The P.I.. Cara Summers

of it. In his mind, he pictured himself choosing one of the lures his father made, throwing his line out into the water and then waiting for that first tug that signaled the beginning of the battle.

      Kit gave himself a mental shake. Twenty pages, he reminded himself. Of course, finishing them could mean that Theo and Nik would beat him to the cabin. He tried to ignore the stab of regret he felt about that as he opened up the file on his laptop. When the phone rang, he let the answering machine pick it up.

      “Hey, bro, I know you’re there.”

      It was Theo’s voice. Some people thought that he and his brothers sounded alike, but Theo’s drawl was unmistakable. His older brother always spoke slowly, the way he seemed to do everything else. Energy conservation, he called it. Whatever it was, his easy manner endeared him to juries and often deceived his opponents. Theo’s mind worked fast enough, and he could move like lightning when the need arose. Like today, Kit thought with a frown. He was certain that Theo was calling to gloat because he’d arrived first at the cabin.

      “Just thought you’d like to know,” Theo continued, “I’m here. There’s an hour or so of daylight left, so I think I’ll get Dad’s latest lure and catch me some fish.”

      Kit grimaced. He could picture his brother all too clearly in his mind, and it was just like Theo to mention the lure. Kit had been looking forward to using it. Theo knew that, just as Kit knew that Theo probably wouldn’t even get his line wet. He’d just sit there on the porch and commune with the sea gods while he plotted strategy for his next case in court.

      “Drive safely. No need to rush.”

      Kit stifled a sigh as he glanced at his watch. Theo must have clocked out at 5:00 p.m. on the dot. His only consolation was that his oldest brother Nik would be getting the same gloating message on his cell.

      Ever since they were kids, they’d had an ongoing competition. Whoever made it through the cabin door first got their choice of poles and lures—and their father had quite a collection. When they were little, the race to the cabin had started the moment they’d rocketed out of the car. In the early days, Nik and Theo had had an advantage because they were older. As the youngest, he’d had to rely on wit and cunning. When he was six, he’d managed to tie their shoelaces together once. He could still recall the unadulterated joy he’d felt as he’d left them face down in the grass and sprinted for the cabin door.

      Their dad still told that story in the restaurant he ran in the Fisherman’s Wharf area—The Poseidon. In the Angelis family, fishing had always been something the men of the family did together—much to the annoyance of Philly, their kid sister. Kit’s lips curved at the memory of the time that Philly had stowed away in the trunk of their father’s car so that she could be a part of a fishing trip. She’d gotten her way—but only after she’d promised Spiro that she’d never do anything that dangerous again. His father told that story in the restaurant, too.

      Usually, their father joined them. But ever since Spiro had lured the beautiful Helena Lambis from Greece and convinced her to open an upscale dining room on the upper level of The Poseidon, he seemed to find it very difficult to get away from work.

      Philly was sure the relationship between his father and Helena was a romantic one. Helena had been a five-star chef at a hotel in Athens. When Spiro had visited Greece six months ago, he’d stayed at that very hotel. To hear Philly tell it, the story had overtones of Paris snatching Helen and carrying her off to Troy.

      Spiro’s version was less romantic. According to his father, his relationship with Helena was business. He’d been thinking for some time of opening a fine-dining restaurant on the upper level of The Poseidon and he’d convinced Helena to join him in that venture. But in the five months since Helena had established her restaurant, even their business relationship had become a bit rocky. The two had become competitors, each trying to outdo the other.

      Whatever the true story was, Spiro seldom had time for fishing anymore. So Kit would be spending time with Nik and Theo, something that was becoming rarer since they all had very active careers.

      Nik was a detective in the SFPD and on the fast track to becoming a captain. Theo had established a reputation as a top-notch criminal defense attorney in the area and, more recently, he’d been proclaimed one of the top ten most eligible bachelors by the San Francisco Examiner, something that had garnered him quite a bit of razzing from his brothers.

      The article had also resulted in some “groupies,” who’d followed Theo around for a time. When one of them had turned into a stalker, Theo had handled the situation with his usual unruffled aplomb, but he’d taken a bullet for his troubles and Kit had a hunch that there was a lot about the experience that he hadn’t shared with them.

      Kit glanced down at his laptop. His own career had taken off recently, too. For the past several months, he’d been juggling two jobs—his P.I. business, which paid the bills, and his new job as a published author. He’d signed a contract for two mystery novels just over a year ago. The first, which featured a Hitchcock-type hero with amnesia, had hit the bookshelves in the spring. The proposal and chapters for his second book were due in three weeks.

      Nothing was going to keep him from achieving his goal. Not the images of his brothers arriving ahead of him at the cabin, not the soulful, pleading looks that Ari was giving him, not even the Fates, who’d thrown one obstacle after another in his path today.

      First, there’d been a case that had dragged on late into the afternoon. He’d been typing up his report when a violent little summer storm had rolled through and driven his already ailing air conditioner into cardiac arrest. He’d jimmied open the window in the hopes that the storm had cooled the air, but it hadn’t. Now, thanks to the heat wave that had been holding San Francisco in a tight fist for the past five days, the temperature in his office resembled a steam bath.

      To top it off, he couldn’t get the window to shut, so not only did he have to put up with the distracting sounds of traffic, but he was also being plagued by an occasional rogue breeze gusting in and scattering his once carefully stacked notes hither and yon.

      Kit gave the mess of papers littering the floor of his office a considering look. Cleaning it up was probably a good idea. And he’d be more comfortable if he shed his blazer. With a sigh, he rose and stripped down to his T-shirt and jeans. As he toed his shoes off and peeled out of damp socks, he doggedly ignored the trickles of sweat rolling down his back. Moving to the center of his office, Kit squatted down and began to pick up papers and sort them into piles.

      He could endure the heat. After all, the temperature hadn’t been much better before the air conditioner had given up its ghost. The good news was that now his miserly landlord would be forced to replace the unit.

      The phone rang again, and the tingling at the back of his neck once more claimed his attention. He stifled the urge to reach for the receiver as he listened to his voice inviting the caller to leave a message. It was probably Nik calling to gloat, too.

      “Kit?”

      The female voice was breathless. And frightened, Kit thought as he tried to place it.

      “This is Sadie Oliver. You may not remember me. I’m Roman’s—” A burst of static cut the last word off.

      Though he’d only met her once, Kit remembered Sadie, all right. His friend Roman Oliver had two sisters. The younger one, Juliana, was about to start college. A year ago Sadie had graduated from Harvard Law School and come back home to work in her family’s business. She was an attractive brunette, nearly as tall as Roman, and if she hadn’t been his best friend’s sister, he might have called her for a date. But his bond with Roman dated back to their freshman year in college when they’d shared a room.

      He’d even dedicated his novel to him. Who better, since his friend had provided a wealth of information on the inner workings of organized-crime families. Not that the Oliver family had any connection to crime anymore. Their business holdings in real estate up and down the California coast had been legitimate ever since Roman’s great-grandfather had moved to San Francisco and built his first hotel forty years ago.

      But