"Good luck. And Dev?" Lane stopped her as she headed toward the door. "I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss the idea that s.e.xual agendas factor into their motivation. They're male. And you're a lot higher up on the hot scale than you realize. I should know. For the past ten years, I've been the one scaring off men with my stop-undressing-my-sister-with-your-eyes-or-I'll-punch-your-lights-out glare."

Devon's lips twitched. "Sorry to be so much trouble."

"Well, you are. And, as if that's not bad enough, I have to do a repeat performance with Merry. Couldn't one of you have inherited Dad's looks instead of Mom's?"

"One of us did - you. And, trust me, it's no deterrent. Women have been drooling over your dark, dangerous s.e.x appeal since you reached p.u.b.erty."

"We're not talking about me. We're talking about you. Be careful."

Devon snapped off a salute. "Yes, sir."

THIRTY MINUTES LATER, she jumped into her royal blue Mazda Miata, backed out of her a.s.signed parking s.p.a.ce, and headed off to work.

A dark maroon coupe inched out from behind the s...o...b..nk that had concealed it from view. Pulling onto the road, it followed Devon's convertible at a discreet distance.

IT WAS TEN fifteen and Devon had just finished reviewing some follow-up X-rays on a collie whose leg she'd set, when Gil, her veterinary tech, poked his head in.

"There's a guy named Blake Pierson to see you."

No surprise there. "Is he with or without his golden retriever?" she asked.

"With. They're touring the place - evidently, on your recommendation. Can you break away?"

"Sure." Devon gestured at the X-ray screen. "These look good. Tell Mrs. Goble that Shep's doing fine. He'll be walking on that leg again in a few weeks."

She headed out of the X-ray room and walked down to the reception area.

Blake was standing at the desk, glancing over the clinic's brochure. Chomper was sprawled on the floor beside him, gnawing at his training leash. He spotted Devon instantly. Lurching to his feet, he yanked at the leash and barked, his tail wagging with great zeal.

Blake regained his balance and looked over at her, a slow smile curving his lips. "Hi."

"Hi to you both." Devon squatted down, scratching Chomper's ears, then reaching into her pocket as he continued to bark. "Translated, that bark means, 'You're the lady with the cookie. Where is it?'" She handed it over. "There you go. I'm not naive enough to believe you're thrilled just to see me."

"Speak for Chomper. Not for his owner." Blake's comment was teasing, but his expression was serious.

"Why? Don't you like peanut b.u.t.ter?"

"Sure I do. But it still comes in second right now."

Devon acknowledged the compliment with a polite nod and a murmured "Thanks." She shoved her hands in the pockets of her lab coat. "So, how was your tour?"

"Impressive. The facilities are great. So are the training cla.s.ses. Chomper and I sat in on a beginner session. 'Puppy preschool,' I think it was called." Blake's lips twitched. "The name of the cla.s.s might be amusing, but the instructor was all business. Talk about no-nonsense; I almost heeled on command."

Devon laughed. "I would have paid to see that. But, yes, our instructors are top-notch. They're crazy about dogs, but they manage to combine that love with an air of authority. And, of course, skill. When you read our brochure, you'll see the astounding credentials everyone here has."

"You're very proud of this place," Blake noted. He picked up the brochure, glancing at it before he slipped it in his jacket pocket. "Now I know why. I spotted your name on the list of partners." He gave her another once-over, this time more a.s.sessing than intimate. "I'm guessing that's quite a coup. You're young. You can't be out of veterinary school for long."

"Two years. And, yes, I'm the youngest partner in the practice. I'm lucky. Dr. Sedwell had enough faith in me to give me this opportunity."

"I doubt luck had anything to do with it. I checked out Joel Sedwell. He's a pioneer in the veterinary field. He's made astonishing strides in animal behavior as well as surgical procedures."

Devon's brows rose. "So you did do some homework before coming in."

"Are you offended?"

"Not at all. I didn't expect you to take my word for the clinic's attributes. Chomper's important to you. That makes you a caring dog owner - something we love to see." Devon glanced at her watch. "How are you handling today's logistics? Your uncle's funeral is at noon. That's only an hour and a half from now. Did you want to leave Chomper with us?"

"Actually, yes. I've already made arrangement at your doggie day care."

"Good." Devon nodded. "Chomper will have the time of his life. I'll make sure he meets my dog, Terror, and my mom's Brussels griffon, Scamp. They're both superfriendly."

"I'm sure." Blake's brows had drawn together. "I don't recall mentioning that the funeral was at noon."

"You didn't. James did."

"James." Blake's tone was noncommittal. If the resentment Devon had picked up from James was reciprocated, it was well concealed. "I didn't realize you and he had spent any time together yesterday."

"We didn't." Devon tested the waters. "He called this morning. We're having dinner together tonight, before he leaves for Wellington."

"Ah." Blake looked more reflective than troubled. "And here I thought I was moving fast. It seems my cousin's even speedier. Kudos to him."

Devon folded her arms across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Why do I feel like this is the NHL play-offs and I'm the Stanley Cup?"

That elicited a chuckle. "Because, in a way, you are." Blake surprised her with a bluntly frank reply. "James and I are compet.i.tive. We always have been. Two years apart in age, the only Pierson grandsons - it comes with the territory. In this case, it's also that we both have good taste."

"I'm not sure whether to be flattered or put off. I'm not into the whole macho rivalry thing. And I don't want to cause friction between you and James - especially not at a time like this."

"You won't." Blake dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. "Have dinner with me tomorrow night."

"Why? Because James will be in Wellington where he can't find out?"

"No, because you're busy tonight, which is when I was going to ask you out for. Feel free to tell James. I'd do it myself, but a funeral's not exactly the right time to compare social calendars. If it makes you feel better, I'll track him down at the office and let him know. If you say yes to my invitation, that is."

Devon wished she knew what the full agenda here was, where the acting ended and the reality began. She also wished that the thought of having dinner with Blake Pierson wasn't so d.a.m.ned pleasing.

"Sure. Tomorrow night's fine."

"Great. Then I'll arrange for Chomper to spend the evening here. I'll pick him up after I take you home." Blake's fingers tightened on the leash as Chomper finished off his cookie and scrambled to his feet, ready to start bounding around. "That's my cue. What's your address, what time is good, and what kind of food do you like?"

"Fifteen Green Court, seven o'clock, and anything but sushi." Devon scribbled down a few quick directions. "It's a contemporary town-house development in northern White Plains. It's just a mile off the highway, right near the main drag. It's easy to find."

"Then I'll find it."

BLAKE PULLED OUT of the clinic's parking lot fifteen minutes later, then glanced at his watch. He had to take a detour through Yonkers, check out the progress at Chomping at the Bit, and make it to the funeral service early. Time was tight.

He snapped his cell phone into the hands-free cradle and punched in his grandfather's private line.

"It's done," he announced.

"Good. Any snags?"

"Just one. James."

CHAPTER 10.

Philip Rhodes shut his office door and straightened his tie for the third time in as many minutes.

New head of security, his a.s.s. Pete Montgomery was here for a lot more than safeguarding the Piersons. He was digging around for a lead in Frederick's murder.

He was still closeted with James in his office. What the h.e.l.l were they talking about?

d.a.m.n, he was in trouble.

Rhodes wiped beads of sweat off his forehead. He was next on the PI's list of "chats." He couldn't give any indication that he was coming unglued. Montgomery was a retired detective. A pro. And with the funeral still an hour away, there was plenty of time for him to interrogate Philip and tear him to shreds.

He had to get through to Bolten.

Leaning over his desk, Rhodes punched on his speakerphone and pressed the redial b.u.t.ton - again.

The same receptionist answered. "Paper and Plastics Limited. How may I direct your call?"

"Gary Bolten."

"One moment, and I'll connect you."

One ring. Two. Three. Voice mail.

Dammit.

Rhodes jabbed at the phone, disconnecting the call. He'd left the guy three messages already - two in his office and one on his cell phone. Where the h.e.l.l was he?

Jumping up, Philip crossed over and poured himself a gla.s.s of ice water, lifting it to his lips with a shaking hand. He had to get it together, now, before Montgomery walked in.

Talk about setting a new low in bad luck. The situation would be comical if it weren't so harrowing. Sally Montgomery. Of all the women in the world, why did it have to be Montgomery's ex-wife whom Frederick had taken up to that cabin? Why hadn't he taken Louise? Anyone but a cop's ex.

The intercom buzzed.

"Yes?" Rhodes answered.

"Mr. Montgomery's ready to see you," Alice, his secretary, informed him. "And Mr. Bolten's on line three. Should I tell him you'll call back?"

"No." Rhodes snapped out the answer a lot more harshly than he'd intended. "No, Alice," he repeated, this time more calmly. "It's a quick call. And, with all that's going on today, I won't have a chance to get back to him. Tell Mr. Montgomery I'll be with him in a minute."

He didn't wait for the reply. He pressed the flashing light on line three.

"Gary?"

"Yeah, Phil. Sorry I didn't get back to you sooner. I was at my daughter's college for parents' weekend. The police tracked me down there and filled me in on what happened at the cabin. I still can't believe it. Poor Frederick. Did the cops find out who did it? Is that why you're calling?"

"What? No." Philip's mind was racing. "When you spoke to the cops, what did you say?"

"I confirmed that the cabin was mine and that I loaned it to Frederick for the weekend. What else could I say?"

"That loaning it to him was my idea."

"What difference does that make?"

"To me? A big difference. Did you tell them?"

"No."

Philip felt a pang of relief. "Good. Don't. I mean it, Gary. Don't say a word."

A prolonged silence.

"This is nuts, even for you," Bolten finally said. "You think that because you wanted your boss to enjoy a weekend getaway, the cops are gonna think it was a murder setup?"

"I don't know what they'll think. But I don't need to plant any seeds."

"What seeds? Does someone at Pierson actually think - "

"Let it go, Gary." Rhodes cut him off. "I can't get into it. It's politics. Let's leave it at that. Just don't bring up my name when you talk to the cops."

"Okay. Fine. But I think you're the one who needs a vacation."

"You're right. I do. And I'll take it. When all this is over."

MONTY RUBBED THE back of his neck, glancing casually at Rhodes's secretary. Middle-aged. Sensible clothes. Quick and efficient. But on the serene side. Certainly less domineering than Frederick Pierson's secretary, Marjorie Evans. That woman was a bulldozer - and smart, too. Monty hadn't gotten squat out of her.

But this Alice Jeffers was worth a try.

"Is Mr. Rhodes still tied up?" Monty asked.

The secretary glanced at the telephone, then looked up from her computer and nodded. "I apologize for the delay."

"No problem. The call must be important. Mr. Rhodes sounded upset."

"Everyone's upset." A quick rise to her boss's defense. "I'm sure you can understand why."

"Of course I can - Ms. Jeffers, isn't it?"