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Matthew rose to his feet and held out his hand. “Yes.”

“Douglas Hamilton. Sorry I’m late.”

“No problem, Mr. Hamilton.”

“It’s Colonel.” Hamilton’s hand was soft, but his grip was strong. “I’m with the army.” A quick flash of very white teeth. “The United States army. Didn’t your father tell you?”

Matt motioned Hamilton into a chair, then signaled the waiter for two more beers.

“My father didn’t tell me much of anything except that you and he are old pals.”

Another flash of those white teeth. Matthew had seen sharks with similar smiles.

“Actually the friendship was between your father and mine.” The waiter put down two icy bottles. Hamilton ignored his. “How is Avery?”

“Fine,” Matt said politely, and wondered why he disliked Hamilton on the spot.

“I want to thank you for coming down here so quickly, Mr. Knight.”

Matthew didn’t answer. You learned more by letting silences grow than by hurrying to fill them.

“Trading on friendship is presumptuous but I needed a way to get to you.” Hamilton paused. “You and your company have quite a reputation.”

“You could have phoned. We’re in the book.”

Hamilton shook his head. “I couldn’t discuss this on a telephone.”

“Discuss what?”

“Straight to business. I like that.” Hamilton’s smile faded. “It’s my fiancée. I’m afraid she’s committed an, ah, an indiscretion.”

Matthew sighed. Every now and then, somebody figured Knight, Knight and Knight for a detective agency.

“Colonel,” he said politely, “I’m afraid you misunderstand what our company does. I’m not a private investigator. I don’t deal in personal issues.”

“I know that.” Hamilton lowered his voice. “What I’m about to tell you must be kept in strictest confidence.”

Hamilton’s fiancée had slept with another man. That would surely be the so-called “indiscretion.” Did Hamilton think he could hire a hit man? A couple of people had come to Risk Management with similar requests, but murder wasn’t on their list of services.

“My fiancée became involved in—in something.”

“An affair with another man?”

The colonel gave a harsh laugh. “I wish it were that simple.” He hesitated, leaned closer. “She smuggled drugs.”

Matthew blinked. “She smuggled—”

“Cocaine. As you know, diplomatic mail isn’t subject to customs searches. Mia used my embassy privileges to send cocaine to the States.”

Matthew stared at the man. It was a lot to take in. “Is she an addict?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Then, why did she do it?”

“For the money, I suppose. A lot of money.”

“What happened when she was caught?”