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the word into a complicated, caressing drawl. "I was hoping to catch up to you, Paul."

"Having a private moment here," Paul said. His voice was flat, cold, not at all the warm purr he usually reserved for beautiful women. "Wait outside, will you?"

She was tough, I had to give her that. The warm, inviting smile didn't waver. The big doe eyes-up close, they were a particularly interesting shade of moss green-took on a brighter shine. "All I want is a minute, Paul."

"Can't have it right now. Out."

Lewis said, "I don't believe we've been introduced."

"And you're not going to be," Paul said flatly. "Yvette. Out."

She held out a delicate, perfectly manicured hand to Lewis and notched the smile up another few degrees on the seduction scale. "Yvette Prentiss," she said. "I work with Paul."

"No, she works for Paul, and she's not going to be working for Paul much longer if she doesn't turn her ass around and march out of here." Paul's tone had gone dangerously dark, with a hard New York edge. "Get the point?"

"Sure." She let her eyebrows form, a comment, lowered her hand and held the smile-and eye contact with Lewis-ten seconds too long for my comfort. "I'll be outside, then."

The two men watched her walk away, hips swaying, graceful and sleek and sexy. Paul's expression was murderous. Lewis's was still blank, like he'd been hit by a very large truck.

Chapter Four

She passed within two inches of David, and I could see the effort it took him not to reach out and do something fatal to her.

Lewis asked, "Who the hell was that?"

Paul sighed. "Trust me. You really don't want to know. And you really need to get the fuck out of here before somebody who knows your face takes a look in here. You're just lucky she hasn't got a frickin' clue who you are. Believe me, there are black widow spiders, and then there's Yvette. She might be totally fuckable, but you probably wouldn't survive the night."

Guy talk. Jeez. What I'd missed when I'd been corporeal.

Lewis nodded, stuck his hands in his pants pockets, and walked toward me. I stayed in his way, willing him to say something, anything. He adjusted course to miss me by an inch or so.

As he passed, he whispered, "Find me. We need to talk."

I could tell you about the memorial service, but really, you know how it went. People got up, in varying degrees of discomfort, and said nice things about me. Some of them were actually heartfelt, like Paul's; some were political correctness gone wild. I mean, to hear some of these people talk, I made Mother Teresa look self-centered. Truth was, I'd never been what you could call a saint-mouthy, attitude-challenged, headstrong, and with a love of the bad-girl side of life. Give me a choice between serving at the soup kitchen and a night slamming down tequila shots with hard-bodied guys, and I'd be reaching for the salt and lime every time.

About the time I heard the fourth person I barely knew use words like heroic and selfless I had to take a walk outside to clear my head. A few people were still milling around the reception area, gobbling up the rest of the shrimp and ladyfingers. One of them was the walking hormone factory who'd introduced herself as Yvette Prentiss. She wasn't wasting her time listening to the fictional story of Joanne Baldwin; she was bending the ear of a middle-aged, very rich-looking gentleman with a London suit and an Eastern European accent.

David appeared next to me. Literally appeared. I almost knocked over a spindly-legged table holding a discreet black-bordered stand announcing that my memorial service was By Invitation Only.

I put my lips close to his ear and whispered, "So? How do you know her?"

He shook his head. "Later."

"Uh-uh. Now."

He gave me a resigned look and guided us to a small alcove near the back, where we'd be out of the way of foot traffic. Also well away from any potential eavesdroppers, who might have found a conversation coming out of empty space disturbing.

The fire had faded out of his eyes, but he was still wired; I could feel it coming off of him in waves of static. He said, "Her name is Yvette Prentiss."

"Heard that the first time. Evidently there's more to the you-and-her than introductions."

"A little." He