Ryan" has a spy network that makes the CIA look like a Cub Scout pack. He usual y knows of my movements before I tel him. It annoys the hel out of me.

And Ryan's amusement over the Journal piece was lowering my threshold for irritation.

Get over it, Brennan. Don't take yourself so seriously.

"Real y?" I smiled.

"Critics gave you four stars."

Only four?

"I see."

"Word is, Petit's going down."

I said nothing.

"Tel me about this pizza parlor case." Ryan switched gears.

"Isn't the whole affair laid out in Le Journal?' I helped myself to more salad.

"Coverage is a bit vague. May I have that?"

I handed him the bowl.

We ate arugula for a ful three minutes. Ryan broke the silence.

"Are you going to tel me about your bones?"

My eyes met his. The interest looked sincere.

I relented, but kept my account brief. When I'd finished, Ryan rose and retrieved a section of newspaper from his jacket.

Both shots had been taken from above and to my right. In the first, I was talking to Claudel, eyes angry, gloved finger jabbing the air. The caption might have read "Attack of the Shrew."

The second captured the shrew on al fours, ass pointing skyward.

"Any idea how the Journal got these?" Ryan asked.

"The owner's slimebal assistant."

"Claudel caught the case?"

"Yes." I picked bread crumbs from the tabletop.

Ryan reached out and placed his hand on mine. "Claudel's come around a lot."

« 22 »

I didn't reply.

Ryan was about to speak again when his cel phone twittered.

Giving my hand a squeeze, he pul ed the unit from his belt and checked the cal er ID. His eyes flicked up in frustration. Or irritation.

Or something I couldn't read.

"I've got to take this," he said.

Pushing back from the table, he moved off down the hal .

As I cleared dishes I could hear the rhythm of the conversation.

The words were muffled, but the cadence suggested agitation.

In moments, he was back.

"Sorry, babe. I've got to go."

"You're leaving?" I was stunned.

"It's a thankless business."

"We haven't eaten your pastry."

The Irish blues would not meet mine.

"I'm so it}'."

A peck on the cheek.

The chef was alone with her uneaten surprise.

« 23 »

I

Because I was alone? Because my only bed partner was a big white cat? I hadn't planned my life that way. Pete and I had intended to grow old together. To sail married into the afterlife.

Then my forever-hubby shared Mr. Happy with a real estate agent.

And I enjoyed my own little fling with the bottle.

Whatever, as Katy would say. Life marches.

Outside, the weather was gray, blustery, and uninviting. The clock said seven-ten. Birdie was nowhere to be seen.

Pul ing off my nightshirt, I took a hot shower, then blow-dried my hair. Birdie strol ed in as I was brushing my teeth. I greeted him, then smiled into the mirror, considering whether it was a mascara day.