The third book in the Ed Eagle series

ED EAGLE SAT, all six feet seven inches of him, propped up on many pillows in bed, watching Court TV on the fifty-inch flatscreen television of his suite at the Hotel Bel-Air in Los Angeles. He had decided to watch from bed rather than attend the trial of his former wife, Barbara, since he had already spent three days in the courtroom, giving his testimony against her. Now it was time for the summations.

The prosecutor, a woman apparently in her midthirties named Valerie Simmons, whom Eagle found quite attractive, had done a very good job in the trial, he thought, and since he was one of the half dozen best trial lawyers in the western United States, his opinion counted for something. Now all Ms. Simmons had to do was nail the lid on the thing. Eagle would have preferred nailing and screwing the lid on it, but he would settle for nailing-anything to get Barbara into a cell for the next fifty years or so.

Eagle’s girlfriend of the last year, the actress Susannah Wilde, came out of the bathroom, her hair wet, her robe hanging open. She crawled across his body, deliberately stroking his face with her breasts as she went, and snuggled up next to him.

“Don’t wave those things at me,” Eagle said. “I have to watch Barbara go down.”

“Wouldn’t you rather watch me go down?” Susannah asked, tickling his lower belly.

“On another occasion, yes,” he replied. “But right now you’re going to have to contain yourself, as difficult as that may be.”

Susannah sighed and pulled herself upright next to him, plumping her pillows. “Oh, all right,” she said.