LITMIR.BIZ

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was. Adam Bowlin’s operation was an oasis of calm by comparison. Although that could be deceptive.

      Jason had asked Gemma Chiswick to recommend Lara to Adam—Gemma knew everyone and everybody.

      As far as Lara understood, Jason and Gemma had once had a wild cocaine-and-champagne-fueled transatlantic love affair. Now they were the bestest pals ever, mostly because they had yet to figure out a way to cheat on each other, financially speaking. On her side of the Pond, Gemma ran a boutique investment firm for private clients who were disgustingly rich but too silly to think. But she wanted to move up to the big time and play with the big boys. So a trade had been made: if Jason could spare Lara from her Chicago duties to spy on Adam Bowlin, Gemma would reward Jason with, cough cough, insider tips.

      Naughty, naughty. But Lara wasn’t involved with that side of the somewhat shady transaction. She was only supposed to find out what stocks, bonds, CDOs, and other financial instruments Adam favored and why, what he paid for them, how he sweet-talked investors into buying into the Bowlin Fund, and above all, precisely how he spun millions of dollars and pounds and euro and yen into billions. Running a very successful hedge fund basically meant never having to say you were sorry, so long as everybody who got in early made out like bandits when the fund went liquid.

      Good thing that Adam Bowlin had hired her just on Gemma’s glowing recommendation. She wandered around and looked discreetly at his personal photos.

      He had a life outside this office, that was for sure. Apparently he liked hiking and hey, he looked great in multi-pocketed chino shorts. Not many men could make that claim, but he had great legs. Mighty and muscular. Planted far apart on a rock, on top of a jagged peak—she could learn to love the great outdoors.

      And here he was with a crew of laughing buddies, male and female, in a restaurant that overlooked emerald-green, terraced rice paddies. Bali?

      Okay, sign her up.

      Another photo showed him sitting on top of a beat-up, dusty Land Rover. Not the kind suburbanites drove. He was eying a lioness who was eying him. South Africa? Oh, that might explain the ambiguous accent.

      And yet another one had been taken in a very English garden with a group of posh-looking people. Family? Hard to tell.

      Oh, that double portrait must be his mom and dad, the one of a pretty, crinkly-eyed lady in a lace-collared dress and an older man in a sweater that she had probably knitted for him. Aww.

      Adam came a little closer to her. “So what do you think of Operation Bowlin? The latest and greatest hedge fund of all.”

      Lara looked around. “Must be nice to be lightly regulated.”

      Adam pulled out a small swivel chair for her. “I just bend the rules. But I don’t break them.”

      She smiled. “You’re honest.”

      “I like to think of myself as too intelligent to get in trouble,” Adam said with a wink.

      “And you’re not modest.”

      He spun the swivel chair around with a laugh. “I think we’re going to get on, you and I. Sit down. I’ll explain the basics of my operation and then we can do creative brainstorming on the derivatives market. Would you like some coffee?”

      “Sure. Thanks.” Lara racked her brain trying to remember everything she knew about derivatives, drawing a blank. She couldn’t chalk it up to jet lag, not after a week, but she would be happy to let him teach her.

      “I’m afraid that our tea-and-coffee lady is out sick this week. Or on strike. I don’t remember. So I’ll send my assistant for it, if you don’t mind.”

      Who will probably hate me, if only for that, Lara thought. “Fine with me,” was all she said.

      Adam brought over a swivel chair for himself, then used his foot to move aside a large aluminum-sided box to make room for the chair. The box was filled with joystick consoles, plug-in connectors, DVDs, and other gear tossed in at random.

      “Video games.” He grinned a bit sheepishly. “Childish, I know, but I’m a fan.”

      “Most guys are.”

      “Do you play?” he asked.

      “Sometimes.” She looked into the box. “Not any of those, though. I don’t think.”

      “Not all of the ones in there are on the market. Some are prototypes.” He sat down next to her and took out a blank disc. “This is—hmm. I don’t know what this is. Should have labeled it, eh?”

      Lara nodded.

      “Someday I’ll straighten it all out.” He tossed it back in the box, then spotted something else. “Now these are quite interesting.” He took out something that looked like wraparound sunglasses, except that the lenses were covered.

      “What’s that?”

      “Prototype goggles. For a video game immersion experience. Still in development. I’m supposed to get the market-ready ones soon.”

      “Oh. I’d like to try them. I’ve never played a virtual reality game.”

      “They can be fun for a little while,” he said with a shrug. “But it can be a weird experience. Not for everyone.”

      Adam pulled over a wireless keyboard and tapped a key. A long line of e-mail messages appeared. Lara tried not to look, but did anyway.

      Penelope? Have you gone shopping? Come out, come out, wherever you are.

      A message shot back. Fuck off. (Sir.)

      He laughed at that and typed again. Some coffee, please. “How do you like yours, Lara?”

      “Black, thanks.”

      “Very good.” Two black coffees, Penelope, he typed. Thanks. After that you can leave for the day.

      “Is she…online somewhere?”

      “I hope so. Otherwise I might be communing with her avatar. Which means I will have wasted thirty seconds of my incredibly valuable time.”

      At the rate at which he made money, thirty seconds probably amounted to, oh, a thousand dollars. But he’d said in a self-deprecating tone that boded well for future interpersonal interaction.

      “Would you like to see Penelope’s avatar?” he asked.

      “Uh…” Lara hesitated. “Won’t she mind?”

      “Not at all. It’s not a secret. She has it tattooed on her back.”

      Where Adam had just happened to see it? Lara didn’t want to say that. She watched Adam scroll down through a Find list of Penelope’s e-mails and stop on one with an attachment.

      “Here it is.” He clicked and a finely detailed dragon unrolled itself on the screen, lashing its tail. “Penelope’s dragon. What do you think?”

      “I’m surprised you feel comfortable asking her to get coffee,” Lara said.

      Adam only chuckled. “Oh, we’re good friends and I would do the same for her. It’s Mrs. Howlett who’s the problem.”

      Lara raised her eyebrows.

      “The tea lady. Mrs. Howlett is a female to be reckoned with,” he said. “And an old-school Marxist. I gave her a paid holiday to Malta last Christmas and she told me I was a right stingy bastard and a Tory sod into the bargain.”

      Lara didn’t know what to say to that. She was not quite sure what a Tory was, but she thought it might be something like a Republican.

      “But she went anyway. Beige raincoat, crepe-soled shoes, dog-eared translation of the Communist Manifesto and all. She’s a terror. I do enjoy her.” Adam smiled fondly. “She gave me that snap.” He pointed to a small framed photograph.

      Lara peered at it. Mrs. Howlett was standing on a lookout point, the Mediterranean sparkling

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