“I was there last night, and I got blinded by a flash of light, then I heard somebody approaching, and a gun being racked. I got the hell out of there in a hurry.”

“What do you mean, a flash of light?”

“Like the flash on a camera, but brighter. I couldn’t see a thing for a couple of minutes.”

“Well, shit, kid, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

“What, you mean I should get shot taking your fucking pictures?”

“Life is full of risk.”

“I’ll get your photographs, but I’m not going to get killed doing it.”

Bolton slammed down the receiver.

—

CHIP LAY THERE for a moment thinking about it, then he got up, got dressed, and grabbed his camera bag. It was before six in the morning, and he had a shot at getting photographs in daylight. This time he drove past the house, then walked back toward it. He turned into the trees and made his way slowly toward the house. The sun was up now, and while he could see, he knew he could be seen. He made his way past the pool and stopped with a view of a terrace. Then he heard a noise like a refrigerator door closing, and a naked woman came outside, stood on the terrace, and sipped from a glass of orange juice.

Chip was transfixed and a moment passed before he got the camera up and pressed the button. Then a man joined the woman, as naked as she. He put his hands under her arms, lifted her off her feet and set her down on a tabletop. By the time Chip got his camera up again, the man’s head was buried between her legs. She set the orange juice down and grabbed his hair with both hands.

Chip got three more shots, then the two went back into the kitchen. He checked the display and reviewed his pictures: They were good, but her face was obscured by the glass when she drank her juice, and, of course, his face couldn’t be seen when it was between her legs.

He sat down on the ground and waited, hoping they would come outside again, but they didn’t. He worked his way around to the other side of the house but could see nothing. He waited for more than an hour for another opportunity, then he heard the clatter of a garage door opening, and a Mercedes station wagon drove away from the house with two people inside.

He thought about going into the house, but if this guy had flashing security lights outside, he sure as shit had an armed security system for the house. He went home and e-mailed the photographs to Pat Bolton.

Almost immediately, he got an answer: “Great stuff, but no ID. Keep trying! I’m past deadline for next week, but there’s always the week after!”