There's a timeless quality to Layla Miller. Even with the mask, she looks like something out of an old movie, the dress hugging to her every curve, her hair pulled away from her face, leaving her neck bare and begging to be kissed. Chandler wrote that the good detective never gets married, but looking at her makes me want to settle for mediocrity. Or maybe that's just the booze talking, it's hard to tell. Either way, one thing's for certain -- she's stunning.

Dressed in gray and hands momentarily free, Jamie ambled toward Layla with the sort of confidence that came only with a few drinks. He was loose, relaxed -- less like Prime, and more like a dupe, that one, buried part of his personality that was good at mingling at parties and talking to beautiful women. Sliding in next to her, he leaned against the wall.

"Hiding from someone?"