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nearly drove me out of my mind, and I’d like to know how the hell I was supposed to play that damned video game with my good hand in a cast.”
    “I was just trying to challenge you,” Tucker explained innocently.
    “You were trying to drive me crazy.”
    Tucker chuckled. “It sounds like I succeeded. Is the country exile getting to you?”
    “Let’s just say that the sounds of traffic would be music to my ears right now. Tucker, I need my car.”
    “Sorry, chum, but Neil promised to break a few of
my
bones if I gave in to you. When the cast comes off your arm, and not before, you know that.”
    Marc made a sound of exasperation. “Look, I’m practically healed—eleven days until the cast comes off—”
    “Counting down, I see.”
    “Tucker.”
    With another chuckle, Tucker said, “Hey, don’t snap at me. Neil is determined to make sure you stay far away from your office or any courtroom, and since he’s my doctor as well as yours, I’d rather not upset him. He might do something nasty to me. Typhoid germs or something.”
    “You have a writer’s imagination,” Marc told him ruefully.
    “Most writers do.”
    “Yeah, but yours works overtime.”
    “Which is probably why my books do so well.” In a more serious tone, Tucker added, “Aside from helping you escape the wilds of the country, what can I do? If you’re worried about your shiny new BMW, don’t; it’s nice and safe in my garage.”
    “No, I’m not worried about it, I just
want
it.” Marc sighed. “I’d like to know what Neil has on you to make you so obedient to his commands.”
    Tucker didn’t take the bait. “If you need anything, you know I’m available. I happen to be between books at the moment anyway, so I’ve got time on my hands. So?”
    Marc hesitated, but only for an instant. He’d had this in the back of his mind all along, he realized. There was no one he knew who was better than Tucker at digging up information—and he could be counted on for discretion.
    “How do you feel about doing a little research for me?” Marc asked slowly.
    “You better not be working on a case.”
    “I’m not. This is something…personal.”
    “Oh, yeah?” There was immediate interest in Tucker’s voice. “How personal?”
    Marc cleared his throat. “Well, I have a new tenant in the house. She just moved in on Tuesday, and—”
    “She?”
    “Yes, she. Will you let me finish?”
    “Absolutely.”
    Convalescence made a man touchy, Marc thought defensively, conscious of snapping at his friend once again. “The thing is, I need to have her background checked out.”
    “Why?”
    Marc couldn’t think of a single reason he was willing to give to his friend, and so he fell back on a flat and unanswerable response. “Because.”
    “Um. Is this a young woman, by any chance?”
    “Late twenties.”
    “And attractive, I suppose?”
    “Some would consider her…pretty.” And any man in his right mind would consider that the understatement of the year, Marc reflected silently.
    “Uh-huh. Are you worried about her stealing the silver?”
    “No.”
    “Tearing up your house?”
    “No.”
    “Disturbing your peace with wild parties?”
    “If she threw a wild party, I’d be the first in line,” Marc muttered.
    There was a moment of silence, and then Tucker said musingly, “So this is personal. How about that. I’ve never known you to be so devious in finding out about a woman. The usual procedure, you know, is to ask. Invite her to dinner, make some of your legendary spaghetti sauce, ply her with wine.”
    “Yeah, well, I somehow doubt that would work.”
    “Already tried it, huh?”
    Marc sighed. “Tucker, must I remind you that my patience is worn a bit thin these days?”
    “All right, all right, I was just asking. Obviously, this lady requires a more delicate touch. So you want me to do a little research into her life. Fine, I’d be glad to. What am I looking for? Hobbies you can discuss with her? Political