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restaurant. She’d be one of three sous chefs. An amazing opportunity, but Maggie would miss her. Such was Maggie’s job—her life. Sometimes she had to say good-bye to them.
    The phone rang again. Wendy. Line two rang before Maggie picked up. Alice. She smiled. It was good to have friends. Even if they were overprotective.
    Â 
    After grabbing Ms. Anderson’s file from the passenger seat, Christian headed into the police station for his meeting with Horace Cooper. The lieutenant wasn’t keen on Christian checking into his friend, but Cooper needed to get over it. No stone left unturned and all that bull.
    He’d had a short conversation on the phone with Ms. Joyce last night, which corroborated Ms. Anderson’s story. It would seem she trusted her friend implicitly. He’d asked her why she’d bought the club and wasn’t shocked when she told him it was none of his business. Her curtness did leave him curious, however. Why the secret?
    At the station, he held the glass door open for the two officers emerging. They nodded their thanks, and he nodded in return before passing through himself. He’d heard them mention the Cantina and, taking a quick glance at his watch, realized he’d missed lunch again.
    He climbed the short flight of steel stairs and worked his way past a clutter of desks, wading through pulled out chairs to reach the lieutenant’s back office. Rapping on the glass door with his knuckle, he waited. Through the blind-drawn window, Cooper waved him in as he continued his phone conversation.
    â€œYeah, yeah, feed me more excuses and traffic duty will look good compared to what I have in store for you two. Just get it done.” He slammed the phone down, making his teacup rattle in its saucer.
    Christian raised an eyebrow at the dainty English China. Lavender flowers and gold rim didn’t suit the guy’s Kojak exterior.
    â€œWhat?” Cooper took a loud sip. “Haven’t you heard? Coffee’s bad for you.”
    Apparently he was none too pleased about it. “Yes, sir. I’m just surprised you’re listening.” Christian grinned.
    â€œYeah, well, Maggie’s a persistent little thing,” he said, followed by, “Damn blood pressure,” muttered under his breath.
    Maggie Anderson. Would wonders never cease?
    Was being friendly with the cops part of her act? After reading the file, and he had to be honest with himself, after talking to her, he found it hard to believe she was less than genuine with her good intentions. To top it off, Blake and Cooper weren’t stupid men. The lieutenant had thirty years of service under his straining belt and Blake—hell—Blake had all but lived undercover in the seedy world of prostitution and drugs for ten. Hard to believe that with all that experience he was mistaken.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Horace pointed to the envelope in Christian’s hand.
    Christian shook out the contents into his other hand and grabbed a seat, slinging his ankle across his knee. The new file Blake had procured did have some interesting information, just not enough, like why Ms. Anderson had chosen to run a strip club. “I was wondering what a well-known TV evangelist’s daughter is doing running strip clubs. What would her Daddy say?”

Chapter Five
    C ooper pushed his girly teacup aside. “That’s hardly any of your business, now, is it?”
    Ignoring the lieutenant’s dismissive tone, Christian continued. “Rumor has it the overzealous preacher is writing another bestseller. Do you think he’ll dedicate it to his wayward daughter? That’s it, isn’t it? Why she changed her name? Maggie Anderson doesn’t exist. Maggie Hopewell runs Heart’s Desire.”
    Reverend James Hopewell was a religious figure on the national stage. He had risen to prominence over the last five years; transforming his small New England congregation into a major