Bess didn’t blink or look shocked, she simply leaned a little closer. “What was he stealing?”

Alex was vaguely disappointed that he hadn’t gotten a reaction. “Electronics—and doing a poor job of it. He was tangled up with a gang at the time. This was about a year and a half ago.” Absently he toyed with the square-cut aquamarine on her finger, watching it catch the light. “Nick had some problems. Actually, he’s Zack’s step-brother. Nick was still a kid when Zack went off and joined the navy and his mother died. Anyhow, when Zack came back a few years ago, his father was dying, and the kid was chin-deep in trouble.”

“This is great.” Bess beamed up at Lola as their drinks were served. “Thanks.”

The smile did it. Lola sent Alex a look of approval before she swung by the bar to report to Zack.

“Don’t stop now.”

Alex lifted his mug of beer. He knew very well that Lola was giving Zack a sotto voce rundown of her impressions and opinions of his choice of companion. “You want to hear the whole thing?”

“Of course I do.” Bess sprinkled salt on her wrist, licked it, then tossed back the tequila with all the flair of a Mexican bandit. While she sucked on the lime wedge Lola had brought with the drink, she grinned at Zack. “I like the zing.”

“How many times can you do that and live?”

“I haven’t tested it that far.” The liquor left a nice trail of heat down her throat and into her stomach. “I did ten once, but I was younger then, and stupid. So keep going.” She leaned forward again. “Zack came back after sailing the seven seas and found his brother in trouble.”

“Well, Nick was tangled up with the Cobras…” Alex began. By the time their paella was served, he was enjoying himself. It always polished a man’s ego to have a woman’s complete and fascinated attention. “So that’s how I ended up on the point of having an Irish-Ukrainian niece or nephew.”

“Terrific. You’ve got a flair for storytelling, Alexi. Must be some Gypsy blood in there.”

“Naturally.”

She smiled at him. All he needed was a hoop of gold in one ear and a violin, she thought—but she was sure he wouldn’t want to hear it. “It doesn’t hurt that you have this wisp of an accent that peeks out now and then. Of course, your material’s first-rate, too. I’m a sucker for happy endings. I can’t have many of them in my field. Once we tie things up, we have to unravel them again, or we lose the audience.”

“Why? I thought most people went for the happy ending.”

“They do. But in soaps, a character loses the edge if he or she isn’t dealing with some crisis or tragedy.” She sampled the paella and sighed her satisfaction. “That’s why Elana’s been married twice, had amnesia, was sexually assaulted, had two miscarriages and a nervous breakdown, went temporarily blind, shot a former lover in self-defense, overcame a gambling addiction, had twins who were kidnapped by a psychotic nurse—and recovered them only after a long, heartrending and perilous search through the South American jungles.” She took another glorious bite. “Not necessarily in that order.”