This close to D.C., private and public cops were as common as ants. Still, Cord couldn’t imagine why one would be here, in his classroom-much less why the ferret and hound would be paired together.

“All right. Let’s wrap this up,” Cord said, but he didn’t really want to wrap up the class at all. It was twenty minutes to ten. Outside, it was a bone-chilling, rainy night, but inside, Cord had been perfectly happy, his boots up on the desk, his arms cocked behind his neck, occasionally stirring himself to referee the debate…but the two strangers made it impossible to concentrate.

He couldn’t imagine what they wanted…but it couldn’t be good. Cord was fatalistic about bad luck. It never showed up when you were in the mood, because you were never in the mood.

“Okay, I know you think you escaped a bullet by getting out early, but don’t start thinking I’m going easy on you. Next Tuesday night, I just might keep you until after eleven.”

This threat was greeted with mixed laughter and groans. Students rustled into their jackets, stood up, dropped books, made all the usual noise it took to scoot them out of the place. Even on a medieval dark night like this one, they were more revved than tired, and damn it, when Cord finally got them charged up about ideas and thinking and bigger worlds, he hated to let them go.

The place had completely cleared out before the two strangers headed down the aisle. Cord had stood up by then, was pushing papers and books into his folio, reaching for his old alpaca jacket…but he watched them.

“Cord Pruitt?”

Cord nodded. Both men showed their IDs. As expected, the jowly, tired-looking guy was a detective, George Bassett. The other man-the more interesting character with the long, sharp features-was private security. Ian Ferrell had a tag from the Senate Office Building, so, pretty obviously, he was on some senator’s staff. Cord was even more mystified why they’d be paired together.