“When was this most recent profile put out there?”

“Couple of months back.”

Drex grimaced. “He’s looking for his next lady.”

“That’s what I deduced. So I gave it a test run. I replied, using buzzwords I figured would make me sound like a prime target. I described myself as a childless, fifty-something widow who’s financially secure and independent. I enjoy fine cuisine, good wine, and foreign films. Most men find me attractive.”

“Not me,” Gif said.

“Me neither,” Drex said.

Mike gave them the finger. “He must not have, either. He hasn’t taken the bait.”

Gif thoughtfully scratched his forehead. “Maybe you oversold yourself. You sounded too self-assured, sophisticated, and smart. He looks for women with a dash of naïveté. Vulnerability. You scared him off.”

“Or,” Drex said, “he picked up on the buzzwords, smelled a rat, figured that this dream lady was actually a fed on a fishing expedition.”

“Maybe,” Mike said. “But another, more likely possibility—the one I fear—is that he jumped the gun. Solicited too soon. He hasn’t responded because he hasn’t ditched his current victim yet.”

It was a reasonable theory to which Drex gave credence because it caused his gut to clench. “Meaning that she’s in mortal danger as we speak.”

“Worse than that.”

“What’s worse than mortal danger?”

Mike hesitated.

“Give,” Drex said.

The heavy man sighed. “I repeat, Drex, I may be wrong.”

“But you don’t think so.”

He raised his catcher’s mitt–sized hands at his sides.

“Why do you think it’s him?” Drex asked.

“Just promise me—”

“No promises. What makes you think this guy is our guy? My guy?”

“Drex, you can’t go—”

Gif said, “Rudkowski will—”

“Tell me, goddamn it!” Drex said, shouting above their warnings.

After another pause, Mike mumbled, “He’s married.”

Drex hadn’t seen that coming. “Married?”

“Married. Do you take? With this ring. I now pronounce you.”

Gif confirmed it with a solemn nod.

Drex divided a perplexed look between them, then shook his head and huffed a laugh of bitter disappointment. “Well, that shoots everything to hell, and you’ve wasted my morning. If we hurry down, the restaurant will still be serving breakfast.” He pushed his fingers through his hair.

“Shit! Here I was getting all excited, when what it looks like is that our lonely heart has struck out again and is still seeking his soul mate. But he’s not our man. Because a wife doesn’t jibe.”

“It did once,” Gif reminded him.

“Once. Not since. Matrimony, do you take, with this ring, hasn’t fit his profile or MO in years. Not in any way, shape, or form.”

“Actually, Drex, it does,” Mike said solemnly.

“How so?”

Gif cleared his throat. “The wife is loaded.”

Drex looked at each of them independently. The two men couldn’t be more dissimilar, but they wore identical expressions of fear and dread.

He turned away from them, and where his gaze happened to land was on his reflection in the dresser mirror. Even he recognized that, since he’d last looked, his countenance had altered, hardened, become taut with resolve. There was a ferocity in his eyes that hadn’t been there only minutes ago, before he had learned that a woman’s life hung in the balance. Delicately. And dependent on him to save it.

He kept his voice soft but put steel behind it. “Tell me his name.”

Chapter 2

Need help?”

Drex set the empty cardboard box on the curb, turned, and had his first face-to-face with his nemesis.

If this was indeed Weston Graham, he was around five feet eight inches tall and, for a man of sixty-two, extraordinarily fit. His golf shirt hugged firm biceps and a trim waistline. He had a receding hairline, but his graying hair was long enough in back to be pulled into a blunt ponytail. His smile was very white and straight, friendly, and wreathed by a salt-and-pepper door knocker.

Drex swiped his dripping forehead with the ripped sleeve of his baggy t-shirt. “Thanks, but that’s the last of them.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. I only offered to be nice.”

The two of them laughed.

“I’ll take one of those beers, though,” Drex said. “If you’re offering.”

His neighbor had crossed the connecting lawns with a cold bottle in each hand. He handed one to Drex. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thanks.”

They clinked bottles, and each took a drink. “Jasper Ford.” He stuck out his right hand and they shook.

“Jasper,” Drex said, as though hearing the name for the first time and committing it to memory, as though he hadn’t had to wring it out of Gif and Mike, as though he hadn’t spent the past week gleaning as much information on the man as he possibly could.

“I’m Drex Easton.” He watched the man’s eyes for a reaction to his name, but detected none.

Jasper indicated the pile of empty boxes Drex had stacked at the curb. “You’ve been hard at it for two days.”

“It’s been a chore to lug everything up those stairs. They’re killers.”

He chinned toward a steep exterior staircase that led up to an apartment above a garage that was large enough to house an eighteen-foot inboard. The structure was a good thirty yards behind the main house. Drex figured it had been positioned there to take advantage of the concealment provided by a massive live oak tree.

He squinted up through the branches and pretended to assess the apartment from a fresh perspective. “Moving in was worth the backache, though. It’s like living in a tree house.”

“I’ve never seen inside,” Jasper said. “Nice?”

“Nice enough.”

“How many rooms?”

“Only three, but all I need.”

“You’re by yourself, then?”

“Not even a goldfish.” He grinned. “But, despite the ban on pets, I may get a cat. I spotted some mouse droppings in the kitchen area.”

“I can see how a mouse could sneak in. The owners are snowbirds, down here only during the winter months.”

“So Mr. Arnott told me. They come down the day after Thanksgiving, stay until the first of June.”

“Frankly, when I learned the apartment had been rented out, I was concerned.”

“How’d you hear about it?”

“I didn’t. You showed up and started carting boxes upstairs.”

Drex laughed. “And going through your mind was ‘WTF?’”

By way of admission, the man smiled and gave a small shrug. “I have Arnott’s number in case of an emergency, so I called him.”

“I was an emergency?” Drex glanced down at his ragged shirt, dirty cargo shorts, and well-worn sneakers. “I can see where you might think so. You got one look at me and thought ‘there goes the neighborhood.’” He flashed a grin. “I clean up okay, I promise.”