Bang on midnight. If the information given him was right, the woman, Silver, driving a snappy, red Mercedes SLK, should be making her exit any second now. Leaning forward, he squinted, trying to see through the slashing rain and up the dark path leading to the gate and the mansion beyond it. The bank of trees fronting the property didn't make it easy. Standing shoulder to shoulder, they formed a dense shield against everyday oglers—and PIs, like him, following beautiful hookers. This being his first night on her tail, he hadn't yet set eyes on the woman, but he was pretty sure the guy paying for this job, the reclusive and insanely wealthy Harold Coleman wouldn't go to this much trouble and expense for fugly. Either that or the guy had more than the pay-as-you-go hots for her. It'd been known to happen. Before he could come up with any other scenario, a red car hustled its expensive butt out of the driveway, powered through a puddle, and sloshed water over the hood of his black Ford.
