“That’s her,” Joe said in a low voice, indicating a lone woman seated at a table in the corner of the covered patio.

The agent was dressed in a black knit tank top and white jeans. Letty was surprised to note that Vikki Hill looked younger than the photo Zoey texted from the diner, maybe early forties? Her sunglasses were pushed up into her dark, shoulder-length hair. Her skin was coffee colored, in contrast to the vivid red lipstick she wore. She was studying the menu, but looked up as Joe and Letty approached.

“Agent Hill,” Joe started, as he pulled Letty’s chair away from the table.

“Just Vikki, please,” the agent corrected him. “Hi, Letty. Thanks for coming.” She gestured at the coffee carafe, but Letty shook her head. “I’ve been up since three, and I’ve already had enough caffeine.”

“How about some food?”

“Not hungry,” Letty said.

“You sure? The bureau is buying. I’ve already eaten. Shrimp for breakfast! Crazy, huh? I could get used to being in Florida this time of year.”

“You probably wouldn’t like it in July, though,” Joe said.

“I don’t like July, anywhere,” Agent Hill said.

Jittery from all the coffee, Letty kept looking around the room.

“It’s just me,” Vikki Hill said, noticing her unease. “No backup agents, no plainclothes cops dressed as waiters or other tourists or hidden cameras. Just me. So, I understand Joe here has filled you in on what’s going on?”

“He tells me Evan Wingfield hired you to kill me. Right?”

“Well, not me personally. You know Wingfield pretty well, worked for him, dated him, so you probably realize he doesn’t really have a very high opinion of women. I mean, he likes them for some things, but he doesn’t really trust them to do the heavy lifting, if you get my drift. He actually wants me to act as a sort of broker, to find him someone else to kill you.”

Letty swallowed hard. Her head was throbbing and she felt sick. She took a tiny sip of water.

“No offense, or anything,” she said finally. “But I find all of this hard to believe. Even for Evan Wingfield.”

Agent Hill nodded. “I get it.”

She placed her phone on the table, studied the screen, and paused before tapping an icon. “This is a recording of a conversation I had with Evan Wingfield last week. Remember, he thinks I’m just a greedy, crooked city housing inspector.”

The recording quality wasn’t stellar. It sounded tinny, with a bit of echo, but Letty recognized Evan’s voice instantly.

“Listen, ah, there’s something I need you to do for me.”

“What’s that?” It was a woman’s voice.