Colby was finally about to sit down, but maybe he felt our eyes on him, because he paused, spotted us, beamed and came over, navigating the sea of tables of diners like the Navy man he was.

He stood before our booth and half-nodded to each of us in turn, but reserved his dazzling white smile for Shannon, who was looking up at the man in Armani with a smile as rumpled as his own decidedly off-the-rack suit.

This was my first close look at the guy, and it revealed a male specimen who was almost too handsome, with long eyelashes and dark curly hair worn rather short and wet with product, giving him a Roman Emperor look. But was he Julius Caesar or Caligula? Either way, he sported a tan that said trips to warmer climes were not infrequent or maybe he just used a tanning bed somewhere. At home, maybe.

Colby leaned in and offered his hand to Shannon, who half-stood, as much as possible in the booth anyway, and accepted the proffered paw for a shake, then settled back down.

“So I’m guessing this is a retirement party?” Colby said, his voice mellow and smooth. He could become a TV or radio announcer if being a rich Wall Street heir didn’t work out.

“Pre-retirement,” Shannon said genially. You could never have discerned that the old copper had any suspicions or negative thoughts at all about the guy. Strictly friendly time.

“I recognize both of your partners in crime,” the young man said, showing off those white teeth some more. His nods were more acknowledging this time around. “Sergeant Higgins. Detective Peters.” The teeth and pretty eyes came to me and his smile settled in one cheek. “You’re Mike Hammer, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.”

Dark eyebrows rose above the long lashes. “That was some case you wrapped up a while back. Caused ripples from here to Europe. Stock market took a dive when those revelations about the CIA being infiltrated made the news.”

I gave him a smile. A little one, not dazzling at all. “That wasn’t my intention. To me he was just a bad guy, a very bad guy, who needed to be dealt with.”

Colby’s smile went damn near pixie-ish. “By which you mean… you shot him. Killed him.”

I shrugged. “He had a gun. A little one. Mine was bigger.”

The smile broadened in genuine amusement. “And here I thought size wasn’t everything.”

“It isn’t. But it doesn’t hurt.”

“If it’s big enough it does.” He sighed, smiled again, no teeth now. “Well, gentlemen, I didn’t mean to intrude. I just wanted to say hello to Casey here. Congratulate him on his retirement.” He turned his eyes on Shannon. “See you later.”

He flipped a casual wave and ambled across the room, graceful in a masculine way. Handsome devil, like Tony Curtis and George Hamilton had a kid. Women were looking at him the way men look at women.

“Why’s he so friendly,” I asked, “to a cop he encountered on a couple of suspicious-death inquiries? First name basis and everything. ‘See you later?’”