If I had planned to be scrambling over rooftops, I’d have worn my lucky black sneakers and jeans; but there I was, with a mop of rain-sopped hair dripping onto my bare toes and my mini-skirted legs scraped in three places.

Nevertheless, it did remind me of the time I’d been lurking around the peak of a Middle Eastern embassy (which, for obvious reasons, must remain nameless), clinging to its curved, terracotta shingles while a storm pounded sheets of rain down on me. It had been scary as hell, knowing all those machine guns that were potentially pointed at me, but exhilarating just the same–and I hadn’t had the opportunity to do anything this adventurous since I left the FBI.

Of course, I could have done what I needed to do without climbing onto the roof…but what fun would that be?

I huddled next to the chimney that jutted up in front of me, more rain trickling down my cheek, and focused my camera at the soft yellow glow from a window of the house only three yards away. Two figures moved together, perfectly illuminated as they tore each other’s clothes off.

I haven’t watched too many people make love in real life, but I decided right then that if this was what it normally looks like, being a PI was going to have more drawbacks than I’d thought. At least when I was a special agent with the FBI, I didn’t have to spy on unattractive people getting it on. Face down loaded guns, yes. Make split-second, life-saving decisions –of course. Do the right thing to keep my country safe–every day. Just about get my butt killed…too many times to count.

But playing the voyeur…no.

I tried not to look through the lens as I took the pictures.

By the time the two landed on the bed, I had shimmied myself down the far side of the roof and onto a nearby tree branch. One of my sandals fell off, landing soundlessly on the thick, wet grass shadowed below.

I launched myself down a few more branches in the maple tree, the bark rough under my bare foot. When I finally dropped to the ground, holding the camera protectively to my chest, the other sandal went flying and both of my feet landed in the lush, slick grass. It was soft and cool and brushed my feet like little needles.

Thankful for the streetlight, I was able to spot one of my sandals immediately…but the other one proved elusive. I peered into the shadows edging the back yard of the empty house I’d just climbed, but I still didn’t see it.

It was about that time that I realized I was being watched.

The hair on my arms lifted and I slowed my movements to become more casual so that I could check things out while I hooked a finger through the strap of my sandal. I wasn’t packing tonight, although I was licensed to carry as concealed as one could carry in Illinois, because all I needed was the photos to prove that Raymond Steadwell was indeed cheating on his wife. I wasn’t expecting any trouble.

But trouble, it appeared, was what I was going to get.

I smiled in anticipation. I was no easy target for a mugger.

One of the shadows across the yard shifted, unfusing into the unmistakable shape of a man. I knew right away that he wasn’t supposed to be lurking around in this back yard any more than I was. The only question was whether he was stalking me, or had something else up his sleeve.

The glint of something silvery in the rainy half-moonlight answered that question as he launched himself toward me. I ducked, catching him in the gut and flipping him over my back, curling my toes into the ground to keep from slipping on the wet grass. Whirling, I yanked the camera up and over my head, and whipped it around by the strap as he came back toward me. It would have caught him in the face, but he dodged, and came at me again.

I kicked out with a powerful waist-high thrust, slammed him in the gut, and was pivoting around for another slug when he ducked, yanked my ankle, and pulled me off-balance. I dropped the camera when I fell, face-first into the grass.

Suddenly, we were on the wet ground, rolling in the peaty smell of good suburban sod, scrabbling silently with each other. He was strong, and bulky, and smelled really good; but he was trying to twist my arm behind my back and that knife still gleamed like wickedness.

I bucked from beneath his solid weight, chopped at his arm, and the knife shot from his fingers. Rolling away, I grabbed for it just as he started toward me again…but I closed my hand around the stiletto first. I launched myself to my feet, crouched, ready, brandishing the knife. We circled each other there in that back yard, and I tried to get a glimpse of his face.

It was too shadowy for me to see more than dark hair and the sharp planes of his jaw and cheekbones. And then he feinted to one side, lunging for me at the other. A classic move…or so I thought, until I realized he’d twisted around unexpectedly and suddenly came from behind. He snagged an arm around my neck, grabbing my hand that held the knife and squeezing until I had to drop it.

I could feel the easy breathing from his chest against my shoulder blades and had a moment of annoyance that he wasn’t out of breath. Galvanized by indignation, I jammed a foot onto his instep, rammed my free elbow back, and just as I twisted to pull free, a light blazed into the yard.

It took only a second for me to realize that a car had pulled into the drive, and that the owners of the house were home. My assailant obviously had the same realization; he released me as I jerked away, letting me stumble off into the darkness. I looked over my shoulder as I ran toward the shelter of the tree’s shadow, and saw him launch himself over a fence like a gold-medal pole-vaulter.

The gleam of my camera shone in the middle of the yard and I huddled behind the tree, waiting for the chance to dash out and grab it before it became too water-logged to be any good. I didn’t want to have to photograph Raymond Steadwell having sex again if I didn’t have to.

Fortunately, the homeowners didn’t glance into their back yard as they unlocked their door and pushed their way into the house, eager to get out of the drizzle. As soon as the door closed, I snagged my camera and got the hell out of there.