“Donovan is a skilled storyteller. Reading her work is like watching a good movie.”

—Affaire de Coeur

With a confident smile, “Melissa” hit the phone’s send button.

“This is Ray Ortega. What’s up?”

“Ray, it’s me. I’ve got the disk. Call Jane and tell her to extract me right away.”

“Goddammit, Kristie! You’re just supposed to be planning a backup strategy. What the hell’s going on?”

“I’m perfectly safe. Salinger is my prisoner, bound and completely unconscious.”

“Kristie, where are the bodyguards?” Ray’s voice had grown steady and commanding.

“Outside the door. Salinger gave them instructions not to disturb us. But eventually, they’ll probably check. That’s why I’ve got the gun on him. If they come in, I’ll threaten to shoot their boss. The plan is flawless, but I’m a little anxious to get it over with. So please call Jane.”

“How many guards?”

“Two.”

“Okay. Go to the door. Poke your head outside and give them your biggest, sexiest Melissa Daniels smile. Then shoot them—once each—in the head.”

“What?”

Dear Reader,

We invite you to sit back and enjoy the ride as you experience the powerful suspense, intense action and tingling emotion in Silhouette Bombshell’s November lineup. Strong, sexy, savvy heroines have never been so popular, and we’re putting the best right into your hands. Get ready to meet four extraordinary women who will speak to the Bombshell in you!

Maggie Sanger will need quick wit and fast moves to get out of Egypt alive when her pursuit of a legendary grail puts her on a collision course with a secret society, hostages and her furious ex! Get into Her Kind of Trouble, the latest in author Evelyn Vaughn’s captivating GRAIL KEEPERS miniseries.

Sabotage, scandal and one sexy inspector breathe down the neck of a determined air force captain as she strives to right an old wrong in the latest adventure in the innovative twelve-book ATHENA FORCE continuity series, Pursued by Catherine Mann.

Enter the outrageous underworld of Las Vegas prizefighting as a female boxing trainer goes up against the mob to save her father, her reputation and a child witness in Erica Orloff’s pull-no-punches novel, Knockout.

And though creating identities for undercover agents is her specialty, Kristie Hennessy finds out that work can be deadly when you’ve got everyone fooled and no one to trust but a man you know only by his intriguing voice…. Don’t miss Kate Donovan’s Identity Crisis.

It’s a month of no-holds-barred excitement! Please send your comments to me, c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway Ste. 1001, New York, NY 10279.

Best wishes,

Natashya Wilson

Associate Senior Editor, Silhouette Bombshell

Identity Crisis
Kate Donovan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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KATE DONOVAN

is the author of more than a dozen novels and novellas, ranging from time travel and paranormal to historical romance, suspense and romantic comedy. An attorney, she draws on her criminal law background to create challenges worthy of her heroines, who crack safes, battle wizards and always get their man. As for Kate, she definitely got her man and is living happily ever after with him and their two children in Elk Grove, California. You can e-mail Kate at kate@katedonovan.com.

To my husband, Paul,

for bringing out the Bombshell in me.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Prologue

“Well, Ms. Daniels, that about wraps it up for now.” Ray Ortega, director of the Strategic Profiling and Identification Network, leveled his stare directly into a pair of sparkling green eyes. “You’ve probably figured out from our questions that a position here at SPIN involves more than traditional profiling. We also design false identities for undercover operatives. Do you think you’d enjoy that sort of thing? Creating a three-dimensional person with a history, identification and personality, then inserting that person into an existing community without detection?”

“Actually, sir, I think that’s the part of the job I’d really excel at.”

“I like your confidence,” Ray assured her. “And your credentials are impressive. But—” he began gathering up the papers in front of him “—we have several other applicants, so I’m afraid we won’t be able to give you our decision until early next week.”

“Wait!” Colonel Ulysses S. Payton, a heretofore-silent member of the interview team, motioned for Ray to stay seated at their elongated table across from the interviewee. “I have a question for Miss Daniels.”

The young woman smiled. “Yes, Colonel?”

“You’re not only pretty and well educated, you’re an Olympic-grade athlete! Why this job? What’s the point of earning a black belt in karate, or becoming a sharpshooter, if you’re hiding away all day working at a computer?”

The candidate gave a slight nod, as though acknowledging the aptness of the question. Then she explained, “I’ll be using my skills as a resource, so that I can create believable identities and workable strategies for government agents. My imagination is my universe, Colonel. It’s all I need. And there’s no place on earth I’d rather be than at SPIN headquarters, assisting agents in the field.”

“It’s a danged waste if you ask me,” the soldier muttered.

“With all due respect, sir, you’re focusing on the wrong part of my résumé.” The emerald eyes shone with pride. “I graduated summa cum laude from Yale with a double major in psychology and criminology, then went on to get my Ph.D. from Stanford. Professor James Clark, one of the world’s most highly respected profilers, has dubbed me his most gifted student. I’m published in the field, most recently with an upcoming article for the New England Journal of Psychology.” She turned her attention toward Ray. “Did you have a chance to look at the article I sent you?”

He nodded, remembering the insightful, well-written work. “It was excellent. And as I said, your qualifications are impressive.”

“Everything about her is impressive,” insisted Colonel Payton.

“Looks like we’re all in agreement.” Ray was on his feet before anyone could protest. “Ms. Daniels, it’s been a pleasure. Here’s my card. If you think of anything else, don’t hesitate to call.”

“I look forward to hearing from you.” She stood and shook the hand of each interviewer in turn, then headed for the door and disappeared without a backward glance.

“Amazing girl,” Payton observed. “Built, too. Is there really any doubt in your mind, Ortega? Where are you gonna find someone better? A leggy redhead with a brain and a black belt—if I were twenty years younger, I’d hire her myself!”

Despite his annoyance at the remark, Ray knew better than to object. After all, Colonel Payton was the president’s best friend and adviser. Wasn’t that how the guy had gotten himself on the SPIN interview panel in the first place? It was all politics. But the choice of a new “spinner” was ultimately Ray’s alone, so why sweat it?

He even sent a perfunctory smile in the colonel’s direction. “I agree, sir, she’s an impressive prospect. But something about her bothers me. I just can’t put my finger on it.”

“Let me guess,” interrupted the third interviewer, Ray’s fellow profiler, David Wong. “She’s too sexy? Too smart? Speaks too many languages?”

“Okay, okay.” Ray was laughing in spite of himself. “I’ll admit, she’s perfect. Too perfect. That’s what bothers me. If I had set out to design the ideal candidate for this job—”

A dull but insistent warning bell sounded in his brain, and he pulled out his cell phone, then punched in his secretary’s number. “Beth? Did the original transcripts for Melissa Daniels ever arrive from Yale?”

“We got them a few minutes ago, boss. Want me to bring them over?”

Confused, Ray murmured, “No. Thanks anyway,” and ended the call.

“What is it, Ray?” Wong demanded. “Didn’t she check out? I followed up on her references myself, and everyone—including the dean—sang her praises.”

Ray stopped him with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry, she’s legit.”

He was about to go further, to admit that they were right, and Daniels was the hands-down best candidate, when a buzz from his cell phone preempted his attention.

Murmuring “Give me a second, will you?” he flipped open the phone and gave his habitual salutation. “This is Ortega. What’s up?”

“Hi, Mr. Ortega. You said to call if I thought of anything else.”

“Ms. Daniels?” Ray arched an eyebrow in the direction of Wong and the colonel. “Sure, go ahead. The others are still here.”

“Good, because there’s one tiny matter I’d really like to bring to your attention.”

“There’s more?” He had to laugh, wondering what further credentials she could possibly have. “Shoot.”

“Well, sir…” The candidate gulped audibly. “Everything on my résumé is a fabrication.”

“Huh?”

“I made it all up. Every bit of it.”

Stunned, Ray tried to think of something to say, finally settling for, “Where are you, Ms. Daniels?”

“Right outside the door. But my name isn’t Daniels. It’s Hennessy. Kristie Hennessy.”

“Hennessy?”

“And I should probably warn you, I’m going to look very different the next time you see me.”

He shook his head, not trusting himself to respond to that.

“Shall I come back in, sir?”

“Yes. Absolutely,” he assured her, turning his full attention to the doorway.

“So? What’s going on?” Wong demanded. “What new information did she give you?”

“Huh?” Ray had almost forgotten his colleagues were in the room, so intent was his focus on Daniels—or rather Hennessy—and the door that would readmit her.

But facts were facts, and the other interviewers had a right to know, so without taking his gaze off the doorway, he announced with a self-mocking smile, “Congratulations, gentlemen. It appears we’ve got ourselves a new spinner.”

Chapter 1

“Say your prayers, blondie, because tonight, I’m gonna flatten you!” Kristie Hennessy aimed a high-flying kick straight at her target’s smiling face and shouted, “Take that!”

The five-foot-high bop bag careened backward, dipping nearly to the floor, then bounced back up, still grinning.

“Curse you, Betty Bop!” Kristie’s fists began to pummel the bag with feigned ferocity, interspersed with high kicks. “Take that! And that!”

Her aim was getting better, and she congratulated herself as she danced around the toy, attacking it from every direction. This was so much more fun than hitting and kicking the twin-bed mattress that was still propped against the wall of her spare bedroom, having served as her target for weeks while she worked through the introductory lessons of a kickboxing videotape.

“No more faceless enemy,” she crowed. “Just two blondes kicking each other senseless. There’s a dumb-blonde joke in there somewhere, Betty, but I can’t think of a good punch line.”

Landing a final kick, she stood back and bowed to her synthetic opponent, which had been painted to resemble a popular computer-game heroine sporting yellow hair, ample—albeit two-dimensional—breasts and a gold leotard.

Turning to catch a glimpse of her own ensemble—cutoff jeans and a gray halter top soaked with sweat—Kristie grimaced. Not exactly a superheroine, but that was okay with her. After all, she didn’t plan on ever putting these skills to use. She just liked understanding what her operatives went through so that she could design more effective cover stories for them.

Because you’re Super-Spinner, she reminded herself playfully, acknowledging that she was indeed living a kind of fantasy, thanks to having been lucky enough to land a job in Washington, D.C., with the Strategic Profiling and Identification Network, otherwise known as SPIN. Where else could she hope to spend hours every day brainstorming by phone with agents from the FBI, DEA and ATF, as well as detectives from sophisticated metropolitan police departments like the NYPD and LAPD?

Although closely associated with the FBI, SPIN had been designed and established as a separate federal entity working on a contract basis with various law-enforcement agencies. Sometimes the task was straightforward, such as profiling a suspect or confirming a profile that had already been developed. Other times, a spinner became immersed in a particular case by designing an undercover identity for an agent and then providing phone support for the duration of the operation. The contracting agency decided the level of support needed, and budgeted the project accordingly. SPIN’s own internal budget was small, focusing on high-tech equipment and a core staff of profilers and strategists.

In her six months with the agency, Kristie had demonstrated an aptitude and commitment that had earned her the respect of her team, the confidence of director Ray Ortega and a portfolio of complex and highly sensitive cases that absorbed her every waking thought.

And at the moment, the most absorbing of those assignments was the assistance she was providing to Special Agent Justin Russo of the FBI, who in turn was assisting police in locating a kidnapped child.

“Justin, why don’t you call?” she entreated her favorite operative aloud as she stripped off her drenched clothes and headed for the shower, taking the cordless phone with her into the bathroom, just in case. “It’s almost nine o’clock. You always call by eight, so what gives?”

Turning up the spray of hot water until it was at full force, she stepped into the shower and allowed her muscles to relax.

He’ll call. He always does. He’s not like McGregor, thank heavens. The world could be coming to an end and he wouldn’t think to pick up the phone.

McGregor, McGregor, McGregor…

Of all the agents she had worked with thus far at SPIN, Will McGregor was the most confounding to Kristie. No matter how many times she came through for him—designing identities, profiling informants, strategizing her heart out—he had never once contacted her for follow-up. And certainly never to say thank-you. The FBI agent was darned independent, and while she knew from his psych evaluation that it was simply his nature, she still resented it.

All the other operatives phoned her routinely during active cases. And her favorite—the intrepid Justin Russo—spoiled her rotten, calling each and every night to report, amuse and flirt. He had even named her “Essie,” insisting that her official contact name, S-3, was too impersonal for such a beautiful and talented girl.

Beautiful and talented…

She sighed as she turned off the water and began to dry herself. In actuality, Justin had no idea what she looked like. None of the operatives did. That was part of Ray Ortega’s system—complete anonymity for the spinners.

In contrast, she knew everything about her operatives—or, at least, everything their files could tell her, plus whatever she could manage to glean over the phone. Which made the phone-free situation with Agent Will McGregor all the more frustrating.

Forget about him, she advised herself. McGregor’s a loner. Always has been, always will be. Just be glad Justin and the others are more sociable.

As if on cue, the phone began to ring, and she dashed for her desk so that her home copy of the kidnapping file would be close at hand. Then she took a deep breath and answered with a crisp, professional, “This is S-3. Please identify yourself.”

“Hey, Essie.”

“Justin! Thank heavens. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. We wrapped this one up tonight. I can only talk for a minute, but I knew you’d want to know.”

“Wrapped it up?” Kristie sank into a chair, completely unnerved. “What does that mean? Did you find Lizzie? Was she…?”

“We didn’t find the body yet,” he murmured. “The local authorities are gonna take it from here. We made the arrest. Got the confession. The rest is just…well, they can handle it from here.”

The body.

Those two words told her all she needed to know.

“At least she didn’t suffer much,” Justin was insisting. “Apparently, she fell and hit her head. Never regained consciousness. And there was no sexual assault. That’s a blessing, right? I’m not saying death is preferable to that, or vice versa, but—”

“Don’t worry, Justin. This is no time for political correctness. If the choice is between death and molestation, there’s no choice at all.”

“Right.”

His mournful tone reminded her that he must have gone through hell the last few hours, so she forced herself to find the bright side for both their sakes. “It really is a relief that she didn’t suffer. We can be grateful for that.”

“Yeah. Real grateful.”

“Try not to think about it anymore tonight. Just be proud that you brought that bastard to justice before he could hurt anyone else.” A million questions invaded the spinner’s brain. “What finally made Horton confess? Did a new witness step forward? And why didn’t he tell you where he hid the—the body? That doesn’t make much sense.”

“Horton?” Justin sounded as confused as Kristie. “You thought it was him? Why?”

Kristie winced. “You’re saying it wasn’t? Sheesh, I was so sure. Who was it then?”

There was a long silence. Then Justin murmured, “I didn’t see anything in the file to indicate he was your top suspect. I mean, he was on your list, but so were seven other people.”

“What difference does it make?” she demanded. “Tell me who did it.”

“Tell me why you thought it was Coach Horton,” he countered.

“I don’t know. Instinct, I guess. But I didn’t have any facts to back it up, which is why I didn’t highlight him in the file. You know Ray’s rule—we can follow any hunch we want in-house, but if there’s nothing in the file to support it, we have to be objective in the analysis we send to the field. And now I see why,” she admitted, half to herself.

She had been so sure Horton was the kidnapper. Had felt it in her bones, so much so that she had spent two long hours in Ray Ortega’s office, trying to force the facts into the traditional abductor profile. All because her gut told her she was right, and until now, her gut had never betrayed her.

But Ray didn’t believe in gut instinct, or hunches, or female intuition. And apparently, in this case at least, he had been right.

So?” She returned to her no-nonsense approach. “Who killed poor Lizzie? The neighbor with the motorcycle?” When the agent didn’t answer right away, she felt a twinge of foreboding. “Justin? Who was it?”

“The kid.”

“Pardon?” It didn’t make any sense for a moment, then she realized he was referring to the victim’s fourteen-year-old brother, Randy, and she gasped the boy’s name in disbelief.

“Yeah. It’s been rough all around,” the operative confirmed. “As if that family didn’t already have enough grief.”

Kristie was shaking her head, still stunned. “When you say he confessed, what exactly do you mean?”

“I mean he did it. He told us he did it. He’s racked with guilt, Essie. They had to sedate him, and even then, he was a mess. It was one of the most painful things I’ve ever had to witness.”

“Oh, Justin. How horrible.”

“It was an accident. The kids had an argument, then Randy pushed her, and she hit her head. When he realized she wasn’t breathing, he panicked and threw her in the river. They’re dragging it again as we speak, so it’s only a matter of time.”

Kristie struggled not to picture how Lizzie Rodriguez’s little body would look after six days in icy water. The poor, sweet angel…

“This is so awful, Justin. Do you know what made Randy decide to confess? It’s been almost a week. Why today?”

“I asked him that. And he said…” The agent’s voice trailed into silence.

“Justin? What’s wrong?”

“Tell me why Coach Horton was your top suspect.”

“Pardon?”

He exhaled audibly. “I spent the whole day at the school, conducting another round of useless interviews. Just when I was leaving, Randy approached me and said he wanted to turn himself in. I was surprised, because I had been watching him in the cafeteria during lunch. He was talking to his friends, and it was the first time I’d seen him look halfway relaxed since—well, since I got here. I remember thinking to myself, the days are probably getting a little easier, but I bet the nights are still a bitch. Missing his baby sister. Hearing his mom cry.”

“Go on.”

“I even mentioned it to the vice principal—that the kid’s mood seemed to be improving. And she said the staff were all trying to be sensitive and supportive. To be aware but not crowd him. Then she said she saw Horton take him aside after lunch—probably to do that very thing. You know, give him moral support. Horton’s a part-time guidance counselor as well as the track coach, you know, so it made sense.”

“Randy talked to the coach this afternoon? And then out of the blue…?” Kristie stopped herself from finishing the sentence, prompting the agent instead. “So? What did he say when you asked him ‘Why today?’”

“He said Coach Horton reminded him that he was just a kid. That he shouldn’t carry his grief inside. That no matter what he said or did, his teachers and parents and community cared and would support him. It made sense, Essie.”

“It still does,” she assured the agent. “That’s just the kind of thing a really good guidance counselor would say. I just didn’t think…”

“You didn’t think Horton was a ‘really good’ one? Why not?”

She took a deep breath, then admitted, “Instinct, pure and simple. I’ll admit he didn’t fit the profile in several key respects. At least, no more than any of the other men the cops questioned. But there were those two years of his life, in his late twenties, when he suddenly didn’t have a real job. I just kept coming back to that.”

“His mother was dying. Emphysema, right? She needed him to come home. And she had enough retirement money so he could afford to help her full-time. That’s what the file said. His relatives and neighbors made it sound like he was a frigging saint,” Justin added, his tone slightly frantic. “But you don’t think so? Is that it? You think…what?”

“I guess I don’t think anyone’s a saint,” Kristie admitted. “And I don’t think twenty-eight-year-old men who’ve been holding themselves out as Mr. Macho for years suddenly quit their jobs and break their engagement to their high-school sweetheart and move home to play nursemaid for two whole years—no matter how sick their mom is—unless there’s something else going on.”

“Geez, Essie, don’t say that.” Justin heaved an exaggerated sigh, then muttered, “Okay, say it. Your gut instinct has been flawless in every case we’ve worked together. Almost eerie. So…?”

Her heart was pounding again. “Either I’m right or I’m wrong. Obviously. But if I’m right—”

“If you’re right, Lizzie might still be alive? That’s what you’re thinking? Based on what?”

“Horton wants the search directed elsewhere. Away from him. Buying himself more time—more time to spend with Lizzie. He doesn’t really think he’s going to get away with it, but he wants it to last as long as possible. It’s right there in his file, Justin. I see it, even though I can’t explain it.” Kristie’s voice almost cracked with desperation. “He’s not finished yet, Justin. We still have time.”

“Damn, Essie, I want that to be true.”

“I know you do. Her big brother does, too. So—” She took a deep breath, then exhaled and instructed him briskly, “Just do exactly what I say.”

Kristie had promised Justin Russo she’d wait a full half hour before putting their plan into action, allowing plenty of time for him to smuggle a phone into Randy’s room at the juvenile detention center. The agent was risking his case by putting her in touch with a detainee without alerting defense counsel, and was probably risking his career as well, all because of his faith in a woman he had never met.

Now it was up to Kristie. Or rather, up to Melissa Daniels. Because Kristie Hennessy definitely intended to delegate this particular assignment to her red-haired counterpart. Melissa had gotten her this great job, and had been a virtual operative for several of her most challenging assignments. Now she was going to crack this kidnapping case.

The spinner propped three pictures on a shelf in front of the phone for inspiration. The first was a photo of fourteen-year-old Randy Rodriguez, a typical boy with bravado to spare, yet gentleness behind his soft brown eyes. According to all reports, Randy had played hero in his five-year-old sister’s life since the very day she’d been born.

Little Lizzie Rodriguez. She had the same brown eyes and dark hair as her brother and was just as adorable. Staring back at Kristie from the second photo, her eyes danced as playfully as the teddy-bear emblem on her pink polo shirt.

Each of those photos was an inspiration, but given the chutzpah needed for this endeavor, Kristie focused on the third picture—a computer-generated image of Melissa Daniels. Long legs and a perfect body, cut-and-pasted from the Internet and clad in black leather. Luxurious red curls framing a face that was based on Kristie’s, but with shamrock-green eyes, sharper cheekbones and a sinfully generous mouth, all accentuated by sultry makeup and a saucy smile.

When she was just about as psyched up as she could hope to be, Kristie glanced at her watch, confirmed that it was time, then took a deep breath and reached for the no-frills cell phone she kept in the top drawer of her dresser.

She didn’t dare use her home phone to make this call, knowing that SPIN monitored and taped it. Her cell, on the other hand, wasn’t registered, since she had purchased it solely for the purpose of making private calls. Not that she generally made any such calls, but she had always hoped her love life might one day reactivate itself, and when it did, she didn’t want anyone, much less Ray Ortega, listening in.

Meanwhile, this phone’s day—or rather, its night—had apparently arrived.

Bracing herself, Kristie entered the phone number, then began to count the rings. One, two, three—

“H-hello?”

The plaintive voice brought a lump to the spinner’s throat, but she banished it and spoke confidently into the phone. “Hi, Randy. My name is Melissa Daniels, and it’s my job to help little girls in trouble. I’m six feet tall with flaming-red hair and a black belt in karate. And I’m not afraid of a damned thing in the whole damned world. How does that sound to you?”

Dead silence greeted the announcement.

“Randy? Are you still there?”

“I already told the police—”

“I know what you told them. I also know why you told them that. I’m very proud of you, Randy, but you and I both know there’s more to be done, don’t we? And we have to act fast. Right?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s because you’ve never done this before. But I’ve saved hundreds of children, so I know exactly what to do. Just stay on the phone with me, and keep listening to my voice, and everything will be fine. Okay?”

He didn’t reply, but the sound of rapid breathing told her he was beginning to panic.

“Take a deep breath, sugar. I’m going to ask you a question, and you’re going to answer it yes or no. And after that, we’re going to go find Lizzie and bring her home. Okay?”

A small sob that sounded suspiciously like his sister’s name was his only response.

“Are you ready for the question, Randy?”

“Y-yes.”

“Okay. When Coach Horton talked to you today—”

“I can’t talk about him! Please don’t make me! If I do—”

“If you do, he’ll hurt Lizzie? That’s all I needed to know.” Kristie’s pulse began to race. “Horton told you she’s alive, right? That’s why you confessed—to keep her alive. You did the right thing. The smart thing. The only thing. And now with your help, I’m going to make sure he never has a chance to hurt her again.”

“You don’t understand! He doesn’t have to do anything to her. He already did it.”

“Did what?”

“He buried her in the dirt, in the middle of the woods, and he’s the only one who knows where she is. If he gets arrested, we’ll never find her and she’ll run out of air. Oh God, now what? I promised him—”

“Randy! Listen to me. Take a deep breath.” She waited a moment, then demanded, “What color hair do I have?”

“R-red.”

“And what am I afraid of?”

“Nothing,” he whispered.

“And how many little girls have I saved?”

The boy was silent for a few seconds, then answered in a voice rich with innocent hope. “Hundreds?”

“You bet your ass, sugar. So, what do you say we make it hundreds plus one?”

Chapter 2

The next morning, SPIN headquarters was buzzing with news of Kristie’s successful—albeit unconventional—foray into fieldwork. Never in the three-year history of the elite service had a spinner directly contacted a suspect or witness, much less interrogated one.

“We should have known you’d be trouble after the way you made monkeys of us at the interview,” David Wong told her as they sat drinking coffee in one of the spacious cubicles that housed the tools of the spinning trade—reference books, faxes and phones, along with the most sophisticated computers, software and peripherals available anywhere.

Kristie laughed with delight. “Don’t look at me. Melissa deserves all the blame for that interview. And she deserves some credit for last night, too. But really, it was Justin Russo’s willingness to bend a few rules that saved Lizzie’s life. I hope he’s getting some strokes, too.”

“Any update on the little girl’s condition?”

“She’s doing okay, all things considered. Thank heavens that creep didn’t really bury her.” Kristie shuddered, remembering the first tense minutes after Justin had arrested Horton. The coach had refused to talk without a lawyer, and the cops had been frantic, not knowing where to start digging. Meanwhile, a small team had torn Horton’s house and vehicles apart, and once again, resourceful Justin Russo had come through, spying an almost imperceptible variation in the striped wallpaper that decorated Horton’s bedroom. Seconds later, Justin had pried open a flat-paneled closet door and had pulled little Lizzie Rodriguez into his arms.

Patting Kristie’s hand, David told her, “Why don’t you ask Ray for the rest of the day off? You must be beat.”

“I’m fine.”

“Kristie!” Ray’s secretary called out from across the expanse that separated the spinners from their boss’s office. “Ray wants to see you,” Beth added.

“I’ll be right there,” Kristie called back, pleased that she was finally going to hear her supervisor’s reaction to the prior evening’s adventure. Ray had taken a big chance hiring her, given her lack of on-the-job experience, and in her first six months at SPIN, he had become both mentor and friend, praising her talent and giving her some of the best cases. Now his faith in her had been justified. She could only imagine how proud he was.

“You might want to tilt his office blinds closed, just in case this turns out to be the big day,” David suggested slyly.

“Pardon?”

Her friend grinned. “People have been hugging you all day. I figure when Ray takes his turn, you guys might not be able to stop. And frankly, it’s about time.”

“Me and Ray?” Kristie glared. “Are you nuts?”

“No, just perceptive,” he said, chuckling. Then he seemed to realize he was the only one laughing, and cleared his throat. “Sorry. Taboo subject.”

“It’s not taboo. It’s not a subject at all. Ray and I are just friends.”

“Right.”

“David! I’m serious. There’s nothing going on.”

“I know that. You’re both too disciplined to have an affair on the job. I just thought—” He shook his head. “Are you saying you don’t have the hots for him? Not even a little?”

“Of course not.” She glanced toward Ray’s office to confirm he wasn’t watching, then insisted, “Ray and I are two peas in a pod. We like the same music, the same books, the same movies. We’ve got the same skills, tastes and political views. We’re the proverbial twins separated at birth.”

“Yeah? Well, do the guy a favor,” David suggested dryly. “When he finally cracks and pours his heart out to you, don’t tell him you love him like a brother.”

Kristie groaned in frustration. “You’ve seen us together, attacking the crossword puzzle and laughing on break, and you think it’s romantic. But it’s not. We’re just kindred spirits. There’s no chemistry. No longing glances or any of that.”

She sighed as she added, “Don’t get me wrong. The guy’s gorgeous. I’d have to be dead not to notice that. But there’s no spark. Nothing. Nada.”

“Fine. My mistake. Forget I said anything.”

She studied him warily. “You’re his best friend. Has he said something to you?”

“Nope.”

“But you really think…?”

David shrugged his shoulders. “Obviously I was wrong.”

She smiled, relieved. “Thanks for scaring me to death.”

“Whatever.”

He was too quick to look down at his shirtfront, picking at some microscopic piece of lint, and she realized he wasn’t yet convinced. And considering how well he knew Ray, that was beginning to worry her.

“I’m not his type, David. You of all people should know that.”

“I should?”

“You’ve met his ex-wife, right? I found out all about her when I was doing research for my job interview. Red hair, green eyes, svelte. There was another girl, too, one he was engaged to when he was in the army. Angela something. Same type as the wife. And that senator from Ohio that he had a fling with. The one with the gorgeous auburn curls. That’s how I got the idea for Melissa Daniels. Red wig, green contacts, flashy makeup and a push-up bra. The works.” With a wicked smile, she admitted, “It was dirty pool, but I wanted to throw him off guard so he wouldn’t notice any little imperfections in my cover story. I did my best to impersonate his favorite female fantasy.”

David arched an eyebrow. “You intentionally made Ray fall for you?”

“Not for me. For Melissa.” Kristie gave her fellow spinner a halfhearted glare. “This is nuts. If it’s true—if he really does have a harmless little crush on me—it’s a simple case of transference.”

Yeah. Tell him that,” David drawled. “It’ll make him feel so much better.”

“Hey, you two.” Beth bustled over to the spinners and scolded them playfully. “For some reason, Ray thinks he’s in charge. And since he can see the two of you sitting here gabbing, I can’t exactly cover for you.”

Kristie shot a quick look toward the office, and was again relieved to see that Ray wasn’t watching them. Not that there was anything to watch. And not that Ray shouldn’t look at her whenever he wanted—

“Thanks a lot, David,” she muttered. “You’ve completely freaked me out.”

“Sorry. Just remember not to use the b-word when tou talk to him.”

“B-word?”

“Brother.”

Grimacing, she nodded, then hurried to her boss’s glass-walled office.

“Ray? Beth said you wanted to see me.”

Without looking up, he told her, “Close the door and take a seat, Kristie. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

She was relieved to note that the blinds were wide open. And he wanted her to sit on the other side of the desk from him. Business as usual. No sexual tension. He barely seemed to know she was there.

Slipping into a chair, she took a moment to study him. He was a truly handsome man with a ramrod build, raven-black hair and an endearingly boring habit of wearing a white shirt and conservative tie every single day.

Would she have been attracted to him had they met under other circumstances? Probably not. She was a firm believer in chemistry, and there simply wasn’t any between them, at least, not on her part.

Realizing that a full minute had passed in silence, she murmured, “If this is a bad time, I can come back.”

“I’ll be with you as soon as I finish this list.”

“Sounds mysterious. What kind of list?”

He raised his gaze to hers, stunning her with the cold gleam in his usually sweet eyes. “I thought it would be easier if we went infraction by infraction.”

“Oh.” She coughed to clear the surprise from her throat. “I get it.”

“You ‘get’ it? That’s all you have to say for yourself?” Exploding out of his chair, he began gesturing wildly. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Ray—”

“Don’t ‘Ray’ me!” He took a deep breath, visibly getting his temper under control, then sat back down and began tapping the items on his list. “You used an unregistered, unmonitored cell phone for SPIN business. That alone is a basis for dismissal, and it’s the least of your offenses.”

She squirmed, then offered lamely, “I was afraid if a monitor heard what we were up to, they wouldn’t understand. And there wasn’t time—”

“Five minutes! That’s all it would have taken to call me and clear your plan—”

“And you would have said no!”

“You bet your unregistered cell phone I would have said no. And I would have been right.” He raked his fingers through his thick black hair. “It worked out great. I’m as happy as anyone that the Rodriguez girl is safe. But there were other ways to accomplish it. Ways that didn’t jeopardize Russo’s career, not to mention mine.”

She mentally cringed, but didn’t dare interrupt.

“Do you understand what a disaster it would have been if you’d been wrong? You would have single-handedly destroyed our relationship with the local cops—guys who were busting their asses to find that kid. They didn’t deserve to be made fools of. Plus, you would have ruined the prosecutor’s case and probably gotten us sued for violating the brother’s civil rights.”

“I knew Randy wasn’t guilty, Ray. So I knew none of that would happen.”

“You’re a frickin’ genius,” he agreed dryly.

“I didn’t say that. But it went well—”

“Did it? Since there’s no tape of the call, I’ll never know exactly what you said to that kid. But the unofficial story is you promised him his sister was still alive and you were going to find her. What if Horton had already killed her? Dammit, Kris, what were you thinking?”

“I had a feeling—”

“Screw feelings and hunches and all that crap,” he advised angrily. “I don’t believe in that baloney, and neither should you. You’re good—great—because you make inferences other people miss. You connect the dots in a coroner’s report or a psych test or an interrogation transcript. That’s the second most important part of your job, and you’re terrific at it.”

“And the first most important part of my job is being able to articulate my theory to the field agents based on facts.” She gave a heartfelt sigh. “I’ve heard you say that a million times. And guess what. I tried, but I couldn’t. I knew it was Horton, but I couldn’t put my finger on why.” Completely deflated, she slumped in her chair and admitted, “I screwed up.”

Ray snorted. “Is this where I’m supposed to tell you it’s okay because it all turned out for the best?”

“No. Not at all.” She studied her hands for a second, then summoned the nerve to ask, “Am I fired?”

“Yeah, right. I’m gonna fire you the same day I’m ordered to give you a commendation.”

“Ordered?” Her gut twisted into a knot. “By whom?”

“Your secret admirer. Ulysses S. Payton.”

Kristie groaned, knowing how much Ray resented the colonel’s license to meddle in his project. “I don’t want a commendation from him.”

“You don’t have a choice. It’s already part of your record, just like the telegram from the kids’ parents, praising you—or rather, Melissa—for saving both their children. Congratulations,” he added bitterly.

“I’m sorry, Ray.”

“Just tell me it’s never going to happen again.”

“It won’t. I promise. It was a unique, once-in-a-lifetime screwup. I take full responsibility, and I give you my word it will never, ever happen again.”

“There’s enough blame to go around,” he murmured. “I should have seen this coming with you. You’re too involved with your cases. And way too chatty with your operatives. I’ve given you latitude because you’re—well, because you’re you. That ends today.”

“I’m not me anymore?” she quipped, but when his eyes flashed, she told him quickly, “I’m just joking because I feel so guilty about letting you down. And just for the record, it wasn’t your fault. You made the rules very clear to me. I knew I was breaking them.”

“With Russo’s help. That stupid screwup.”

“Don’t blame Justin.”

Ray snorted again. “If anything, I blame him the most. He’s an experienced agent. He should’ve known better than to let you call the shots.”

“He was desperate. After six days of frantically searching for that sweet little girl, he believed he had failed. The poor guy felt like crap when he called me. Then I promised him we could find her if he did exactly what I said. That’s the only reason he smuggled a phone into Randy’s cell. So don’t judge him, please?”

Her boss eyed her intently. “New rules, starting today. Is that understood?”

“New ones? Wouldn’t it be enough if I just started obeying the old ones?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Ray agreed. “But no. You apparently need some extra ones. So here goes. I want you to register any and all personal telephone lines and cell phones with us from now on. We’ll randomly monitor them just like we do everything else.”

“Fine with me. What else?”

“Start using your backups. That’s what they’re there for.”

Kristie grimaced. The thought of slaving over a scenario and getting it perfect, only to abandon it for twelve full hours every night was unbearable. She had faith in her fellow spinners, but knew in her gut no one could run her cases as well as she could.

Ray leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, clearly frustrated again. “You can’t live this job twenty-four hours a day, Kris. It affects your objectivity.”

“And objectivity is the key to good spinning? I believe that as much as you do. But the field agents never call at night unless it’s an emergency, and in emergencies, it’s especially vital for the original spinner to take the call.”

“This isn’t a negotiation.” He exhaled sharply. “Do you understand that you’ve got to get a life? Make friends. Go to parties. Go on dates! It’ll make you sharper. More valuable to everyone, especially the field agents.”

“I have a life. I don’t just sit by the phone and wait for operatives to call at night, you know.”

When he arched a disbelieving eyebrow, she explained, “I exercise. And study. I actually have a lot on my plate.”

“You study?” He chuckled. “What’s left for you to learn? I thought you knew it all.”

“If you must know, I’m teaching myself Italian. And a little Greek. And kickboxing, too. All the things I lied about in my interview that impressed you so much.”

“You’re teaching yourself kickboxing?”

“I have a great video.”

His tone was gently mocking. “You can’t learn self-defense that way, Kristie. Let me set up some lessons for you. Or I can teach you myself. I have a black belt in karate—”

“And I have a pink belt in pacifism,” she retorted. “I don’t need self-defense training. I just want to understand what my operatives go through. It’s a Zen thing—mental, not physical.”

“Zen kickboxing?” Ray chuckled again, then shook his head as though to clear away the congenial moment. “Starting today, you’re using your backup.”

“But—”

“If something happens that your backup can’t handle, he or she will contact you, even if it’s three o’clock in the morning. You’ve got to trust them to do their jobs half as well as you do yours.”

“Like I said, the operatives don’t call in the middle of the night unless it’s an emergency. Which means the backup is going to have to refer the call to me anyway. It just seems like a waste of time.”

“Emergencies?” Ray reached for a pile of folders and flipped open the top one. “According to this file, you specifically told Will McGregor that he should contact you—day or night—with any question or concern, however small.” Raising his gaze, he repeated in disgust, “However small?”

“Okay. I went a little overboard. And for the record, it didn’t have any effect. McGregor has never once contacted me. Not at night, not during the day. Not for anything, big or small.”

Ray surprised her by grinning at that. “Drives you nuts, doesn’t it?”

“No.”

“Sure it does. It bugs you that he won’t let you play virtual field operative. He does his job his way, not yours. That’s why I’ve been assigning so many of his cases to you. So you’d learn the division of labor around this place.” His voice softened. “Just for the record, McGregor never contacts any spinner once the case is under way. Not even me. So don’t take it personally. But do try to learn a lesson from it.”

Leaning forward, he explained, “You and McGregor are a great team. Every assignment you’ve had with him has been an unqualified success. Why? Because you prepare a flawless background report and identity for him, and he takes it from there. End of story.”

“He really doesn’t call you either?”

Ray confirmed with a nod. “I used to handle all his cases personally because they’re invariably hot potatoes. But I’ve never once spoken to the guy in my capacity as a spinner. And only rarely as the director of SPIN. To him, we’re just an anonymous resource. Because he’s a true professional.”

“I’m sold,” she assured her boss. “From now on, I’m putting a new note in my file. Something like, ‘If you have a nonemergency question between the hours of midnight and 6:00 a.m., please contact my backup.’ How’s that?”

“Six hours off? No way.” Ray leaned forward. “Seven p.m. to 7:00 a.m.—and all day Saturday and Sunday.”

“I’m okay with seven to seven on work nights, as long as the operative is in the same time zone as us. Otherwise, I’ll have to adjust it. And weekends are tricky—”

“Did I mention this isn’t a negotiation?” he asked, clearly struggling not to smile. “But it’s a step in the right direction, so I’ll take it for now.”

“And?”

The smile became a full-fledged laugh. “Yeah, you’re back in my will.”

Kristie sighed in relief. “I really am sorry, Ray.”

“Stop apologizing. You’re a pain in the ass, but you also saved that kid—both kids, actually—so you’re getting another chance. Don’t blow it. And Kris?”

“Yes?”

He walked around to her side of the desk and grasped her chin in his hand, then looked deep into her eyes and murmured, “Nice job.”

She bit her lip, unsure of how to respond, especially in light of David’s remarks.

Then Ray made the decision for her, stepping back and reminding her gruffly, “I’ve got tons of cleanup to do today, thanks to your little prank. And you’ve got a new red folder waiting for you on your desk, so get cracking. Your moment of glory is officially over.”

It was a relief to head back to her SPIN cubicle, tucked in a corner with a view of treetops and clouds. She knew that some people would balk at the industrial furniture and artificial lighting, but to Kristie, this high-tech workspace was heaven.

She checked her messages—three new ones in the last half hour, all complimenting her on the Rodriguez case. Then she reached for the new assignment Ray had left on her credenza, but a ring from her priority line, which was reserved for operative assistance, stopped her.

As always when an operative made contact, her pulse quickened, preparing her for a new challenge. But her voice remained calm, professional and reassuring. “This is S-3. Please identify yourself.”

“This is Special Agent Justin Russo. I’ve got a grateful fourteen-year-old here who wants to talk to Melissa Daniels. Any chance of that?”

“Absolutely. Put him on.”

Randy’s voice was filled with awe. “Hi, Miss Daniels.”

“Hey, sugar. How’s life?”

“Better. Because of you.”

Choking back an un-Melissa-like gulp, Kristie reminded him, “The way I hear it, Lizzie’s big brother was the one who really came through for her. So, fill me in. Have they let you visit her yet?”

“Yeah, we’ve been coloring together all morning. The shrinks want her to draw pictures. To see how messed up she is, I guess. And so far, she hasn’t drawn any monsters or anything. Just our house. And our dog. And us.”

“Those were the images that made her strong during those terrible days. In her heart, she knew you’d find her, some way, somehow.”

“It was you,” the boy insisted. “My mom wants you to come to dinner so we can thank you in person.”

“Tell her I’d love to, but it’s against the rules.”

“Yeah. That’s what Agent Russo said. But I was thinking…”

“Yes?”

“I’ll graduate in four years. Then I’ve gotta go to college. But after that, I want to help you rescue children. I’ll even do it for free, and get another job on the side or something.”

Touched, Kristie murmured, “You’ve got what it takes, Randy. That’s for sure. And you’ve got years to decide the best way to help. Look how many people played a part in saving Lizzie. The cops, the FBI, the witnesses, me, you—and now the psychologists, who are still saving her.”

“Yeah, but I want to do what you do.”

“Sugar, you’d have to get some major surgery before you could do that.”

She could hear him blushing through the phone, and congratulated herself impishly for the Melissaesque quip. “Give Lizzie a hug for me, sugar. And put Agent Russo on again.”

“Okay. Bye, Miss Daniels.”

“Bye, handsome.”

Justin was laughing when he got back on the line. “What did you say to the poor kid?”

“Hmm?”

“Never mind. We’ve got important business to discuss.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’m taking the next two weeks off.”

“You deserve it.”

“Right. This case has been a killer. So I’m headed for Tahiti, and I want you to come along.”

Kristie sighed. “Take a real girl, Justin. You don’t know anything about me. I could be old enough to be your grandma. Or married. I could even be a guy.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he retorted, then his tone softened. “It doesn’t have to be romantic, Essie. We’re friends, right? I just want to get to know you. To thank you for what you did. Plus, you need a break, too. I’m sure Ortega’ll give you time off after what you did last night.”

“After what I did last night, he gave me a lecture, all about the rules of spinning. I broke most of them, you know. But even I respect the one about socializing with operatives.”

“I socialize with other agents all the time, and that doesn’t keep me from being objective when it counts,” Justin muttered. “It’s a bullshit rule, Essie. Ask Ortega to make an exception, or I might just have to take matters into my own hands.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I know where SPIN headquarters is located, more or less. Maybe I’ll spend my vacation on a stakeout instead of an island. That’s what I do for a living, remember? And I’m pretty good at it. If I want to meet you, I can and will.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” she scolded him. “I know you’re kidding, but the monitors might think you’re serious and get us both in trouble. So just be a good little agent and tell me you’re going to Tahiti.”

Justin growled. “I forgot about that monitor bullshit. Yeah, yeah, I’m kidding.”

“And?” she prompted him.

“And I’m going to Tahiti for mindless sex with beach bunnies.”

“That’s better.”

“You oughta take a break, too. And if any monitors are listening,” the agent raised his voice and warned, “get your own lives and stop listening to ours!”

Kristie laughed fondly. “Have fun in Tahiti, Justin. Drink something frosty and tropical for me.”

“Will do. And I’ll call as soon as I get back.”

“Assuming we have an active assignment together,” she reminded him, still wary of the monitors.

“Stupid bullshit rules,” he repeated in clear disgust. “Take care, beautiful.”

“Bye, Justin.”

As she hung up the phone, she remembered what the agent had said. They were friends. Nothing romantic about it. Just like Kristie and Ray.

Glancing toward her boss’s office, she saw him standing there, watching her through the glass wall, his hands on his hips. Without hesitation, she smiled and waved, and to her delight, he smiled and waved back—his old self again.

So much for David’s lame-brain theory, she told herself happily, then she opened the new folder—red, which meant it was politically sensitive and on a fast track—and settled down to spin.

Chapter 3

The street was semideserted on her walk home from work, which suited Kristie just fine. It would give her a chance to mull over the details of her new case, so that she could design just the right cover story for the young female agent who would be infiltrating a posh sorority on an Ivy League campus.

Of course, it would have helped to know the agent’s mission, but as with most red folders, this one came with strings attached. Nowhere in the file did it reveal the nature of the wrong that would be righted, which told the spinner it was either so highly classified, it couldn’t be shared with someone at her level of clearance, or it was some sort of quasi-political vendetta. Perhaps the precious daughter of some high-ranking U.S. government official had become involved in some grade-tampering scandal with her sorority sisters, and SPIN had been enlisted for damage control for fear the episode would reflect on the official’s agency or party.

It annoyed Kristie to think she could waste hours of precious spinning on such an undeserving case. Then she reminded herself that it was part of the job. These assignments, however distasteful, helped keep SPIN well financed, even in hard times. And as bad as it was occasionally for the spinners, Ray had it worse. As the director, he was constantly forced to do political favors, most recently and repugnantly, for the president’s adviser Colonel Ulysses S. Payton. Kristie remembered the chauvinistic jerk from her interview, and knew that his meddling in SPIN affairs had grown along with his power within the administration in general. The thought that her first commendation had come from so ignominious a source made her want to kick a bop bag.

If Ray can put up with Payton, you can be a sport about this sorority caper, she told herself briskly. It might even be fun. Just give your imagination free rein on this one.

But something else had captured her imagination—the sensation that someone was following her. Surprisingly, the idea didn’t frighten her. After all, she was just three blocks from home on a well-lit, well-traveled street. It was simply intriguing, especially when she reminded herself of what Ray had said—that there was no such thing as instinct or intuition. Forcing herself to pay closer attention, she realized she could actually hear a second pair of footsteps. And unlike the sounds from the soft-soled shoes she had changed into just before heading out of the office, these were the dull clop-clop-clop of men’s dress shoes.

Not instinct. Just observation and deduction.

And it definitely didn’t require instinct for her to guess the identity of her stalker.

You just had to prove your point, didn’t you, Justin? she grumbled silently, remembering the agent’s threat to arrange a face-to-face meeting.

Several other SPIN employees lived in her neighborhood, and the last thing she needed was to be seen socializing with a field agent, so she ducked down an alley, then turned and planted her hands on her hips, ready to give the agent a piece of her mind. But it wasn’t clean-cut Justin Russo who strode right up to her. It was someone much scarier.

“Ray!”

His golden-brown eyes were wide, his voice strained. “What are you doing in an alley? Are you insane? What if I’d been a mugger?”

“Then I would have kicked your ass,” she quipped.

“What?”

Kristie winced. “I’m kidding, Ray. I knew you weren’t a mugger. From your shoes.”

“Pardon?”

“Men’s dress shoes. Not exactly designed for a quick getaway.” She tapped her temple with her index finger. “Analysis. Not instinct.”

“You were willing to bet your life on the fact that muggers never wear dress shoes?” His scowl deepened. “I still don’t get why you went down the alley. You didn’t know it was me.”

“The truth?” She squirmed but admitted, “I thought it might be Justin.”

“Russo?”

“Get a grip. I was wrong. It’s just…” She tried to smile, failed, and grimaced instead. “He joked about it today on the phone. About meeting me. I heard the footsteps of a well-dressed, athletic, clearly good-looking guy, and jumped to conclusions.”

“Athletic and good-looking?” Ray chuckled. “Nice save. Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

“Not so fast, Ortega.”

“Huh?”

She eyed him sternly. “You interrogated me. Now it’s my turn. Why were you following me?”

“I wasn’t.” He cleared his throat. “Not really. I was just trying to catch up to you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I wanted to talk to you before you left, but I got a call. Then you took off. So I followed. I would’ve called out your name, but I didn’t want to startle you.”

She stepped closer, intrigued by the fact that he seemed uncomfortable. “Talk to me about what?”

He flushed. “I was a little rough on you this morning.”

“And so?” She flashed a playful smile. “You wanted to apologize? But instead you scared me half to death?”

“You didn’t look scared.”

“And you don’t sound apologetic.”

“Touché.” Ray inclined his head toward the brightly lit street. “Walk with me.”

When he cupped her elbow with his hand and steered her toward home, she reminded herself that it meant nothing. She wouldn’t even have noticed the intimate gesture if not for the Curse of David Wong.

You’re a dead man for psyching me out like this, she told the absent spinner. Aloud, she prompted Ray, “You said something about an apology?”

“And now I’m saying something about self-defense lessons.”

“Pardon?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “If you’re going to take chances like the one you just took, you need to get some sensible shoes—not just tennies—and you need some instruction. Like I said, I can give you some pointers. Or you could take a real class—”

“I took a self-defense class in college. Eye-gouging, nut-kicking, thumb-bending—all sorts of violence.” She flashed a teasing smile. “I’m a lover not a fighter.”

“Yeah, well, you might not like the kind of lovemaking a mugger has in mind.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, I knew it wasn’t a mugger. Sheesh, if this is your idea of an apology, I don’t think I want one.”

They had reached the vestibule of her apartment building, and she glared playfully as she inserted her key in the lock. “If I invite you up, do you promise not to nag me?”

Ray laughed. “I promise.”

He took her arm again as they climbed the two flights of stairs leading to her unit. “I haven’t been here since you moved in.”

“I only found it because of you. And it’s been such a great place. Big and quiet. Just what I needed.”

She stole a sideways glance, knowing that their employer-employee relationship made outside socializing awkward for such a rule-oriented guy. He could be buddies with David, a married male, but an unmarried female subordinate was a different story.

So why was tonight different? Was this part of the apology? Or was David right, and Ray was going to make some sort of move on her?

In any case, she was determined to be a good hostess, so she quickly unlocked the door, pushed it open and motioned for him to enter. “Ta da.”

He walked past her, then whistled appreciatively as he surveyed walls lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves. “It looks completely different. Nice, but different. I see now where your paycheck goes.”

“Books make expensive wallpaper, as my uncle says. But it never goes out of style.”

She bustled past him, depositing her keys and belongings on the coffee table and turning on lights. “I have a bottle of champagne in the fridge. Want some?”

“Champagne?” His brown eyes warmed. “What’s the occasion?”

She flushed, hoping he hadn’t mistaken her careless hospitality for a romantic overture. “No occasion. I just don’t have company very often.”

He seemed about to respond—most likely to remind her of his advice to get a life—then he just shrugged instead and wandered over to the doorway of the spare bedroom, where he promptly began to laugh. “What’s this?”

“If you’re referring to my sparring partner, she has a name. Betty Bop.”

“Unbelievable. Let’s hope you get attacked by a micromugger.”

“She’s short but wily.” Kristie joined him, smiling toward the five-foot-high toy. “I figure if I can kick her in the head, I can easily reach most guys’ groins. That’s the target of choice, right?”

“Right. Unless they have a gun.”

She nodded. “That’s the one thing Betty can’t do for me.”

“The one thing?”

Kristie eyed him sternly. “Since you’re here, maybe I’ll put you to work. Come on.” She dragged him by the arm back into the living room, then picked up a wooden ruler from her desk. “Hold this like a knife. Let’s see if I can kick it out of your hand.”

Ray groaned. “I was kidding. If you ever get mugged by a guy with a knife, submit. They taught you that in self-defense, didn’t they?”

“Submit? Not bloody likely,” she told him in her best Cockney accent. Then she instructed, “Come at me like you’re going to attack me. But don’t worry, I’ll aim for the ruler not your hand, so you won’t get hurt. I just want to see if I can disarm you.”

“Take my word for it. You can’t.”

Kristie glared. “It’s not like I’m completely untrained. My grandparents forced me to take aikido for two years in high school, and I still have most of the movements down. Plus, I’m almost finished with the video kickboxing class. So bring it on, Ortega. Unless you’re afraid.”

“Fine,” Ray grumbled. “Let’s get this farce over with.” Then he gripped the ruler in his right palm and moved toward Kristie.

She took careful aim and kicked, but in the split second it took for her to move, Ray had expertly shifted the “weapon” to his left hand, freeing up the right to grab her by the ankle the moment her foot reached its aborted target. Then he flipped her to the floor.

The impact knocked Kristie’s breath from her chest, and before she could even hope to react, Ray was on her, pinning her securely while pressing the blunt edge of the ruler to her throat.

And for a split second, she was terrified—not by the fall, or even by the weapon, but by Ray’s cold, vacant eyes. It was almost as if he were in a trance.

Then her fear was replaced by a heady rush of admiration and she murmured, “Can you teach me to do that?”

Ray seemed startled by her voice, and quickly shrugged to his feet. Then he laid the weapon carefully on the desk. “The lesson is over. And I’ll take a rain check on that champagne. I’ve got a lot of work to do tonight.”

“Wait!” Kristie scrambled to join him, ignoring a twinge of pain in her shoulders and spine. “You have to eat dinner, don’t you? We could get a pizza.”

“Some other time.”

She didn’t want to let him leave. Not this way. So she demanded lightly, “What about my apology?”

“That’s over, too.” He hesitated, then touched her cheek. “Did I hurt you, Kris?”

“Of course not. I told you, I took aikido. If nothing else, I know how to fall.”

“See you in the morning then?”

She nodded, watching in confusion as he let himself out of the apartment.

The episode had reminded her that she didn’t actually know much about Ray Ortega despite their close office relationship over the past six months. Picking up the ruler, she turned it over and over in her hand, remembering the answer he’d given her the one and only time she had tried to quiz him about his past.

Four years in college; four in the military; four years I don’t talk about—not ever. And now SPIN. That’s all you need to know about me.

And Ray being Ray, “not ever” had meant just that. They had never discussed it again. Still, Kristie had speculated about those four years, imagining covert operations so highly classified, Ray still wasn’t allowed to discuss them. She had assumed he masterminded those ops, but this impromptu demonstration with the ruler suggested he might have done more than just plot strategies—he was perfectly capable of executing them, too.

She was sure she had just caught a flashback to Ray’s past life and the thought fascinated her. She also realized he hadn’t made a romantic move on her despite having her flat on her back. So much for David’s theory.

Her SPIN line rang at that moment, and she assumed it was her boss, calling from his cell to put a cap on the evening’s adventure. Still, she answered with her SPIN-approved salutation. “This is S-3. Please identify yourself.”

“This is Will McGregor,” a deep, gravelly voice informed her. “I know it’s late, so if this is a bad time—”

“It’s fine,” she interrupted him, her imagination shifting instantly to her favorite file photo of the thirty-two-year-old FBI agent. It was a black-and-white shot, but his eyes, which she knew were blue, still managed to have an effect on her every time she happened upon the picture in his folder.

Coughing to dispel any breathlessness from her tone, she asked briskly, “What can I do for you, Agent McGregor?”

“There’s a problem with the setup on the Mannington case. We may have to scrap it. I thought I’d give you a heads-up so you can start doing whatever it is you do to come up with something else.”

Her heart sank. “What kind of problem? It seemed so perfect.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too,” he admitted. “Your usual brilliance. But Manny isn’t following his usual pattern, so I haven’t had much of a chance to establish a rapport with him.”

Kristie frowned. “You mean he’s not coming to the bar? Or he won’t talk to you while he’s there?”

“He’s been a no-show for four nights straight. I’m willing to be patient, but at some point, it makes more sense to retool, right?”

“Four nights?” She shook her head, remembering the details of “Manny” Mannington’s file. For more than ten years, the barfly had chosen one particular bar, Rafferty’s, to frequent at least five nights a week. According to reliable sources, one could usually set one’s watch by Manny’s comings and goings, especially on Wednesday nights, otherwise known as All-You-Can-Eat Hot-Dog Night.

What on earth was going on?

“Are you sure he’s in town?”

“Yeah, just staying home.”

“Impossible.”

“I read the file, too,” McGregor assured her. “But facts are facts. He isn’t coming to the bar.”

“You said he’s been a no-show for four nights straight. But you’ve been there for over two weeks. That means there was contact at the beginning?”

“Yeah, it went like clockwork.” McGregor chuckled. “That toy-salesman cover you designed for me seemed stupid, but you were dead-on right. It provided endless topics for casual conversation with the guys. Manny in particular has fond memories of Christmases past, and luckily, I remembered enough from my nerdy grade-school days to be able to sound professional.”

“I’ll bet Manny played with G.I. Joe, right?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?” He paused. “You’re something else, S-3.”

With the cordless handset pressed firmly to her ear, Kristie moved to her computer. “You’re sure he’s at his house? Let’s see if he’s online.”

“You can do that?”

“I did it a couple of times last month, when I was working up his informant profile. You can learn a lot about a person by watching them surf. Hold on, I’m just about—there!” She studied the screen. “He’s very active. Looking for something. Shopping, or rather, scavenging. Mostly the auction sites. Hold on.”

“What’s he shopping for?”

“A blue 1969 Mustang convertible in near-mint condition.” Kristie bit her lip. “There’s nothing in his background to indicate he’s a car buff. This doesn’t make sense, unless…” She scrutinized one of Mannington’s online offers closely. “He doesn’t just want low miles and great condition. He wants this baby right away. What would make a bagman so desperate to acquire a particular car?”

Wracking her brain, she arrived at only two possible conclusions. Either this was a favor for “the Boss,” or it was a gift for Manny’s debutante wife. Those were the only two people in the world that could keep the loquacious socializer out of Rafferty’s on Hot-Dog Night.

“It’s got to be the wife,” she murmured, grabbing the duplicate file from her desk and scanning it anxiously. “Maybe her birthday’s coming up.”

Locating the relevant information, she grinned. “Or worse. Her birthday was four days ago. And I’ll bet poor Manny missed it. And now he’s in the doghouse and out of the bed.”

McGregor whistled softly. “That’s gotta be it. The man’s insane for that woman, and it’s not hard to figure out why. Five foot ten with state-of-the-art implants. And if half of what he says is true…well, never mind.”

Kristie laughed. “We’ll get those lovebirds back together in no time. The Bureau gave SPIN a big budget for this case, so acquiring the Mustang quickly shouldn’t be a problem, even if we have to do a little restoration. As soon as we hang up, I’ll respond to Manny’s inquiry using one of our auction pseudonyms.”

“Like I said, you’re something else. Thanks for the help. Give me a call if you need anything on my end.”

“Wait! We’re not done.”

“We’re not?”

“Uh-uh. We’ve been given an amazing opportunity here, McGregor,” she insisted. “Manny’s vulnerable. We need to find a way to take advantage of that.”

“Just get the car. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Kristie smiled at his take-charge, impatient tone. A loner, just like everyone said. But it was time to teach him the usefulness of partnering with a spinner.

“Won’t you please hear me out?” she asked, and when he grumbled something that sounded vaguely like permission, she forged ahead. “Manny won’t be back to Rafferty’s for a day or two. But you should go there later tonight. And instead of being your usual charming self, you’ll drink too much and mope at the end of the bar. When the bartender asks what’s wrong, you’ll resist talking about it at first, then you’ll end up pouring your heart out to him.”

Pleased that McGregor hadn’t yet interrupted her, she continued. “You’ll tell him all about Melissa Daniels, the girl you’ve been seeing. She’s beautiful, wild, sexy, temperamental—and unbelievably jealous. She saw you having an innocent drink with your secretary and dumped you on the spot.”

A warm chuckle came over the phone line. “What’re you doing to me, S-3? I’ve got a reputation to protect with these guys.”

Kristie laughed, too. “You don’t really care what the rest of them think, right? You just want to be friends with Manny.”

“You figure when he gets back, he’ll hear about my broken heart and think we’re…what? Kindred spirits?”

“Right. He’ll probably start coming to the bar as soon as he knows the car is on its way. But until it’s actually delivered, he’ll still be in the doghouse in his wife’s eyes. You’ll have a few days to cry in your beers together.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” McGregor murmured.

“And as far as your reputation is concerned, all you need to do is tell the guys about some of your sex-capades with Melissa, and they’ll see you as a stud not a wimp.”

The agent was laughing again. “Sex-capades?”

“Right. You can draw on your own experience, or if you’d like, I could come up with some for you. Either way, lay it on thick. Like the story of the first time you met her. At a toy convention in Vegas. How the two of you had so much chemistry, you couldn’t wait to get upstairs to your hotel room, and ended up tearing each other’s clothes off in the elevator. Likewise with the first dinner date—you picked her up in a limo but never made it to the restaurant. Just drove around all night making wild, passionate love. And don’t even get me started about the first airplane trip you took together!”

“Those are the same sorts of stories Manny tells about his wife.”

“Right. He knows all about stormy relationships. The kind that can consume a person if they’re not careful. Jealousy, breakups, gut-wrenching arguments, exquisite make-up sex—the most obsessive, destructive, exhilarating addiction possible. Show him you and Melissa have—or rather, had—that sort of thing, and he’ll be putty in your hands.”

McGregor was silent for a moment, then proclaimed, “It’s effing brilliant.”

Kristie exhaled in relief. “I’ll have a courier bring you a snapshot of her tomorrow for your wallet. Something sexy but classy. We’ll rough it up so it looks like you’ve been carrying it around for a while.”

“You have a picture of this Melissa?”

“Computer generated. I use her a lot. She’s sort of a virtual operative. She usually has red hair and green eyes, but if you’d prefer something else, name it.”

He was silent for a moment, then said simply, “You decide.”

“Okay, red it is. Do you need anything else from me?”

When he was silent, she asked warily, “McGregor? Is something wrong?”

“I can’t keep calling you S-3. What’s your real name?”

Startled, she gave a nervous laugh. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

“I’m gonna call you Goldie then.”

“Pardon?”

“Because you spin lies into gold.”

She smiled with delight. “That’s sweet. And so much nicer than calling me Rumpelstiltskin.”

“Huh?”

“From the fairy tale.”

“Right. Rumpelstiltskin from the fairy tale. Is there anything you don’t know?”

“Minutia is my life,” she assured him. Then she added fondly, “Knock ’em dead at the bar tonight. I’ll arrange the sale of the car right away. With any luck, Manny’ll be back in Rafferty’s tomorrow.”

“It’s not exactly a life-or-death situation,” he reminded her. “Find the car tomorrow. I’ll call in the afternoon for the update.”

She wanted to protest, but knew it might scare him back into loner mode. So she contented herself with saying, “Good night, Agent McGregor. And good luck.” Then she hung up the phone and turned her attention to composing an offer irresistible enough to lure Manny Mannington into their trap.

And if she succeeded and decided to call McGregor back after all—just to give him a thoroughly professional and unemotional update—what monitor could possibly object to that?

Chapter 4

It took Kristie six hours to locate a car for Manny Mannington, and while the mileage was higher than he had specified, she knew a SPIN crew could roll back the odometer and spruce up the details enough to fool the bagman and his bride. Predictably, Manny was eager to consummate the transaction as soon as Kristie made e-mail contact with him, and by 2:00 a.m., West Coast time, they had a deal.

Elated, she tried to reach McGregor in his San Diego hotel room but was only able to leave him a message. It was tempting to suggest he call her back regardless of the hour, but again she wanted to respect the loner in him, so she provided highlights of her coup in the message itself. Tomorrow would be soon enough to share the rest of the details. And she had to admit, her neck and shoulders were bothering her, courtesy of Ray’s knifing lesson, so she forced herself to be sensible and crawled into bed.

Coups aside, she was still achy and groggy the next morning. So she dressed in jeans and a black knit pullover instead of her usual bargain-basement suit before heading to SPIN headquarters, where Ray Ortega was waiting in the reception area.

“My office. Now,” he instructed her.

She followed him into the room and closed the door. “Am I in trouble again?”

“There’s a basic self-defense course starting the first of next month at my health club. I want you to enroll.”

“I told you, I already took a course. Plus, I have Betty Bop as my personal trainer. I’m ready for the big leagues.” She smiled. “But if your offer to teach me personally is still open, that’s a different story.”

“Last night reminded me why I can’t do that,” he told her, adding gently, “How’s your back?”

“I’ll live.” She gave him a hopeful smile. “If you hadn’t pulled that little switcheroo, I still think I could have kicked the ruler out of your hand.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, actually, it was a good kick. Just save it for the bop bag from now on.” Clearing his throat, he added gruffly, “Let’s get down to business.”

He handed her two sheets of paper, then motioned for her to sit down, while he moved to his seat behind the desk. “Sign on the dotted line. Unless you want to consult a lawyer first.”

She scanned the first page, which was a consent form allowing SPIN to monitor her cell phone. “No problem. Can I borrow a pen?”

Ray handed her one. “It doesn’t explicitly exempt conversations with your aunt and uncle, but you have my word that we’ll respect your privacy on those calls.”

Kristie gave him a grateful nod. “We rarely call each other these days, since they’re always traveling, and the time zones don’t match up.”

“That must be rough.”

“On me? Hardly. I mean, they raised me and I love them to death, but after I left for college, the relationship went back to how it was when my parents were alive. Loving but distant.” She winced, knowing that the words didn’t do justice to the huge sacrifice her childless aunt and uncle had made for her. “They’re always there for me, and vice versa. But they have to travel so much, we use e-mail to keep in touch.”

“That’s covered on page two.”

Grimacing, she turned her attention to the second sheet of paper. “My personal e-mail accounts? Are you going to bug my apartment, too?”

“Do we need to?”

She shrugged as she signed. “What a week.”

“I know. But you saved a little girl’s life. That counts for a lot.”

“Not only that—” she began, anxious to tell him about McGregor’s call, but his secretary interrupted, buzzing him loudly on the intercom.

“What is it, Beth?”

“Someone named Jane Smith is on her way up. She claims she’s an old friend.”

“Shit.” Ray inclined his head toward the door. “Excuse me, okay? We’ll pick this up again later.”

“Who’s Jane Smith?”

When his only answer was to arch an eyebrow in mock reprimand, she jumped up and saluted just as playfully. “I’ll be at my desk if you need someone to yell at later, sir.”

“Get going, smart-ass.”

His tone was light, but Kristie wasn’t fooled. He didn’t want her to be around when the mysterious Jane Smith arrived.

Intrigued, she stopped at David Wong’s cubicle on her way to her own. “Hey.”

“Hi.” He leaned back in his chair and studied her casual outfit, then arched an eyebrow. “Late night?”

She nodded.

“Hot date?”

“Knife fight.” She plopped herself into his extra chair. “What do you know about a woman named Jane Smith?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because she’s on her way up. And Ray won’t tell me who she is.”

David glanced toward the glass-walled office. “It’s need-to-know information. And you need to butt out.”

“Lovely.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not leaving until you sing like a canary. Starting with the name. It sounds fake.”

He shrugged. “I never met her. She worked with Ray a long time ago. That’s all I know. Honest.”

“There she is.” Kristie watched intently as a tall woman with shortly cropped brown hair emerged from the elevator and strode toward Ray’s office. The visitor’s navy blue pantsuit was smartly cut, and she appeared to be in her midthirties. Not particularly pretty, but so confident she immediately owned the place. “Good grief, David. I never met a real dominatrix before.”

“Shush.”

“Tell me about her. Please?”

“I don’t know anything,” he insisted. “And even if I did, I’ve got work to do. And that ringing in your ears is your operative line, if that matters to you.”

She jumped up. “McGregor! I’ve got to get that.” Sprinting for her cubicle, she managed to grab the receiver one instant before the call rolled over to voice mail. “McGregor?”

“Goldie? Great. I was about to leave a message on your voice mail, but wasn’t sure whether to address it to you or Melissa.”

She sank into her chair, delighted to hear his sexy voice, but also a bit sheepish over answering her SPIN line as informally as she’d done. “Did it go well last night?”

“Better than well. Manny was so relieved about the car, he showed up at the bar just as it was closing.”

“And? Did you commiserate together?”

“I didn’t want to overplay it, so I just slipped out of the place without even talking to him. But the bartender got an earful from me before that. If we’re real lucky, he filled Manny in. If not, I’ll do it tonight.”

“Perfect.” She moistened her lips. “The car will be ready today, but I’ll delay delivery until Friday. That should give you plenty of time to bond.”

“Yeah. I think this will work.”

A shiver of pride coursed through her. “Call me tonight, okay? I won’t be able to sleep until I hear how it went.”

“It could be three in the morning your time,” McGregor protested. “You’d better learn to pace yourself, S-3. This could go on for weeks, you know.”

“Kristie!” It was Beth, calling to her from across the room, then motioning toward the closed door to Ray’s office. “He wants to see you right away.”

Kristie could see through the half-opened blinds that Jane Smith was still in Ray’s office. Conflicted, she murmured, “McGregor? I have to go. But I’ll call you back—”

“Not necessary. I just wanted to say thanks. Take it easy, Goldie.”

She winced as a click echoed through the phone wire. He had sounded so final.

And after all we’ve meant to each other, she reprimanded him, only half joking. But as frustrated as she was over the FBI agent’s attitude, she had to admit that the prospect of meeting Ray’s mysterious visitor was a great consolation prize.

She only wished she hadn’t dressed so casually today of all days. But there wasn’t time to change into the spare suit she kept hanging in her cubicle, so she settled for smoothing a few loose hairs back into her French braid, then hurried to Ray’s office.

“Come on in, Kristie.” He motioned for her to take a seat at the round conference table in the far corner of his office, where his visitor was already sitting. “This is Jane Smith. She runs a counterintelligence unit for the CIA.”

CIA. Kristie tingled as she joined them at the table, but quickly reminded herself that six short months ago, the initials F-B-I had impressed her, too, and now it was just another acronym.

“Nice to meet you,” she told Jane Smith.

She could see now that the woman was older than she’d appeared from afar, perhaps in her midforties. Fine lines surrounded her pale blue eyes, and a few gray hairs were sprinkled among the chestnut ones.

But it was the agent’s attitude that really made an impression on the spinner. Take-charge, despite the fact that this was someone else’s turf.

“May I call you Kristie?” the woman began.

“Yes.” She was tempted to ask if she could call the agent Jane—assuming that was her real name, which seemed doubtful.

The visitor arched an eyebrow. “You’re getting quite a reputation. Did you know that?”

“A reputation?”

Smith nodded. “Your skill as a profiler makes sense, since you concentrated your studies on abnormal psychology. But your talent for strategizing. Improvising. Creating opportunities out of thin air. That’s impressive. To what do you attribute it?”

“Curiosity maybe?” Kristie shrugged. “I’m pretty eclectic in my interests, and I like figuring out how and why things work. Or don’t work. Especially the way seemingly innocuous variations can affect a result. In other words,” she added cheerfully, “I’m a nerd.”

The agent nodded in apparent agreement. “The tiniest detail can spell the difference between success and failure. And in my line of work, the difference between life and death. I suppose that’s the same for your so-called spinning, although on a less dramatic scale.”

“It’s dramatic enough for us,” Ray retorted.

Smith gave him an amused look. “You haven’t changed. Still competitive as hell.” Turning her attention back to Kristie, she said, “I’ve asked Ray to loan you to me for a couple of days. He’s going to say yes because the president wants him to say yes. Isn’t that right, Ray?”

“Loan me to you?” Kristie’s pulse quickened. “To design a strategy for one of your operations?”

“A backup strategy. My best people have already come up with the primary plan, and it’s as close to foolproof as possible, given the multitude of ‘variations’ as you call them. But this job is important—as important as anything I’ve ever done, and definitely more important than anything you’ll ever handle. So—” she smiled grimly “—I decided to get an outside opinion.”

Kristie’s ego bristled, and she expected Ray to defend the importance of work done at SPIN, but he simply said, “We’re willing to help within certain parameters.”

“Which are?”

“You’ll brief us. Both of us. Then you’ll go away. Kristie will design the scenario under my supervision, and when she’s done, we’ll send it over. If you have questions, the three of us will meet.”

“You’re afraid I’ll try to steal her away from you?” Smith rolled her pale blue eyes. “Believe me, that’s not on the agenda. What I like most about this girl is that she’s a civilian. Trained by you—the best profiler in the business, and a pretty good strategist in your own right.”

When Ray ignored the compliment, the agent shrugged her shoulders. “Kristie can bring a fresh perspective to this. That’s all I need. So your rules are fine with me. In fact, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Barely able to contain her excitement despite the tension between Ray and the agent, Kristie demanded, “What’s the assignment?”

“You’ll find what you need in here.” Smith pulled a folder from her briefcase. “It’s fairly straightforward. Your security clearance is something of a joke, so the details are sketchy. But that shouldn’t matter. All we’re asking you to do is plan a good old-fashioned heist.”

“Pardon?”

“I thought that would intrigue you.” The agent’s eyes twinkled. “Our target is a wall safe, hidden in an inner room in a mansion in Palm Springs, California. We have reliable intel on the layout and the security. But we’ll only get one shot, so we want to get it right.”

“What’s in the safe?”

“A disk, maybe two, containing the names and positions of half a dozen moles in sensitive positions in federal government. We’ve known for some time that the owner of the mansion, a shipping magnate named Kenneth Salinger, was working for the other side. We’ve been watching him, and were about to move in when we heard about the disk. We want it.”

“I don’t mean to sound naive, but if you know exactly where it is, and you have grounds to arrest Salinger, why not just—”

“Get a warrant?” Jane Smith burst into laughter. “Why didn’t I think of that! My God, Ray, she’s priceless.”

Ray shot her a silencing glare. “It’s a reasonable suggestion. I suppose you’re saying Salinger has some sort of contingency in place?”

“He and his people are armed with remote devices,” Jane confirmed. “They’d blow that safe in an instant if they thought we were on to him, much less arresting him.” To Kristie she added, “If we showed up out of nowhere at his front door, the disk would be destroyed before our people could start down the hall. Our best chance is to sneak in and get it, then arrest him.” She stood up and secured the latches on her briefcase. “We originally planned on going in this weekend. Salinger’s hosting a cactus show on the premises and we could easily put someone there undercover. But instead we’re going to use it as an opportunity to gather additional information, so we may have more for you in a couple of days.

“Meanwhile, just look over the file. Start getting a feel for it. Do whatever it is you do to research the alarm systems, et cetera. And get to know Salinger—he’s a real piece of work.” Smith’s tone softened. “You’ll undoubtedly have questions. That’s fine. I’ll come back on Friday to answer them. And if you want my team to gather particular intel during the cactus show, just make a wish list, and they’ll see what they can do. Is that clear?”

“How soon will you need the final product?” Ray asked.

“There’s another big event at Salinger’s house in three weeks. Some sort of art auction. We’d rather not wait that long, but access is such a bitch in this situation, we don’t seem to have a choice. Unless of course your spinner comes up with something we missed.”

Kristie raised a finger to interrupt them. “I have a question.”

“Another one?” Jane Smith’s reaction was almost a sneer. “I hope it’s better than the warrant brainstorm.”

The spinner silently counted to ten, then leveled a no-nonsense stare directly into the agent’s eyes. “You’re CIA. This is a domestic operation. Is jurisdiction a factor here?”

“Homeland Security is coordinating this. And my team is detached to the FBI as consultants. But believe me, we’re running the show. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Me?” Kristie shrugged. “I just don’t want to break any laws.”

“Since when? You talked to that juvenile detainee without his parents or attorney present,” Jane Smith reminded her coolly. “If it hadn’t been for that little stunt, I wouldn’t be here even if you were the best strategist on the planet. So save the holier-than-thou attitude for the folks back on the farm.”

“That’s enough,” Ray warned.

The CIA operative laughed. “I agree. Kristie? Study the files. See what you can come up with. We’re particularly interested in the best routes for entry and for escape.”

“Although technically, once you get in and acquire the disk, you don’t really need to get out. Just execute the arrest warrant, assuming you really have one,” Kristie suggested.

When Jane Smith winced, Ray chuckled with pride. “Sounds like Kristie has all the information—about your mission and you—she needs. See you Friday.”

“I can hardly wait.” The agent gave them a haughty glare, then swung her briefcase off the table and strode out of the office.

“Wow, I hope she’s not someone you care about, Ray, because—” Kristie paused for emphasis, then insisted “—what a bitch.”

“That’s the general consensus.” He patted Kristie’s hand. “Be careful, okay? Help them out, but run everything by me first. She’s a dangerous woman. Good at her job, but ruthless and ambitious.”

“You guys have a past?”

“We worked together for a couple of years. Not a time I’m particularly fond of. But it taught me a lot. Now I’m teaching you. Don’t trust her.”

Kristie cocked her head to the side. “For example…?”

“For example, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she’s not after a list of moles at all.”

“Wow. What do you think she wants from that safe?”

“Who knows? It probably is a disk of some sort—she’d want to be accurate about that detail so that your plan takes size, weight, et cetera, into account. But the contents of the disk are anyone’s guess. All we know for sure is, this op will further her career. And if we’re not careful, it’ll do so at our expense.”

“That’s pretty cynical.”

“But accurate. She’s always been that way. But now that she’s getting a little older—a little slower—I’m guessing she’s even more desperate. Ergo, more dangerous.”

The spinner sighed. “Okay, I’ll be careful.”

“Good. But have fun with this, too.” He touched her hand again. “It’s a helluva compliment. And she was right about one thing—you’re something special. Thanks for making SPIN look good.”

Kristie felt her cheeks redden. “Like she said, I was trained by the best. So…” She gathered up the Salinger file. “I guess I’d better get started.”

“Yeah. I’ll transfer all your active assignments to David for the next few days.”

“Ooh, that reminds me. Guess who called last night. Will McGregor.”

Ray seemed genuinely surprised. “Why?”

“That toy-salesman cover wasn’t working because the target was busy trying to get out of the doghouse with his ingenue wife. Forgot her birthday.”

“Sounds like the Bureau needs to send someone else in. With a different cover. David can take that on.”

“McGregor and I worked it out. Came up with the perfect birthday present, et voilà! The assignment’s back on track, and McGregor and Manny have something to bond over.”

Ray arched an eyebrow. “What time last night did McGregor call you?”

“This all happened before I had a chance to announce the new rules. The new old rules, I mean.”

Ray laughed. “I’m not worried. It’s McGregor, after all. He’s not going to make a habit of it, so no harm done.”

“Right.”

She bit her lip and Ray seemed to notice right away, demanding, “What now?”

Kristie flashed what she hoped was an innocent smile. “When you tell the operator to direct my calls to David, make sure that doesn’t include Justin Russo. Okay?”

“Russo?” Ray practically spat the name. “I thought he was in Tahiti.”

“He is. But he’ll be checking on Lizzie Rodriguez’s condition. If he calls me with an update, I want to hear it.”

Ray’s scowl disappeared. “Yeah, okay. Calls from Russo will go directly to you. And when you hear about the kid’s condition, let me know right away, too.”

“You’re such a softy,” Kristie told him, adding nonchalantly, “And calls from Agent McGregor should come directly to me, too, okay?”

The scowl returned. “Didn’t I just say David will take over your assignments?”

“You also said McGregor won’t make a habit of it. Which means if he calls, it’ll be important. And it’ll be about Melissa. David can’t possibly deal with that.”

“You dragged Melissa into another case?” Ray’s frown returned. “Someday you and I are gonna have a long talk about you and your alter ego.”

“And meanwhile?”

“Sure, McGregor’s calls can go to you. But don’t hold your breath. Like I told you yesterday, he’s a professional.”

Kristie suspected Ray was right. McGregor wouldn’t contact her again—or at least, not without a little encouragement. So she called him that evening just to touch base. “Did the photo of Melissa arrive?”

“Yeah. She’s pretty hot,” he said teasingly. “The guys at the bar are gonna love her.”

Kristie’s cheeks warmed. “I promised to concoct a few stories for you about her. Such as, you met her at a doll show. She was wearing a ruffled sundress and a wide-brimmed straw hat. Very sexy. Very Southern plantation.”

McGregor’s deep laugh rumbled over the monitored line. “Southern plantation, huh? No wonder I went nuts.”

“You never stood a chance.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” He cleared his throat. “Is the photo based on you?”

“It’s computer generated,” she insisted. “If there’s nothing else, Agent McGregor, I’d better get back to my new assignment. Feel free to call if you need me. Or if you just want to brainstorm a little. We’re a team now, you know.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that,” he admitted. “I’ll check in tonight. Take it easy until then.”

And right on schedule, he began calling her in the middle of the night as soon as he’d left the bar, updating her on his heart-to-heart talks with Manny, who had almost instantly proclaimed McGregor to be the brother he had always wanted. And while the lovesick thug still didn’t discuss “business” with his new friend, he did begin telling other secrets, and McGregor was pleased with the progress.

Kristie, on the other hand, craved victory not progress. “I keep trying to think of some way to catapult this to the next level,” she told the agent in frustration. “Something you can say to him to make him trust you so completely, he can’t resist sharing details about the syndicate.”

“Patience, Goldie,” McGregor advised her. “Some things are worth waiting for. I promise.”

Did he mean it to sound so seductive? she wondered. So prophetic?

Some things are worth waiting for…

“Okay,” she told him, struggling to keep her tone cool. “We’ll be patient.”

“Right. Manny’s like a fish. We’ve got him hooked. Now we’ve just gotta reel him in.”

So much for seduction, she told herself with a wry laugh, but aloud she insisted, “I’m all ears, McGregor. Educate me.”

To her surprise, he proceeded to do just that, giving her a string of examples from his own early undercover experiences. And while the nominal reason was to teach her the value of patience, she was sure he was also trying to strengthen their newfound connection. The stories were work related, but also profoundly personal, providing glimpses into his life that she hadn’t dared dream she’d ever get.

She needed those moments, not just for the visceral thrill and occasional romantic vibe, but also to keep her from becoming obsessed with the Salinger file, which was easily the most challenging case she had ever faced.

And even if it wasn’t, she was determined to design a scenario that truly knocked the socks off a certain bitchy CIA agent.

As for Salinger himself, Kristie was learning he was one scary guy. No criminal record, but the CIA file identified him as the mastermind behind several “accidents” that were undoubtedly assassinations. He had made a fortune in shipping, which provided both the financial means and the network for his anti-USA activities, while also allowing him to be perceived by the community as a respectable businessman. He left most of his dirty work to a certain bodyguard known as the Axe—a psychopath devoted to serving his boss’s interests.

Salinger’s defining characteristic was his thirst for revenge, which translated into a profound hatred for his native country. It drove his every waking thought, fueled by his certainty that his younger brother’s death in the Gulf War had been orchestrated by high-level U.S. officials to prevent a lucrative contract for one of the president’s campaign contributors. According to the CIA’s file, there was no truth to Salinger’s suspicions about his brother’s death. But given Ray’s cynical assessment of Jane Smith, Kristie reserved judgment on whether the file was accurate on that issue.

Meanwhile, she focused her attention on the target: Salinger’s Palm Springs estate. It was an oasis, carved from the desert, irrigated by the snowcaps of the nearby mountain ranges and resplendent with every luxury known to man, including a private golf course.

The triple-crowning glories of the place were Salinger’s world-renowned cactus garden, his collection of priceless paintings, housed in a rotunda-style gallery in the center of his home, and the art gallery’s domed skylight, fashioned from delicate Italian glass that had been tinted blue and white to resemble a sky filled with clouds.

If Jane Smith’s intel was correct, the safe containing the disk was hidden behind one of the paintings in the glass-roofed gallery. And the more Kristie studied the situation, the more convinced she became that she had to see that gallery in person. Providing the reconnaissance team with a wish list seemed inefficient, when she could go on the scouting trip herself. And since the venue would be a harmless garden party, there was no danger at all, either to the mission or to Kristie personally. The actual operation would still be weeks away and by then, she would be safely back to the East Coast.

She wondered if Jane Smith would see the wisdom in allowing Kristie to attend. Or would the agent just use the suggestion as an opportunity to ridicule SPIN—and Kristie in particular? And even if the agent could be convinced, Kristie knew Ray Ortega would never allow her to actively participate in an operation, however harmless.

But he might just agree to send Melissa Daniels.

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