As her eyes reached Daniel Kunz, she was surprised to see that he was already gazing at her. He looked tired, more so than his sister, but his eyes were dry as well. Maybe the family just weren’t criers. He held her gaze steadily, and she looked away first.

  She’d seen that look in men’s eyes before, most notably Rick’s. Daniel was interested. And that brought up something else she’d practically forgotten: Patricia. Where was she? Was she so obsessed with looking available and vulnerable in Rick’s estimation that she’d forgone the opportunity to make good with Daniel?

  Then she spotted Patty, seated toward the front but so swathed in black hat, black netting, black sunglasses, and black Vera Wang that she looked nearly unrecognizable. The charitable, honorable thing for Sam to do, she knew, would be to keep her mouth shut about the Ex’s presence.

  “Patricia’s here,” she murmured, indicating the direction with one finger.

  “I wonder who invited her?” Rick said.

  “It’s kind of the place to be today. She is in the good seats, though.”

  The testimonials began, led by a series of Charles’s poker buddies and fellow Everglades Club members. She wondered why they hadn’t done this in a church, but the fashionable clothes and surrounding pack of press answered that. Somebody wanted publicity, or at least a photo op. Which meant one of the family, since they would have been the ones to make the arrangements. Then again, everybody in Palm Beach society liked publicity. It didn’t make anyone a killer, but everything meant something.

  Finally Laurie moved to the front and spoke for a few minutes about her father’s contributions to the community, and then how he’d supported her in her decision to go into real estate and how proud he’d been of both her achievements and Daniel’s, including the yachting trophy Daniel had brought home last year. Then the priest came forward again with the final benediction, and the reminder that the wake would be at Coronado House. Daniel never spoke.

  As the mourners began dispersing, Rick stood. “It was a nice service,” he said, pulling her up beside him.

  “It was sad.”

  With a small smile, Rick put his hands on both her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “Charles is lucky he spoke with you that night.”

  She kissed him back, this time on the lips. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because now he can be certain that one way or another, someone will find out what happened.” Wrapping her hand around his jacket sleeve, he headed them toward the waiting stretched Mercedes-Benz S600.

  “Does this mean you’re on my side now?”

  “I want whoever killed Charles to go to prison. I maintain my position that the police can handle it without your assistance and that they’ll solve this before you do. And I wish you would limit your participation to chats with Frank.”

  “Frank and I exchange information.” She knew why he’d made the wager and why he was sticking to his guns, but she couldn’t sit around and do nothing. She wasn’t wired that way. And he liked the way she was wired. “Honestly, what would you be saying if I did what you wanted? If I kept my hands completely out of the cookie jar? If I never had cookies again?”

  “I’d say, ‘Thank God, I can rest a little easier because I know she’s safe,’” he answered promptly.

  “Sure. And with my new free time I could knit you turtlenecks and learn to play the piano. What a hoot I’d be. You’d probably retire so you wouldn’t have to miss a second of my exciting company.”

  For a long moment he gazed at her. “I think you should try living a normal life before you dismiss it as mundane.”

  Mundane. That was the thing she never wanted to be. And that was what Rick didn’t get, that if she totally gave up her old life, it would change everything in her and everything between them. She’d be just another of the women in his life, nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary. Mundane.

  “I’m not sure I know what normal is,” she said, because he would expect her to answer with something flip. He was the one who needed to imagine her in a normal life before he tried to force it on her.

  In silence they joined the train of vehicles, mostly chauffeured, entering and exiting the gates of Coronado House in an unending circle. “We don’t have to stay long,” she said, drawing a hard breath as she patted Rick’s knee. Nothing unusual here. Just the same old nonmundane Sam. “I just want to look around and see who’s talking to whom.”

  “From what you told me about the other day, you may not be all that welcome, Samantha.”

  “I will be if you’re here, sweetie.”

  “Wonderful. Now I’m your passport to larceny.”

  Samantha wandered out of the foyer and front sitting area and made her way toward the courtyard at the center of Coronado House. As far as she could tell, there’d never been much difference between an upper class wake and a straight party, and this wasn’t any different.

  Rick was out of sight somewhere behind her, but he could take care of himself. Hell, he schmoozed people and shit for a living. She schmoozed their possessions—or rather, she used to. It would have been an easy gig today.

  The open air courtyard was nearly as crowded as the inside, but it gave her a view through Charles’s office window without actually having to barge into the room. She leaned against a palm tree to take a good look. None of the windows were broken or cracked, which didn’t surprise her, but the thin lines of molding were all even and slightly sun-faded to the same degree. Whoever’d gotten into the office hadn’t gone through those windows.

  A hand brushed her bare arm. “Hi.”

  She jumped, leaning around the palm tree. Shit. “Daniel. Hi. That was a nice service.”

  “Thanks, I guess. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “You are?”

  Daniel nodded. He’d shed his jacket, but still looked like a model straight out of Hunk magazine in his dark blue shirt and gray tie and slacks. “Laurie was a little hard on you yesterday,” he said with a disarming smile. “She’s having a rough time with all this stuff going on.”

  “Well, you found a caterer, anyway,” she returned, gesturing at a passing plate full of crackers and paté.

  “Luckily she’s got a lot of connections through her business.” Daniel reached out and flicked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “So I wanted to apologize.”

  “That’s not necessary.” As if apologizing was what he was doing. “You both have a lot on your minds.”

  “Yes, we do.” Moving closer, he wrapped a hand around her arm. “Hey, you like art and antiques, don’t you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Come and take a look at this.”

  For a brief moment she weighed her instinct to stay clear of Daniel against what she might find out if she went with him. The opportunity was too good to pass up.

  He didn’t take her hand, but his guiding grip on her arm made it clear that they were together. The presumed possession annoyed her, though the same gesture from Rick in most instances gave her warm, fuzzy feelings that led to all kinds of worries about the future and her independence.

  To her surprise, they didn’t go to a secluded poolside cabana or anything like that, but straight to Charles’s office. Okay, it was either really good luck on her part, or kind of freaky on his. Not under any circumstances would she consider making out in the office of someone they’d buried an hour earlier.

  “What do you think?” Daniel asked, gesturing at a small glass case that stood on a long mahogany credenza.

  She relaxed a fraction. He wasn’t going for a full frontal assault, anyway. Shaking herself, she went forward to take a closer look, noting the large Renoir over the right-hand wall. A fake Renoir, she decided after a second. Normally it would have taken her a little longer to make that determination, but the overlarge painting, together with the thick division between the office and the bathroom on the other side, yelled “safe.” Nobody with any taste put a genuine painting somewhere it would have to be taken on and off the wall or set into a panel with hinges. Skin oils, fingerprints, and general banging around were all terrible for resale values.

  She bent down to look into the four-sided case Daniel had indicated. “It’s nice,” she said after a moment, taking in the thin, elongated, featureless bronze woman encased within.

  “Do you know what it is?” he asked, leaning in to look at her through the right angle of the glass.

  “Do you?”

  He straightened when she did. “Not a clue. I couldn’t find it on any inventory or insurance list.”

  “Has it been here long?”

  “I never noticed it before last week. Dad had just gotten back from Germany, so I thought maybe he bought it there. He’s always—was always—doing that.”

  So Charles’s love of art wasn’t shared by his son. “Well,” she said, bending briefly to look at it again and thinking that he’d probably grab her ass if she lingered in that position, “it’s not an antique, and it’s really not from a medium that I follow.”

  “Shit. So you don’t know wh—”

  “But I would guess it’s probably a Giacometti, maybe a prototype for one of his full-size works.”

  He took a step closer, brushing the line of her wrist with his thumb. “How much is something like that worth?”

  So he figured he needed to flirt to get information. Normally—prior to three months ago—she wouldn’t have hesitated to follow the same game plan. Now, though, she had a very jealous Brit in the other room and his ex-wife lurking somewhere around. She shrugged. “A couple of years ago one of his full-size sculptures went for somewhere over three million.”

  “Wow.”

  “There’re a lot of fakes and reproductions out there.”

  “Dad wouldn’t buy either one.” Daniel cupped her chin, tilting her face up toward his. “Are you sure the London lord’s not too dull for you?”

  She smiled. “I thought you had a London lady, yourself.”

  “Patricia? I hate limiting my options.” He leaned in and touched his lips to hers.

  She could have stopped him, dropped him to the floor if she wanted to, but unless she was greatly mistaken, Daniel had something to do with the real story of Coronado House. Neither, though, did she make any attempt to kiss him back. “That was a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”

  He tilted his head, golden-brown hair falling across one eye. “That depends on what you do next.” He waited for a moment, then smiled. “I didn’t think you’d run.” Digging into his pocket, he produced a business card. “My cell number’s on the back. It’s private.”

  “You have these made up in advance?” she asked, flipping the card over to see the handwritten set of numbers.

  “I was hoping you’d come by.” He touched her cheek again. “I’m a generous guy, Sam. I share what I have. Keep that in mind.”

  She smiled carefully. “Are you trying to bribe me or something?”

  Daniel shook his head. “I’m trying to seduce you.”

  “There you are, Samantha,” Rick’s voice came from the doorway before she could reply with something ballsy but noncommital. “I have that conference phone call—Ah, Daniel.” Still wearing the friendly, bland expression he generally conjured for big gatherings, he approached Daniel. And she didn’t think for a moment that he hadn’t seen the caress. “My condolences.”

  “Thanks, Rick. I was just asking Sam if she had any idea what that was,” Daniel returned, jabbing a thumb toward the case.

  Rick’s gaze didn’t leave Daniel’s face. “She knows her art.” Slowly he held out his hand to her. When Sam gripped his fingers, they were shaking a little. “My apologies, but I need—”

  “No problem. Thanks again, Sam.”

  “Any time.”

  As they made their way toward the front door, Rick pulled out his cell phone and dialed Ben, his driver, to meet them on the drive. Samantha tucked Daniel’s business card into her purse and kept her mouth shut.

  Once they were in the limo, Rick sat forward. “Ben, a little privacy, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Silently the opaque divider slid up from the back of the front seat. Since she had no idea how he would react to her little meeting with Daniel, Samantha decided to counter-attack first. “Rick—”

  “Be quiet. I need to think.”

  “Hey, I didn’t kiss him.”

  He gazed at her for a moment. “I noticed. Why did he think kissing you would be a good idea? Other than your general attractiveness, of course.”

  Well, no shouting, anyway. “I think he figured he had to give me something for the information about the sculpture.”

  “And he didn’t have a quarter in his pocket?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t check his pockets.”

  “Any further insights? If it won’t jeopardize the wager, of course.”

  “As if. I’m so far ahead I can’t even see Castillo,” she lied.

  “So unbelt.”

  She blinked. “Jeez. Horny much?”

  “What? No. I mean spill it, Yank.”

  “You should have said that in the first place.”

  “I did. Quit stalling.”

  “Fine. I think he’s the most important thing in his life,” she returned, relaxing against his side. If he didn’t trust her, he was doing a good job of hiding it. “Nobody’s availability or interest matters except his own. And I didn’t kick him in the nards because there’s something going on at that house. I know there is, Rick. And I think he knows what it is.”

  With a sigh he looped his arms around her, pulling her closer against him. “Is there any reason I shouldn’t turn his business into dust?”

  Okay. Now that sounded like Rick. “Because until last week it was his dad’s business, and because right now he’s just smarmy and selfish. You can ruin him if he had something to do with Charles getting killed.” She kissed his throat. “I thought you’d be way more pissed off.”

  “Sometimes I surprise myself. I was ready to be. If you’d been anyone else, I would have been. My loved ones don’t precisely have a good track record in fidelity where I’m concerned.”

  Christ, she hadn’t even thought of that. He’d come upon Patricia rolling around with his former college roommate, and that hadn’t exactly gone well for anyone. “I don’t even like him,” she offered.

  “I know that. And honestly, you’re just so bloody cute that I can’t resist you.” He kissed her, deep and soft.

  “Well, thank goodness for that,” she said, pretending he hadn’t just practically given her an orgasm.

  “What now?”

  “I have to talk to Castillo again.” And she was probably going to have to make a phone call, after she figured out a way to keep Daniel Kunz interested but still at a safe distance.

  “Isn’t that cheating?”

  “My way encompasses any and all means of getting information, buddy. I just have to put it together before the cops.”

  “Don’t expect me to wish you luck.”

  “Luck’s for chumps.”

  So Samantha had decided to use Daniel—and Patricia—to help her solve her puzzle. Richard scowled as he sat at his desk in front of the stack of paperwork that had just arrived from London. This damned wager had been designed to teach her a lesson, not to give her the means to drive him insane.

  He blew out his breath. Under the best of conditions he wasn’t accustomed to sitting about and waiting for a situation to resolve itself. Whatever else he had on his plate, assisting Castillo and the Palm Beach Police Department wouldn’t be cheating; it would simply be putting his ample experience, resources, and contacts to good use.

  If Samantha thought Daniel had information, then Laurie might know something useful, as well. And besides, she owned a real estate business, and he’d promised to help Patricia find a place in Palm Beach. With a grim smile he pulled out his Palm Pilot, found Laurie’s business phone number, and left a message for her to give him a call. Samantha wasn’t the only one who could play the charm game.

  “Rick?” Samantha leaned her head into the room as she knocked on the door frame.

  “Come in,” he said, shutting off the Pilot and dumping it into his desk drawer. He took in her jeans shorts and green T-shirt. “You’re not going into work?”

  “No. Stoney’s got a date, and I…just want the rest of the day off.”

  He stood, keenly aware of the quiet sadness in her voice. A thief with more compassion than most of Kunz’s supposed friends and even his family. And paperwork or not, his job immediately became attempting to cheer her up. “A date? Walter?”

  “Well, yes.” She smiled. “I loaned him the Bentley.”

  “You…It’s your car.”

  “And don’t you forget it, babe.” She shifted her gaze to his credenza. “You don’t happen to have a big piece of graph paper, do you?”

  “I imagine I do.” He went to the supply cabinet and rifled through it until he found a half-used pad. “Doing a detail of Charles’s office?”

  “That’s a good idea. I will now.” She gave him a peck on the cheek as she took the pad. “Thanks.”

  “What was it for before I gave you that brilliant idea?”

  “The pool area. I thought I’d do some sketches and go through some garden magazines.”

  “You can hire a landscape architect, you know.”

  She flashed her smile at him. “You sure you don’t want to give me a spot where nobody can see the results?”

  “I trust you. I’m just saying—”

  “No, today’s a good day to look at flowers, I think. That whole ‘normal’ thing you were talking about. I think I can do plants without puking. You can come carry my pencil for me, if you want.”

  Samantha was inviting him in. That didn’t happen very often, and he counted every instance like it was a precious grain of gold. “I have to check in with Tom, and then you’ve got a deal.”

  “Okay. I’ll be out by the pool.”

  Sam set her stack of gardening magazines down on one of the wrought-iron poolside tables and plunked a fresh, chilled can of Diet Coke beside them. She had a few ideas about what she wanted to do, but considering this was her first venture into gardening and that Rick used Solano Dorado as both a meeting and a showplace—and that every inside room on the west wing had a view of the pool—she wasn’t about to dig up so much as a weed without getting at least his tacit approval first.