Brian Logan had just finished developing the last batch of photographs when the cell phone on his belt began to ring. Alone in the dark room, the black haired man quickly hung the last of the photos up to dry, and then answered the insistent ring of the little phone, a tiny device that seemed even smaller as it was swallowed in the grip of his large hand. With fingers larger than those of most men, he held the phone with firm, but gentle attention.

"Hello?" he answered. There would be no mistaking his Australian accent, even in so short a word.

"Good morning, Brian, my Aussie friend. How are you?"

Brian recognized the voice immediately. It was the voice of his best paying and most persistent client, a voice he had come to know very well, as owner and operator of Logan Security and Investigations.

Russ Gundy had insisted on dealing directly with 'the man in charge'. Brian Logan certainly was that man. Everything about him suggested raw masculine power and authority, from his solid six-foot-four frame to the two hundred and thirty pounds of muscle that went with it. If there was any doubt left in an observer's mind as to who was in charge at Logan Security and Investigations, one need only look into his eyes, eyes with irises the color of dark steel, and an innate hardness that suggested he was a man used to getting his own way.

Russ wasn't the most demanding client that Brian had ever had, but the bloke certainly liked to be updated on a day-to-day basis. It wasn't Brian's style, to give status reports first thing in the morning, every morning, but what the customer wanted, the customer got.

And Gundy paid him very well for his services. Very well indeed.

"Good, Mr. Gundy," he began, as he pictured the red headed man on the other end of the phone. "And you?"

"Good as I can be, given the circumstances. You left a message on my voice mail," replied the older, wealthier man. Now that Brian had some concrete evidence for his client, he hoped that the morning phone calls would cease. Unlike the other mornings, it was this morning that he had been the one to call Russ. "You said you had good news, evidence?"

Brian looked at the photos that hung, drying, on the line. As his gaze fell on the blond haired man pictured in many of the frames, his stormy gray eyes narrowed with cool speculation.

"Well, I'm not sure that you would take it as good news."

"Well, out with it. What did you find out?"

"Richard Alba is definitely in the business of trafficking drugs," said Brian, looking at one of the pictures he had taken with the help of a telescopic lens. The image of Richard bent over a table, drawing a line of cocaine through a straw to his nose, testing the product he was about to purchase. "No doubt about it."

"I knew it." Russ sounded pleased. "And you really have concrete proof?"

"Photos taken by telescopic lens and a recording taken by directional microphone." Brian was proud of his work, the long months of research that had culminated into the surveillance of the drug deal. His own pride in a job well done thickened his Australian accent, and deepened his baritone voice. "An entire drug deal caught on film and tape. These last three months of work, non-stop, have finally paid off for you, Mr. Gundy."

"Excellent!" The older man sounded ecstatic. "And what of my niece, Miranda?"

Brian's dark gray eyes glanced at the picture that was his favorite of the batch. Miranda was, in short, a photogenic beauty. The camera loved her, as did the film....