No Place To Hide

A little help would be nice, though. Here she was, up to her hairline in paperwork, stalkers, Anthony and the FBI, and on Thursday night she’d be meeting with the most influential jewelry merchandiser in the country.

No worries. Oh, but let’s not forget we’re twenty-six and have no social life, she complained to herself. Could it be any harder to find the perfect man, settle down and start a family so there’s someone to take over this place when you’re gone?

Emma rolled her eyes, then jumped when Jim trotted down the stairs wearing an impatient, vaguely excited look. “Come upstairs. We need to try something.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna send Dop a reply to this morning’s picture.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just come on,” he urged.

Reluctantly climbing the stairs, she donned a cynical expression as he added, “You never know. We might get a response, and bam, it’s over.”

They stopped at the top of the stairs, greeted by Anthony, who radiated disapproval.

“Don’t even say it, Brac,” Jim warned. “We’ve got to reopen our line of communication somehow.”

“Why? Do you miss him? No juicy whacko to dissect all week?”

“Yeah. Thank God you were here to fill in,” Jim replied.

Emma bit her cheek, trying not to laugh, then blinked innocently when Anthony asked, “What are you laughing at?”

“Not a thing,” she told him as Jim pulled another chair behind one of several computer desks.

“All right, here’s the deal,” Jim began, leaning back in his chair until Emma was convinced he’d fall over. “I’m torn as to how we play this. My gut says we go for the throat. My head says we play it safe.”

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