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Jeremy coming with me. See? I choose my friends carefully, Sheriff.”
    Hines vibrated with anger. He wanted to do violence to something—some one —but that wasn’t going to happen. Not today.
    â€œCentral to six-oh-four. Sweet cheeks, do you have traffic for me or not?”
    Darla looked at the sheriff, waiting for a cue.
    â€œTake those cuffs off,” he said. “Let them go.”
    â€œI don’t want you taking out your anger on Jeremy when he gets home,” Darla said. “I’ll be checking up, Sheriff, and I swear to God—”
    â€œKnow when to accept victory and back off, Deputy,” Hines said.
    * * *
    Brad’s surprise destination turned out to be the Ritz Carlton Hotel, located in Mason’s Corner on the western edge of Braddock County. A meaningless crossroads just thirty years ago, Mason’s Corner was now the Mecca of high-tech development in Northern Virginia, employing over 100,000 workers. Complete with its own traffic gridlock and distinctive skyline, this unincorporated city was center field for the computer technology game on the East Coast. In a few years, if things kept growing the way they had, Mason’s Corner would make Silicon Valley look like a low-rent district.
    The hotel was an opulent appendage to the Galleria at Mason’s Corner, which itself appeared to be a freeze-dried version of Rodeo Drive, where Saks Fifth Avenue was the low-end store.
    â€œThis is beautiful,” Nicki breathed.
    â€œYou ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Brad said with a wink.
    Brad whipped the turn into the circular driveway, and the doorman walked with casual efficiency to Nicki’s door and opened it. “Welcome to the Ritz Carlton,” he said. “Do you need help with your luggage?”
    Brad answered before Nicki had a chance. “That’s okay. I think we’ll just leave it in the trunk for a while.” He pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to attendant. “I love this car,” he said. “Please take good care of it.”
    The attendant’s reaction made him think that it was the best tip of the day.
    The doorman spun the revolving door for them, and then they were inside. Nicki gasped. “Oh. My. God.”
    â€œClose your mouth,” Brad whispered. “You look like you’ve never been in a hotel before.”
    â€œI haven’t. Not like this, anyway.” The lush carpet looked like something out of a royal palace, boasting subdued splashes of burgundy and blue and green. In combination with the spectacular leather furniture and the polished mahogany walls, the lobby bore the ambience of a rich gentlemen’s club.
    Brad gestured to one of the wine-colored leather chairs. “Have a seat. I need to work out some stuff with the front desk.”
    â€œI can’t go with you?”
    â€œI’d rather you not,” he said.
    Nicki’s eyes said she wanted more details, but Brad walked away.
    A man and a woman gave matching smiles in their matching gray suits as Brad approached. Neither was much older than he. “Hi,” Brad said. “You have a reservation for Mr. Campanella? I believe it was made this morning.”
    The woman—Sam, according to her name tag—started typing in her computer while Patrick looked on. “Yes, I have it right here,” she said. “You’re part of the ASLO conference?”
    Brad smiled. “Yes ma’am, that’s right.”
    â€œVery good, I just need to see your credit card.”
    Brad winced. “Um, I think you need to read the rest of the record. My father made the reservation, and he doesn’t like me to have a credit card.”
    Sam scrolled down through the record. “Okay,” she said, “according to this, you’re approved for room and miscellaneous expenses, but it also says something about a code word and asking for identification?”
    Brad smiled