It felt good to be cherished, and heck, maybe I should be honored he'd been jealous.

Jaconetti didn't usually expend this much emotion on me or us. We usually let pa.s.sion rule and emotion be d.a.m.ned. Mostly because we were cowards, but at this moment, there was no hiding feelings, or raw emotion, and it was scary and mind-boggling.

And I liked it.

Werner raised his chin and firmed his spine, indicating that he'd taken responsibility as my rescuer, his pride in the role clear. "Mad's in protective custody," he said. "So now that she has her things, you can all go home secure in the knowledge that she's spending the night protected."

Nick's chin went up, too. "Are you staying?"

"It's my job."

I touched Nick's chin and turned his face my way. "I'll be safe here."

"Well, dammit, ladybug, I let you down. I can protect you."

"You could if she wasn't under arrest and being extradited to New York in the morning."

Nick ran his hand through his hair. "I'd like to ride along in the morning, Detective, if you don't mind?"

Werner became a bit more of a hero in my eyes. "Sure. We'll be leaving at seven."

"I'll be here."

"I'll stay and run the shop," Aunt Fiona said.

"Bless you," I said, hugging her.

My father hooked an arm around my neck. "And whatever I'm doing, I'll also be pacing until you're back, safe."

"Don't worry, Harry, when you're not teaching, I'll keep you busy," Aunt Fee promised.

Nick caught my eye at that, and I tried hard to look noncommittal.

So, now we all knew what Aunt Fiona and my father didn't know-they were a couple; they just didn't know it yet-especially not my father, whose stubborn denial had been known to last for years.

After Nick and my family left, Billings returned with enough Dos Equis and Mexican food to feed the entire night shift.

By two A.M., however, Werner and I were too tired to do anything but nod, so he took my air mattress to a cell, attached the bicycle pump thingy, and blew it up.

After I changed into my jammies and returned to my unlocked cell, I saw that Werner had changed into sweats and socks, and blown up another mattress in the cell adjoining mine.

"I keep overnight provisions, here," he said. "In case."

"So I'm not the first perp you feel the need to keep this close an eye on?"

"Sorry about putting you in a cell." He indicated the squad room and mouthed, "Better than us alone in my office."

I rolled my eyes. "Heaven forbid. The town would never stop talking about it. Dolly might have a coronary with a piece of gossip that juicy."

Werner came to the bars between us and wrapped his hand around one bar on each side of his face. Son of a st.i.tch, did that make him look vulnerable. He curled a come hither finger my way.

I went and struck the same pose, my hands below his on the bars. "What?" I whispered.

"No matter what happens tomorrow, promise me you'll be careful."

I looked him in the eyes and knew for once he was being serious. "I will."

Werner nodded, turned around, and got comfortable on his mattress.

"Thanks," he said softly.

I thought we'd both toss and turn half the night, but in seconds, Werner was out cold, making those baby porker noises I remembered.

Some guard.

The next thing I knew, he was shaking my shoulder, telling me it was my turn to shower.

Evidently, the night crew cleaned the showers to a power shine for me. I found two guards outside and brand-new yellow plush towels inside.

Afterward, in Werner's office, with the door locked, I changed into my "reading of the will outfit," a long-sleeved, square-necked Valentino, circa 1940. I complimented the dress with a pair of Andre Perugia's 1950s pumps, in black, cream, and gold suede, that Perugia himself said "celebrate the Machine Age." Center top, they had rosette gears, a twisted heel, and black suede toenails.

I smiled, eyes full, looking down at them. The whimsy was my tribute to Dom, who had l.u.s.ted after these shoes for her own collection.

Now, of course, I wished I'd given them to her.

Hindsight and all that, a waste of energy, like guilt, and the kind of angst over that which cannot be changed.

More than one officer whistled when I exited Werner's office, dressed, made-up, and ready to go, then a minute later, Nick arrived and whistled, too.

"Right on time," Werner said to Nick, as he took my arm.

Talk about poking the tiger. But no, Nick didn't take it that way. He simply took my other arm.

Outside, Kyle and Eve sat waiting in Eve's car to follow us into the city. I should have known that neither of them would let me go through this without them.

My gaze moved between my two hunky escorts, and I wondered what I did to deserve the torture of two such good men vying for my attention, both of whom would protect me to the death.

Both of whom would be considered a great catch.

Both of whom, I would throw back, if I caught one.

Would I? Honestly?

Maybe I was too selfish to share my life.

Maybe after raising my sibs, starting when I was ten, and ending, well, never, I wanted some "me time" for a while.

Maybe if the right one asked . . .

Maybe I needed to see a shrink.

Forty-seven.

When you can't do something truly useful, you tend to vent the pent-up energy in something useless but available, like snappy dressing.

-LOIS MCMASTER BUJOLD The drive took several hours, because we got caught up in morning commuter traffic. But Nick got a phone call that seemed interesting from our end.

"Ladybug, good news. They exhumed Victor Pierpont's body. The special agent who looked into Victor's death just told me that Victor didn't die of cancer. The doctor who signed the death certificate has been picked up for questioning. Seems the ME thought there was no need for an autopsy. Victor'd had cancer and the medical examiner's office accepted the doctor's word.

"Now they're working on determining the exact cause of death."

I felt like I'd won a battle, however small, though I hadn't yet, not until Victor's killer was determined.

With Nick and Werner by my side, my extradition to the New York precinct nearest the Pierpont Theater became a mere formality. I never saw a cell or an orange jumpsuit, thank the fashion police.

The rhinestones on the gown proved that I hadn't been in possession of stolen diamonds after all.

All charges were dropped, yay for me, and too bad for the FBI contingent salivating over finding the missing diamonds. Nick looked pretty proud as he regarded his peers with an I-told-you-so smirk on his unG.o.dly handsome face.

When he picked me up and twirled me to celebrate, my heart pretty much went into overdrive, and I rather felt like sneaking him up the getaway tree for my own version of Nick at Night.

Of course, I often felt that way when it was entirely inappropriate and impossible to do anything about it.

We arrived at the DeLong house by ten that morning, Kyle and Eve going off on their own.

As the executor of Dom's will, I was expected to meet with a probate and estate administration attorney before the reading of the will to discuss my role and New York's estate administration process.

Attorney Xavier Yacovone arrived at eleven. I had the mother of all headaches by noon. I had no idea how daunting and time consuming would be my responsibilities as executor.

The good news: Attorney Yacovone had met with Dominique the week before her death, and he had some pretty big aces up his sleeve.

I wondered whether Dom had a death wish or a psychic gift of her own.

I took Nick and Werner into Dom's study and shut the door after I said good-bye to Attorney Yacovone. "Can you arrange to have a couple of FBI agents and plainclothes police present at the reading of the will at four o'clock?"

"That's highly irregular," Werner said.

"Why do you want them?" Nick asked.

"Let's just say that, hopefully, the will could shed some light on the murder investigations, Dom's and Victor's."

"Let me make a few calls," Nick said, leaving as Kyle came into the room.

Kyle, with Eve and I beside him, greeted the people who had been invited to the reading.

All hoping for a honking bequest, the Parasites arrived one by one: Quinny Veneble in a Chanel suit came alone. Ian DeLong in Armani, like he wasn't chasing me all over Mystick Falls last night, came in on the arm of Galina Lockhart in Balenciaga, and their love child, Ursula Uxbridge, the new hands-down hit of Diamond Sands, wearing Marc Jacobs.

Pierce Pierpont arrived wearing a six- thousand-dollar Brioni suit with at least a seven- karat single diamond set in chunky soft gold, the nearly pure stuff.

The thing about their expensive clothes was that the greedy vultures were expecting oodles of money from Dom's estate.

Evidently Zachary, the Wings deliveryman, and everyone who worked on Diamond Sands, had been invited. I didn't know half of the theater crew, but Kyle and Pierpont did.

There was also a large contingent of domestic help, which included Phoebe Muir, Dom's girl Friday; Kerri O'Day, her maid; Rainbow Joy, makeup artist/hairdresser; Higgins, butler/driver; and Zander Pollock, chef, and the lesser known-to me-household staff.

When two men in suits showed, Nick came over and introduced them to me and Kyle as lawyers in Yacovone's firm, but we knew they were FBI.

The police, three of them, simply nodded and walked in, no introductions necessary, though I recognized Buzz and Shinola from the forensics morgue. The cops separated and stood near the doorways while the Feds hung together.

Sure, I knew who put the peanuts in the glue used to bond the diamonds to Dominique's face, which is what killed her during her final curtain call. But my psychometric visions would mean nothing in a court of law.

Somehow, I had to get the facts out there during this afternoon's proceedings, and I didn't know if Attorney Yacovone had enough bombsh.e.l.ls in his a.r.s.enal to pull it off.

Forty-eight.

All I want is the best of everything and there's very little of that left.

-CECIL BEATON Attorney Yacovone began by introducing himself as an estate lawyer, and me as Dominique's executor, which meant that my duties were administrative. They began with Dom's death and would continue until the estate's a.s.sets had been distributed according to the will. His job would be seeing the will through probate.

That said, he began with the smaller bequests.

Some of the staff and theater people I didn't know got $10,000 each. Some seemed sincerely pleased and grateful, others looked and acted like they'd been gypped.

Some got nothing, and their att.i.tudes explained why.

Attorney Yacovone leafed through the will. "Now for this second section, most of the rest of the household staff, Ms. DeLong's personal staff, and the cast and crew of Diamond Sands can go . . . with the exception of Alfred Higgins, Pierce Pierpont, Phoebe Muir, and Rainbow Joy."

The attorney watched people file out, and he remained silent until the door closed. "Mr. Pierpont, Mr. Ian DeLong, and Mr. Kyle DeLong, this part of the will concerns you."

Ian grinned, the a.s.s, nodded at Galina, and stood at the side of the room toward the front.

Pierce Pierpont sat straighter.

Kyle's throat worked as he reached for Eve's hand. "My a.s.sistant is bringing this item of interest up on the computer, because we'll need it in a minute. All set, Jed?"

The paralegal nodded.