Now Tony must summon all his wits and courage to outsmart the forces of international espionage--tracking down the painting was easy, escaping the clutches of the KGB, the Mafia and Mossad is more than he bargained for. And then there's the man, the one with a predeliction for guns and sharp knives. Suddenly, all Tony can think of is the warm comfort of his shop in D.C., and the sound of small voices: "Hey, mister, how much for the chocolate handcuffs?"
Will he ever see those little faces...
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