“Nothing I could see from outside,” Avery said.

“It wasn’t from lack of trying,” Chase said. “She had her face pressed up so tight to the glass that if they could dust for nose prints, Avery would already be in custody.”

“Well, if she changes more than a paint color or two, she’ll have to answer to me,” Deirdre said.

“We could maybe slip in and see for sure,” Kyra said.

“I know you’re not suggesting breaking and entering,” Maddie said. “The last thing any of us needs is for the police or Kyra’s paparazzi to catch us at it.”

“Are you kidding? Lisa Hogan would cream her pants over that kind of press,” Deirdre said.

“Maybe Nicole could get Joe to help us,” Kyra suggested.

Nicole Grant had stayed in Miami with Joe Giraldi, the FBI agent who just over a year before had tried to use her to capture her felonious, Ponzi-perpetrating brother, Malcolm Dyer.

Avery perked up. “Joe’s a professional. He could get in and out without leaving a trace. They’d never know who did it.”

“Yes, I’m sure there’s a huge pool of potential suspects,” Chase said drily. “Hundreds of people who would break into Bella Flora seeking retribution for vengeful redecorating.”

“We could just drain the pool. Or fill it with shaving cream,” Kyra said, wiping Dustin’s face and fingers. “Maybe hang toilet paper or condoms from the reclinata palm in the backyard.” Her eyes were bright with mischief.

Maddie looked at her daughter. “We gave Bella Flora a new lease on life and she did the same for us. We’re not going to lift even a figurative finger against her. I won’t believe even Tonja Kay is petty enough to abuse her.”

Avery didn’t argue, though they all knew that Maddie viewed almost every glass as half-full. Avery also set her jaw and managed not to comment when Deirdre received a round of applause for the meal she’d prepared, but it wasn’t easy.

As a group, they cleared the table and did the dishes. One by one they headed off to pack or to sleep. A peek out the front window confirmed that Nigel and the other photographers had given up for the evening. If they were lucky they’d be on the road the next morning before any of the wolves came back.

Chase walked her outside to the stairs that led up to the garage apartment. The night sky was awash with stars. “I’ll miss you,” Chase said. “Given Dad’s condition I’m not sure how soon I’ll be able to get down.”

“I know.” This was the thing about being involved with a single father and conscientious son who ran his own business. She was filled with admiration for all he juggled, but she suspected that once she moved out of his operational area she could easily become one juggling pin too many.

“We can Skype,” Chase said. “And, well, you know if you need me to consult I can . . .”

“I have my Florida contractor’s license now,” she reminded him, attempting to move the conversation from the personal to the professional. “I may want to run a few things by you now and again. But it’s crucial that the network understand who’s running the do-over.” Avery didn’t intend to hide behind baggy clothing this time. But she wasn’t going to give the network an opportunity to treat her like an airhead, either.

“There’s no weakness in getting another opinion or talking through a building plan. Our fathers did it for years,” Chase replied.

“That’s because neither of them were barely five feet tall or had blond hair, blue eyes, and a D chest. There are a whole lot of people, including Lisa Hogan, who can’t see past those things.”

“They’re morons,” Chase said. “But your face and your body are a part of you. A very attractive part.” He reached around and cupped her buttocks, pulling her close. “It’s difficult not to admire them.”

For a few moments she gave herself up to his admiration. But it was hard to stay in the present when tomorrow would be the beginning of yet another great unknown.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“Deirdre,” she said, though this was only partially true.

“Seriously?” he asked.

“Mm-hm. I’m thinking about all the things she’ll try to cram in the Mini Cooper tomorrow morning. And the way she complained about her hair blowing all the way down to South Beach just because I had the convertible top down. The drive to that mile marker is a lot longer.”

“If that’s what you’re thinking about I’m definitely going to have to try harder.” He leaned down and kissed her with exaggerated thoroughness and sound effects. “Now what are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking that maybe Deirdre will decide she’d rather have the legroom in the minivan. I’m sure there’s room for her to go with Maddie and Kyra and Dustin.”

He shook his head. “And miss out on all that warmth and charm you shower on her? I don’t think so.”

“Well, a girl can dream, can’t she?”

Chase buried his face in the crook of her neck. His breath was warm against her skin. “Of course she can,” he said as his lips moved up her neck. “As long as at least a few of those dreams include me.”

* * *

Nicole Grant’s dreams that night were more like nightmares. Which was kind of amazing given how pleasant the evening had been. She and Joe had eaten dinner on the pool deck overlooking Biscayne Bay with the lights of South Beach shimmering in the background. They’d made love, and afterward she’d drifted off in his arms, content that after close to a year together Joe Giraldi continued to not only satisfy, but surprise her.

None of these pleasing realities had obliterated what apparently lurked in the Bates Motel of her subconscious. That night’s dream began, as it often did, with her making an entrance at some A-list party armored in vintage Valentino or classic Chanel. Walking through an expensive restaurant or football-field-sized living room, she nodded regally and smiled warmly at people who lived in the society columns or on the pages of Variety. Shoulders thrown back, head high, she strode through the bejeweled women and expensively tailored men, ignoring the whoosh of blood in her veins, the too-rapid beat of her heart, the yawning pit of insecurity in her stomach. People did not pay you a fortune to find them a mate, or even a date, if you looked or acted as if you needed the money.

For years she’d gotten away with the fictional past she’d created and the personal mystique she’d maintained. As the founder and owner of Heart Inc., she’d brokered matches that would make a leverage-buyout king weep with envy and delivered on requested personal attributes (and potential DNA), from IQ to bust size, that would have done a Nobel Prize–winning geneticist proud.

Her clients had been Greek grocery tycoons well beyond their prime who wanted young, firm flesh still well within its sell-by date, captains of industry looking for smart, but not too smart, blondes, brunettes, or redheads who possessed a laundry list of physical attributes, personality traits, and other intangibles, which Nicole had cataloged in her database and managed to provide.

In the process she’d built a name and a fortune. Both of which she’d lost when her brother’s Ponzi scheme had caused her to be plucked from the A-list party circuit like a tick from a pedigreed poodle.

The dream mirrored real life as the partygoers’ expressions slid from genial to knowing. Their greetings became barbed. Their eyebrows arched upward and the eyes beneath them narrowed. Their shoulders turned as cold as the peaks of the Himalayas.

Suddenly she was naked before her dream audience. Her vintage gown puddled in a heap at her feet. She shivered. Her bare flesh goose-bumped with embarrassment and shame. Every inch of her was exposed.

Nicole awoke naked but not cold. A soft breeze skimmed over her. Slowly she opened her eyes and saw the sheer bedroom curtains billow gently like sails filled with warm air and morning sunlight.

The whine of a Jet Ski and the more insistent buzz of a motorboat floated in on a salty breeze. Her eyes drifted closed. She did not want to get up. Or pack her things and load her car for the drive down to the Keys.

She could, in fact, lie here forever in Joe Giraldi’s bed.

That thought had her eyes flying open, her feet hitting the floor. She found her robe and pulled it on, then washed her face and brushed her teeth, careful not to look too closely in the mirror lest she see a glimmer of neediness reflected back at her.

It wouldn’t do to get too close or too comfortable.

There was the scrape of metal on the pool deck. Nicole poked her head outside.

Special Agent Joe Giraldi sat at the table they’d dined on the night before. His dark hair was still wet from the shower, but he was dressed in a crisp white button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms. A tie she’d bought him was knotted at his neck. FBI-issue sunglasses covered his probing brown eyes.

She could see her own reflection in the mirrored lenses as she approached.

“Good morning.” He smiled as she sat and tucked her bare feet up underneath her. Without asking he poured her a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table.

“I thought you’d already be gone,” she said. He was a financial crimes profiler and traveled often. “Didn’t you have an early flight out?”

“I got a later one.”

She sipped her coffee and kept her gaze out over the bay, but she could feel his eyes on her behind the mirrored lenses.

“Did you really think I’d leave without saying good-bye?” he asked.

She shrugged and took another sip. “I would have understood.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think you understand half as much as you think you do.” He said this calmly, in a matter-of-fact tone that was hard to argue with.

She studied his face, which was strong and masculine like the rest of him. The fall and winter had passed in a pleasurable blur interspersed with bits and pieces of unavoidable reality. Heart Inc. was all but dead, her efforts to resuscitate it so far ineffective. A book deal had been offered, but she wasn’t sure the money was enough to convince her to admit just how stupid she’d been and how completely she’d been betrayed by the person she’d loved above all others.

The Miami Herald sat on the table in front of Joe. He tilted it toward her so that she could see the page he’d been looking at. It held a large photo of Kyra Singer and her mother, Maddie; Dustin Deranian; and Avery Lawford on the front stoop of what was identified as Chase Hardin’s house. Dustin’s face was visible over his mother’s shoulder. The photographer had gotten a clean shot of Avery Lawford in a skimpy T-shirt that strained against her breasts and cutoff shorts that revealed just how curvy even a short pair of legs could be. A leather tool belt was slung low across her hips.

Nicole pulled the paper closer to get a better look. “Oh, God. Deirdre is bound to be giving Avery fits about being caught dressed like that. And Avery will dig in her heels but she’ll be just as horrified.” Nicole rarely ventured out without full makeup, her version of armor. But refinishing floors and sweating your ass off during a renovation in the tropics didn’t exactly keep a girl ready for her close-up.

“It’s about time everyone got used to the fact that anyone standing near Kyra and her son is fair game,” Joe said.

They sipped their coffee in silence. The man sweated the truth out of criminals for a living. She had no doubt that he was reading her every thought far better than she could.

“Any word on what kind of house or ‘high-profile individual’ you’ll be dealing with?” he asked.

“No.” She set the paper aside. She needed to get dressed and pack up the car. She sat where she was. “Just that we need to be in the Upper Keys by four and we’ll be contacted then. There’s no telling where we’ll actually end up. Or how high a profile the homeowner has.”

“I could probably help narrow things down. You know, run a list of potentials for you.”

She imagined he had already done this but had learned not to offer anything that wasn’t asked for. This was the good news/bad news part of dating an FBI agent. They could find out anything, but they were damned hard to lie to.

“Thanks. But I wouldn’t want to deprive the network of the ‘money shots’ of our surprise. After all, that’s why they pay us the big bucks.” Her smile was tight. Lord knew, they were underpaid for the amount of embarrassment that went along with starring in what had been turned into a reality show against their will. But none of them could afford to walk away from it. In fact, they needed to do everything they could to make sure the show was picked up for another season.