LISA GIAMETTI LOOKED at her watch for maybe the tenth time. She was going to wait five more minutes and then take off. It was just amazing, the way some people didn’t think twice about wasting your time in this business.

Four and a half minutes into the five she’d allowed, a dark-blue BMW pulled up and double-parked in front of the house. Better late than never anyway. Nice car.

She checked her teeth in the rearview mirror, ran a hand through her short auburn hair, and got out to meet the client.

“Mr. Siegel?”

“Max,” he said. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m not used to the city traffic.”

His handshake was warm, and he was just tall, dark, and hot enough to forgive easily. Considering all the eye contact, she figured he liked what he saw as well. Interesting guy, and well worth the wait.

“Come on in,” she told him. “I think you’ll like this place. I know I do.”

She held the door open for him to go first. The place was a half-decent row house on Second in Northeast, a little overpriced for the current rental market but a good fit for the right tenant. “Are you new to Washington?”

“I used to live here, and now I’m back,” he said. “I don’t really know anybody in the city anymore.”

He was doing the code thing — new in town, alone, etc. No ring on the finger either. Lisa Giametti was not an easy mark, but she knew a hungry man when she saw one, and if something happened to happen here, well, it wouldn’t be the first time.

She closed the door and locked it behind them.

“It’s a great block,” she went on. “You’ve got the back of the Supreme Court Building right across the street. Not exactly a lot of loud parties over there. And then a nice little yard in the back with off-street parking.”

They came through to the kitchen, where the garage was visible outside. “I don’t have to tell you how handy that can be around here.”

“No,” he said, looking somewhere south of her eyes. “That’s a very nice pendant you’re wearing. You have good taste — in apartments and jewelry.”

This guy didn’t waste any time, did he?

“And how about the basement?” he asked next.

“Excuse me?” she said.

“I’d like to see the basement. There is one, isn’t there?”

Normally the client might have asked about the upstairs at this point. Maybe even the bedroom, if she was reading this guy correctly. But whatever. The customer was always right, especially when he looked like this one did.

She left her briefcase on the kitchen counter, opened the basement door, and led him down the old wooden stairs.