Ellen nodded, but she didn’t look happy. “Why did he storm out of here?” I asked to change the subject, reaching for her shirt on the floor. I tossed it behind me and let her have a few moments of privacy. I poked my head into the bathroom. The trash can was empty. Klein was so paranoid that if he’d used a condom, he’d flushed it. Or taken it with him.

“Oh,” Ellen said, her tone light. Too light. Without looking at her I knew she was about to lie to me. I hoped Klein didn’t find her so easy to read. “I asked what his wife would think if she knew he was here with me.”

“That was enough to send him running?” I turned to stare at her.

There was a faint pink glow to Ellen’s face now, and she was chewing on a thumbnail. “Hy is touchy about his wife,” she said, trying for worldly. An ingénue on the make.

Hy. My final bet of the afternoon: she’d wanted something from Klein—maybe a comparison between her and his wife that found the Mrs. wanting. Is she this sweet and juicy? Or a token, maybe, of his esteem.

Oh, Ellen. I tried not to let my disgust show on my face. Whatever crumb of affection Klein could offer her was nothing compared to the cash—50 percent of whatever the mark paid—that waited for her on the other side of the sting. If I was right, if she cared so much about his approval that she was willing to pick a fight, then I wouldn’t be able to manage her much longer.

“Better not to mention wives at all.”

“You promise it’s only one more time?” Ellen asked, her dark eyes suspicious and lovely.

“I promise. Just one more.” I kept my voice soft, clipping any trace of a threat from it. I didn’t want her scared of me yet.

I could save my threats for Robert Jackal, for now. The lying fuck.

“Come see me tomorrow at the office,” I told her as I headed for the door. “We’ll figure out a new plan. Together.”

The last I could see of Ellen was her head nodding jerkily up and down as the door crashed closed behind me.

I was out of the elevator, heading for the parking lot, ready to call Lou—wanting to hear her voice, ready to not think about the near miss of the blackmail photos and the money I still owed our boss—when the beer spiller caught my eye. She’d taken my seat at the bar and ordered a bottle of wine, which she was making quick work of. Her soaked friend was nowhere to be found.