“We’re far from Brentwood.”

“I’m not saying to go there.”

“So why mention it?”

“Because I was wondering what the rich fight about.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“Scotty, look at your own divorce.”

“My infidelities were an escape from my ex’s complaints about always being broke! I may have been a prick in the bed department, but I wasn’t a reckless spender. If I had had money, it would have been different.”

“Think so? I bet you would have fought about how to spend it.”

Oliver didn’t deny it. She was probably right. “I should have had such problems.”

Marge glanced at him with sympathy. Although Oliver was dating his usual young bimbos, the young Ms. Decker was still on his mind. Cindy had knocked the wind out of him, and he had yet to recover. He fidgeted in his seat, a man angry and anxious. That meant he was serious. That meant he’d do a good job.

“What do you mean go through all the files?” Maryam Estes was blocking the door with thin, silken arms, the bronze-colored extremities holding dozens of silver and gold bracelets and bangles enveloping her limbs clear up to her biceps. “You can’t intrude on their confidentiality. These are current cases!”

“The warrant specifies all cases that had been handled by the Baldwins,” Oliver stated. “And it’s printed in English, Ms. Estes, which is your native language—”

“I don’t appreciate your snide remarks at a time like this!”

“You can be as outraged as you like,” Marge said. “Just let us do our job.”

Oliver said, “That’s your cue to get out of the way.”

“I will not!”

A staring match went on for several seconds. Oliver debated calling in the proper authorities to have her physically removed. If they did it themselves, they’d open themselves up to charges of police brutality. But time was ticking away. Oliver reached toward her and tickled the pits under her sleek arms. As she involuntarily retracted, he ducked and went inside.

Pragmatism was always a good ally.

Maryam stomped after him, then marched ahead of him, glancing over her shoulder with hot, angry eyes. “I am going to report you to your superiors.”

“I believe you, Doctor.” Oliver tried not to ogle her shapely ass. Not that he could see the outline all that clearly, because her dress was A-line. But it was red and it was sleeveless and that made it sexier than hell. Her hair had been pulled back into a bushy ponytail, showing off an oval face with mocha skin, slightly bumpy from a few acne marks. The imperfection only made her that much more attractive. Of course, her deep brown eyes and mother-thick red lips didn’t hurt, either. The nostril pierce, as small as it was, still bugged him. But hey, you can’t have everything.