D.b. Hayes, Detective. Dani Sinclair

report first thing this morning. And if a young boy named Mickey shows up looking for me while I’m busy, keep him here at all costs.”

      “A young boy?” Trudy said, raising one eyebrow in question.

      I hated when she did that. I’d been trying to do it ever since I can remember, but my face just isn’t built right.

      “He’s ten,” I said to head off the direction her thoughts were taking.

      It was part of a grand conspiracy, of course. My entire family figured if I got married, I’d give up this silly nonsense of being a private investigator. And what their matchmaking lacked in subtlety, it made up for in sheer volume. Any male in the right age bracket was considered fair game.

      “Dee,” Aunt Lacy said in an urgent whisper. “There’s a man standing at the front door. I think it may be Mr. Russo’s, uh, person.”

      Her alarmed expression brought me around the counter in a hurry. The man standing on the other side of the glass door didn’t move. I had the sense he was prepared to stand there indefinitely, like the boulder he resembled. Solid, unmovable, timeworn yet sinister in a way I didn’t want to define.

      A craggy gray face perched over a gray silk tie on a gray silk shirt under a light gray pinstripe suit. If he had a neck, it wasn’t obvious, but then boulders rarely have necks. Central casting would have loved this guy. Even his hair was turning gray at the edges. The only part that looked alive was a pair of incongruous light brown eyes, and they didn’t miss a thing.

      He’d seen me, so there was nothing for it but to open the door and let all that sinister gray inside the colorful shop. He was going to look out of place. If that man had ever been inside a flower shop in his life, I’d eat the daisy in my hand.

      “Ms. Hayes,” he said when I unlocked the door, “I’m Hogan Delvecchi. Mr. Russo sent me.”

      A nervous giggle tried to break free. I suppressed the urge—barely. This was too much like some bad television show—a softly spoken gangster with an Italian last name. And Hogan? Was he kidding? No, I could see he wasn’t. There was certainly nothing humorous in his expression. And he seemed to have only the one—a blank stare that absorbed the details of everything around him without revealing his thoughts. I was pretty sure his face was incapable of smiling. Human boulders don’t have a sense of humor.

      Everything about the man gave me the creeping willies. I worked hard not to let it show.

      “Come in, Mr. Delvecchi. I’ve been expecting you.”

      Well, not him. No one in their right mind would expect him. And the thing was I wanted him gone as fast as possible. I would never doubt Trudy or my aunt’s sources again. If this guy didn’t have underworld connections, no one did.

      “I’ll just get my report.”

      My heart hammered its way up my throat when he followed me back to the office. He closed the door as I reached for the folder on the end of the desk. I caught him staring at the scratches on my hand.

      “Did you have any problems?” he asked.

      “N-no.”

      I was not going to explain about the cats, nor would I think about how the couple had left the motel when I wasn’t looking. It was all in the report. I knew it made me look bad, but what could I do? I wasn’t about to lie to a mobster. On the other hand, I wasn’t going to mention my failings to this guy if I didn’t have to.

      “Good. Mr. Russo would like to have the picture of his wife back.”

      That surprised me, but I pulled it from her file. Hogan Delvecchi reached a broad hand inside his suit jacket. My breath caught in the back of my throat. With slow deliberation he pulled out a slim piece of paper and extended it to me. A check, I realized in relief.

      I tried not to shake as I took it from his hand, but my legs were emulating gelatin just like my insides. He knew it, I was sure. It probably gave him some sort of salacious thrill to go around scaring people by being polite. Let it. I just wanted him gone.

      Less than a minute later he was.

      “Well,” Trudy said, coming to stand in the open doorway. “He wasn’t much for conversation, was he?”

      I sank down in the swivel chair and it tilted precariously until I readjusted my weight.

      “Is everything all right, dear?” Aunt Lacy asked, coming into view, as well.

      “Terrific. He even paid me.”

      Except, how had he known what to pay? For the first time I really looked at the check in my sweaty palm. Once again my heart began to pound.

      “He overpaid.”

      “That’s nice, dear.”

      “No it isn’t. It’s terrible. Now I have to call Mr. Russo and return the extra three hundred forty-seven dollars he overpaid.”

      “Oh, I wouldn’t do that, dear. A man like Mr. Russo can afford to tip generously.”

      “Tip? You think it’s a tip?” When he read my report and saw I’d lost them at the motel, he’d want more than his “tip” back.

      “At least he didn’t shoot anyone,” Trudy said glibly as the two of them moved out into the workroom.

      No. That would come after Mr. Russo read the report. I’d placed an itemized bill right on top. He’d know exactly how much he’d overpaid. I closed my eyes and groaned.

      “Dee?” Trudy called out. “There’s a young man up front to see you.”

      Now what? I wasn’t sure I could put on a friendly, professional face right now. I felt sick. It wasn’t wise to mess with gangsters. I should have listened to Aunt Lacy and Trudy right from the start and turned the job down.

      I stuffed the check inside the desk drawer and squared my shoulders before going out to meet the newcomer. Once again I had to look down before I spotted him.

      “Mickey!”

      He was dressed in green shorts and a striped top today, but other than that he looked exactly the same. The same amazing chocolate-brown eyes looked up at me with an expression of hope mixed with fear.

      “Did you find him?”

      “I think so,” I told him. “Actually I found two cats. I’m not sure which one is Mr. Sam.”

      “I gave you a picture,” he said, sounding disgusted.

      “Yeah,” I said trying not to be defensive, “but he’s gray. So are these two guys.”

      He looked around the shop and started toward the back. “Where are they?”

      “At my place. Come on, I’ll give you a ride over and take you home afterward.”

      Doubt filled his expression.

      “I’m not allowed to ride in cars with strangers.”

      Great. A kid who actually listened to his parents.

      “You’ll have to bring them here,” he told me, sounding extremely adult.

      I didn’t even have to think about that. The back of my hand was still smarting from the last set of scratches.

      “How old did you say you are?”

      “Ten.”

      Going on thirty, I decided uncharitably.

      “If you’re ten then you’re old enough to understand the difference between getting in a car with a stranger and getting in a car with me. I work for you, remember?”

      He thought about that before standing a little straighter.

      “Okay, but what about my bike?”

      “Trudy, would it be okay if I take the van over to my apartment for a few minutes? My client and