“Why do you call him Chuck Puckett instead of Chuck or Charles?”

Super Agent and I were sitting in a diner having a cup of coffee, looking like any couple on a date. Except this wasn’t a date. And I couldn’t help but feel as though I’d be struck by lightning at any moment for locking lips inside the church where Chuck Puckett was being mourned. Plus, I’d missed the funeral and was feeling sorry about it. For all his faults and failings, he hadn’t deserved to be murdered.

“It was kind of a joke between us.” I could feel my cheeks pinking. Talking about an ex-boyfriend with the guy I’d just swapped spit with wasn’t my normal MO. If Chuck Puckett was ever going to haunt me, this would be the perfect time for him to make an appearance.

Super Agent nodded, the fluorescent lighting creating a halo around his cleanly shaven head. I didn’t usually go for bald guys, but this one had macho to spare and there was a Zen-ness to him, a calm that seemed to quiet the rush inside of me. Who needed hair? Lord knew I had enough hair for the both of us, cascades of thick, black curly stuff that took forever to comb out.

“What should I call you?” I asked to change the subject.

His gaze drifted to the cup in front of him. “I think it’s probably best if you called me Agent Poole.”

Wow. Where was Guinness when you needed them? This had to be a new land speed record for getting dumped. “Fine.”

“Maggie—”

“Miss Castro. We may as well be consistent.”

He finally had the balls to look at me. “I didn’t mean for that to happen back there.”

“You’re not married, are you? Because that would just be the cherry on top of my giant, craptastic sundae.”

He held up his bare left hand.

“Well, that’s something, I guess.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t. Okay?” I grabbed my purse. “Thanks for the protection, the fantastic make-out session, and the coffee. See you around.”

As I walked past, Super Agent grabbed my wrist. “Sit down. Please.”

“I don’t need this. I’ve got enough going on with an angry mob of reporters, my sudden national notoriety, oh, and that other little thing…the murder rap hanging over my head.”

“I need your help.”

“Right.”

“Sit down and let me explain.”

I wanted to say no. I really did. But the look in his eyes stopped me. I sighed and slid in across from him, pinning him with the beady eye. “This better be good.”

“What do you know about Trinh Pham?”

“You can get it with chicken or shrimp?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He sat back and studied me. “She’s the woman the senator was having ah…how can I put this delicately…relations with besides you.”

“I have a paper cut you could pour lemon juice on. Why don’t we do that instead?”

“So you don’t know anything about her.”

“I know she was getting what I wasn’t, riding my boyfriend like she was winning the Kentucky Derby. And that she’s a screamer and her boobs are as big as your head. Also, she has a stupid tramp-stamp tattoo and wears too much makeup. That enough for you?”

“Wait a minute. What do you mean she was getting what you weren’t?”

“I mean I saw more of Chuck Puckett bucking underneath her than I saw of him the whole year we were together. Including that time we went to the lake for some fun-in-the-photo-op sun. Look, I need to get home and feed my cat.” I started to scoot out of the booth.

“You don’t have a cat. Stop avoiding my questions.”

I halted midslide and slowly turned back to him. “How do you know I don’t have a cat?”

The reddening of his mocha-latte complexion might have charmed me had I not had the sudden feeling that an anvil was about to be dropped on my head.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said, his words careful and testing.

“Watching me.”

“You’re my assignment.”

“I’m your…” And then the anvil hit. “Well, isn’t that stalkerific. I am so out of here.” This time he didn’t stop me. Tears burned behind my eyes, and I was so intent on putting him behind me that I didn’t realize he’d followed me until I got to my car.

“Maggie, wait. Let me explain.”

“Help! Rape!”

He clamped a hand over my mouth and backed me up against my car. “Don’t do that. People are watching us,” he whispered.

I blinked up at him with wide eyes. His explaining skills could use a lot of work. So now it wasn’t just him watching me, but a whole passel of unseen stalker agents. What had I done and to whom to have this landslide of good fortune?

“We’ve had the senator under surveillance for months. At first, we thought you might be involved. I was assigned to monitor you. I know you didn’t kill the senator because I was following you. You were home watching a movie until the senator called and invited you over. He was already dead when you got there.”

I tried to talk around his hand. He really needed to stop muzzling me.

“Promise not to scream again?”

I nodded and he removed his hand.

My words came out in a rush of relief. I was saved. “You’re my alibi. Tell the police. They’ll listen to you.” I was so giddy about having an alibi that the creep factor of kissing the guy assigned to shadow me took a few seconds to click in, then, “Oh…eww.”

“What?”

“Back at the church when you ki—”

His annoying hand was back.

“Not here. People watching, remember?”

I glared up at him. He was in severe danger of losing a digit.

“Get in the car and I’ll tell you everything.”