She thought a moment before saying: "Not until you agree to some ground rules."

"Whatever you say."

"None of your macho bulls.h.i.t. You treat me as an equal."

"You got it."

"We don't do anything unethical."

"Of course not."

"And none of your soph.o.m.oric cracks about my s.e.x life."

"Or lack thereof?"

"That's what I'm talking about," she said.

"Just testing the boundaries. So-partners?"

"For one case."

"Fine. Let's shake."

She extended a hand, but he didn't shake. Instead, he fanned out his fingers, just as Bobby had done. She paused another moment-dammit, this sucked, but what choice did she have?-raised her hand, and pressed it against his.

Steve looked into her eyes as their hands pressed together, wondering just how long she would hold the position. First time they'd ever touched, and he sure as h.e.l.l wasn't going to be the one to break away.

She caught the look in his eyes and pulled her hand back.

Suddenly, a churning noise in the water startled them both. The engines on the Kat's Meow were firing up, and water churned at the stern.

"Hey there!" a voice came from above. "Sorry if I spooked you."

On the flying bridge, a sun-baked man in a white shirt with epaulets stood at the wheel. In his mid-thirties, he sported a mustache and wore aviator sungla.s.ses and a blue ball cap. "Wanna give me a hand with the lines?"

"No problem," Steve said. He walked to the front cleat, unwrapped the bow line, and tossed it aboard.

Katrina called from the courtyard: "Where you going, Chet?"

"The marina. Carbon monoxide gauge is on the fritz. Be back before sundown." He looked down at Steve, who was untying the stern line. "She's a beauty, huh?"

For a second, Steve thought he was talking about Katrina.

"Sixty-four feet with a hull draft of only twenty-three inches," the man said.

Oh.

"Sleeps eight. Or twelve if you're real good friends." The man laughed, and Steve tossed the stern line onto the deck.

"You live aboard?" Victoria asked, and Steve smiled. He was about to ask the same thing.

"Captain's quarters," Chet said.

"Were you here the night Charles died?" she asked. That was Steve's next question, too. He'd been right about Victoria. She had great instincts. "Mr. . . . ?"

"Manko. Call me Chet. I was sleeping in my stateroom. Mrs. B called me right away. I got there even before the paramedics, but Mr. B was already dead."

"We're going to need to talk to you, Mr. Manko," Victoria said.

Steve smiled, liking the sound of the "we."

"Not a problem," Manko said. "I'm always around." Then he waved to Katrina, gave the throttle some juice, expertly pulled away from the dock, and headed toward the open bay.

"You're thinking he's a corroborating witness?" Steve asked.

"I'm hoping," she said.

"Me, too. Because the other choice is accomplice."

On the loggia, the Honduran housekeeper was back with their drinks and three uninvited guests. Two plainclothes detectives and Ray Pincher.

"Already," Victoria said.

"Let's go to work, partner," Steve said.

They hurried back just as Pincher was telling Katrina that the Grand Jury had indicted her for first- degree murder, and she had the right to remain silent.

"Our client invokes all her rights," Steve called out.

"Solomon and Lord. On the same side?" Pincher said, a twinkle in his eye. "This is going to be fun."

"What does he mean by that?" Katrina asked.

"Shh," Steve said. "You're remaining silent."

"We'll want a private entrance to the jail for booking," Victoria said to Pincher.

"Not necessary," Steve said.

"No advance word to the media," Victoria said. "We don't want a circus."

"Circus is fine," Steve said. "Cirque du Soleil even better."

"Mrs. Barksdale will need twenty minutes to get dressed," Victoria said.

"Make it an hour," Steve said.

Pincher beamed and turned to one of the detectives. "Del, I think we could charge admission to this one."

Looking worried but retaining her composure, Katrina stood and started toward the house. "I'd excuse myself," she said to Pincher, "but my lawyers instructed me to remain silent."

Steve pulled Victoria aside and whispered, "Go help her. You know what clothes to pick out?"

"Something subdued," Victoria said. "Maybe a Carolina Herrera pantsuit."

"Wrong," he said. "A slinky dress, maybe one of those leopard prints, something off the shoulder. Show some b.o.o.bs. And those stockings with holes."

"Fishnets?" Victoria was shocked.

"Yeah. And red lipstick, really red."

"You want our client to look like a hooker?"

"I want her to look like a farm girl, an innocent naif from the Midwest who was corrupted by the dirty old man she married. He twisted her into his perverted s.e.x slave."

"You think we can sell that?"

Steve's tone of righteous indignation was a rehearsal for the jury. "How dare the state accuse this woman of murder when all she did was try to satisfy her husband's deviant demands? What is she guilty of, besides giving too much of herself, unaware of the dangers?"

"That's our defense?"

"For now, it's all we've got," Steve said.

IN THE CIRCUIT COURT OF THE ELEVENTH JUDICIAL CIRCUIT IN AND FOR MIAMI-DADE COUNTY, FLORIDA-FALL TERM, 2005 INDICTMENT.

MURDER FIRST DEGREE.

Fla. Stat 782.04(1) & 775.087

STATE OF FLORIDA.

vs.

KATRINA BARKSDALE.

IN THE NAME AND BY THE AUTHORITY OF THE STATE OF FLORIDA:.

The Grand Jurors of the State of Florida, duly called, impaneled and sworn to inquire and true presentment make in and for the body of the County of Miami-Dade, upon their oaths, present that on or about the 16th day of November 2005, within the County of Miami-Dade, State of Florida, KATRINA BARKSDALE did unlawfully and feloniously kill a human being, to wit: CHARLES BARKSDALE, from a premeditated design to effect the death of the person killed, by strangling the said CHARLES BARKSDALE with a weapon, to wit: a leather device, in violation of Fla. Stat. 782.04(1) and 775.087, to the evil example of all others in like cases, offending and against the peace and dignity of the State of Florida.

Mitch.e.l.l Kaplan

Foreperson of the Grand Jury

4. I will never carry a pager, drive a Porsche, or flaunt a Phi Beta Kappa key . . . even if I had one.

Thirteen.

DOODADS AND d.i.l.d.oS.

"You're saying Charles Barksdale forced Katrina to have kinky s.e.x?" Victoria shouted above the wind.

"Not physical coercion," Steve answered. "More like emotional pressure. 'If you love me, you'll do this.' And financial pressure. 'Look at everything I've given you.' Plus the trump card: 'If you won't wear a strap-on, if you won't whip my a.s.s, if you won't do bondage, I'll dump you and find someone who will.'"

Victoria was dubious. "Kat told you all that?"

"What?" Steve was dialing through the static, searching for a radio station. Top down on his ancient Cadillac, they were headed across the MacArthur Causeway from Miami to South Beach, the car spewing contrails of oily smoke. In the backseat, Bobby was speed-reading a coroner's textbook, Medicolegal Investigation of Death. Victoria had glanced at an autopsy photo and turned away.

The Solomon Boys, as she'd started thinking of them, had picked her up at her condo, Steve saying they could work on the drive to the office. Taking one look at the convertible, she knew her hair would be wrecked in two minutes. Always a good soldier, she didn't complain.

It was the day after they'd signed up Katrina, who was immediately booked, fingerprinted, and jailed for first-degree murder. There were a hundred things to do, starting with prepping for the bail hearing. Victoria had not had time to interview their new client, so she was forced to rely on Steve's recitation of what Katrina had told him. Naturally, he'd taken no notes. Had she been running the show, they'd have tape-recorded every syllable, and by now they'd have the transcripts indexed and color-coded. When she told Steve this, he smiled tolerantly and said that at the beginning of a case it was better to keep a client's memory flexible.