The pouty look again. “You don’t drink?”

“Sometimes. Not now.”

“You sound so tense. You need to—”

His phone rang again. He checked the ID, confirmed that it was Madeleine. He let it ring three more times, as though intending to let it go to his voice mail; then, in an apparent burst of impatience, he pressed TALK. “What is it?” He paused. “This is not the time … For Christ’s sake …” He paused, looking increasingly annoyed. “Look. Please. I’m in the middle of something. Yes … No … NOT NOW!” He pressed END CALL and replaced the phone in his pocket.

Alyssa gave him a sly smile. “Girlfriend problems?”

He didn’t answer, just stared at the coffee table.

“You need to relax. All that tension, I can feel it over here. Is there anything I can do?”

“It might help if you got dressed.”

“Got dressed? I am dressed.”

“Not noticeably.”

Her lips parted in a slow, deliberate grin. “You’re funny.”

“Okay, Alyssa. Enough. Let’s get to the point. Why did you want to see me?”

The grin was replaced by the pouty look. “No need to sound so unfriendly. I just want to help.”

“How?”

“I want to help you understand the reality of the situation,” she said earnestly, as though that answer clarified everything. When Gurney just stared at her and waited, she switched back to the grin. “You positive you don’t want a drink? How about a tequila sunrise? I make a fantastic tequila sunrise.”

He reached with obvious casualness to his hip, scratched a nonexistent itch, and switched on the digital recorder affixed to his belt, awkwardly hiding the soft click under a loud cough.

Her grin broadened. “If you want to shut me up, sweetie, that’s the way to do it.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Beg pardon?” There was a glint of cold amusement in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He projected as best he could the expression of a guilty man trying to appear innocent.

“What’s that cute little thing on your belt?”

He glanced down at his side. “Oh, that’s …” He cleared his throat. “That’s actually a recorder.”

“A recorder. No shit. Can I see it?”

He blinked. “Uh, sure.” He unclipped it and held it out across the coffee table.

She took it, studied it, switched it off, and laid it on the sofa cushion next to her.

He put on an anxious frown. “May I have that back, please?”

“Come and get it.”

He looked at her, at the recorder, back at her, cleared his throat again. “It’s a routine thing. I make a point of recording all my meetings. It can be very helpful in avoiding disputes later about what was said or what was agreed to.”

“That so? Wow. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to record this meeting, too.”