I've come a long way since inheriting my Aunt Elizabeth's Tarpon Cove house and her beach cottages full of quirky residents. I strap a Glock to my thigh as easily as I slip into flip–flops. Even Fab is going legit . . . mostly. When she's hired to investigate some high–end boat thefts in Biscayne Bay, I go along to do what I do best. Chat up the help to get the real story. Neither of us expected the case to explode-literally-and take out one of Miami's richest men. And possibly a mistress, though no one's found her body floating among the bits and pieces. Somewhere in the Miami upper–crust's phony smiles and even phonier alibis, there's someone who wanted to see Marshall Sacks dead. Someone willing to ruin Fab's and my lives to keep their secret. It'll take calling in every favor I'm owed to keep us out of trouble.
