Not going to happen, buddy.

When she said nothing, he plowed onward. "Well, I guess the hallway is just fine. I am Georgie's dad, not an imposter."

"I know who you are. I recognized you from TV. You're an FBI agent."

He nodded, then raked his fingers through his hair. "Oh, yes, I forgot how many TV guys were at the crime scene."

"A dead guy found behind a company headquarters surely isn't an everyday occurrence in Connecticut."

"That's for sure. It also means it's going to be very difficult for a while, which is why I'm here. Like I said, I desperately need your help, Ms. Pulaski."

"With Georgie? Is there a problem? Can't she make her ballet class tomorrow?"

He shook his head. "No, it's not that. Frankly, I've run out of options. I could be called away on this case at any time, and I was hoping, praying, actually, that maybe you could help me take care of her for a while when she's not in school, maybe come to my house for a few days. Georgie always talks about you being a dancer, like that's what you do for a living, and I thought-"

At her utterly bewildered look, he said, "Ah, you're not only a ballet teacher, are you? You also have a full-time job, and you don't have the time or the inclination to take care of a little girl?"

"That's right. Teaching ballet is a hobby for me, Agent Richards."

"What do you do for a living, Ms. Pulaski?"

"I'm a private investigator, Agent Richards."

He looked at her like she'd suddenly sprouted devil's horns. She supposed he'd expected her to say anything but that. She knew what she looked like, a beanpole in jeans and a white T-shirt, boots that brought her to nearly six feet, and nearly to his eye level, her plain brown hair in a thick French braid. Long silver hoops dangled from her ears.