“Trust her yet?” I asked quietly as soon as Ashley had disappeared around the corner with Jake.

My boss nodded. He was still tense, his shoulders tightly hunched, his teeth chewing away at the inside of his cheek. “I do,” he said slowly. “Couple things I can’t figure out, though. Where the hell is Mr. Maxwell? And what do they want from her? And are they all playing on the same team?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Listen, one thing I still haven’t told her or you about was my little meeting with Simon after I got off the phone with you.” I gave him the quick rundown. “What do you think?”

He furrowed his brow. “To me, it sounds like he wants to make a play at something. How much did she say was in those accounts? Over thirty million?”

“More than enough to betray your employers over. He’d definitely know about it, too, if he’s in charge of the operation.”

“Agreed. Some men might even see the risk of getting tagged by the Russians or the Mexicans as worthwhile with that kind of capital on the line.”

“Hell, in the right country, you could buy your own small army for that kind of money, still have plenty leftover to retire in nothing but rum and women for the rest of your life.”

Peter gave me a wry smile. “You put it that way, doesn’t sound so bad.”

I leaned back in my too-small chair, the idea of that kind of filthy lucre dancing around in my mind for the briefest of moments.

“You trust him?” Peter asked.

I shook my head. “Fuck no. He was just a drinking buddy. Never worked a day with him.”

My boss leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. He looked me up and down briefly before his eyes finally settled on mine. I could see, behind his eyes, he was calculating whether or not I was up to this. Worrying about whether or not I’d developed feelings for Ashley. He knew my past. It had shown up in the papers after all, been the reason he’d come down to find me in the jungles and on the streets of Brazil.

“Already know what you’re going to say, boss.”

“How close to this are you, Frank?”

“Close enough,” I admitted with a shrug. “But not too close. I promise you. I’m the best man for this job. You know that.”

He nodded. “Sure your emotions won’t get in the way?”

“My emotions?”

“I’m not blind or stupid. I can damn well see that you care about her.”

I nodded. He was right. I did care about her. I couldn’t deny that. She’d started off as some little spoiled brat to me, but something about her had grown on me. But was it something more than just an attachment, an attraction? I didn’t know. But there was one thing I was positive about: I was the best man for the job.

“I’ll admit,” I began slowly, “if this had been a year ago, you’d have been right about it being an issue. I would’ve backed myself off, without you even having to tell me twice. The idea of being attached to a client like this, on any level beyond professional, that wouldn’t have worked for me. But since I’ve been here, working with you guys on stuff like the dust up from Richard and Jessica’s case a few months ago, I started to realize sometimes it’s a good thing to have emotions. To help people for more than just a paycheck.” I paused and licked my lips.

Peter nodded for me continue.

“It’s like back when I was in the service, you know, over in Iraq? Eventually, it was all about the mission, and the guy beside you. And you’d do anything you had to in order to make sure you both came home alive. And now, well, now it’s about the mission and the pack. I’m starting to realize that the attachment part of it, that it actually makes me stronger, not weaker.”

Peter gave me a slight smile, one that began and stopped at one corner of his lips. “Good,” was all he said.

We sat there for a moment longer. When it was clear the boss didn’t have anything else to say, I stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” I said, “I gotta get the client to a safe home.”

“Take a light shift tonight,” Peter said to my back as I left his office. “Only a couple hours. Need you fresh when you meet the sheriff in the morning.”

I gave a wave of acknowledgment as I headed back to my office to grab my sidearm and coat, stifling a yawn along the way. He was right. I was beat. Even though it was only ten, I was beat. Not only had I helped to track down a burglar, I’d also cleaned a cabin, and been in it while it was shot up.

I headed back to my office and collected Ashley, then popped my head back into Jake’s office and got my keys from him.

“Aw man,” he said, tossing them to me. “Figured you might lemme keep the old girl for the night.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I joked as I caught them from the air. “Did Hell freeze over and swine learn to soar while we were down in Durango today?”

“Ha. Ha.”

As we headed out the door, we heard the ruckus of the office closing up for the night. The opening and shutting of desk drawers, the electronic chimes of PCs being shutdown, lights being flicked off. Jake would be along shortly, I knew. Hopefully, Peter would be headed home for the evening also. He was the only one of us besides Richard with any kind of family, and I knew the boss needed to be home at least some of the time.

“She’s beautiful, by the way,” Ashley said, startling me a little as we climbed into the Mustang.

“What’s that? Who?”

She ran her hand over the leather interior and smiled in appreciation. “Your car. What’s her name?”

I chuckled. “Why do you think I’d have named her?”

“Well, I thought that’s what guys did. You’ve never named a car before? Even I named my first car.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked as I pulled out of the lot and started for home, the classic engine roaring, the tires gripping as we zipped out through the Rock. I spun the wheel, pointed it for the two-bedroom condo I called home with Matt. “What’d you name your first car?”

“Herbie.”

“Like Herbie the Love Bug?” I chuckled. “Amateur.”

“Well, we can’t all be super original like you and not name a car. Come on, she deserves a name. What would you name it? Now? If you had to, I mean.”

“If I had to?” I paused and thought about my choices for a moment. Before I realized it, my choice just spilled out of my mouth. “How about Ashley?”

She laughed. “The Ashley? Pandering to the audience a little, aren’t you?”

“Well, she’s a good, dependable car. Got a good pedigree, a good engine. Why not? Ashley’s as good a name as any.”

“I just don’t think you really need to name it after me, that’s all.”

“After you?” I asked as I pulled onto a side road. “Who said I was naming it after you? A little self-centered, don’t you think?”

“Fine, fine. You name it whatever you want.”

We continued on our way, bantering back and forth.

What I didn’t tell her was that I’d lied. The Mustang did have a name.

Meredith.