"So take it back in hand."

She shook her head. "Solberg wants ... spectacle."

I refrained from informing her that Solberg was an idiot. "It's your your wedding, Laney. You should-" I began, but she was shaking her head. wedding, Laney. You should-" I began, but she was shaking her head.

"It's not that. Please don't worry about that. I'm sorry I'm whiny. I just ... I just feel badly that I'm taking advantage of you. Hiding out here like a frickin' convict."

"Well ... you could deliver truckloads of cash to my front door."

"Would you take it?"

"Absolutely."

She laughed again. "I'll call the cartage company immediately."

"They're probably closed now. Better wait till morning."

"You're so practical."

"Yuh-huh," I said, and watched her wipe her nose with the back of her hand. "Show me the letter."

"Mac-"

"You want me to tell Solberg?"

"Oh, man, it would kill him."

"Exactly."

She sighed, then turned and trotted upstairs. Returning moments later, she handed me a business-sized envelope. Her expression was somber.

"Do you think I should wear gloves or something?" I asked.

"You're the detective."

"Psychologist," I corrected, and going to a drawer, came back with tongs and a pair of mismatched rubber gloves.

"Very professional," she said.

"CSI: L.A.," I said, and pinching the envelope with the tongs, put it on the counter. The handwriting was blocky and perfect. There was no return address. "Nice penmanship," I said.

"I was impressed, too, before I thought he might intend to kill me."

"How many letters have you gotten?"

"It's hard to say. I'm not exactly sure which ones are from him. There have been five that seem very similar. But I have other mail without signatures, too."

"When did they start?"

"Back in May. About one a month."

I glanced at the envelope again, finally read the address, and felt myself pale, felt the world slow like an unwinding top.

"They sent it here." My voice was almost entirely without inflection.

Hers was the same. "Yes."

"I didn't realize ... I mean, I thought you got it with your latest mail bundle. I ..." The floor beneath my feet felt oddly tilted. "So they know you're living here."

"I'm sorry."

"No. It's ..." I began, but suddenly I was shaking too hard to continue. My skin felt clammy and my stomach queasy.

A hundred ugly scenarios bloomed in my mind, and as I imagined men in turbans floating down on a sea of oversized envelopes, I made a beeline for the bathroom.

12.

Not every Prince Charming has a full head of hair.-Brainy Laney b.u.t.terfield, being brainy, and a little depressing "How long has she been sleeping?" Rivera's voice rumbled softly through my sluggish system. I was lying on my side in my own bed, with no idea what time it was. In fact, I was entirely uncertain of the day. I glanced toward the window. It was dark.

"Half an hour," Laney said. "Maybe more. I was worried. She was pretty upset before she fell asleep. I'm sorry to bother you."

"It'd be more of a bother to find your decaying bodies three days after the event."

"Sensitive," she said. "That's what I love about the L.A. Police Department."

"To protect and serve," he said, and she laughed. "Is this the letter?" I heard him move away, heard his volume lessen.

"Are you in love with her?" Elaine's voice was barely audible now.

My ears perked up. I glanced furtively toward the kitchen but was foiled by a couple of walls.

I could imagine him looking at her. "You a spy?"

She said something I didn't hear.

He answered. Also unheard.

I swung my feet quietly to the floor. Standing carefully, I stepped into the bathroom adjacent to the kitchen. Quiet as an Apache.

"She drives everyone everyone crazy, but that's not what I asked," Laney said. crazy, but that's not what I asked," Laney said.

"She takes too many idiotic risks."

"She's plucky."

"Plucky!" He snorted, then sighed. I could imagine him rubbing his eyes. Sometimes I seemed to make him tired. "I haven't gotten a full night's sleep since I met her over Bomstad's dead body. She's like a d.a.m.ned commando."

"Can I tell her you said that?"

"If you want to spend a night in lockup," Rivera said.

She laughed again. "There's no one more loyal."

"Or with a better a.s.s."

"Whoa," Laney said, but in that moment, Rivera peered around the corner. His face was inches from mine, his expression absolutely unsurprised.

"Did you hear that one, McMullen?"

"What?" I stumbled back a step, then stretched, awkward as h.e.l.l. "I just woke up. When did you get here?"

He chuckled and disappeared. I didn't have much choice but to follow him. He was already peering at the envelope on the counter when I arrived.

"Nice penmanship," he said. "I a.s.sume none of them have a return address."

"None that I can identify as his," Laney said.

"Are they all postmarked from L.A.?"

I felt myself pale again.

"The others were from Montana," Elaine said.

"Where you film?"

"We're actually in Idaho, but the border's just a few miles away."

"How many letters?"

"Five altogether, I think."

He nodded, then glanced at my hands. One was garbed in a pink rubber glove. One in blue. I was hardly surprised that I had fallen asleep with them on. As a teenager, I'd once slept still wearing my tuba. "That to eliminate fingerprints?" he asked.

"Maybe," I said, and he shook his head as he held the envelope up to the light.

I crowded closer as he pulled out the letter. The handwriting inside was just as neat as on the envelope. Perfectly s.p.a.ced and uniformly sized. I read it through.

Dearest Ms. Ruocco,I write again to caution you to use your gifts wisely. Your G.o.d-given beauty will eventually fade. Make certain when that day arrives you have not foolishly squandered your time and talents nor spent your days with those unworthy of you. I do not deny that your betrothal is disconcerting to me. But perhaps it is not his money but his wretchedness that draws you to him.Perhaps you are being charitable in that regard. And in charity we find peace. I hope you will take my words into consideration, as I have no desire to take further steps to ensure your future happiness. I prefer that you find that path on your own.

"Is this typical of the others?" Rivera asked.

"Pretty much. The threat in this one seems more overt. Or maybe it's just that it was delivered here."

"Today?"

"Yes."

"Regular mail?"

"It was in the box when I checked this afternoon."

"But the others were threatening also."

"In a nebulous sort of way."

"Any idea who it might be?"

"None."

He glared silently at the letter. If I were a nasty missive, I would have turned tail and run ... if I weren't so d.a.m.ned plucky.

"Do you know anyone who holds a grudge?" he asked.

Laney shook her head.

"How about you, McMullen?" he asked, glancing at me. "Anyone you can think of who might be angry with her?"

I shook my head, too.

"Do you owe anyone money?" he asked.

"Mac," she said.

"Really?" he asked, looking curious.

"Truckloads," she said.

"You write this?" he asked, glancing at me.

"Just the part about Solberg," I said, and he snorted as he turned toward Laney.

"Any disappointed men in your past?"

She blinked.

I laughed out loud. "Are you serious?"

He turned toward me. I raised a hand to indicate her perfection. "Look at her. She's the most gorgeous woman on the planet. Every man in the world is disappointed. Except Solberg, and he obviously made some sort of pact with the inhabitants of the underworld."

Rivera stared at me all stormy-eyed and there was something in his expression that almost seemed to refute my opinion. It made me feel a little breathless, but he turned his laser-vision away in a moment.

"The first letter arrived about five months ago?"