"I'll tell you why," Leon Quintera, the third member of the inner circle said. "Because Udal told him to get his ass here ASAP. Even people like Homer Winters jump when Udal tells them to."

The fourth member of the inner ring was an ordinary-looking guy named Stu Franklin, who had curly sandy-brown hair and a boyish smile. Under his five-thousand-dollar Hugo Boss suit he was all muscle and sinew. He was also an ex–Navy SEAL. He liked to think of himself as the voice of reason when his fellow goons were ready to go off half-cocked. "If you think Alvin Lansing is a match for Cosmo Cricket, then I have a rocket launcher ready to fire up your ass. The meeting that's supposed to take place an hour from now is not your run-of-the-mill get-together, Hank, and we all know it, so don't go blowing smoke. Something is happening, or something is going to happen. Cancel tonight with your people, and we'll all rest a little easier."

Owens leaned back in his chair as he thought about Franklin's words. He could afford to take a hit tonight and maybe for the next few nights until everyone settled down. He looked around at his inner ring and knew they were jittery, and jittery was not a good thing. He nodded to show he agreed with Franklin.

"I don't like it that Winters is on his way here," Mike Oliver said.

"He owns the frigging place, Mike," Hank said. "We're just his hired guns, who work for a salary. We're overworked and underpaid."

The others laughed, recognizing the joke.

"Just be respectful. Ask after the family. Make sure you remember the grandkids' names. You can sidetrack the old geezer real easy. The only thing he's interested in is the bottom line, his charities, and how clean this place is. I don't see one complaint finding its way to him."

"Udal. . ."

"Will you stop with the Udal thing already. He's not God, you know," Hank snapped. He couldn't let his men know he was getting more pissed by the minute as he, too, wondered what was going on. Christ, how he hated Peter Udal and that monster Cosmo Cricket.

Stu Franklin pointed to a monitor covering the main entrance, where a bright red Corvette had just roared up and come to a stop. They all stared at the gorgeous set of legs that swung out of the car. He whistled to show his approval. "Now, that's one classy-looking woman."

The men watched as the valet held a whispered conversation with the owner of the Corvette. The watchers saw a look of alarm spread across the valet's face, then he laughed as the woman pressed some bills into his hand.

"Ah, she's just telling him to be careful with her wheels. Women are fussier about cars than men are," Mike Oliver said.

Down below at the entrance, Ted held the door for Lizzie. "And what was that all about?"