Aimee struggled not to smile. "I keep them in my closet. Real snakeskin. My maman sent them from le Texas." She had the cowboy boots but she'd bought them herself at the Dallas airport.

Upstairs, lights glowed behind her frosted-glass office door.

"Soli Hecht left you a present," said her partner, Rene Friant, a handsome dwarf with green eyes and goatee. He wore a three-piece navy blue suit and tasseled loafers. Rene pumped the hydraulic lift handle of his custom orthopedic chair with his foot.

Curious, she picked up the thick manila envelope with her name scribbled on it.

Fifty thousand francs were inside along with a note.

Find her killer-tell no one. I don't trust the flics. I trust you.

Wads of franc notes tumbled out as she grabbed the desk edge to steady herself.

"He must like you!" Rene's eyes grew wide. "We'll convince the tax board to…"

She shook her head. "I can't…"

Rene pumped furiously until the seat aligned with his desk.

"Look at this." He thrust one of several threatening letters from the bank manager at her. "Our tax extension is up in the air, the bank is calling in our note. Now, the Eurocom accountant refuses to pay us the eight months of back payments we're owed, he's quibbling about a clause in the contract; it could take months." He struggled to adjust a knob on his seat. "Time you got out of the computer clouds, Aimee, and got back in the field."

"I don't do murder." She winced.

"You make it sound like there's a choice."

"INSPECTEUR MORBIER is expecting me," Aimee said to Madame Noiret, gritting her teeth at the Commissariat de Police reception desk. Not only did her jaws ache from the biting cold outside, she was dying for a smoke.

"Bonjour, Aimee, ca va?" Madame Noiret, the gray-haired clerk peered through reading glasses and smiled. "I'll let him know you're here."