I DON’T REMEMBER when Jamilla and I eventually drifted off to sleep that afternoon, but I was woken up by my pager. My brand-new pager. The one I got especially for this trip so only a few people would have the number—John Sampson, Director Burns’s assistant, Tony Woods, that’s about it. Two people too many? So what now?

I groaned. “Sorry, sorry, Jam. I didn’t expect this. I don’t have to answer it.” The last part I said halfheartedly. We both knew better.

Jamilla shook her head. “I’ll tell you a little secret: I’ve got mine here in the nightstand. Go ahead, Alex, answer the call.” Yeah, answer the call.

Sure enough, it was the director’s office reaching out from D.C. I picked up the bedside phone and dialed the number while lying there flat on my back. I finally looked at my watch—4:00 P.M. The day had flown, which was a good thing, sort of. Until now, anyway.

“Ron Burns,” I mouthed to Jamilla while I was on hold. “This can’t be good.” This has to be bad.

She nodded. A call from the top of the pyramid had to mean some kind of serious business that couldn’t wait. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to hear about it right now.

Ron Burns himself came on the line. This was getting worse by the second. “Alex? Is that you?”

“Yes, sir.” I sighed. Just Jamilla, and me, and you.

“I appreciate your taking this call. I’m sorry to be bothering you. I know it’s been a while since your last real vacation.”

He didn’t know the half of it, but I kept quiet and listened to what the director had to say.

“Alex, there’s kind of a sticky case in L.A. I probably would have wanted to send you out on this one anyway. The fact that you’re in California is a lucky coincidence. Lucky, of course, being a relative concept.”

I shook my head back and forth. This was sounding really bad.

“What’s the case? This lucky coincidence that I’m out here?”

“You ever heard of Antonia Schifman?”

That got my attention a little. “The actress? Sure.”

“She was murdered this morning, along with her limo driver. It happened outside her home. Her family was inside sleeping.”

“The rest of the family—they’re okay?” I asked.

“No one else was hurt, Alex. Just the actress and her driver.”

I was a little confused. “Why is the Bureau on this? LAPD request a consult?”

“Not exactly.” Burns paused. “If you wouldn’t mind keeping this between the two of us, Antonia Schifman was friends with the president. And a close friend of his wife. The president has asked for our help on the murder investigation.”