Suspect. Jasmine Cresswell

overrated as an ingredient in sexual relationships.

      By the time he made it to his car, his gut was twisted into a hard coil of tension. He chugged a handful of antacids—his usual breakfast—and drove with fierce concentration through the already dense traffic. Denver was a city that started early and 7:00 a.m. was well into the Monday morning rush hour.

      It was a relief to enter the soothing austerity of his newly purchased condo overlooking Confluence Park. Liam had selected the white walls, slate floors and sleek contemporary furniture as a deliberate contrast to the cluttered, homey comfort of the Flying W, his parents’ ranch in Wyoming.

      He recognized that his almost compulsive desire for orderliness in his surroundings was a direct reflection of the chaos of his inner life. Sometimes he wondered if he was ever going to reach the point where he would be able to let down his guard without risking an emotional meltdown. Still, whatever the psychological underpinnings of his decorating choices, the immaculate neatness and careful functionality of each room offered balm to his soul.

      He tossed his car keys into the wooden bowl set on the chrome and glass side table in the entrance and made his way through the master bedroom to the shower, stopping en route to check his voice mail. There were four messages, all of them work related. It looked, thank God, as if it was going to be another frantic workweek. Just the sort of heavy-duty schedule he liked, with no time to stop and reflect.

      He switched on the TV as he dressed and discovered that the murder of Jason Hamilton was making headlines on virtually every channel, not just locally but nationally as well. Not surprising, he supposed, given that Jason had been the mayor of a major city and Chloe had worn the crown as America’s Sweetheart for several months after the 1998 Winter Olympics. To make Jason’s death even more tabloid-worthy, the mayor was also a successful multimillionaire real estate developer, and the son of a U.S. army general who was a minor celebrity in his own right, having won the Medal of Honor for his bravery during combat service in Vietnam. Jason Hamilton’s violent death represented an irresistible combination of wealth, fame and mystery for the ravenous maw of the twenty-four-hour news machines. Flipping from one breathless report to the next, Liam figured the cable news networks must all be praying that Chloe didn’t get arrested too soon and spoil the potential for weeks of rabid speculation about the crime.

      Facts about the murder were sparse, but it seemed that Jason’s dead body had been discovered in the basement of their family home in Park Hill by his wife at approximately 3:30 a.m., Denver time. Death was apparently due to a stab wound, or possibly multiple stab wounds; the reports weren’t clear. Chloe Hamilton had tried to revive her husband. The newscasters—discreetly noncommittal at this stage of a developing story—refrained from speculating as to whether Chloe might possibly have gotten there before Jason died rather than after.

      News editors were making up for lack of hard data about the crime by filling in with copious back stories. They reminded everyone that Jason Hamilton had been one of Denver’s most popular mayors, with approval ratings consistently hovering in the high seventies. He’d even managed to clear snow from obscure city side streets after last year’s biggest blizzard—a feat that far exceeded the abilities of most of his predecessors and had won him the heartfelt gratitude of his constituents.

      Between lectures on the political and civic consequences of Jason’s death, the news shows ran footage of Chloe during her record-breaking gold medal run. It was the first U.S. gold medal in that particular event and, in the wake of her win, Chloe had been the recipient of wall-to-wall media attention, so there was plenty of film footage to be trotted out. The close-up shot of Chloe on the victory podium—teary-eyed but joyful—seemed to be the special favorite of news producers this morning. Liam could understand why. She was a stunning woman and her radiant smile made for a fantastic TV visual.

      Having endured two weeks in the full glare of the media spotlight when his father was murdered back in May, Liam sympathized with what Chloe Hamilton must be going through right now. His sympathies were tempered, however, by the strong likelihood that she had, in fact, killed her husband. Spouses were always the first suspect in a murder case, and Liam’s experience as a criminal lawyer had given him no reason to doubt the statistics. He figured that any Olympic gold medalist who chose to stab her spouse multiple times had to be prepared to face a little negative publicity.

      Whatever the facts, whether she was the murderer or an innocent bystander, Chloe would be wise to steel herself for a continuing onslaught from the media ghouls. If the cops didn’t identify her husband’s killer within forty-eight hours, she was going to find herself soaring into the stratosphere of national attention. A miserable place to be when the attention wasn’t favorable.

      Fortunately, none of the problems resulting from Jason Hamilton’s murder were his to deal with. Liam shoved aside a twinge of irrational regret for his previous career as a criminal defense attorney. Yes, he’d relished the cut and thrust of courtroom battle and he savored the memory of a couple of innocent clients he’d help to set free, but his current work provided more income, more predictable hours and a lot less stress. He’d have to be crazy to consider switching back to the high pressure work of defending criminals, especially with a famous client like Chloe Hamilton as his means for reentry. That would generate the sort of public scrutiny nobody in his family needed right now.

      He drove to the office, mentally reviewing his schedule for the day. His first appointment was with Heather Ladrow, whose divorce from one of Denver’s most successful venture capitalists he’d helped negotiate fifteen months earlier. Heather had indicated in making this morning’s appointment that there was now a problem with the financial settlements.

      Heather looked older and a lot more worn than Liam remembered. Once he learned what she was going through, he wasn’t surprised by her frazzled appearance. Heather’s former husband, multimillionaire Pierce Ladrow, had reneged on his legal obligations and stopped paying child support.

      “Don’t worry,” Liam reassured Heather. “We’ll get a court order to compel him to pay everything he owes. We’ll ask the judge to impose penalties and interest. If he still refuses to pay up, we can garnish some of his assets.”

      “I wish it was that easy,” Heather said, plucking angrily at the strap of her purse. “But he’s left the country.”

      Her ex-husband had married a Frenchwoman and moved to Monaco, she explained, taking out French citizenship for good measure. He’d sold his remaining property in the States and put his entire fortune in various complicated trusts held in banks scattered around the globe. Financially speaking, as far as the U.S. authorities were concerned, Pierce had dropped off the edge of a cliff. What’s more, he’d told Heather the last time they communicated that the moon would explode in the sky before he’d send her or the kids another dime.

      Liam listened in grim silence, not enjoying the advice he felt obligated to give. “The unwelcome fact is that your former husband has put himself out of reach of our American civil courts, Mrs. Ladrow. We can get a court order to attach his assets anywhere in the States, but from what you’ve told me, it seems clear there are no assets in this country for us to go after.”

      “What about all the money Pierce has in Europe? And in the Cayman Islands? And the Bahamas? And Hong Kong, too!” Heather Ladrow’s cheeks were scarlet with frustration. “My pig of an ex has twenty-five million dollars and I’m struggling to afford new running shoes for my son! Meanwhile, my daughter had to give up ballet lessons because we can’t afford them.”

      “I understand how unfair it must seem, but I don’t see any effective legal recourse open to you—”

      “But Pierce owes me that money!”

      “Yes, he does. Right is absolutely on your side. The law is, too. The difficulty is that nobody is in a position to enforce the court rulings.”

      “Then what am I supposed to do? Let Pierce win? Dammit, I won’t let that bastard win!”

      Liam suppressed a sigh. The Ladrows were so angry with each other that their divorce was a bloody battle ground, not a mechanism for dealing sensibly with a failed marriage. “Fortunately, you own the house in Cherry Creek. There’s