I smiled winningly. “You’re right,” I said. “I’m really here to find out if you’re sleeping with Dr. Alex Pennington. If you are, I’ll get the goods on you.”

She paled. “Alex is a customer,” she said. “A collector.”

He was probably a collector, all right. Greer was expecting him to be involved with one woman, and still hoping she was wrong on the count. I figured there was a harem.

“You know, of course, that he’s married.” I was deliberately goading her, just to see what she’d do. She’d either kick me out of the place, or admit something.

Gina glanced nervously at her customer, who was busy filling out forms at the counter. The bear and the fish were as good as on their way to Cincinnati. “As I said, Alex—Dr. Pennington—is a client of the gallery. And I resent your coming in here and accusing me—”

“I didn’t accuse you of anything, Ms. Marchand.” Up close and personal, I could see that she probably wasn’t in the running for any trophy wife upgrade Alex might be planning. Her makeup was impeccable, but there were fine lines around her eyes and mouth, and she was, after all, three years older than Greer. “If you’re boinking Dr. Pennington, however, I would advise you to stop. You could be named as a correspondent in the divorce, if there is one, and the publicity would not be good for business.”

“This is outrageous! I have half a mind to complain to Alex—”

“You do that,” I said, though I was bluffing. If she described me to Alex, my cover would be blown. Entry #1 for my P.I. logbook: Don’t give yourself away by running off at the mouth.

“What’s your name?” she demanded.

“Greer Pennington,” I said. “Alex is my husband.”

Gina’s mouth dropped open, and she took a step back. I figured she’d been in her share of catfights, with the scars to prove it, and she wasn’t willing to tangle.

“Can you give me a break on the shipping?” the woman in purple called.

Gina was distracted, and I took that opportunity to duck out.

I had a few things to learn about being a P.I., but I was pretty sure Greer’s worst suspicions were right on target. Hospital rounds weren’t the only ones Alex was making.

I really wished it wasn’t true.

* * *

“YOU ACTUALLY investigated someone?” Jolie asked, two hours later, when we were both back in the apartment. She’d gotten there first, let herself in with the spare key I’d given her earlier and exchanged her power suit and heels for jeans and a tank top that showed off her toned arms. She was clearly relieved when I came in; it probably freaked her out being alone in the place.