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Beacher smiled. “Well, yes.”

“The thing of it is, we don’t really offer the kind of services you seem to req—”

As if to head him off, Beacher reached into the chest pocket of his abstract squares Patrick James sports shirt and pulled out a money order. He pulled out a second money order and laid it on top of the first. Then a third, a fourth, a fifth…a total of twelve money orders, which he slid across the desk.

Zach adjusted his glasses, glanced down at the amount of the top money order, and then could not look away. It was as if his eyes were magnetized by the figures written in that precise, angular hand.

$1,000.

Twelve money orders for one thousand dollars each.

Twelve. Thousand. Dollars.

He found his voice. “NowI’m worried.”

Beacher laughed. “Why so? I did my homework. The going rate for a good PI in California is about two hundred dollars an hour. Five hundred if special skills are involved, and I think we can both agree special skills are required for this job. So, for two-plus days’ work…I’m sure you can do the math.”

Oh yes. If there was one thing Zach was good at, it was doing the math.

“Just to be sure we’re on the same page. I’m not a bodyguard.”

“I already have a bodyguard.”

Really? Where? But Zach wasn’t going to argue. “That’s probably a good idea.”

“I need someone to figure out where these threats are coming from as soon as possible. I don’t want to jump to the wrong conclusion.”

“I’m flattered you think I can figure out who’s behind this in two days, but—”

“I don’t think that for a moment. This is simply an advance to cover the weekend at Pebble Beach.”

“Right,” Zach said blankly. It was possible he’d missed a few details during the initial minutes of their interview, but he was damn sure he hadn’t missedthatdetail.

But it was true what they said, moneydidchange everything, and it was with renewed attention that he studied his client, sitting unblinking in the blinding glare of California’s autumn sun streaming through the tinted office windows.

From the oversize rubber soles of his Alexander McQueen leather sneakers to the snipped tips of his blond classic side sweep, Alton Beacher, the handsome, aggressively Nordic-looking fortysomething owner and CEO of the Beacher Toy Company, exuded money and privilege.

Which was exactly what Zach needed right now.

Money, that is.

Even with the sky-high prices of Ensenada del Sello’s commercial real estate, the short stack of money orders lying on his desk would cover their lease for the next three monthsandthe tuition of Brooke’s junior year of college. It wasn’t the answer to all Zach’s problems, but it was the answer to the most pressing.

If it seemed too good to be true, it probably was.

Still. That money.

Zach picked up the Cross-Townsend pen he’d bought Pop last Christmas, drew the yellow legal pad his way. “Okay, Mr. Beacher. Let’s start with the threats.”

“Alton, please.” Beacher gave Zach an odd smile. “I imagine we’ll have to get used to addressing each other by our first names if our little ruse is going to work.”

Zach cleared his throat. “Right.” He was no actor, but how hard could it be to feign interest in a guy you weren’t all that interested in? Hadn’t he managed to do it with Ben for those last six months while he struggled to steel himself to end things? Beacher was not his type, but he was handsome and rich, and maybe Zach would get a couple of nice meals out of their…dates. Pebble Beach for the weekend might even be fun. Maybe?

Nothing he could ever talk about, of course, because the first thing Alton Beacher had done when he walked into Zach’s office was have him sign an NDA. That had probably been the point at which Flint’s sarcastic smile had appeared.

Anyway, everything was contingent upon how far thisrusewas supposed to go. If it was supposed to continue into the bedroom, then no.

As hard as it would be to pass up all those thousands of beautiful dollars. No. No way. Like Pop always said, a guy had to be able to face himself in the mirror every morning.