“I’m a miracle worker,” Lou said, twirling into the seat across from me. I let out a breath I felt like I’d been holding for a month. “You’ve got until Friday.”

I bit off a tight smile in Lou’s direction. If I could convince Ellen, a Thursday afternoon rendezvous left a one-day turnaround. It was just possible. “Thank you,” I said with stiff lips. If Lou noticed I was less than thrilled, she didn’t show it.

“And,” Lou said, “I got this.” She held up another envelope, a twin of the one I’d tucked away in my desk. I jerked in my chair and tried to disguise it as a cough. “A new name,” Lou announced, her lopsided smile turning wicked. “We’re in a busy season.” She chucked the envelope onto my desk and then draped herself in the chair across from me.

As I opened it, pulling out the folded note—one single line, not even a full name, no other information: M. Carrigan—Lou asked, “Have you set the new date with Ellen?”

I danced the mouse across the pad at my desk, waking up my computer and typing in M. Carrigan, Los Angeles. “I’m expecting her any minute,” I said. “Where did you get this? Was it on your desk?”

Lou yawned, wide—goddammit, what had she been doing?—and shrugged. “Yep.”

Maybe the envelope the Lady had handed me was a test, a way to prove that even now, deadline looming, I was still loyal to her. “Lou, wait a second, let me—”

“Mitch Carrigan,” Lou went on happily. She was never as happy as at the beginning of the grift. All those possibilities still out there, all those different ways to ruin an asshole’s life.

Then it clicked.

“Carrigan? Like the city music hall Carrigans, those Carrigans? Old-money founding-fathers-of-Pasadena Carrigans, those Carrigans?”

“One and the same,” Lou said, her expression smug. “Ours. All ours. And once you’re done with Ellen”—her smile wavered—“we can work it together. Like the old days.”

“Like the old days,” I repeated. A sharp memory of a bra-clad Lou clutching my arm, fighting down giggles. Our very first case all over again—only this time, we wouldn’t leave any loose ends.

Lou came to my side of the desk so we could read the articles together on my screen. She rested her elbows on my back, sharp points that made me shiver as she shifted positions, shiatsuing my shoulder blades. “Mayoral dark horse thunders into the lead.” She read the Times headline over my shoulder. Goose bumps rose on my skin each time her elbows slipped. “Family name pays dividends for would-be mayor.” She read another, yawning again.