In New York, it's the tightly-secured buildings along Fifth and Park Avenues; in Los Angeles, it's Beverly Hills and Bel Air; and in Houston, it's River Oaks. River Oaks. Oil barons and Italian barons. Astronauts and former movie stars. The famous and the infamous. As Sam followed Amy's little white Miata down the broad expanse of River Oaks Boulevard, past the five million dollar mansions with their sculpted gardens, he wondered who in the hell her parents were. When she'd said River Oaks, Sam had envisioned one of the streets on the fringes, not this prime center location. He couldn't suppress a low whistle as she turned on Inwood Drive, drove about half a block, then pulled into the driveway of an enormous red brick Georgian home with a gray mansard roof. After stopping to punch in the code for the electronic security gate, she drove on through, and he was right behind her. "Holy shit," he muttered. "These people have some bucks!" For a few seconds, he wondered what he was doing there.
