by Kate Smith

Roxanne huddled like Miss Muffet on an upscale tuffet and maintained her stony silence. She hadn't broken it even to detail her name, rank and serial number.

"Grrrr." Zac broke away and wandered the room again. "I really expected to find a clue, some obvious place she might be heading. But no. Except for that framed beach house picture in the bathroom it seems as though every other possible clue has been destroyed. Probably in that fireplace over there with the ashes scattered about, and probably by our valiant Roxanne. Which begs the question of the beach house. Was it overlooked? Or left in plain sight to make it obvious where our jittery bride has gone? Is it too obvious though? Which means she may have actually gone there because it's so obvious and therefore not the right place."

"I hope she's better educated than that," Holly H. said.

"Give her credit. She didn't benefit from the Alec Rivers and Milady Web survival school."

"At least she packed her toothbrush." Holly H. went to the gauze-draped Juliet balcony and studied the view. No rope ladders or knotted sheets, and the silk-smooth walls would challenge even Spiderman. Five stories down was a garden hemmed in by the walls of the residence. Was that shimmer a restless bride? Holly H. watched and decided it was maybe a fishpond. Or a contemplation pool. "Still on the premises?"

"It's a big premise," Zac said, looking over her shoulder. "But no. Even if this is a spur of the moment panic, I think she'd make the most of the confusion of guests coming and going and get right out."

"To a random destination?"

Zac assumed a stance before the feet-together, knees-together Roxy on her pouffe, emphasising his height and the breadth of his shoulders. "Nope. I believe this is where Roxanne can aid us."

Holly H. braced one hip against the rosewood sofa so that she was just within Roxanne's peripheral vision. "You're not suggesting the ever-loyal Roxy will give up her mistress?"

"But I'm going to be her new best-friend," Zac said, completely smile-free.

"I think he's serious, Roxanne," Holly H. said when the pool of silence had reached Olympic proportions.

Zac nodded once, light glinting off his fair head making him look like the Angel of Imminent Demise. "Completely."

"I hate to spoil your tête-à-tête, but let's save a little time." Holly H. aimed a smile at the security chief. "Devon, sweetie, could you access Roxanne's personnel files on that hand-held gizmo of yours and give us a listing of any and all residents/domiciles/apartments/cabins/rooms frequented by Roxanne, and by extension her family, within a ten kilometer radius?"

"You spoil all my fun," Zac complained, adjusting his cuffs.

"Considering the size of the last dry cleaning bill," Holly H. said, "that can only be a good thing."

Devon cleared his throat. "Got the listings."

Holly H. crooked her index finger and Devon began.

"Your family are quite the real-estate tycoons," Zac said pleasantly, ten minutes later when Devon paused for breath.

Roxanne sneered.

"Tch tch," Zac reproved.

Devon resumed his recitation in monotone.

"It's very unfriendly of you to be so uncooperative, Roxy," Zac declared when the file revealed no more holdings. "Perhaps you would appreciate some solitude to consider your position before we forget our manners."

Holly H. practically vibrated with menace as she leaned into Roxanne, forcing the smaller woman to look at her. "Have a think about the kind of people running around cities at night. And then think about Antonia. Out there. Alone. Reflect on that, while we do this the old fashioned way and go look." Holly H. stormed from the suite.

"You saw it?" she asked Zac once they were heading for the nearest exit.

"Third-last, the apartment above the bakery," Zac agreed. "The one she went completely blank on, without the flicker of scorn in the eyes."

"Ha." Holly H.'s stride lengthened. "Let her think she's beaten us for now."

*11:39 PM

Antonia resembled a bumblebee more than an ant. Dressed in black and marigold striped leggings and a fuzzy black jumper hanging to her knees, the bride was red-eyed and had a stinger in her hand to match the one that flew by Holly H.'s ear.

"We come mostly in peace," Holly H. said, unruffled by the dart that had zipped past her eyelashes. She elbowed the door wider and breezed in. "Whose face are you using as a target?"

"Chocolate delivery for the broken hearted," Zac announced, carting in the white box they'd snuck out of the kitchens, and the insulated flask of rich chocolate sauce.

Antonia eyed them suspiciously. "I don't suppose there's any point in suggesting you've got the wrong person?"

"Darling, there are twelve-foot posters of your likeness plastered throughout the tri-city/state area," Zac replied.

Antonia lost a little of her rigidity.

Holly H, eased the dart from Antonia's hand and set it out of reach. "Want to explain your thought processes?"

"How come you aren't dragging me back by my hair?"

"Hey, my question first," Holly H. demanded

"We're doing civilised this week," Zac said, easily ignoring his twin.

Antonia sank onto the couch and hugged a cushion to her stomach. "I don't think we've been introduced."

"Zac and Holly H. Kincaid, at your service. We run an agency called Rogue Mapping out of Pandora's Edge."

"Are you really at my service?"

"Normally that'd be a figure of speech, but in your case . . . " Zac ran a cool measuring gaze over Antonia then looked at Holly H. Holly H. shrugged. "We'll make an exception."

"Why?"

Zac claimed the armchair opposite Antonia while Holly H. prowled the apartment.

"Everybody back there was caught up in the politics and seemed to have forgotten the people involved, namely you and Michael. Okay, they might have remembered tomorrow, but it wasn't looking good. I don't like that."