“How,” Stacy asked, “did you know that?”

“In a former life, I was a clinical psychologist.”

She should be surprised, she supposed. Or suspect the woman of being a pathological liar or con artist. After all, in the relatively short time she’d known Billie, the woman had mentioned four marriages, a stint as both a flight attendant and runway model. Now this. She wasn’t that old.

But Billie always had facts or authentic-sounding anecdotes to back up her claims.

Stacy shook her head, thoughts returning to Leonardo Noble and the events of the past days. “I’ve stepped on someone’s toes.”

She said it almost to herself, and Billie’s brow wrinkled in question. Quickly, Stacy told her about the night before. About being attacked, the words the man had murmured against her ear, that campus security believed he was the same man who had raped three coeds earlier in the school year.

“I didn’t mistake what I heard,” Stacy said.

For a long moment her friend said nothing, then she nodded. “I know you didn’t. You were a cop, those are the kinds of mistakes you wouldn’t make.”

Billie stood, taking the sample plate with her. She gazed down at Stacy. “I suggest you be very careful, my friend. I have no desire to go to your memorial service.”

Stacy watched her go, thoughts turning to what the woman had said. A blurred line between fantasy and reality. Could Cassie have unwittingly become involved with a madman who’d begun a role-playing game for real? Had she stepped on his toes, called attention to herself?

Damn it. She knew what she had to do. Stacy opened her cell phone and punched in Leonardo Noble’s cell number.

“I’ll take the job,” she said when he answered. “When do you want me to start?”

CHAPTER 17

Sunday, March 6, 2005

8:00 a.m.

Leonardo suggested the meeting time and Stacy picked the place-Café Noir.

Sunday mornings before ten tended to be quiet at the coffeehouse. Apparently, the regular clientele either worshipped early or enjoyed sleeping late.

“You’re here early,” Stacy said to Billie as she reached the counter.

“So are you.” Billie swept her gaze over Stacy. “You’re taking the job, aren’t you? The one that game inventor offered you?”

“Leonardo Noble. Yes.”

Her friend rang her sale up without inquiring what she wanted. She didn’t have to; Billie knew if she wanted anything other than her usual cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso, she would say so.

Stacy handed her a twenty; Billie made her change, then crossed to the espresso machine. She drew the shots and frothed the milk without speaking.

Stacy frowned. “What?” she asked.

“I’m not sure I like this.”

“Tough.”

“Are you certain he’s even for real?”

“Meaning?”

“Seems to me, someone who invents games might like to play them.”

She had considered that. That Billie had as well, surprised her. “You’re one smart cookie, you know that?”

“And here I thought I was just another pretty face.”

Stacy laughed. When a woman looked the way Billie did, she was rarely appreciated for her brains. Hell, she was guilty of it. Upon meeting Billie, she had categorized her as a brainless blonde. She knew better now.

“I’m pretty good at finding things out,” she said. “You need a mole, call me.”

Billie Bellini, super spy. “You’d look damn good in a trench coat.”

“You bet your ass, I would.” She smiled. “And don’t forget it.”

She wouldn’t, Stacy acknowledged as she walked away from the espresso bar. No doubt Billie could easily uncover information others couldn’t pry free with a crowbar.

As long as the sources were male.

Stacy chose a table in back and sat. As she took her first sip of the hot drink, Leonardo Noble arrived. Alone. She’d thought he might bring Kay.

He scanned the room for her, smiling when he found her. He indicated he meant to get a coffee, then pointed to her in question. She lifted her cup, indicating she was already hooked up.

Espresso. The staff of life.

She watched as he ordered. He said something to Billie, who laughed. Was he for real? she wondered. Were the bizarre cards he’d received authentic? Or had he manufactured them?

Until she spent more time with him, she was reserving judgment on everything, including his honesty.

He approached the table, his usual energetic step replaced by a sleepy shuffle. He looked bleary-eyed. His hair was even wilder than usual.

“Not a morning person, I see,” she said.

“A night person,” he countered. “I only need a couple hours of sleep in a twenty-four-hour period.”

Stacy arched an eyebrow. “That’s not how it looks to me.”

He smiled, the first sign of life coming into his eyes. “Trust me.”

“Said the spider to the fly.”

He took a sip of his coffee. She noted that he’d gotten the super grande size. From the mountain of froth, she figured it was a cappuccino.

“So that’s what that look was about,” he said. “Distrust.”

“What look?” She took a swallow of her own coffee.

“The one when I was ordering. I had the distinct impression you were dissecting me.”

“Your motives, yes. Goes with the territory.” She met his gaze, hers unflinching. “No one is beyond suspicion, Mr. Noble. Including you.”

Obviously unfazed, he laughed. “Which is exactly why I want to hire you. And call me Leo or the deal’s off.”

She laughed, too. “All right, Leo. Tell me more about your household.”

He looked at her over the top of his coffee cup. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything. For example, your office is there?”

“Yes. Kay’s also.”

“Any other employees?”

“Housekeeper. Mrs. Maitlin. Troy, my driver and all-around guy Friday. Barry takes care of the grounds and pool. Oh, and my daughter’s tutor, Clark Dunbar.”

This was the first she’d heard of a daughter, which Stacy found odd. At her expression, he went on, “Kay and I have one child. Alice. She’s sixteen. Or, as she’s fond of saying, almost seventeen.”

“Does she live with you? Or Kay?”

“With both of us.”

“Both of you?”

“Kay lives in my guest house.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a sort of lopsided-and winning-smile. “I see by your expression that you find our arrangement strange.”

“I’m not here to pass judgment on your personal life.”

As if he took her at her word, he moved on. “ Alice is the light of my life. Until recently, she-” He bit the thought back. “She’s gifted. Intellectually.”

“I suppose that makes sense. I hear you’re a modern day Leonardo da Vinci.”

He grinned. “I see I’m not the only one who knows how to do an Internet search. But Alice really is a genius. She makes both Kay and I look average.”

Stacy digested that. She wondered at the burden of that kind of intellect. How it must color every aspect of the teenager’s life, from intellectual pursuits to relationships. “Has she ever gone to regular school?”

“Never. We’ve always provided her with private tutors.”

“And it works well?”

“Yes. Until-” He laced his fingers, for the first time looking uneasy. “Until recently. She’s been agitating to go to university. She’s become defiant. I’m afraid she dishes poor Clark a lot of attitude.”

Sounded like typical teenage angst.

“University?” she said. “Like Tulane or Harvard?”

“Yes, intellectually she’s ready. She has been for some time. But emotionally…she’s young. Immature. The truth is, we’ve sheltered her. Too much, I fear.” He cleared his throat. “Plus, the divorce has been difficult on her. More difficult than either of us anticipated.”

Stacy couldn’t imagine navigating university life at sixteen. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “Oil and water, that’s me and Kay. But we love each other. And we love Alice. So we settled on this arrangement.”