Code Yellow So, Victoria, you saying Nadia fell for a customer?" I said. "Won't they toss her out of the B-girls' union for that?"

Victoria nibbled at a croissant. Two hundred sixty calories and nine grams of saturated fat, according to the little card. Starbucks on Calle Ocho. It seemed like a crime. We should be at Versailles, the iconic Cuban restaurant with the French name and succulent pastelitos de guayaba. But it was only 6:15 a.m., and Versailles opens at eight o'clock.

"Nadia wanted to leave the club to be with her new boyfriend, but Gorev wouldn't let her. He'd kept her passport and withheld a portion of her wages. Claimed she couldn't quit until she worked there a year."

"Could be a motive for robbery and murder."

"Jeez, Jake, we'll never get her back by saying that."

"I'm just thinking out loud."

"Our pitch is, 'You fired in self-defense. No jury would ever convict you. No jury would even hear the case if the judge granted you immunity under Stand Your Ground.'"

"It's a good pitch. Let's see if she swings at it."

I chomped into the bacon-and-gouda breakfast sandwich. Three hundred fifty calories, seven grams of saturated fat.

"And she's with this man who asked her to marry him?" I asked.

"Apparently."

"But Elena won't say where they are?"

"Not directly. But she implied it's in another state. He was a tourist Nadia picked up and brought to the club. Then, instead of disappearing at the end of the night, she stayed with him all weekend and love blossomed."

"I'm touched." I took a hit of my coffee. Verona dark roast. Black and strong. "Any clues as to what he does, any convention he might have been attending?"

"Only that he owns his own business and maybe it's not doing so well."

"Don't tell me the B-girl got conned by a mark. The seductress falls for a flimflam artist."

"You're being a tad cynical, Jake."

"You're a hot woman, but you've been in a relationship for several years, so maybe you don't know how many phonies are out there."

She gave me a look and went back to rabbit-nibbling her croissant.

"What?" I said.

"I have to give you a Code Yellow."

"The hell is that?"

"You've been flirting with me."

"Have not."

"I've been fending off men since I was fifteen, so I know."

"Oh, brother. You think you're gonna have to go all Charlton Heston on me?"

She didn't get the reference, but then she was too young.

"Planet of the Apes," I said. "Take your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty ape!"

"You sound like a man who's heard it before."

"What did I do besides say you were hot?"

"That was quite enough."

"Okay, I take it back. You're not hot. You're not even lukewarm."

"Good. So it's agreed. You're not hitting on me?"

"Draw up a contract if you want."

"I'll take your word for it. You're not attracted to me."

I did my best to sound convincing. "Not even on a rainy Monday night. Sorry, kiddo, but you're not my type."

"Which is?"

"I don't know. The barista over there making the caramel Frappuccinos."

"The Goth teenage girl with tattoos on her neck?"

"Sure. And biker chicks with big boobs and muffin tops spilling over their short-shorts. And women who wear stretch tights to the supermarket, showing their camel toes in the frozen food section."

"Really?"

"And women under indictment who jump bail. Anything but an Ivy League lawyer who's . . ."

"Who's what, Jake?"

I let out a long, deep sigh. My shoulder ached. I couldn't close my right fist. I was dog-ass tired, and I'd been nailed by this sassy woman who I couldn't get out of my mind. She was so damn smart. Intuitive, too. Women, I have long believed, are the more evolved of the species and have attained some higher level of being. Men act as if we just crawled from the swamp, our webbed feet dripping brackish water as we waddle ashore, seeking to mate with a female or, lacking that, a warm patch of mud.

"Look, I'm not hitting on a woman who's in a committed relationship with my client," I said. "I'm not the least bit attracted to a woman who is totally unavailable. That would be stupid and self-defeating. You have nothing to worry about. Now, are we okay?"

"Thank you, Jake. Now, you should go home and get some sleep."

"Too late for that." I drained my Verona roast. "What kind of coffee does Solomon like?"

"Dark, just like you. Why?"

"Let's get one of those overpriced big ones to go. Plus a couple of scones, a slice of banana bread, and a sticky bun. Jail breakfast sucks. I've had it."

"That's very thoughtful, but it's not summer camp. We can't bring Steve a care package."

"I know the corrections officer who has the early shift at the front desk."

"He'll let us bring food?"

"She. And the answer is yes."

Victoria gave me a wicked smile. "Did you used to date her?"

"I always liked the way she frisked me. But it didn't work out."

"But she still does you favors. Speaks well of you, Jake."

"Aw, it's no big deal."

She seemed to think it over a moment and said, "You know what I like about you?"

"Nothing comes to mind."

"You're a better man than you think you are, Jake Lassiter."

-24-.

Nadia and the Feds (Part Four) One week before the Gorev shooting . . .

Office of the United States Attorney for the Southern District of Florida In Re: Investigation of South Beach Champagne Clubs and one "John Doe"

File No. 2014-73-B Statement of Nadia Delova (Continuation) July 7, 2014 (CONFIDENTIAL).

Q: [By AUSA Deborah Scolino] A technician will show you how the wire and recorder work, but first I have a few more questions.

A: [By Nadia Delova] Why am I not surprised?

Q: How did you get to the United States?

A: By airplane to New York.

Q: Aeroflot 100? Moscow to JFK.

A: I suppose, yes.

Q: Why that flight? Why not fly Transaero nonstop to Miami?

A: Nicolai Gorev books all the flights. I can ask him if important to you.

Q: Ms. Delova, I think you know the answer.

A: Nyet.

Q: All right. Let's keep going. Every Bar girl takes that same flight, correct?

A: Is nice plane. Leaves in morning, ten hours later, get in around noon New York time.

Q: Always two Bar girls on the same flight, but you never sit together. Why is that?

A: Again, Gorev would know.

Q: But you do not?

A: Is the way he arranges it.

Q: And when you get to New York, you don't take a connecting flight to Miami, do you?

A: Gorev has two men with van waiting outside Customs. We drive straight to Florida. No stops except for gas and food. Not even Disney World.

Q: Why drive? You're already at JFK. Wouldn't a connecting flight be much easier?

A: You ask me so many things I do not know.

Q: No, Ms. Delova. I ask you so many things you do not answer.

-25-.

Orange Is the New Solomon Victoria wore a navy-blue Zanella A-line skirt with matching Prada pumps. Steve-her life partner and law partner, as she told Elena just hours ago-wore jailhouse orange.

He was pale and had lost weight, so he looked even skinnier than usual. She was glad to see him gobbling the pastries. Notwithstanding Steve's early bluster about having spent a day or two behind bars for contempt, this was different. It was getting to him. Jail was no place for a civilian, and her heart ached for the man she loved.

"Thanks, Vic." He chomped into the banana bread. "Great surprise."

"You should thank Jake. It was his idea, and his pull got the contraband in."

Steve sipped his coffee, savoring it. Then he looked at Jake and said, "Hard night, Counselor?"