I glanced at Jack. He waved me in. I walked along the hall and turned into the living room. Thick navy blue carpet, smoke-gray walls, yellow leather sofa set, high-end stereo, Apple computer and built-in bookcases.

If I had my own living room, this is what I’d want it to look like. Scary thing was, this was what it would look like: immaculate and organized to the point of compulsion. The computer was turned off, keyboard shelf closed, all cords tucked out of sight. On the bookshelf, every spine was aligned with its neighbor, the books grouped by subject, alphabetical within each subject. Though I couldn’t read the rows of CDs behind the glass stereo doors, I knew they’d be organized the same way.

I’d assumed this woman lived with our contact. Seeing this room, I knew I’d been wrong—she was the contact.

Jack pointed to the love seat, then sat beside me. I turned to whisper a question but, before I could, the woman joined us. She took a seat across from us, sat and waited. And waited.

“How long do we have to sit here before you do the courtesy of performing introductions?” she finally said.

“Dee, Evelyn. Evelyn, Dee.”

“Oh yeah,” she said. “That helps. Fucking rude mick. And what the hell kind of name is Dee?” She turned to me. “He picked it, didn’t he? I just hope it doesn’t stand for Diane.”

I frowned.

“‘Jack and Diane’?” she prompted.

“Ah, the song. John Cougar. Or whatever he calls himself now.”

“Melonhead or something like that. A perfect example of the importance of names. Cougar, you remember, but the minute you decide to call yourself Melon-shit…” She shook her head. “Names create an impression. Dee makes me think Sandra Dee, and that’s all wrong for you. Now Diane wouldn’t be so bad if you made it Diana. Goddess of the hunt. That would work.”

Jack snorted.

“Shut up or get out,” Evelyn said. “You screwed me over. It’ll take a lot of ass-kissing to make up for this one.” She shifted to face me. “I’m the one who tracked you down.”

“What—?”

I looked from her to Jack. Jack met my gaze and dipped his chin, eyes dark with something like apology.

Heart hammering, I turned back to Evelyn. “How—?”

“When it comes to finding people, I’m the best there is. I could tell you where Jimmy Hoffa is…but it’d cost you.”

“She didn’t find you,” Jack said. “Frank Tomassini mentioned you.”

“But I found her from there, didn’t I? Frank didn’t exactly hand me her name and address.”

“He told you about me?”

“Special case. He wouldn’t mention it to anyone else.”

“But how do you know Frank—?”