It was time to make his move and find out who she was, and more importantly, what could she tell him about Sarah? He stepped out from the shadows, flicked his flashlight on, the beam trained on the back of her head. “Security,” he yelled. “Get out of the pool.” She spun around, eyes wide, pupils dilating in fear, which gave him an instant boner. Her hands rose in an ineffectual attempt to cover her muff and her porn-star-sized jugs. Had to bite down hard on his back teeth to keep from laughing. Dumb bitch. He’d already looked at the goods and planned on having an even closer inspection before the night was done. “Move!” he bellowed, drawing his gun, making sure the light spilling from the lanterns glinted along the barrel. Visuals were always helpful in establishing control over a victim. “Hands in the air. Get out of the pool. Now.”

Her eyes got even wider. Her hands shot in the air so fast, it was almost comical. She scrambled out of the pool, small whimpering sounds escaping from her lips, which made him harder than hell. “State your name and your business,” he barked.

“My name’s . . . Harmony. Harmony Albright.” The words half-spoken, half-sobbed. “I work . . . for Paul Peterson.” Like that meant dickshit to him. “He’s Mick’s partner. Mick Talford. He asked me to pick up a cat.”

“His cat?”

“No. It belongs to his new assistant, but they needed to fly to New York.”

“New York?” His senses sharpened.

“Yes. An unexpected trip. Paul’s pissed off because there’s a lot to do. They’ve got a new movie coming out and I’m . . . I said I’d take care of the cat.”

“By swimming?” He leisurely let the beam of his flashlight travel the length of her body. “Nude? You have an odd idea of cat-sitting.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Please don’t tell him. I can’t afford to get fired—”

He snapped the flashlight up. The bright beam was trained on her face, which was drained of color underneath her California tan. “And his assistant’s name? The one he’s flying to New York with?”

Tears streamed down her face as words stumbled past quivering lips. “I . . . I don’t remember . . .”

“That’s too bad.” He cocked the gun.

“Wait a minute . . . Wait a minute . . . It’s, uh . . . It’s right on the edge of my—Rachel! Her name is Rachel. They needed to talk to some lawyer out there. I don’t remember her last name.”

“Rachel.” Eureka. He smiled. Glanced down at his watch. So the two-faced bitch was going to see Clarke to try to cut me free. Kevin shook his head. Over my dead body. He made a few quick calculations. If he moved fast enough, he could catch a red-eye to JFK. “Thank you, Harmony. You’ve been most helpful.”