Nick didn't care about the cool dampness. He didn't care that most people knew him as Mike. He didn't care that his day job was governor, or some such thing.

It was easy to forget all of that when she walked into the room.

"Mr. Danger, I hear you're good at finding things," she said in a soft, low growl.

"I'm not sure where you got that," he replied, trying to play it cool. "I seem to keep on losing things -- travel records, e-mails, money on coastal land deals, my reputation. But I am pretty good at spelling Nick Danger backward on my private e-mail account."

"That's good enough. By the way, who is this 'Governor Easley' mentioned on that sign on your door?" she asked.

"Never mind. What is it you've lost?"

"My innocence."

Easley, er, Nick felt the red rush across his face.

She turned away, pretending not to notice. Walking to a window, she picked up a big stamp, the word "VETO" scrawled across it. It was a nice, momentary diversion.

"It's just that I used to believe in crime-fighting prosecutor/politicians. I mean, I know they may play golf all the time, like to fly around in private jets and might neglect state agencies. But I just never thought ..." She stopped, gazing into his face with a look that would make a university chancellor resign.

Nick wasn't buying it. Why should he? Lanny Wilson or some other political donor with deep pockets would give it to him for free.

"Look, doll, why don't you just take those two beautiful stems and grow on down the street?" Nick replied. "I'll even get you an express permit to speed the process along."

"What, you're not going to help me? But I gave $50,000 to the state Democratic Party," she said. She tried that get-an-N.C. State-administrator-fired look again, but could see it wasn't working.

"All right, I'll give it to you straight," she said, the sexiness draining from her voice. "I've been working this one job for years, and I'm tired of the commute. Also, I really think I'm worth more money. I want a job closer to home and one that pays something close to 200K. You need to help me. You better help me."

Nick couldn't believe his ears. Or his nose. He knew that perfume. Yes, it was Cannonsgate Caress. He buried his face in his now-sweaty palms, knocking the subpoenas from his desk.

"Gosh, you're destroying this for me. You sound like my wife. You smell like my wife," he sobbed.

"I am your wife," she replied.

Reality slapped him now, like a late-arriving reporter asking off-topic questions at a news conference.

"No comment. I've got to go now. I've got an appointment. Just call the press office. Or send an email -- Nick Danger, in reverse."