CYNTHIA SWEPT INTO the chic restaurant on the arm of Neville Percivald. Fingers crossed, she glanced around and was relieved to see that Agnes hadn’t let her down. There she was, in a cozy corner with Mr. Percivald senior.

A glance under her lashes showed Neville’s face reddening as he took an instinctive step back toward the door. But not quickly enough for the tuxedoed maître d’, who bustled forward with an ingratiating smile. “Ah, Mr. Percivald, such a pleasure.” His heavy French accent made music of the three syllables of Neville’s last name, and brought his stepfather’s head up.

“My boy!” the older man boomed. “What a surprise. Come and join us.”

Neville’s face darkened even more as every head in the intimate restaurant turned his way. “Bloody man should have been the town crier. Sorry about this.”

“It’s all right, really,” Cynthia murmured. He had no idea how all right it was. He’d shown up in a limo, telling her he didn’t want to drink and drive, but in reality she got the feeling he didn’t want his hands or eyes otherwise occupied when he had her in a small, private space.

With overt courtesy, he’d fixed her shawl around her shoulders, copping a discreet feel as he did so. Then he grabbed her seat belt before she got to it and practically made full body contact while snapping it home. If this wasn’t a top -secret FBI mission, she would have belted him with her purse.

But since this was a night for snooping, she’d giggled and batted his hands away as coyly as she knew how.

With barely hidden annoyance, Neville agreed that he’d be delighted to join his stepdad on a double date. As Cynthia followed the maître d’ to the table, she heard Neville muttering behind her, and snatches came through loud and clear: “Belongs in a Brighton carny…old fart…ruined everything…sod off…”

She bit the inside of her lip to stop herself from smirking, then smiled with real pleasure as Neville’s stepfather rose and kissed her cheek, insisting she sit beside him, which put her across the table from her date, who was now stuck beside Agnes.

Neville was so busy being put out that he hadn’t even noticed Agnes’s new look. His stepdad certainly had, though. He kept staring at her with an expression of confusion and disappointment on his face, as though she’d let him down somehow.

What was that all about? The woman knocked herself out to look terrific, and he was disappointed?

If Cynthia had ever in her life thought she understood men, she now knew she’d been completely wrong. Even though she was a woman who’d spent her life totally baffled by the opposite sex, she still found his behavior odd.

And the pitiful look Agnes sent her way just about broke her heart. Cynthia had tried to help and it appeared she’d only made things worse.

An awkward silence fell over the table, broken by the waiter taking predinner cocktail orders. Both Agnes and her date were already sipping martinis. Neville asked for the same, and even though she wasn’t much of a drinker and had never tried a martini, Cyn asked for one, as well. She was too busy trying to work out what was going on between George Percivald and Agnes to worry about drink orders.

She’d talked it over with Jake, and he was certain George Percivald had run a clean, honest business. The drug rumors had started after his stepson took the helm. It would be so nice for Agnes to get her heart’s desire, and there might come a day very soon when George would want her support. It couldn’t be much fun to discover your stepson was a criminal.

When Cynthia’s cocktail arrived, it looked awfully sophisticated, chilly and clear as a diamond, with a bright green olive on a fancy silver stick. Then she sipped the sophisticated drink and wondered if Neville had found out about her and slipped poison into it. The martini burned in her throat and brought tears to her eyes. Grabbing her water glass, she took a huge gulp and tried to get her breath back.

“They’re a little dry,” Mr. Percivald said.

Dry? The thing was pure liquid alcohol. Blech. “I should have had it shaken, not stirred,” she joked weakly.

Agnes didn’t seem to be having any trouble; she was deeply into her second martini, drawing sad little patterns in the glass with her olive. George was keeping pace.

Neville downed his in a swallow and motioned for another round. Cynthia felt as if she were sharing a table with three escapees from the Betty Ford Clinic.

But it gave her an idea. Tough investigators drank their investigatees under the table all the time in the movies. If she could figure out a way to pretend to keep pace, while ditching her disgusting drinks, she could pry all kinds of information out of Neville.

Plus, she had to remember Plan B, which was to bolster Agnes’s image in front of her “old friend.”

Since her companions were a long way from blotto, she decided to proceed with Plan B. “I hear a lot of movie stars come to this place when they’re in town,” she began brightly. “Which reminds me, Agnes. Did I tell you that Michael told me you look like Cameron Diaz in The Holiday? I think maybe he has a crush on you.”

“Michael from today?” She wasn’t surprised Agnes wanted clarification. Michael was happily cohabitating with a male stripper.

“He sure likes your new look.” That part at least was true.

“Hmm,” said Mr. P., and took a gulp of martini.

“Hmm-mmm,” added Agnes, and took a sip of her own.

Cynthia couldn’t stand it. How could the man not notice? And Agnes was in love with him. This was her best chance at making him really see her. “Don’t you think Agnes looks beautiful, Mr. Percivald?”

“I think she looked fine before,” he said grimly, then forced a smile. “And you must call me George, my dear.” He put a hand to Cynthia’s knee and gave it a squeeze.

Oh, she was so mad she could spit. He was flirting with her while his date just sat there miserable and getting plastered.

Agnes raised her head, two bright spots of color on her cheeks. “He likes his young hotties to look beautiful. Old Agnes he just wants plain and dull. Like an old couch with broken springs.”

“Now, Agnes, that’s not—”

“Did he bring you flowers?” Agnes interrupted, staring at Cynthia owlishly and jerking her thumb in Neville’s direction.

“Yes. A dozen white roses.” They’d creeped her out a little.

“I got a teapot. See what I mean? Roses for the hottie, a teapot for the old couch.”

“Agnes—” George gazed at her empty glass in alarm “—I think you’ve had enough—”

“You’re damned right I’ve had enough. I am a woman. I have a woman’s needs. And you,” she finished grandly, “are an old patoot.”

You go, girl. Cynthia felt a bit like a female Dr. Frankenstein. Even though George Percivald was staring at Agnes as if she were some horrible creation, Cynthia knew she was witnessing the birth of Agnes the woman. At last. She might find that her hopeless infatuation with George was just that: hopeless. Just as Cynthia had found Walter was not the man for her. But she’d be stronger for the knowledge, and able to start looking around for a real man. The right man.

A man like Jake.

With a pang, Cynthia knew that Jake was the right man for her. And face it, her own infatuation was just as hopeless. The FBI agent was just passing time, playing sex games with her. As soon as the Oceanic investigation was closed, he’d be on his way to another assignment and another…hottie.

She waited for Agnes to rise and sweep majestically out of the restaurant; in fact, it felt as though all three of them were waiting. But Agnes hadn’t progressed that far yet on her journey to female empowerment. She just dropped her head on her hand and ate her olive.

“I brought you a teapot from the new line of Chintzware I picked up this trip,” George said feebly, a baffled expression creasing his forehead.

“Do you take teapots to your hotties?” Agnes demanded.

He rubbed his silver mustache. “No, I—wait just a minute. I don’t have any hotties.”

“Hah.” Agnes straightened and assumed a hearty British accent. “Hannah’s simply become too clingy, Agnes. I don’t know what to do. She’s talking about children. At my age!” George Percivald’s face deepened in hue, and Cynthia had to stifle a giggle. Where had Agnes been hiding her talent for mimicry? She sounded just like him. “And as for Sarah, oh my dear, the girl’s insatiable. She’s wearing me out.”

“I’m sure I never spoke to you like that.”

“You did. I was only Agnes, the old comfy couch. Recipient of teapots.” She stabbed her little martini-olive sword in his direction. “I don’t even drink tea. I like coffee.”

“Well, I’m sorry. From now on, I’ll keep my Chintzware and my…”

“Chintzware?” Agnes suggested softly, helping him out.

A reluctant grin tilted his mustache in a most attractive way. “Touché. I’ll keep all my Chintzware, both china and female, out of your life.”

“You’d do better to keep it out of your own life. Find someone your own age.” Agnes gasped and blushed, looking truly distressed. “I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t you?” George said softly, staring at her as if he’d never really seen her before.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t expect…” Tears started to form in her eyes, and what boldness she hadn’t been able to achieve earlier, embarrassment now did; she rose abruptly from her seat and dashed for the door.

“Agnes, wait!” And with a muttered “excuse me,” George Percivald was out of his own chair and dodging tables to run after her.

Well, it hadn’t gone exactly the way she’d planned, but Cynthia had high hopes for the success of Plan B. Unfortunately, it seemed to have played havoc with Plan A, and worst of all, the abrupt departure of George and Agnes had left her alone with Neville.

She glanced up to find him markedly more cheerful. “I do apologize, my dear. Father’s always been theatrical. I hope the commotion hasn’t spoiled your appetite?”

“No. No.” Yes. Yes!

JAKE STOMPED BACK to his vehicle, fuming. Why the hell couldn’t Cyn, just once, just one damn time, do what he asked?

Just say no. That’s all she had to do. Refuse a date with Neville. But no. He’d watched a limo arrive at her door, and the pantywaist had tripped up to her door with a fancy florist’s box. Jake would bet his pension there were roses in there. The guy had no imagination.

Except in his perverted sex life.

Jake should have warned Cyn about Neville’s membership in BDSM clubs, but he’d been afraid it would turn her on. She might do a damn good job of playing the innocent, but he was beginning to think his first assessment of her was the correct one. She was a wildcat dressed in kitten’s clothing.

He’d been a fool to jump into his car and follow them to this restaurant. He’d almost left when he peered through the window the first time and saw her with Percivald’s stepfather and a date; at least Cynthia had been smart enough to organize a chaperon.

Jake had almost gone home. Good thing he’d decided to hang around awhile. He’d just witnessed the other woman storm out of the restaurant with Father of the Pantywaist trotting behind her. Sensing trouble, Jake had drawn his weapon and exited his vehicle, ready for God knows what.

But before he had crossed the street, the old guy had his arms around the older woman and was kissing the life out of her. Give the old guy credit, he was smooth. The pair of them were inside a silver Jaguar right now, steaming up the windows like a pair of teens.

They were probably a hell of a lot warmer than he was. He took another peek in the window and watched Cynthia and Neville chatting over the menu, warm and cozy while he froze his butt off.

He stomped back to his car, picked up a newspaper he’d already read this morning, and tried not to remember he was starving. It should be him sitting across from Cynthia making goo-goo eyes. Damn it, he wasn’t just worried about her safety. He was jealous. He wanted Cynthia to have eyes for no one but him. Dates with no one but him.

He should have stuck a wire on her. If he’d started on it early enough in the day, he could have got authorization. But he hadn’t, because he’d believed she’d cancel her date. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been clear. He’d as good as ordered her to cancel.

If she were a rogue agent she could be dealt with, but what did you do with a rogue volunteer? He had had it.

He was sorely tempted to go in there right now and drag her ass out of that restaurant. But years of training and discipline kicked in. He wouldn’t compromise this investigation—not even for Cynthia. He’d just wring her neck when he got her alone, then he’d pull her out of Oceanic.

And in the meantime, what was he supposed to do? She was safe enough in the restaurant, but when Percivald had her in the back of a limo, who knew what he might try? He was possibly a dangerous criminal and Cyn wasn’t trained to handle any kind of situation he might put her in. What if he took her to one of his pervs-only clubs? Jake would have a hell of a time getting her out. If she was fool enough to go back to his place, she could be in worse danger.

He tapped the frigid steering wheel in frustration. Damn. He had to get her out of there now. He reached for his phone.

Cyn had just finished ordering a meal she didn’t want when the maître d’ appeared at her side. “Excuse me, madame, but are you Cynthia Baxter?” At her puzzled nod, he said, “There is a telephone call for you.”

“Telephone call?” She stared blankly. Agnes. Her friend was probably sobbing somewhere, in need of rescue. She hadn’t called Cyn’s cell as she hadn’t wanted Neville to overhear them. Cynthia excused herself to Neville, who once again appeared annoyed, and followed the Frenchman. A phone was tucked discreetly at the end of the bar, and when she said “Hello,” a familiar voice answered her.

“You need to go home right now.”

She was outraged. It wasn’t a distraught Agnes, it was Jake, sounding furious. “I do not,” she whispered back. “How dare you follow me?”

“There’s a B and E at your place. The alarm’s disturbing the whole neighborhood.”

“What? When did this happen?”

“About five minutes from now. Go.”

“Don’t you even—” He hung up before she finished the sentence.

For a moment she just stood there, staring at the colorful array of bottles behind the bar. What if she ignored Jake? How long would it take till he gave up and turned off her alarm? Which she was certain he could do.

But she knew the answer. He’d let that thing blare out into the quiet neighborhood for as long as it took. The police would come, she’d have to deal with the security company, her neighbors would be upset. Her jaw ached and she realized she was clenching her teeth. After this case was over, she had a feeling she’d need dental surgery.

She had no choice. Jake had bullied her into bailing out of her date. It didn’t matter that five minutes ago she’d been racking her brain for an excuse to leave early. The only thing that mattered was Special Agent Jake Wheeler was a high-handed ass.

If he thought he was going to get away with this, he was about to find out he had made a very significant error in judgment.

She stalked back to the table, fury propelling her like a hand at her back. “I’m sorry, Neville,” she said through gritted teeth, “I have to go. My house alarm’s been set off.”

“Oh, no. A false alarm, I hope.”

“So do I.”

“Is there no one else who could—”

“No. It’s a new system and I didn’t want to burden my neighbors.” Especially since one of her neighbors had set the thing off in the first place. “Please don’t get up.” She held up a hand as he rose. “I’ll catch a cab.”

“Nonsense, my dear. Of course I’ll see you home.”

“All right. I’m so sorry I ruined your evening.”

“Not at all,” he said politely, as he called for the bill.

During the limo ride back to her house, she apologized again. “You didn’t even get any dinner.”

“That’s all right. I’ll stop off on my way home for a little nibble. I’ll have to take you there sometime. I think a girl of your appetites, might find it invigorating.”

Appetites? What did he mean? Drugs? If she could find out more about his illicit drug hangouts, that could be a big help in cracking this case.

“What sort of appetites?” she asked softly, trying to look eager, even though Neville was sitting so close to her she felt claustrophobic.

“Shall I tell you?” The pale blue eyes held a peculiar light. “Sometimes people go there when they’ve been very, very naughty.” He traced a finger along her shoulder. “Are you ever naughty, Cynthia? So naughty you have to be spanked?”

“Is that what they do at this club? Spank people?” she asked faintly. There’d been something along those lines in “Erotically Advanced, and all those books with the word Shades in the title,” but those red cheeks in the pictures had looked uncomfortable rather than erotic.

“That’s for beginners.” Beginners? She crossed her legs and edged closer to the door. “For the more sophisticated, there are certain refinements. There are special rooms where we play games. Intimate games. I’d love to take you there.” His voice was getting husky.

IF SHE’D HAD ANY DOUBTS about whether Jake really would break into her house, they were put to rest as the limo turned onto her street. The blaring noise of the alarm put her teeth on edge. As the limo drove along, all the curtains on her block looked as if they had Tourette’s syndrome.

A squad car sat outside her house, its lights flashing. Jake, naturally, had his head stuck in the window, talking to the driver.

“Well, here I am. Home,” she said brightly, reaching for the door handle.

Neville grabbed her and plastered his wet, fishy lips to hers. She opened her mouth to cry out with shock and disgust, and he stuffed his tongue in her mouth. She grabbed his shoulders to shove him off her, wedged her knee between his to try and flatten his family jewels.

The door swung open and she stared up into Jake’s rigid face.

With a mighty shove against Neville’s shoulders, she managed to break the suction cup hold he had on her as she dragged herself out of the limo.

Completely disgusted with every human being ever born with a penis, she stalked past the squad car, unlocked her door and disabled the alarm. In the sudden silence, she heard the echo of the shrill siren. Her neighbors would be complaining for weeks—just another grudge she could hold against her newest, and most loathsome, neighbor.

A uniformed officer appeared at her side. “I did a walk around the outside, ma’am, and it looks like you left an upstairs window open. A breeze probably set off a sensor.”

She knew perfectly well there hadn’t been an open window upstairs when she left the house, but she thanked him anyway.

“Don’t thank me. You’ll be getting a bill. We had to start charging for false alarms.”

Behind the young officer’s shoulder, she saw Jake shrug his shoulders infinitesimally. She hoped he’d be as blasé when she presented him with the bill. Still, she was relieved he’d made it look like her carelessness had set off the alarm, rather than letting her geriatric neighbors worry about a B and E in their safe neighborhood.

“I’ll walk through the interior of the house with you, ma’am, just to make sure everything’s all right.”

“Thank you, Officer.” She turned to Neville, who had joined the throng on her doorstep. “I’m so sorry, Neville.” She extended her hand and he had no choice but to shake it. “I’ll see you at the office Monday.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to come in with you? You can’t be too careful.”

“Perfectly sure. Thank you again. I’m sorry our evening was spoiled.” She refused to look in Jake’s direction.

And surprise, surprise. No burglars lay in wait in her home. Nothing had been stolen, broken or otherwise disturbed except her upstairs window and her temper. The latter was shredded.

She wasn’t a bit surprised that Jake tagged along on the house tour, or that the young officer accepted him as though he had every right to be there.

Jake seemed to be in as towering a temper as she was herself. Which just made her madder.

They waited until the nice young officer left, apologizing that he’d have to send a bill, then she slammed the door.

Her finger was raised and her mouth was open to start shouting when she turned and found Jake in the identical posture.

“You’re off the case.”

“How dare you interfere— What?” she shrieked, interrupting herself as his words hit home.

“I said,” his voice was not raised, but all the more menacing as he repeated, “you’re off the case.”

“Don’t push me, mister. I have a legitimate job. You can’t take it away.”

“Yes,” he said simply. “I can.”

“Don’t you threaten me. This isn’t about work, it’s about power. You’re a megalomaniac—you can’t stand it if you’re not in control of every little thing I do. Well, forget it. I’m my own woman.”

“You’re anybody’s woman!”

A cold, sick feeling swamped her stomach. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play the innocent. Last night it was me, tonight you’re slobbering all over that prissy piece of work in the limo and tomorrow night some other poor bastard will be getting tied into knots.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Check your calendar. You’ve got a date at some Italian place.”

He must be referring to her date with Walter. “But that’s just—”

“Save it!” Jake held up his hands. “I don’t care who it is. I’m taking my ball and bat and going home. My first impression of you was right. You’re so wild you need a cage, and I’m sick of playing lion tamer. Go knock yourself out with your Nevilles and your Walters and whoever the hell else you’re stringing along. As of this moment you and I are through, and the FBI thanks you for your efforts, but they are no longer necessary. Goodbye, Cyn.”

She heard the front door bang, and stood there, stunned. She grabbed the banister and sank down on the second stair, then slowly dropped her head to her knees.

He’d dumped her.

Jake had just dumped her.

And unless she was mistaken, he’d dumped her for being a slut. He was the second man she’d ever slept with, and in her fantasy world she’d dreamed that he’d be the last, that he might actually return her love. That they had a shot at a long and happy future together.

Sure didn’t look like that was going to happen.

In her mind, she replayed his bitter words. He’d sounded so angry, so hurt. So jealous. Was it possible? Could he be jealous? Her eyes filled with tears.

She’d finally found everything she ever wanted in life. An exciting career, a man she loved. Best of all, she’d found herself—the woman who’d been hiding all those years. Now it looked as if she’d lost the first two in one miserable evening.