He seldom did—his own instincts usually served him well—but this time his editor had been adamant, and he was footing the bill, as well.“You’ve got to get to New York for the memorial service,” Gregory had insisted. “Just to check out the lay of the land. You can stay undercover—we have camera crews and reporters there to do the main work. But you need to see what’s going on firsthand. How the widow’s bearing up. Whether any former lovers decide to appear out of the woodwork and make a scene.”“What if someone sees me? How the hell can I talk my way into the villa when someone might remember me from the service?” he’d argued.“I don’t need to tell you how to do these things, Maguire,” Gregory had replied. “You’re an old pro—you can talk your way into and out of anything.”“I’m planning on passing myself off as an insurance adjuster once I get to the villa. Why would I be in New York?”“Afraid you can’t handle it, Maguire? Lost your nerve?”“I can handle it,”
