When she saw the shadow on the glass, Buffy put away the copy of the LA Times that she was reading, and waited for the knock. She knew what the shadow outside was doing-reading the plain black lettering on the frosted glass window on her door.

Simple, direct and to the point. Like the woman it described. Buffy left her feet on the desk-if the shadow wasn't looking for her, there was no point having to make herself comfortable all over again. But the knock came, as she had known it would.

"Come in" she called.

She had never moved from her first one-room office, despite having the money for a better one. She knew it was sappy, but she had a sentimental attachment to it, and the location ensured that the high-society cases that paid her bills didn't come here unless she was truly needed. It also meant that the occasional snitch wasn't too intimidated to seek her out.

As the door opened, Buffy thought again about taking her feet off the desk, but decided not to bother. If the client didn't like what they saw, they could leave-Buffy could afford to pick and choose her clients.

Angel Roarke took a deep breath and held it as he opened the door. If the word got out about what had happened, his family would be in a sticky situation. He very much hoped that Buffy Summers was everything he'd heard. He needed a detective who was skilled, fast, and very discreet.

Angel closed the door and looked up. He thought dispassionately that he wished Benjy had warned him that Buffy Summers had sensational legs. Their position on top of the desk showed them off nicely. Angel forced his eyes directly to her face. His father had once told him that if he ever looked at a woman from the legs upward, no woman he would ever want would ever think much of him. It had been one of the few useful things his father had ever told him.

Buffy hid a smile. Nearly every woman alive knew about The Look-when a man sees a body part and just has to see if the rest matches. Going straight to her face made the man rise several points in her book-and then she looked at his face.

Buffy could feel her heart start to pound like a jackhammer as she met the chocolate brown eyes, but pushed it away. She was a professional, first and foremost, and this man was a prospective client.

"Buffy Summers?" The voice was low and smooth, with none of the rough edge that Buffy expected from a man so young-early twenties at the most.

"In the flesh" she replied, trying not to wince as she realized that her own voice had become husky and breathy.

Angel wished she hadn't used that particular phrase, because the rest of her more than matched her legs. Blonde hair cut into a sleek bob that brushed her shoulders, and big green eyes that looked directly into his, with a gaze that went right through him. The curvaceous figure was draped in a fitted white silk blouse and a black skirt that ended exactly two inches above the knees, right on the edge of fashionable and provocative.

Angel forcibly brought his mind back to the matter at hand, and said "My name is-"

"Angel Roarke." Buffy finished. At his slightly surprised look, Buffy reached for the paper she'd been reading, opened it to the society pages, and showed him the photograph.

Angel smiled, and Buffy held her breath as her stomach went whoomp! and a jolt of fire ran through her.

"Reading up for clients?" he asked.

Buffy turned her best icy stare on him-one of her more formidable weapons-and was somewhat dismayed to see that it didn't have a great deal of effect. "I don't need to 'read up' for clients, Mr. Roarke. I can pick and choose who I work for."

"Benjy Forrester recommended you. He speaks very highly of you."

"I'm the best." Buffy told him simply. "So tell me, Mr. Roarke," she continued as she swung her feet onto the floor and placed her folded hands on the desk "What do you need me for?"

Going on impulse, Angel smiled again as he sat down and replied "Call me Angel. I need you for this." As he spoke, he reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a photograph.

Buffy took it, and raised an eyebrow as she asked, "Is it missing?"

"Stolen. I need you to find out by who and how to get it back."

"Why not go to the police?"

"The statue is a family heirloom. It's been associated with the rise of my family's fortunes, and I'm in the middle of a business deal with some rather superstitious people. Something like this could make them back out of the deal."

Buffy gave him a slanting glance out of the corner of her eye. Angel took a deep steady breath as his head spun, and reminded himself to make Benjy suffer a great deal for not warning him that the private eye he had suggested was also one of the most devastating women that Angel had ever met.

"There's more to it than that." Buffy told him evenly. She never took on a client who lied to her, ever since an early case that had left her with a very interesting scar.

Angel looked into her eyes, and knew that this woman didn't tolerate dishonesty. "I'd rather not say right now-I don't want to prejudice you."

"Fair enough. Why don't you explain to me exactly what happened, as far as you know."

Go on to Part Two.

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