“You know how much we love Nero. We have to see the scene where he fiddles while Rome burns.”

Jess chuckled. Honestly, the male dog obsession with the History Channel was simply not normal. “Go. Enjoy your carnage.”

Scratching her head affectionately, Phil asked, “You going to be okay, kid?”

“Yeah, I’ve survived worse. Although I have to admit, Smitty’s rejections are getting much more intense.”

Mace stared at the top of his friend’s head. It wasn’t that he was so much taller, it was that Smitty had his head on the desk. “Didn’t think you’d be in today.”

“Didn’t want to go home,” he grumbled into the desk. “It all smells like her.”

“That bad?”

“That good.”

“You going to tell me what happened or burrow your head into the desk like a badger?”

“There’s nothing to tell. I blew it. I blew everything.”

“Do you mind talking to me directly? I’m starting to think you find the desk more interesting than me.”

“It is,” Smitty muttered even as he sat up. “I don’t know, hoss. Maybe my daddy was right. Maybe I am an idiot.”

“Your daddy is certifiably insane.”

“In the South we call that eccentric.”

“Well, in New York, we call the cops to get ’em away from the front of our building.” Mace relaxed against the door frame. “Is this about Jessica?”

“I almost marked her today. In a gas station bathroom.” Elbows on the table, he buried his face in his hands. “The woman is rich, beautiful, goes to all these fancy charity parties no Smith would ever be invited to, and I nearly mount her like a bitch in heat right by the bathroom condom machine.”

“Did she seem to mind?”

He dropped his hands to the desk. “That’s not the point. I don’t want her thinking... ”

“Thinking what?”

Smitty let out one of those soul-deep sighs that used to drive Mace crazy when they were on duty together. “When I was eleven, I walked in the kitchen just as my momma slammed one of the Thanksgiving Day turkeys into the back of the old man’s head. She dropped his ass too. Like two tons of garbage. The sad thing was I knew whatever he’d done—he’d deserved it.”

“And?”

“I just don’t want the next forty years to be filled with flying turkeys.”

Mace laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Smitty, I think you’re worrying over nothing. Jessica Ward isn’t the type to start throwing things.”

When Smitty only stared at him, Mace asked, “She throws things?”

“Only at me, it seems.”

“Did you deserve it?”

Smitty smirked. “Kind of.”

“Sitting around the office whining about it isn’t going to fix it. Let’s go to dinner. You can whine over a rare steak and cold beer.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Smitty pushed his chair back when Mace said, “So I got a call today. From a Kenshin Inu.”

“Who?”

“Asian wild dog who said he met you at a karaoke bar?”

“Yeah, right. The dog. What did he want?”

“To discuss a business offer with him. Next week. My cat senses are tingling. I’m sensing money.”

“How do you know?”

Mace stared at Smitty. “You do know who Kenshin Inu is, don’t you?”

“Not a clue.”

“Well, he’s many things. Mad scientist, ladies’ man... billionaire.”

Smitty stopped in the middle of pulling his jacket on. “Billionaire?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I hope you were nice to him ’cause I was kind of an asshole.”

“I’m still trying to get my mind around you singing at a karaoke bar.”

“Don’t start.”

His friend laughed. “Man, what you’ll do for pussy.”

“Is that right... dog owner?” Smitty met Mace’s glare head-on. “How is the new puppy doing anyway?”

Mace let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s bad enough we have the baby. Which I was accepting of because he’s mine.”

“That’s real big of ya, hoss.”

Mace thought so.

“But then she gets a puppy. So now we got the two stupid ones and the damn puppy. Who isn’t too bad,” he grudgingly admitted.

Smitty finally chuckled. “Everybody loves a puppy, hoss.”

Johnny put his violin and bow down and answered the door to his rehearsal room. He expected one of the other musicians or singers using the other rooms were stopping by. Sometimes they did, although he rarely had anything to say to anyone. What he didn’t expect was to find Kristan Putowski standing outside his door with a couple bags of McDonald’s.

“Hungry?” she asked, pushing her way past him.

“Always.” He watched her go to the baby grand piano that his instructor sometimes used during their practices and drop the bags of food on the bench. “Why are you here? I thought I was covering for you tonight.”

“You were. Yeah. Quarter Pounder or Big Mac?”

“Either. And I hope you brought more than one of each or you’re shit out of luck, Twinkles.”

She flashed those goddamn dimples he kept dreaming about. “Of course. I’ve seen you eat before. Shame is so not in your vocabulary.”