“He’s mostly served my father well,” she said, minus any conviction. She took a sip of her whisky and seemed to admire its color.

“‘Mostly?’”

“That’s what brings me here, Octavio,” Jackie said. “I’m not so sure we—my father and I—can trust Danny to handle things quite the way they should be handled. He’s a good lawyer—”

“Jury’s still out on that one,” I said.

“—but I know more about the business world than Danny ever will.” She issued a theatrical sigh, then took a sip of her scotch. “But no matter what I do, my business experience, acumen and success mean considerably less than my goddamn ability to procreate and make enchiladas. Our culture—”

“Keeps pretty little Mexican girls with mostly Spanish blood from mixing with ‘mayates’?”

Her eyes locked onto mine for a second or two before she said, “I know better now, August.”

“What do you want from me, Jackie?”

“I’d like for you to watch Danny,” she said. “Need you to, really. I think he’s desperate enough to—I’m afraid he’ll—do something—that won’t be advantageous for my father.”

“Or you?”

“I’ll be burying my father soon enough, August,” she said. “I just want this ugly business settled so I can get back to my life somewhere that isn’t a goddamn frozen wasteland three-quarters of the year.” The knife’s edge glint in her eyes softened for a moment. Then she leaned into me. Kissed me again. Longer. Deeper.

I let her.

This time I felt a different electrical impulse shiver through me. The kind that tells you to move fast when a shadow not your own twitches in the dark.

I pulled out of the kiss and said, “I’ll think about watching Danny for your dad. And you. But a good kiss isn’t a signed contract, Jackie.”

“Only ‘good’?” she said. “I must be losing my touch.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

She downed the rest of her drink, then stood and donned her fur coat. “I’m staying at the Westin Book Cadillac Detroit,” she said. “Just in case you’d like to discuss anything else at length, August.”

“Good to see you, Jackie,” I said, opening the door for her. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Then she was gone.

“It’s not nice to spy on your neighbors, Lucy,” I said. She was covered head to toe in snow from the pile she’d jumped into to avoid detection.

“Yeah, well, it’s not nice to cheat on your girlfriend either! I don’t care how far away she lives!” Lucy said, shaking and stomping the snow off in my small foyer.

“These are hardwood floors, Lucy!” I kicked as much of the snow back outside as I could. “Come on!”

“You were kissing that chick!”

“She was kissing me.”