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two men, Dick and Sam, showed up. They offered to help, but wanted to charge for the job. We couldn’t agree on a price and I asked them to leave. They would not.”
    In Brett’s mind the report was succinct and straightforward, but Thug Number Two—aka Sam—showed his displeasure by shooting a stream of tobacco juice across the lawn.
    “Now that’s not quite right, ma’am.” Number One, the one who called himself Dick, sent his partner a warning glance. “We’re doing this as a favor. Neighbor to neighbor.” He swung a wounded look toward Brett. “We just asked her to cover our expenses an’ we agreed on a price. But when she seen how easy our expertise and specialized tools made the job, she tried to back out.” His voice rose. “Ain’t that right, Sam?”
    Sam nodded. “’Bout sums it up.” He spit again.
    It was an old scam, one where Brett knew the rules. The cons would lowball the price for a simple job, then increase it for one reason or another until the mark “flinched” or indicated they had reached their limit.
    “I have storm shutters at my place,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ll be too busy the next few days to take them down.” He gave Dick a just-between-us-guys look. “How much would you charge for the job?”
    “Fifty dollars,” said Dick.
    “Five—five hundred,” Stephanie sputtered.
    Brett pretended to hear only one answer. He reached for his back pocket. “Seems fair. So, if I pull a fifty-dollar bill out of my wallet right now and hand it to you, you and your friend here would finish taking down all these shutters?”
    “We-ell.” Dick drew himself as tall as he could. “Wewere just trying to be neighborly, but she has impugned our reputation. Plus, we have to cover expenses. Gas ain’t cheap. And it takes special equipment to do the job right.”
    “Impugned.” Brett nodded in apparent sympathy. “Batteries. Drill bits. Maybe a generator?” he suggested.
    “Yeah,” Dick agreed.
    Brett had heard enough. He tightened his grip on the top of his nightstick and squared his shoulders. “So what is it? A favor for a neighbor? Or a job for hire?” One required proof of residency, the other a business license. Either would spell trouble for Dick and Sam, and everyone within sight knew it.
    Dick’s shoulders slumped. “Tell you what,” he offered. “We’ll leave. We won’t charge the missus for the work we’ve already done. And we’ll just go.”
    Brett nodded. “Also a reasonable offer. One we should take you up on. I’ll notify Dispatch to expect your truck at the roadblock in say—” he pretended to look at his watch “—fifteen minutes. You make it and keep on going, we’ll have no further dealings together. You don’t make it, or decide to come back, and I’ll have to ask some tough questions about your license and permits. Maybe look into your other activities in the state. Do we have an understanding?”
    Dick blew out a deep breath. “Yeah. Pack it up, Sam. We’re outta here.”
    Brett stopped the bald man on his way to the pickup. “I’ll take those screws, if you don’t mind.”
    “Man can’t make a decent living,” Sam muttered. He spat—carefully—downwind before dumping the bolts and screws into Brett’s hand.
    Brett dogged their heels until the two men were on their way and the rest of the force was notified. As he watchedthem turn the corner, he reached beneath his cap to mop his forehead. His hand came away wetter than expected. He swigged water from a bottle on the front seat of his patrol car. Usually he was immune to the heat, and the altercation with the con men was a part of his daily routine. So what had him so uptight he was sweating?
    The answer stood waiting next to the house. At the station last night, and on patrol this morning, he had half convinced himself that Stephanie Bryant was nobody he cared about. A “me, me” girl with a so-so figure and a snippy attitude. Definitely not his style. But one look at her, and