For Cassandra, an editor, books are easy to sort out. It's the real life that's the challenge: it doesn't sit quietly and let itself be fixed. Right now Cassandra's life seems far too heavy on the suspense, while the romance is distinctly unconvincing. But that was before the murders started, and before she suspected her own name was on the hit list.

After the murder, suspense and corruption that plagued the beginning of their relationship in The Apricot Colonel, Cassandra and the colonel are relieved to be happily ensconced in newly wedded bliss. Not for long though: their domestic idyll is suddenly shattered by the news that a friend's daughter has been found dead of an apparent drug overdose. An accident? Perhaps not. Soon a manuscript written by the dead girl turns up, which is an explosive expose of the local child prostitution scene. What better motive for murder? With characteristic panache and a magnificent wardrobe of women's clothes (his), Cassandra and her colonel set out to find a killer, immersing themselves in the seedy side of our nation's capital. Along the way they also learn a great deal more about each other, revealing new depths to this delightfully unconventional relationship.