Cheney glanced up at Lewis, who'd appeared with our martinis on a tray. He set them down with great care, watching the liquid tremble. The stemware was so cold I could see ice flakes sliding along the outer surface of the glass. The vodka, just out of the freezer, looked oily in the light. I hadn't drunk a martini in ages and I remembered the sharp, nearly chemical taste.

I can never decide what makes Cheney's face so appealing – wide mouth, dark brows, eyes as brown as old pennies. His hands are big and it looks like he busted his knuckles pounding someone in the chops. I studied his features and then caught myself, thinking I should slap my own face. I'd just lectured Reba on the folly of a dalliance with a married man and here I was idly entertaining the very thought myself.

Cheney said, "Thanks, Lewis. Can you run a tab for us?"

"Of course. Just let me know if you need anything else."

Once he was gone, Cheney lifted his glass and tapped its edge against mine. "Cheers."

I took a sip of my drink. The vodka was smooth, forming a column of heat that sank down my spinal cord and into my shoes. "I hope you're not saying she's in trouble."

"I'd say she's teetering on the brink."

"Oh, no."

"How well do you know her?"

"You can make that past tense. I did the job I was hired for and now I've moved on."

"As of when?"

"We parted company this afternoon. What's she done?"

"Nothing so far, but she's close."

"So you said. Meaning what?"

"She's been seeing Alan Beckwith, the guy you met in here Monday night."

"I know when I met the guy, but what's that to you?" I could hear hostility creep into my tone at the implications of what he'd said. Someone was apparently watching me the same night I was watching Reba carry on with Beck.

"Don't be crabby."

"Sony. I didn't mean for it to come out that way." I took a deep breath, willing myself into a more sanguine place. I said, "I don't understand where you fit in. And don't make me guess. I really hate that shit."

Cheney smiled. "I'm talking to some guys who have an interest in him. Her, too, by association. You have to understand this is all highly confidential."

"I'm crossing my heart," I said, and made an X on my chest.

"You know anything about Beck?"

"I'm an innocent. Well, wait. That's not entirely true. I know his father owned the Clements, so I'm assuming the man was a major player in his day."