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indicate a covert Quorum missive on the event. Of course, we’ll keep monitoring it.”
    Emma clatters down the stairs, Jeff on her heels. “I’ve got some news,” she interrupts. 
    All heads turn toward her. Usually this sort of triumph is accompanied by a smile, but today Emma is as grave as a pallbearer. 
     She’s about to speak, but Jeff beats her to the punch. “Whatever it is you’re looking for, it’s going to happen on Mom’s birthday! What are the odds of that? And I was the one who figured it out!” 
    He looks over at me, waiting for the shower of praise that usually comes from his tiger mom. But all I can offer up is a pat on the back and a shaky smile. That son of a bitch, Carl! Contrary to his twisted way of thinking, making my birthday a national day of mourning is not the ultimate birthday gift.
    Jack is perceptive enough to realize my face has lost its rosy hue. He’s about to say something, but just then my computer wails the Five song, Sugar Daddy .
     “Yee-hah!” Arnie shouts. “We’ve got a live one, folks.”
    About damn time. I need a distraction from Carl and his sentimental bullshit. Since Jack walked into my life, Carl has been a lover scorned, and he’s got one hell of a way to show it.
    I’m kidding myself. This isn’t about me. It’s not even about “we.” It’s always about Carl, and Carl alone.
    Too bad he feels the need to invite the whole world to his pity party.
     

    The email from my second Sugar CEO is filled with sweet teases. Dig it:
    “You’re a worldly young woman, who will fit in easily at the whirlwind social events that it is my good fortune and privilege to fund and attend. 
    A typical date with me? Why not join me this Saturday for a private picnic at the Horse Park, in Woodside? Afterward, you’ll watch me and my polo team defeat the Argentine national champions. If you’re ready to play princess to my Prince Charming, email back and I’ll pick you up: not in a pumpkin carriage, but in my Bentley.”
    Well, la dee dah.
    “At least this guy has dropped a few clues as to who he may be,” Jack says. “How many big San Francisco-based corporate honchos who own a string of polo ponies can there be?”
    Arnie takes up that challenge. Fourteen keystrokes later he murmurs, “Too many. Try eleven….nope, twelve.”
    It’s nice to see someone is living the dream.
     I shrug. “A polo game won’t be intimate enough for the conversation I’ll be having with him. I’ll have to get him talking on the drive over from San Francisco, or during our private picnic. But neither venue makes it easy for me to get him to turn on his fellow Quorum directors. And it certainly doesn’t put me front and center with his computer, for validation.”
    “Arnie, hustle up with a phone app that will do the trick.” Ryan turns to me.  “To speed things along, you may have to slip him an SP-117 Mickey. That way, we’ll have both audio and video admissions of his Quorum activities. After you’ve given him the anecdote, he’ll feel refreshed, but he won’t remember a word he said—that is, until you reel off his indiscretions, perhaps when you’re alone with him again, after the match. That should convince him to cut a deal.”
    Jack puts his arm around my waist. “Abu and I will trade off on surveillance, both on the road and on the polo grounds. As backup, plant an audio-enhanced GPS microdot somewhere in the back seat, where it won’t be detected. That way, we can listen in after he drops you off. It’ll be interesting to hear whom he calls first, after you’ve turned the screws on him.”
    I know who Jack is thinking of:  Carl.
    If so, we’ll be able to trace the call and capture him.
    Then I can go back to living a normal life. Like other women, my family is not just a valid excuse to give up my day job, but a noble one as well. 
    But isn’t my assassination vocation just as noble? Or is it futile? Let’s face it, there will always be bad guys. I