Two hours later, Liam barged into J.C.'s office without bothering to knock.

She really wished he had. Not only was her face stuck in a take-out container of chicken vindaloo, the hot curry sauce had raised her temperature enough that she had removed her suit jacket.

Okay, it wasn't like she was naked.

"You won't believe, or maybe you will-" Liam stopped in his tracks and lifted his head up from the pad he was carrying.

His eyes lit on her red camisole.

Well, next to naked.

"I hate to say this, but you need to grab your jacket." He didn't bother to try to lift his gaze.

J.C. wiped her mouth with a paper napkin and stood, coolly ignoring the fact that her nipples were poking out like perky puppies through the thin silk.

She slipped the jacket off the back of her desk chair and onto her shoulders. "I'm sorry if I offended you."

"Please, offend is the last word I'd use. It's that we need to get out of here."

J.C. looked longingly at her lunch. She'd only managed to get a few bites. "Don't you want to hear what I found out about the numbers first?"

"You can tell me in the car," he said, shutting J.C.'s office door behind them.

She turned but didn't break stride. "You want to give me a clue where we're going?"

"Baldy's."

###

J.C. had never been to Baldy's house. When she first started at A&S the lack of an invitation had bothered her, but after she'd worked there a while, she was delighted.

Liam, on the other hand, seemed to have no problem knowing which way to go. He pulled the Subaru out of the small lot and headed for the west side of town where the rich people lived.

Like him.

"So I looked into the municipal records and contacted Phoebe," J.C. informed him.

"Phoebe?" He slanted her an incredulous look at a stoplight.

"Hey, don't knock Phoebe. She may look like she lives for the next Fendi bag sale, but she's a pretty sharp Realtor. Anyway, it's just as I suspected. The Borden property's been valued way too low. And the bargain sale prices for other properties elsewhere in the state have been much higher, as well. In fact, Phoebe estimated that Ned could ask and get twice the price, still clearing the same tax break with the correct valuation."

Liam took his foot off the brake and gunned the car forward as soon as the light changed. "That's more or less what I found out. I went through all the listings of registered land preservation agencies and farm protection organizations in the New Jersey, Mid-Atlantic states, the Eastern seaboard and the continental U.S. Nothing coming close to Land for Generations was there. Then I put into a call to the head honcho at the Sourland Mountain Preservation group, Max, who's fast becoming my best friend."

Liam put on his blinker and took a left at the park. "Not only had he never heard of this supposed outfit, he said that if the Borden property fell into the hands of unreliable stewards who were self-funding, in other words, people who didn't rely on state or municipal grants to purchase the property, they could easily fall outside the bounds of regulatory agencies and effectively get away with whatever they wanted to do. We're talking about things like turning around and selling the property to some reputable preservation group for much more money, thus turning a sizable profit, or-"

"Selling it to a developer," J.C. finished his sentence. "What scumbags. How did Baldy ever get mixed up with these crooks?"

"That's what we're about to find out." He took a right and headed up a narrow, tree-lined road. Originally a massive family estate, the mansion had been converted to a private school in the forties, with the remaining grounds sold off in three and four acre lots. Then bankers and stockbrokers who hadn't gone belly up in the Depression had built their dream houses.

Liam pulled into a circular driveway -- a brick colonial with a rotunda at the apex. Monticello appeared to have fathered a northern child.

Together they went to the front door. Liam rapped the massive bronze knocker on the freshly painted red door. J.C. looked away at the leaded sidelights. The glass was streaky with bubbles, giving it an authentically "oldy" feel. Eventually, she saw someone heading toward the door.

Baldy opened the door. He held icepacks on both cheeks and looked a little wobbly. After a moment of rapid blinking, he spoke, "Liam, Ms. Schubach, I wasn't expecting you."

"We're sorry to bother you, sir, but we have an emergency at the office that couldn't wait." Liam stepped in before Baldy could protest, and J.C. scooted in next to Liam. "We just need to talk for a few moments," he said.

Baldy sighed. "I suppose so, but I really do need to lie down. I had...uh...uh...oral surgery today, and my wife's been away all week at our daughter's in New Canaan. Even the housekeeper has off today, so I'm all on my own. Luckily, I found a Vicodin in the medicine cabinet from when my wife had hip replacement surgery, but the pain is truly frightful." He wobbled down the hallway, past a collection of still life paintings depicting fish and meat and fruit in various stages of decay. He entered his oak-paneled study and lay down on a leather couch under a pair of crossed swords.

Readjusting the ice packs, Baldy looked at Liam. "Yes?"

"We've been looking into the Borden property case and we've uncovered a major problem."

Baldy raised a paper-thin eyelid. "Problem?"

"We seem to be having difficulty tracking down the land preservation group, Land for Generations, that is handling the transaction. Since we're all supposed to move at lightning speed on the project-"

"And we're a little confused about some of the numbers they provided, as well," J.C. added quickly.

"The numbers are unimportant," Baldy announced.

That's the first time I've ever heard a lawyer say that! J.C. thought.

"I always say it's the people behind the organization who count, and I can vouch one hundred percent for the Land for Generations. I know the head, Joseph Ludovisi, quite well. I think extremely highly of him and his judgment. In fact, if I weren't so under the weather, I'd be meeting with him tonight." At this point, Baldy groaned strategically.

Liam knelt, trying to catch Baldy's attention for a little longer before he drifted off into a drugged stupor. He rested his hand on a small end table by the head of the couch, careful not to knock over an elaborate ship's clock and a small candy dish.

"What kind of meeting is that, sir? Something to do with the Borden deal?"

"No," Baldy's head rocked gently back and forth and a stream of spittle leaked from the corner of his mouth. "It's our twice monthly get-together."

Liam frowned. "You mean like a book club?"

"Investment group?" J.C. offered.

"Poker."

###

They left Baldy snoring on the couch.

"I can't believe how na•ve he's been." Liam dug his car keys out of his pocket. The driveway stones crunched under his feet. "Duped by a bunch of guys he plays poker with," he said, shaking his head. "He probably believes he's such a good judge of character because they let him win. What a monumental ego."

"We're in bigger trouble than Triple A's -- sorry -- Baldy's ego." J.C. stepped gingerly on the smooth river rocks, not wanting to twist an ankle. Why couldn't rich people just use blacktop for their driveways like the rest of the world? "Did you hear the name of the head of this land group?"

"I believe he said Joseph Ludovisi?"

"That doesn't ring any bells?"

Liam shook his head.

J.C. snorted. "You really have spent too long in the backwoods of Montana. Joseph Ludovisi, a.k.a. Joey the Juicer -- so named because he puts the squeeze on all his clients -- is the head of South Jersey's largest crime family."

"This is worse than I thought. Much worse." Liam mulled over the situation before looking over his shoulder at J.C. "Any ideas how to proceed?"

She looked heavenwards. "I don't know about you, but going back to Vegas is looking better and better."

Liam rubbed his chin. He was already starting to get a five o'clock shadow, J.C. noticed. "I just wish we had more time to do something - anything."

"You realize that this isn't the only thing Baldy hasn't been upfront about? I've got news for you, he did NOT have oral surgery. Those ice packs, the swelling - he's had BOTOX injections."

"And what do you think that means?" Liam held open the car door for her.

She rested her hand on the car roof. "Mid-life crisis?"

"That, and maybe he's got a mistress?"

"Mistress?" J.C. slipped into the seat. It was just too gross to imagine. "What makes you say that?"

Liam started up the car engine. "Didn't you notice the mints?"

J.C.'s jaw dropped open. Mrs. Oliphant's mints! "Oh, my God, you're right."

Liam's cell phone rang. "This could be Max again, so I better take it."

He flipped it open. "Hello...Oh, Mother, I wasn't expecting to hear from you that's all...What?...No, everything's fine...That's right, nothing new to report...I'm sorry, what did you say?...WHAT WAS THAT?...No, Mother, no...I'm not getting married."

###

J.C. padded to the kitchen in her bare feet. She'd changed from her suit to sweatpants and a UNLV T-shirt when she'd got home after work. Right now she was headed straight for the freezer and the pint of Chunky Monkey.

She pried off the lid and dipped in a spoon. It was still a little hard, so she popped open the microwave and nuked it for a minute.

As the turntable whirred around, J.C. contemplated her life. It seemed to be going around in circles, as well. Wasn't it just a few days ago -- five to be exact, because after all, J.C. was counting -- that she'd opened the door to her freezer and seen the very same container of ice cream? The day she had first met Liam.

That had been the start of this emotional roller coaster ride she'd been on. Liam, first her lover, then her professional nemesis, now her private eye buddy. How was it all going to end?

She sighed. The timer beeped and she flipped oven the microwave. Perfect.

That was until the doorbell rang. Still holding the ice cream, she walked through the house and opened the front door.

Liam stood there in khakis, a pink polo shirt and a pair of beat-up Top Siders. Very preppy, but on him, cute. "As usual, great minds think alike."

He put his hand in the paper bag he was carrying and pulled out another pint of Chunky Monkey.

"You remembered."

Liam marched inside and headed for the dining room. "Of course I remembered. You may be able to recall every number you've ever heard or read -- something that still amazes me, did I tell you?" He stopped abruptly, causing J.C. to pull up short. "But I am possibly the only man you've ever met who remembers your favorite ice cream flavor." Angling past the breakfront, he advanced to the kitchen. "Spoon. I need a spoon. Ah hah! I see you're already ahead of the game." He grabbed a large serving spoon and swiveled around to face J.C.

And prayed that the expression on his face didn't reveal how turned on he was. That if she bent over just enough in her pair of low-slung sweatpants he'd have a great view of her tattoos, and his fantasy would start all over again.

"So, other than to raid my cutlery, I presume you have a reason for gracing me with your presence?" J.C. told herself she would not watch Liam suck and lick the ice cream off his spoon.

He sucked on his spoon and went with his second answer. "I came because I need to find out Joey the Juicer's home address. Naturally, I thought of you."

J.C. took a mouthful of ice cream and ruminated. "And you think that just because I live in a neighborhood like this-" she waved in the general direction of the chain-link fence landscaping outside "-that I should know the home address of a mobster?"

Perhaps it would be better to confess he'd come over to ogle her body?

J.C. snapped her fingers, startling Liam. "But I bet I know someone who does," she said and walked over to the end of the kitchen counter.

Liam followed her. "Who?"

"Don't hover." She pulled the phone book out of the drawer and thumbed through the pages. "Mrs. Dibenski."

"Mrs. Dibenski?"

"My neighbor, from across the street?"

Liam frowned.

"The one with the bay window and the Venetian blinds?"

"Oh-h, that Mrs. Dibenski."

J.C. dialed the number. "Hello, Mrs. Dibenski, this is J.C. Schubach. Yes," she nodded, "I know recycling is this Thursday. I won't forget to put out my cans." She closed the phone book and put it away, closing the drawer with her hip.

"Listen, Mrs. Dibenski, I'm working this case and I thought maybe you might be able to help out...Yes, I should have remembered your legal expertise from watching every episode of Matlock...No, I don't think the firm has money for a retainer. It's more of a pro bono thing." She rolled her eyes. "So, I need some special information...What?...Yes, the Subaru wagon in my driveway is the same one that was here over the weekend..."

She pointed at the phone and made a Do-You-Believe-This expression.

"Joey the Juicer's address?" he whispered.

She held up a hand and nodded. "About this case, Mrs. Dibenski. I'm trying to find an address." J.C. gave her the particulars and a few moments later started making frantic hand motions. She covered the receiver. "Get me a pen and paper!"

Liam foraged through the drawer and came up with a ballpoint pen and the take-out menu from Papa John's. J.C. grabbed them and scribbled madly.

When she hung up, she turned and rested her back against the counter. "Success," she announced, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"Would you believe it? Seems Mrs. Dibenski's son, Chester, works for this catering company that specializes in big, fancy weddings. Joey the Juicer's daughter got married last June and..."

"Chester provided the ice sculptures in the shape of spouting whales."

J.C. stared. "How did you know that? It was ice sculptures, but cavorting dolphins, not spouting whales."

"So I'm not infallible." Then he thought of something. "Wait a minute, I thought you had this memory for numbers. Why'd you need to write it down? Was the street name that complicated?"

"Not at all." The corner of her mouth quirked up. "It's more that Mrs. Dibenski wanted me to write down all the flowers she wants you to plant in her front yard next weekend."

Liam growled.

"All in the name of serving our client."

Liam didn't laugh. But he did smile. "Speaking of which, you know that little red number you barely had on today?"

J.C. narrowed her eyes.

"I want you to wear it."

"Anything else?"

"My personal preference would be no. But since you need to function as a prolonged distraction -- emphasis on prolonged -- you might throw on a few other choice garments, as well."