“I’m sorry . . . what?”

“You do such nice work and Gwen doesn’t scare you at all. So it would be perfect.”

“Are you asking me to be your . . .” Livy swallowed down the bile in her throat. “Your wedding photographer?”

“I know it’s a lot of work. I do. But it would really help me out. And we don’t want video or anything. Just those lovely pictures you do.”

Livy would later realize that although she heard and knew the words coming out of Blayne Thorpe’s mouth, she didn’t really understand anything at the moment except one thing . . . she was being offered a wedding photography job.

Wedding photography.

Wedding. Photography.

Livy Kowalski. A wedding photographer.

“You don’t have to answer now,” Blayne went on, oblivious. “But we have every intention of paying you very well. I won’t ask for a friend discount or anything.” She laughed. “So just let me know!”

Blayne started to walk out, stopped, faced Livy. “And again, I’m really sorry about your dad.”

Then she walked away.

Leaving Livy unable to do anything else but stare at that doorway and wonder when exactly her life had completely fallen into the very pits of hell.

Vic didn’t know what was wrong with him. Why did he agree to things he didn’t want to do? But he had agreed.

You’re an idiot.

“I don’t do wet work,” Vic reminded the two females.

“Don’t worry,” Cella said with a smile. “You find him, Smith and I will take care of the rest.”

“Any idea who these packages your contact told you about were going to?” Dee-Ann asked.

“No. They were routed through several countries. It won’t be easy to track, but at least one of them was headed to Miami, Florida. I think we’ll start there. We’ll head out tonight.”

Dee thought a moment. “What about Whitlan’s kid?”

“Allison?” Cella asked. “We checked her apartment. Remember? Livy went in for us last year. She didn’t find anything that pointed to Allison Whitlan knowing where her father is. Or that she has contact with him at all.”

“He abandoned her and her mother before she was even five,” Vic told them. “She may not want to be in touch with him.”

“It’s been a year. Things might have changed.” Dee-Ann scratched her arm. “Think Livy would help us again?”

Vic shrugged. “I can ask.”

“Ask.” Dee-Ann slid off her desk and Vic knew she was done with them. “Barinov, you don’t discuss what you find with anyone but either me or Cella.”

“All right.” Vic opened the office door.

“And let us know if you have to leave the country again.”

“I will.”

He walkedout, Shen right behind him.

While they waited for the elevator, Shen asked, “Are we doing this for free?”

“I don’t know.”

“Isn’t that something we should find out ahead of time?”

“They asked me to do them a favor.”

“You could have said no.” Vic looked at Shen. Still eating bamboo, the giant panda shrugged and added, “Just sayin’.”

The elevator doors opened and both men stepped in.

“So where to now?” Shen asked.

“Get something for Livy. You know . . . to cheer her up.”

“Flowers?”

Vic stared at the panda. “I thought we agreed last night she wouldn’t want flowers?”

“Yeah, but when I thought about it again . . .”

Sighing, Vic admitted, “Some days you make me want to tear your arms off.”

Shen nodded. “Surprisingly, I understand that.”

Unable to resolve how her life had come to this, Livy ended up where she felt most comfortable in her office—under her desk. It was a small space under there because of the desk drawers, so it gave her the illusion of being in a nice burrow.

And that’s where Livy stayed until the smell of roses, lilies, and some other annoying flowers filled her sensitive nostrils.

She tried to ignore the smell but it kept getting more potent as someone moved in and out of her office. Repeatedly.

She sniffed the air, trying to ignore the flowers and center on the person.

Vic. It was Vic in her office. With flowers.

Confused and curious, Livy quietly crawled out from under the desk and peeked around the corner of it to see Vic Barinov bringing in another giant flower display as well as a large fruit basket.

Getting to her knees, Livy asked, “What are you doing?”

Vic stopped and looked at her. “Were you under the desk?”

“Yes.”

“Are you always under the desk?”

“Not always.”

He shrugged, walked out, came back with another basket. This time filled with an array of cookies.

“Vic?”

“We couldn’t agree.”

“Who couldn’t agree . . . what?”

“It’s Shen’s fault,” he complained, which really didn’t answer her question.

“Okay.”

“First he said you wouldn’t want flowers. Then today, he thought you might, although he had no empirical proof regarding the veracity of that belief.”

“Empirical proof?”

“Right. So I brought you flowers. And cookies.” He walked out of her office. “I also,” he said from the hallway, “got you a plant.” And he came in with a five-foot-tall standing plant that he put in a corner. Christ, Livy was only five-one.