He felt a hiss of air escape her lungs on the back of his neck. Her arms loosened, giving him just enough room to wrench his head sideways. When her grip on his windpipe failed, he jerked his head free, and sucked in a precious lungful of air.

Red-faced and panting like a dog, he gasped, “Let’s call it a draw.” He managed to gain his hands and knees just before his Caesar salad came up in projectile fashion. When he finished vomiting his dinner, he wiped his mouth and half laughed. “Damn it, woman, that was some trick.”

She rolled onto her back, her legs bent at the knees. “You cheated giving me that wedgie. I had you.”

“The hell you did.”

“No doubt you enjoyed that little stunt.”

“You’ll never know.” They both looked up at the same instant. Harvey was pointing his Sig at a man who was pointing his Glock at Nathan’s head, the four of them frozen in time like waxwork figures.

“It’s good thing you showed up when you did,” Nathan said. “I might have killed her.”

Grangeland held up a hand. “Stand down, Agent Ferris. This isn’t what it looks like.”

Somewhat reluctantly, Ferris holstered his gun and looked at Harvey.

Harvey tucked his gun into the small of his back and looked at Nathan, then to the woman, then to the pool of vomit. “I see you two have been properly introduced.”

Still breathing heavily, Nathan said, “Special Agent Grangeland, meet Harvey Fontana.”

Harvey shook his head. “What is it with you, Nathan? Didn’t your mother hold you enough as a baby?”

“Hey, it was her idea.”

“Uh- huh.”

“Well?” Nathan asked her.

With a grimace, Grangeland sat up. “I guess we’ll keep the status quo.”

“Good choice,” Nathan said.

“Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Ferris asked. He looked at the splintered door jamb then back to Nathan. “Looks like a clear case of breaking and entering to me.”

“Tell me about it,” Grangeland said. She staggered to her feet and limped bull-legged into the bathroom.

Nathan rubbed his throat. “She’ll be okay.” Even though Ferris was formidable looking, Nathan towered over him. In his mid-thirties, Ferris had the same intensity in his eyes that Henning had shown several nights ago. He was clean-cut, dressed in tan Docker-type slacks with a long-sleeved buttoned shirt. Nathan knew Ferris didn’t like the idea of his partner rolling around on the floor with a complete stranger.

“Sorry about the mess,” Nathan said. “Tell me something. Where’d she learn to wrestle like that?”

“Alternate for the 2000 Olympic team.”

“No kidding,” Nathan said. “You ever go a round with her?”

“Once.”

“And?” Nathan prompted.

“Got my ass kicked in ten seconds. She’s also holds black belts in three different forms of martial arts.”