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often brought in for illegal fights.
    â€œShortly after Eye-C was released on probation, Shajuanna announced that she intended to redeem these ‘precious loving animals’ from their undeserved reputations as vicious brutes by showing them off at companion dog sports competitions sanctioned by the AKC. She has stated repeatedly since that by doing so, she would prove to the public that her husband has learned his lesson and become a passionate advocate for these maligned dogs.”
    The FBI and DEA agents around the table snorted their opinion of Shajuanna’s motives.
    â€œThose carved-up pups were all Argentinean mastiffs.” The speaker, an FBI agent named Hadley who had headed up the FBI portion of a successful multistate dogfighting ring a year before, reared back in his chair. “If they are so damned valuable then why are they used to smuggle cocaine? I don’t buy a word coming out of her mouth. This is a front. Pure and simple.”
    Cole absorbed without comment the pointed look the FBI advisor sent her way. There was no point in challenging him. Everyone at the table was convinced that Shajuanna and Eye-C were using these sports dog activities as a cover for everything from illegal gambling to drug trafficking. They had, as Lattimore now reiterated, the means and opportunity. As for motive? Money.
    Lattimore clicked to bring up a chart that represented Eye-C’s revenue flow for the past six years. “As you can see, despite the street creed of a rap sheet, Eye-C’s rap career hasn’t recovered from his forced absence from the charts.”
    â€œMoney’s a bitch.” Cole didn’t lift her gaze quick enough to identify the speaker.
    â€œEven money says Shajuanna’s going to file for divorce if he can’t keep her upgraded,” the FBI agent, Hadley, offered in response.
    Ignoring the general laughter, Cole scrolled through the pictures she had been given to download on her computer tablet. The photos of Shajuanna were of a tall and beautiful woman dressed in that expensive-to-know pampered way of all celebrities. Okay, so yeah, she looked like a gold digger. That was the life. It didn’t mean she was a gold digger. But what was she?
    Every shot of Shajuanna included one or more of the dogs in question. Some were on a leash. In a few she was in the ring, coaching one of her dogs in mid-performance. Finally, there was a close-up of her hugging an Argentine mastiff. The dog was big and muscular and pure white, with small pink-rimmed eyes.
    Cole winced at the severely docked ears. And there was Shajuanna, squatting down beside the animal in six-inch platform heels and a very expensive fur and diamonds, planting a big kiss on the dog’s face. She wasn’t just posing. She clearly had affection for her pet. And the dog—Cesar the notation said—seemed as close to smiling as was possible for a dog with a big pink lolling tongue. Happy dog. Not a tortured killer.
    Something didn’t add up.
    She rechecked the notes she had typed into her notebook so far. Comments by Eye-C about how his wife had made him think differently about dogs. Shajuanna’s statements about her intentions to rehabilitate the public perception of these dogs. She’d even hired a celebrity image consultant who had gotten one of her pets placement in a national commercial. Why would they draw so much public attention if they were doing something illegal?
    â€œToo easy.”
    She did not realize she had spoken aloud until silence in the room made her lift her head. Ten pairs of male eyes were staring at her.
    Lattimore spoke. “Do you have something else you’d like to contribute, Officer Jamieson?”
    Scott, who sat across from her, gave Cole a slight shake of his head in warning. That only spurred her to speak up.
    â€œWhy would Eye-C be so obvious? He’s got to know law enforcement’s going to be looking at him for the slightest indication