’re probably swamped with work, and I’ve got two meetings back to back I can’t miss. Maybe we could do it tomorrow or the day after. I’ll need a couple of hours.”

“A couple of hours for lunch?”

“Lunch and a favor,” she corrected. “We could meet at The Palms at twelve-thirty on Friday. Cordie’s through at noon, and she could join us. Can you do Friday?”

“I’m not sure I-”

“I really need your help.”

She sounded pitiful. Regan knew it was deliberate manipulation, but she decided to let her get away with it.

“If it’s that important…,” she began.

“It is.”

“Okay, I’ll make it work.”

“I knew I could count on you. Oh, by the way, I checked with Henry to make sure your calendar was clear next weekend, and I told him to pencil me in.”

“For the entire weekend? Sophie, what’s going on?”

“I’ll explain it to you at lunch, and you’ll have a whole week to think about it.”

“I can’t-”

“I loved the picture in the newspaper. Your hair looked great.”

“Sophie, I want to know-”

“I’ve got to get going. I’ll see you Friday at twelve-thirty at The Palms.”

Regan wanted to argue, but it was pointless since Sophie had already hung up the phone. She checked the time, then grabbed her PDA and rushed out the door. Paul Greenfield, a senior staff member and a dear friend, was waiting in the lobby. Regan had known Paul since she was a teenager. She’d worked as his intern during the summer months of her junior year in high school, and for those three months she’d been madly in love with him. Paul had known about her infatuation-she’d been ridiculously obvious about what her mother called a bad crush-but he was very sweet about it. Married now with four children of his own who ran him ragged, he always had a ready smile for her. Paul’s hair was graying at the temples and he wore bottle-thick glasses, but Regan still thought he was extremely handsome. He was holding what looked like a five-hundred-page printout in his arms.

“Good morning, Paul. Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

“Good morning,” he replied. “Actually, these are for you.”

“Oh?” she took a step back.

He grinned. “Sorry, but about an hour ago I got an e-mail from your brother Aiden.”

“Yes?” she asked when he hesitated.

“He was wondering why he hasn’t heard from you.”

He tried to hand the stack of papers to her. She took another step back and smiled. “What exactly does Aiden want to hear?”

“Your opinion of his report.”

“He wrote all that? When in heaven’s name did he have time to write a five-hundred-page report?”

“Two hundred and ten pages,” he corrected.

“Okay. When did he have time to write a two-hundred-and-ten-page report?”

“You know your brother doesn’t sleep.”

Or have a life, she thought but didn’t dare say because it would have been disloyal. “Apparently not,” she said. “What kind of report is it?”

Paul smiled. She was looking at the pages as though she expected a jack-in-the-box to jump out at her. “Aiden’s plans for expansion,” he said. “He needs to know what you think before he can go forward. All the numbers are there. Spencer and Walker have already gotten on board.”

“Bet they didn’t have to read the thing.”

“Actually, no, they didn’t.”

She could see the guilty look on his face as he transferred the pages into her arms. She balanced the PDA on top.

“Aiden didn’t even mention this when we were in Rome. He now thinks I should have already read it?”

“There’s obviously been a mix-up. This is the second time I’ve had to have the pages printed for you. The first copy seems to have disappeared. I gave it to Emily,” he said, referring to Aiden’s assistant. “She insists she gave it to Henry to pass on to you.”

“If she had given the report to Henry, he would have given it to me.”

Paul was always diplomatic. “It’s a puzzle, but I don’t believe either one of us should waste time or energy trying to figure it out.”

“Yes, right. A puzzle.” She couldn’t keep the irritation out of her voice. “We both know that Emily-”

He didn’t let her continue. “We shouldn’t speculate. However, your brother is waiting to hear from you, hopefully by noon today.”

“Noon?”

“He told me to tell you not to worry about the time difference.”

She gritted her teeth. “Okay. I’ll read it this morning.”

His smile indicated he was pleased with her decision. “If you have any questions, I’ll be in my office until eleven. Then I’m on my way to Miami.”

He was walking away when she called out, “You knew I’d cave, didn’t you?”

His laughter was her answer. Regan checked the time, groaned, and then straightened her shoulders and headed to her office.

Chapter Three

The murder was a mistake.

He stood in the shadows of a building near the Water Tower district watching the entrance, waiting for the chosen one to appear. The damp, cool night air settled in his bones. He was miserable but didn’t dare give up, and so he continued to hide there waiting and hoping for over two hours. Then he finally accepted that he had failed.

Defeated, he climbed back into his Jeep and headed home. Tears came into his eyes, so severe was his disappointment and shame. He heard someone sob, realized that he had made the sound, and impatiently wiped the tears from his cheeks.

He couldn’t stop shaking. He had failed. What would the demon do to him now? He sobbed again.

And then, just as he was about to scream with the despair, the answer came. He saw the entrance to Conrad Park and suddenly knew the demon had guided him to where he needed to go. The jogging trail circled the university and the park in a perfect figure eight. He remembered seeing the diagram in the newspaper along with a long article about a festival. The proceeds would go to some sort of charity, but he couldn’t remember which one.

You’ll find her here, the demon whispered.

He was suddenly relieved. He found a perfect parking spot along the street next to the university. He pulled up beside a telephone pole. There was a poster for a coming race north of the city nailed to it. The poster showed a pretty young woman crossing a finish line.

He started to open the door and then froze. He wasn’t dressed properly. He’d worn his cheap but serviceable black suit with a white shirt and pinstriped tie because he thought he’d find her down by the Water Tower district, and he wanted to blend in with the other businessmen going home from work. He had stuffed a baseball cap in his pocket and planned to put it on once he started following her so that no one else on the street would be able to identify him after the fact.