And perhaps becoming a lawyer was yet more of an effort to earn her father's approval, but doing it in California had been her American mother's idea. “If you pursue your career in England,” her mother said, “you will always be Simon Hall's daughter to everybody, including yourself.”

So Petra took a first at Somerville College in Oxford, but then had crossed the water to Stanford for law school. Burke's talent spotters had plucked her easily from the crowd and made her an offer to come to San Diego.

“Your off-the-cuff psychoanalysis,” she says with a smile, “is all the more amusing coming from a man whose parents named him Daniels, Boone.”

“They liked the TV show,” Boone says. It's a lie. Actually, it was Dave the Love God who, back in junior high, gave him the “Boone” tag, but Boone is not about to reveal this-or his real first name-to this pain in the butt.

“And what are you putting on your body?” she asks.

“Rash guard.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Ever had wet suit rash?” Boone asks.

“Nor a rash of any other kind.”

“Well, you don't want it,” Boone says.

“I'm sure. Towel?”

Boone takes the towel, wraps it around his waist, and shuffles out into the office.

11

“What's the state of the nation?” Boone asks Cheerful.

Cheerful punches a few more numbers into the adding machine, looks at the result, and says, “You can either eat or pay rent, but not both.”

This is not an unusual short list of options for Boone. His perpetually shallow cash flow isn't because Boone is a bad private investigator. The truth is, he's a very good private investigator; it's just that he'd rather surf. He's totally up front about the fact that he works just enough to get by.

Or not, because he is now three months late on the rent and would be facing eviction if not for the fact that Cheerful is not only his business manager but also his landlord. Cheerful owns the building, Pacific Surf, and about a dozen other rental properties in Pacific Beach.