“Arthritis, you ninny. Old people get arthritis when it rains. Never had it so bad before, but this dang steel hip isn’t all healed over yet…” She made an impatient sound and waved him away. “I got better things to do than to stand here gabbing. I bet everything I own smells like it’s been barbecued.”

Steve stood in the shower and let the water beat against him. He shook his head like a dog in a rainstorm and ordered his body to wake up. Firebomb or not, this was Daisy’s fun day, and he intended to be downstairs making French toast when Daisy came back from jogging. He couldn’t remember if he’d washed his hair, so he washed it again.

Daisy had been assigned twenty-four-hour protection. Steve thought about the cop who had accompanied Daisy on her jog, Officer Schmidt. The man had been on duty all night. Steve felt a little better knowing the poor guy was undoubtedly in more agony than he was. He toweled off, dressed in khaki shorts and a black T-shirt, and padded down to the kitchen.

He had the table set and the French bread sliced when Daisy returned. She’d tied her hair back into a ponytail and her face was free of makeup, slightly flushed, glowing with health and a sheen of perspiration. Steve felt a ridiculous stab of guilt over his body’s instant and soon-to-be-obvious reaction to a woman who could easily be mistaken for sixteen. Schmidt was just five steps behind her, breathing hard. So much for my fantasy life, Steve thought, handing Daisy a glass of orange juice.

He offered juice to the cop, but the man waved it away. Steve saw his eyes slide to the coffee brewing on the counter. “Coffee?”

The answer was an affirmative grunt. The cop was wearing jeans and running shoes and a T-shirt that was soaked through. He had his gun and a walkie-talkie clipped to his belt. “No one told me I was going to have to run a damn marathon at five in the morning,” he managed between breaths.

Daisy sipped her orange juice. “Usually Elsie runs with me,” she gleefully lied, “but I thought I’d give her the morning off since she was up so late doing laundry last night.”

“The old lady?” That elicited another grunt. “You’re kidding, right?”

Steve gave him the coffee and clapped a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “The Roach trial’s only a month away.”

“I’ll never make it.”

There were light steps on the stairs, and Elsie came into the kitchen. “Smelled the coffee,” she said. She looked over Steve’s shoulder. “French toast? Isn’t that a nice treat on a Sunday morning.” Her eyes fastened on the cop at the table. “What happened to him?”

“Went jogging with Daisy,” Steve said.

Elsie made a derisive sound. “They don’t make cops like they used to.”