“I’ll do my best, Saria, but you’ll have to trust me on this.”

She shook her head, opened her mouth to protest again, but then shrugged and hurried out of the bedroom to the front door. Drake followed her, the gun in his hand, finger on the trigger, hidden under the shirt he carried.

Charisse looked as if she’d spent the night crying. She stood looking completely absurd in her bright red short jacket and long black skirt, with red leather boots and a silk black blouse peeking beneath the jacket. Her hair, once a fashionable chignon, had begun to fall out in the rain and wind, so that tendrils fluttered around her face. She had beautiful skin and eyes and the small curls showed her features off to perfection, far more, Drake thought, than the severe, yet fashionable hairdo she chose to wear. Some people considered black widow spiders to be beautiful—he just wasn’t one of them.

Saria caught Charisse’s arm and drew her inside. “What is it, cher?”

Her voice was motherly, soothing, but she did exactly what Drake had told her, positioning herself so he had a clear shot at Charisse even as she took her into the living room and indicated a chair.

“We haven’t made any coffee, cher, but I’ll do that right away. What happened?”

“I made such a fool of myself with Mahieu last night. He was so angry with me.” Charisse put her hands over her face and began to sob.

That, at least, was genuine. Drake could always hear the echo of a lie, and there was a distinct odor to lies, but Charisse was telling the truth. He sighed and went to get tissue from the bathroom while Saria hastily put on the coffee. All the while he kept a careful line of fire to the woman—just in case.

Drake perched on the arm of a chair opposite Charisse where he knew he couldss no matter where Saria was if he was forced to shoot Charisse. He handed the sobbing woman a tissue, and shot Saria an exasperated look. She glared at him, clearly on Charisse’s side no matter what.

“Exactly what happened?” Saria said.

“I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore,” Charisse admitted. “I was lyin’ of course. Who wouldn’t want to go out with Mahieu? He’s . . . he’s . . . perfect.” She wept hysterically.

Saria sank down beside Charisse and patted her soothingly. “We can straighten this out, Charisse, don’t cry anymore and let’s figure it out.”

“You don’t understand. There’s no way to fix it. I told him to go away. He tried to talk to me and he said if he went, he wouldn’t come back. You know Mahieu, he means what he says.” Her voice rose in another hysterical wail. “I told him to go.”