"Did you find the lost dog?" RJ asked.

"Yeah."

"Want a beer?"

"Yeah."

"Thought I'd order hookers tonight. You want one or two?"

"Yeah."

RJ slammed the lid on my laptop, ignoring my glare.

"What the fuck?" I growled.

"I'm the one who should be asking that question, Will. You've been on a different planet this evening. Girl trouble? That blonde from last night?"

No, well, yes. Valerie, the blonde, had messaged me three times today and called twice. She might have been hot in the sack, but I didn't need that kind of clingy.

"The blonde's history."

"Shame. She made good coffee."

"Why don't you ask her out, then?"

"Sloppy seconds? Not my thing, man." I moved to open my laptop again, but RJ kept his hand on the top. "What's up? Tell Auntie RJ all about it."

RJ was Randall James Wilkinson-Shields, my best mate since we'd got detention together on our first day of boarding school for putting a live mouse in the French teacher's pencil case. Not our fault nobody locked the biology lab at lunchtime. Rather than become known as Randy the Third for our entire school career, he'd shortened his name to RJ Shields and played a lot of rugby to avoid claiming the "geek" crown for his love of computers.

And now he was my housemate.

Well, sort of. RJ's father had bought him the three-bedroom townhouse as a gift for passing his university entrance exam, while mine kicked me out of the house for choosing the police academy over a career in law, and I'd been camping out in RJ's spare room ever since. Eight years on, and we bickered like an old married couple.

And if I didn't talk to him, he'd change the Wi-Fi password until I did. I sat back in my chair and sighed.

"I got offered a new case."

"And? What's the problem? You need the work, yes?"

I did, so badly I couldn't afford to turn any job away. And that bothered me.

When I didn't reply, RJ drummed his fingers on the desk. "Cheating husband? Stolen lawnmower? Another missing pet? You know those are your favourite."

Yeah, right. I'd spent the past fortnight tracking down Muffy, my godmother's best friend's elderly poodle who'd taken fright at some fireworks and run off on her evening walk. Another little old lady had claimed ownership under the "finders keepers" rule, and I'd got caught in the crossfire as the two women hurled doggy treats at each other. Then Muffy bit me on the arm when I picked her up.

Now I had a bandage, a sore arse from the tetanus shot, and a potential nightmare of a new case.

"No, this one's a murder investigation."

RJ gave a low whistle. "Bit of a step up. Are you going to take it?"

"Not sure I've got a choice."

Muffy's "mother" might have given me a generous tip, but my bank account was still alarmingly empty. RJ lived a champagne lifestyle on a Cristal budget, while my finances ran to Prosecco at the moment. And only girls drank that.

But RJ always had my back.

"Skip the rent for a few months."

RJ had never asked me to pay in the first place, but my conscience wouldn't let me live there and contribute nothing. "Can't do that."

He shrugged. "Your choice. Go on, then, tell me about this murder."

I stared at his hand until he lifted it, then opened my laptop again. Not that I really needed to. The victim's green eyes were burned into my damn soul now.

"Helene Weston, twenty-eight years old and heiress to her father's business empire. Someone stabbed her two weeks ago at their company headquarters. The cops haven't got very far, and her Daddy's getting impatient."

"Sounds like he could be a demanding client."

"Yes, he does."

In the brief meeting I'd had with him today, called at his insistence at two p.m. on a Sunday afternoon, Mr. Weston had impressed upon me the need for results, and quickly. The only thing he wanted for Christmas, he said, was his daughter's killer behind bars. And Christmas was just two short weeks away.

RJ rubbed one hand over his mouth in the way he did when he wasn't sure whether to say something or not. I waited him out.

"Without wanting to be insulting, how did he come to pick you?"

It was a fair question. My reputation wasn't exactly stellar—a hasty resignation from Hertfordshire Constabulary before I got fired had been followed by an internet hate campaign started by a spouse I'd caught cheating on her wealthy husband. She'd been a one-hit wonder with some pop song about lollipops, but in her short career, she'd amassed several thousand Facebook fans and twice that on Twitter. And now they all knew Will Lawson's private investigation firm was a crock of shit. RJ soon got her social media accounts shut down, but not before the damage was done.

"Chris Turner recommended me for the job."

"As in Chris Turner, the by-the-book asshole who got you kicked off the force?"

"That's the one."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because he hasn't got anywhere with the case so far, he reckons I won't either, and he wants to make himself look better."

"He'll roadblock you at every opportunity."

"He will."

And the stupid part of me still wanted to take the case, because if I could solve it, that would be the sweetest revenge possible against a man who'd contributed to my downfall. And Chris Turner wasn't much of a detective. He knew his way around every form, report, and protocol the Hertfordshire Constabulary threw at us, but actual police work was a pesky task he'd avoided wherever possible. He'd only got promoted because he'd worked out through diligent study and years of experience which arses to lick.

"Aw, shit. I know that look. You're about to do something stupid," RJ said, tapping at his phone. "Look, I can shift some meetings around and work remotely for a week. The chalet in Verbier's free. Let's take off for a few days, get in some quality time on the snow, and distract ourselves in the evenings with pleasant female company."

"I can't."

"Sure you can. You've still got your ski gear, right?"

I'd been tempted to sell it on eBay, but things hadn't got quite that desperate yet. And if I could solve this case...

"I need to do this, RJ."

He rolled his eyes and blew out a long breath, sounding remarkably like Valerie did last night when I told her I'd be busy with work for the foreseeable future.

But like I said, he always had my back.

"Tell me what you need."

And while I'd ignored my father's orders and leapt straight into a job he didn't approve of, RJ had been a little smarter. Smart as fuck, he'd studied law at the London School of Economics and Political Science, one of the city's leading universities, and still found time in the evenings to turn his hobby into a business. I'd fought with my conscience and turned a blind eye to his slightly less than legal exploits, and now he ran the country's most successful ethical hacking firm, testing cybersecurity for major corporations and prominent individuals. But he still did black-hat stuff on the side.

"Can you get me the police files on Helene Weston's murder? And anything you can find on her family and acquaintances?"

"I'll take payment in beer and pizza."

"Pepperoni?"

"You know me so well."