Georgia when I heard the knock at my door.

“I’m closed!” I shouted at the person who dared darken my door after hours.

Although I thought I had used my firm voice, the visitor persisted, the knocking becoming a little more insistent. I sighed and wearily rose to my feet, wondering what sort of reprobate I had attracted this time. My clients weren’t the most upstanding people in town. But I was hoping to change my image.

I unlocked the door to my small office and prepared to usher my visitor in. But he stood there looking at me expectantly, as if my “come in” gesture was beneath him.

“Would you please come in?” I said, somewhat sarcastically. It was lost on him, it seemed.

“I wish to contract your services,” he said rather formally as he walked into my office.

“Right to the point, huh? Okay, sit down and we’ll talk about it. I’m Libby Fox. Well, I guess you know that since my name is on the door.”

He eyed the dilapidated chair that sat across from my desk, and to tell the truth, I didn’t really blame him. He gingerly sat down, not doing a very good job of hiding his distaste. Again, I didn’t blame him.

“So, Mr., um….” I started.

“Ryder. Adam Ryder.”

Bond. James Bond. “Okay, Mr. Ryder, what can I do for you?”

“I have a serious problem that I think you might be able to help me with. Do you find missing persons?” he asked.

“Find them? Well, I do my best. Is someone missing?”