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knowing he had me hooked, Bastien leaned in eagerly. "Pay attention, Fleur , because here's the good part. We got wind of some rumors concerning Mrs. Dailey's ex-pool boy in San Diego. He claims to have been 'romantically involved' with her."

I racked my brain, recalling a promotional picture I'd seen of her and her politician husband on a billboard. "Have you seen Mr. Dailey? I'd opt for a pool boy too. What became of the rumors?"

"Oh, you know. The same thing that always happens to rumors with no proof. They faded away; nothing happened."

I waited expectantly. "Okay, and the house fits in how?"

"Well, like you said, her husband's no prize. Of course, she isn't going to get divorced or anything, not when it could potentially tarnish his political future and her whole prissy, on-air family-values campaign. But...the naughty streak is still there. If she's strayed once, I bet she could be lured into doing it again."

I groaned as the pieces fell together. "Like with a handsome, debonair neighbor?"

"Debonair? Really, you're too kind."

"So what happens after that?"

"Then we just let the evidence do its work."

"Evidence?"

"Well, yeah. We're not going to go the way of the pool boy. When I manage to lure the illustrious Mrs. Dailey into physical pleasures surpassing her wildest dreams, there'll be a camera rolling. We're going to record this for posterity, then go to the press. Full exposure, full takedown. No more radio empire preaching to the masses to return to pure, decent ways. Even her husband's political campaign will be marred, thus opening the door for some liberal upstart to take his place and help get this area back into the corrupt rut it so desperately longs for. "

"Gee, it's all so neat."

He eyed me. "You doubt the plan's brilliance?"

"I don't know. I appreciate the ballsy factor here, but I think this is kind of out-there, even for you. I can't imagine Dana Dailey,ll go down so easily."

"Leave the going down to me."

"Your ego's out of control."

He laughed and pulled me to him. His arms felt good around me. Familiar. Reassuring. "Admit it. That's why you love me. "

"Yeah, you're like the brother I never had. One that doesn't set my hair on fire. "

His eyes sparkled wickedly. "And once again, you've jumped ahead of me. I want you to see me in action on this - not to mention keep me company while I'm in town. You've got to come visit - as Mitch's sister."

"Who?"

Bastien suddenly stood up and shape-shifted. The familiar features morphed, leaving no trace of the rakish incubus I knew. Six-two and broad-shouldered, he now had dark blond hair and sky blue eyes, his face only just losing its pretty boy aspect and giving way to the sizzling promise of an experienced, confident man in his early thirties. When he smiled, those perfect teeth lit up a room.

He winked at me. "Mitch Hunter," he explained in a suave, movie-star voice. No accent now.

"You got an equally cheesy title to go with that? 'Mitch Hunter, MD' or 'Mitch Hunter, Private Investigator?' Seems appropriate."

"Nah. I'm a consultant, of course. Everyone's favorite nondescript yet well-paid white-collar job."

"You look like you need a golf club in one hand and a burger flipper in the other."

"Tease all you want, but Dana won't be able to resist this. Now" - he gestured for me to stand up - "let's see what you can do."

"Are you joking?"

"Do I look like I'm joking? If you're going to come visit me, you've got to put on some family resemblance."

I rolled my eyes and stood up. After a moment's study of his features, I shape-shifted my petite body into a taller, more athletic one with long blond hair.

He scrutinized me, then shook his head. "Too pretty."

"What? This is perfect."

"That body's unreal. No one looks that good. My God woman, that ass."

"Oh, come on. You don't think Special Agent Mitch Hunter's sister isn't the type to spend two hours a day on a stair-climber?"

Bastien grunted. "You've got a point there. At least lose some of the hair. These suburban types go for boring and practical."

"Yeah, but I'm not suburban. I'm your hipper, more stylish - "

Someone knocked at my door. He glanced at me questioningly.

"Oh! It's Seth."

I changed back to my normal body, and Bastien did the same. I opened the door.

Seth Mortensen, best-selling author and professional introvert, stood outside my apartment. Clad in a Frogger T-shirt and corduroy jacket, he seemed to have forgotten to brush his hair again. It