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wasn’t interested. You know . . . that way.”
    I raised a brow. Just one. I reserve two for purple extraterrestrials with wildly groping appendages. “We’re still talking about Solberg, right?”
    She scowled.
    “Geeky little guy? Has a nose like an albatross?”
    Now she just looked sad, which made me kind of ashamed of myself, but really, the whole situation was ridiculous. Solberg would sell his soul for a quick glimpse of an anemic flasher. He’d probably auction off his personal computer to hold hands with a woman of Elaine’s caliber. And she actually liked him. What were the odds?
    “Listen, Laney, I’m sorry. But really, you don’t have to worry. Just call him. Tell him you . . .” I took a deep breath and tried to be selfless. “Tell him you miss him.”
    “I did call him. In Vegas.”
    It was my turn to scowl. Laney generally doesn’t call guys. All she has to do is play the eeney-meany-miny-mo game and snatch a suitor off her roof. “No answer?” I asked.
    She cleared her throat. Emotion clouded her eyes.
    “Laney?” I said.
    “A woman answered.”
    “A woman? Like . . .” It was inconceivable. “Someone like one of us?” I motioned between us. “Human?”
    She wasn’t amused.
    “Well . . .” I chortled. “It was probably housekeeping.”
    “Housekeeping?”
    “Or . . .” I was floundering badly, but my faith in Elaine was undaunted. “Maybe it was . . . his great-aunt come to visit her favorite . . . nerd nephew.”
    She looked away. Were there tears in her eyes? Oh, crap! If there were tears in her eyes I was going to have to find Solberg and kill him.
    “Did you ask who you were speaking to?” I asked.
    “No. I . . .” She shook her head. “I was so surprised. You know. I just asked if he was there.”
    “And?”
    “She said no.”
    “That’s it?”
    “I was . . . I don’t know.” She shrugged, looking unsettled as she chased a few more papers across the desk. “I called back later.”
    “Yeah?”
    “No answer.”
    “Did you leave a message?”
    “On his cell and his home phone.” She glanced at the desktop again. “A couple of times.”
    “I’m sorry,” I said, reeking sincerity. “But I’m afraid the answer is obvious.” She raised her gaze to mine. “Our dear little geek friend is dead.”
    “Mac!”
    I couldn’t help but laugh. “Listen, Laney,” I said, squeezing her hand, “you’re being ridiculous. Solberg is wild about you. He probably just got delayed in Vegas.”
    “He probably got laid in Vegas.”
    I stared. Elaine Butterfield never uses such trashy language.
    “Maybe I should have . . .” She paused. “Do you think I should have slept with him?”
    I refrained from telling her that would have been a sin of biblical proportions. There’s a little thing called bestiality. I was sure even Jerry Falwell would think it made homosexuality look like petty theft by comparison.
    “Elaine, relax,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll be back in a couple days. He’ll bring you tulips and call you Snuggle Bumpkins and Sugar Socks and all those other disgusting names he comes up with.”
    “Angel Eyes,” she said.
    “What?”
    “He calls me Angel Eyes.” She raised the aforementioned orbs toward me. “Because I saved him.”
    “From what?” I hated to ask.
    “From being a jerk.”
    Holy crap. If I had never met this guy I might actually like him. “He’ll be back, Laney,” I said.
    She drew a careful breath. “I don’t think so, Mac. I really don’t.”
    I laughed. “You’re Brainy Laney Butterfield.”
    “I’m trying to be practical about this.”
    “Elaine Sugarcane. No Pain Elaine. The Sane Lane.”
    She gave me a look.
    “Butterfeel?” I suggested. “Nutterbutter?”
    “I hated the last one most,” she said.
    “Yeah.” Middle school had been a challenge. “Simons was a creep of major proportions.”
    She nodded distractedly. “He could rhyme, though. Which is about all you can ask of—”
    “A WASP whose brain