Ochoa’s contacts gave him the names and photographs of three women who they believed might have been friends with Margo. The three, known to vice as Jewel, MonicaBelle, and Debbi, were still holding on to their looks, and worked for various high-end escort services. They also periodically fed information to vice in exchange for being left alone. Ochoa had been tipped that they often met at Chef Chen’s after finishing an evening of work. The best he could do was to get a message to the one named Jewel that there would be easy money to be made should the three of them stop by Chen’s at two.

Darlene did not sip her wonton soup, so much as she kept stirring it with her plastic ladle. The meetings, first with Evans at the Bar None, then with Double M in the alley, had her on edge, and she had been eating very little.

Victor might be able to sneak her out of the White House once, he told her, perhaps twice more, should the girls be no-shows this morning, but each such departure carried with it increasing risks, most notably with Martin. His tension, as he stepped more and more out onto a rocky campaign trail, was becoming almost palpable, and Darlene felt increasingly uneasy around him. Kim had actually and earnestly suggested they find a way to get some counseling, but Darlene laughed off the notion, replying that trying to do so would be like asking her husband to deal with his fear of heights through a set of skydiving lessons.

She was settling herself down by playing through a number of the more wonderful memories of the early years of their marriage when, at 2:15, the front door swung open and three striking women strode into the restaurant. Darlene looked over at Ochoa, and he confirmed her suspicions with a nod.

The women did not look exactly as they did in their photographs. MonicaBelle, a redhead, was now a platinum blonde with her hair tied back. Jewel wore glasses, and Debbi had morphed from a pixie-cut brunette to shoulder length. They wore elegant stiletto-heeled boots and skintight designer jeans that Darlene put at three hundred a pair, minimum. Their gold jewelry jangled like wind chimes, and she caught the aroma of perfume mixed with the odor of cigarettes as they passed. A closer look, and she upped her initial estimate of their ages to thirty or even somewhere north of that. MonicaBelle and Debbi slid in across from Jewel two booths away. Before too much longer, Darlene found herself thinking, life was going to start getting harder for the trio.

Ochoa waited for the women to place their orders before he approached.

“Oh, handsome,” Debbi said, curling her lower lip in a pout, “I’m afraid our meters stopped running a while ago.”

The three burst out laughing. Ochoa joined in at a reduced level.