Tracy was sitting much too close.

Especially considering the fact that just a few scant moments ago she’d told Decker she wanted to do him.

And yeah, okay, she was allegedly being sarcastic.

But she’d said the words, using the grittiest verb available, and Deck had felt his head snap back. And sure, she could pretend that she hadn’t meant it, but there had been quite a moment there when their gazes had caught and held. It was obvious they both knew damn well, should they let it go that far, that there would be some serious heat between them.

Not that he would ever let it happen. He had better control than that.

Except now Tracy was sitting too damn close, the warmth of her thigh against his leg. She’d looped her arm around the back of the truck’s bench seat, and rested her hand tentatively on his shoulder, which meant that his right arm brushed the softness of her left breast every time he took a left turn. Or a right. And okay, yeah—it happened every time he moved the steering wheel, and he was about to lose his goddamned mind.

It was just a charade meant to fool anyone who might be watching into thinking that Jo Heissman wasn’t crouched and hiding on the cab floor at Tracy’s feet. Although if someone from the Agency had followed the doctor to her office and seen her approach Decker’s truck, then watched as the truck pulled out of the lot, they pretty much knew she was in here.

But Decker wanted her on the floor for a variety of reasons, most of them right out of the Spy v. Spy playbook. But some of his reasons weren’t even that lofty—one being that he wanted Jo Heissman to be uncomfortable, and the other being that he wanted Tracy to have to sit that close.

Decker could feel her fingers, near the collar of his shirt, near the back of his neck. And Jesus, he was in a weird, weird place if he was sitting here, like some sixteen-year-old hard-on, thinking about the fact that if he braked a little too hard at the next red light, Tracy’s hand might move and she might actually touch him, skin against skin.

He wanted to be touched like that so badly, it was embarrassing.

It was triple weird since all that petty, juvenile trash was running rampant through his brain, even as he listened to Jo Heissman tell her story.

“I was paid a visit,” she was saying, “at four o’clock this morning, by a man who put a bag over my head—both to intimidate me and to conceal his identity. It was not a pleasant way to wake up.”

“You must have been terrified.” Tracy, again, was handling the conversational niceties—expressing sympathy, making the proper noises of support. Which was good, because if Decker had spoken he’d’ve given away the fact that he was skeptical—of the existence of both man and bag. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Dr. Heissman said. “He didn’t do more than threaten me.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Tracy said, which made him glance at her in the mirror. Who the hell said Thank goodness instead of Thank God?

Tracy did, apparently, because her response wasn’t an act. Or was it? She seemed sincerely relieved, her full focus on the doctor, whom she appeared to believe with a naiveté that was sweetly charming. Which reminded Decker of the insult he’d hurled just before Dr. Heissman had made the scene. You’re a little girl.

But there was no doubt about it. This was a full-grown woman sitting next to him.

“What did he want?” Tracy asked.

It was then that Jo Heissman hesitated, looking from Tracy to Deck. She wore expensive, rectangular-shaped glasses that added an additional level of elegant bookishness to her already intelligent eyes. She was closer to his own age than Tracy was, yet she was still a very good-looking woman. Her blue eyes and pale skin were a sharp contrast to her long, dark, yet-streaked-with-natural-gray hair. And her warrior-goddess attitude was not at all altered by the fact that he was making her sit, her knees up near her ears, on the grungy floor mat of his truck.

No doubt about it, he was a bastard for making her sit there, and he was a little surprised that she hadn’t asked if she could join them on the bench seat, like a real person, now that they’d traveled several winding miles. But she didn’t, so he let her stay where she was.

No one was following them—Deck was being careful—but that didn’t mean a thing. The doctor could well be carrying—either intentionally or not—a GPS beacon which would reveal their location. In his current dour mood, he would bet she was carrying it intentionally.

“He said he was from the Agency’s black ops division. And that he wanted information.” Dr. Heissman spoke directly to Decker now. “About you.”

This time when Decker glanced into the rearview, both to check the traffic pattern behind them—nope, they still weren’t being followed—and to gauge Tracy’s reaction, the receptionist was looking back at him.

Her eyes were blue, too, and just as sharply intelligent as the doctor’s. The silent message she was sending him was clear—she was now leaving all responses and follow-up questions completely to him.

Yeah, he’d see how long that would last.

But for now, Deck cleared his throat. “What did he want to know?” he asked.

“Information concerning the last time I’d been in contact with you,” Dr. Heissman answered. “He wanted dates, times... Methods—phone calls, e-mails, in-person meetings...”

Of which there had been exactly none.

“He was interested in the nature of our relationship,” she continued. “Did I know you well?” She paused. “He asked where you were and what you did—on the night that Jim Nash died. We went over it in quite some detail. He was interested in minutiae.”

Tracy chose that very moment to move her hand. Just slightly. But enough to touch Decker with her thumb, just on the bare skin side of his shirt collar.

It was not by accident. And it took everything in him not to react. But almost instantly he realized he should react—in some way—to the startling nature of Jo Heissman’s news, so he said, “What the hell...?” which also gave him a few extra seconds to push away the sudden images of sex that had jammed his brain waves: graphic and extremely visceral thoughts of slipping into welcoming arms and sliding into the slick, tight heat of any willing woman, not necessarily Tracy, although Tracy would certainly do.

And, Jesus, this was not what he should be thinking about when he’d just found out that the Agency—or someone saying they were with the Agency, which was not the same thing—was digging around, looking for more information, no doubt to verify that Nash was, indeed, dead.

Or still alive—in which case they would try to find him to reverse that condition. This was, Deck believed, absolutely in response to that DNA test on that bloody shirt of Nash’s.

No, now was not the time for his body to decide it needed to challenge the long-held rules of his self-imposed celibacy. It happened from time to time—a petulant challenge—and usually at the most inopportune moments. Which this absolutely was. So, in truth, this latest uprising, so to speak, fit his ongoing pattern.

Apparently scones weren’t the only thing on his predictable-behavior list.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Jo said, as he stared at the road, at the taillights of the car in front of him, and reminded himself of the disasters that always awaited him when he surrendered to his body’s demands. Sophia was, as always, Exhibit A.

“But I tend to get uncooperative and downright cranky when people put bags over my head,” she continued. “So I told him you were with me at the FBI headquarters in Sacramento for most of the evening that Jim Nash died. And that, since at that time I was your therapist, I told him I’d counseled you, extensively, when the news came down about Nash’s death.”

What the fuck?

Decker forced himself to focus on what the shrink had just said, which was that she’d lied to the alleged Agency operative who’d broken into her home. Decker hadn’t been with Dr. Heissman for most of that evening—he’d been helping Jules Cassidy make arrangements for Nash’s postoperative hospital care. Among other things. He’d purposely been far away from her when she’d received the news that Nash had died, because yes, she had briefly been his therapist.

He hadn’t thought he’d be able to fool her, to feign real grief when he knew that Nash was still alive. But now she’d told the man—if there was a man—who’d bagged her—if there was a bag—that she’d been with Decker when he’d heard the tragic news.

“I admitted, when pressed,” she added, “that you cried.”

Decker had cried while in a session with her—the night before. But only to try to get the good doctor to reveal her connections to the Agency.

And yeah, Dr. Heissman wasn’t the only liar sitting in his truck.

“Why would the Agency care where Deck was on the night that Jimmy Nash died?” Tracy asked, apparently unable to keep silent another moment, which was not unexpected. She put the exact right amount of confusion into the question, though, which was nice.

“I tried asking that very same thing,” Heissman reported, “but my visitor was far more interested in being the interrogator.”

“I’m supposed to believe, that with a bag over your head,” Decker said, letting his disbelief ring in his voice, “you risked your life to provide the Agency with disinformation...?”

“Believe it or not,” she answered quietly, “that’s exactly what I did.”

Tracy moved her thumb against his neck—Jesus—even as he said, “I’m going to have to go with not. Because to believe that you lied to an operative from the very organization that you probably still work for—”

“What a surprise,” the doctor said tartly. “You’re still singing the same song you were the last time I saw you.”

Which was early in the morning, on the day after Nash had, allegedly, died.

At that time, Decker had told her that he blamed the Agency in part for Nash’s death, and he’d made it very clear to her that if he discovered she was still working for the Agency, if he found out she’d lied to him from the start?

He’d hunt her down and kill her.

He knew she was thinking of his threat as he glanced down past Tracy’s perfect legs to where Jo was huddled. She met his gaze and held it, almost defiantly.

And because, apparently, his dick was in charge today, he found himself remembering kissing her—not because he’d particularly wanted to kiss her, but rather because she was there at a time when he’d needed someone to grab on to. And the grabbing had turned into a kiss. Which again fit his pattern. He’d kissed her on the same night that—Jesus—he’d broken down and cried. In looking back and analyzing, it was clear he’d reached some kind of emotional cliff that he’d launched himself off of.

Jo had said, at the time, that men in his profession often used sex as a substitute for emotional release, and that she didn’t take that kiss personally—but that it wouldn’t happen again.

So it hadn’t. And in a matter of hours, they’d parted ways.

But it was entirely possible that the entire incident had freaked him out significantly more than it had her.

Because as he’d kissed her, the warrior goddess had given way to woman. Her body had been soft against his, clad only in a no-nonsense bathrobe over a silky pink nightgown. Which was completely out of character. She was the sleep-in-flannel-pajamas type.

Or so he’d thought.

“I wasn’t working for the Agency when I was at Troubleshooters,” Jo told him now, her chin held high. “But as of four o’clock this morning, I’m apparently back on the payroll—and I don’t want to be. I refuse to be. Which is why I came to find you. I thought, if anyone could help—if anyone would sympathize, after what Nash went through...”

Before he could ask exactly what she meant by that—after what Nash went through—Tracy spoke up again.

“We’re going to help you,” she told the doctor. “But it’s going to be a difficult couple of days. Tess is coming to San Diego this evening...”

Decker looked at her sharply in the rearview, fearing that her naiveté had won and she not only believed Jo, but assumed they were all working toward the same goal, but he couldn’t catch her gaze as she blithely continued.

“... and she and Deck are going to rent a boat and scatter Jimmy’s ashes, at sunset. I’m afraid no one’s at the top of their game right now.”

And okay, maybe the naive-sounding concern hadn’t been so naive but rather part of Tracy’s amazing act, because she really did make effortless lying seem like an art form. He almost believed her himself—even knowing that there were no real ashes to scatter.

Still, he wasn’t happy because he very much didn’t want Jo Heissman knowing that Tess was going to be in town.

Tracy glanced up, caught his look, managed to read his mind, and swore. Sort of. Along with thank God, apparently shit wasn’t in her vocabulary either.

“Shoot. I shouldn’t have told you that. Sorry,” she said to Deck, even as she added to the doctor, “He’s very protective of Tess.”

It was beautiful—and almost made the fact that she’d revealed Tess’s arrival worthwhile.

Tracy was beautiful—she was sexy, she was quick-witted, and he wanted to screw her. But that didn’t mean shit, because he wanted to screw Jo Heissman, too. When he got like this, he’d unzip his pants for anybody. Again, Sophia was Exhibit A, and Jesus, he hated himself even more than usual today.

“What do you know about what Nash went through before he died?” Decker asked, referring back to what Dr. Heissman had just said. The words came out far more harshly than they should have, considering he was the person in this truck that he was most disgusted with.

She sighed wearily. “Nothing new. Only what I already told you.” She looked up at Tracy, to tell her a story that Decker already knew. “I saw Nash once, at Agency headquarters. He was alone and he was going through a locked door that led to the black ops division.”

“It had a keypad lock. He wouldn’t have gotten through without the code, which he wouldn’t have known if he wasn’t a member of the black ops team,” Deck explained, although she’d probably figured that out.

“Ghosts, we called them,” Jo chimed in. “The operatives who worked for that division. There were rumors—never substantiated—that ghost operatives had a difficult time breaking ties with the Agency. They were always pressured to take one more mission, do one more job. And there were whispers, too, of methods of applying pressure that had overtones of blackmail. I have no proof, but I feel certain that Nash was subjected to this in the years following his severance from the Agency.”

“So naturally, while it was going on, you looked the other way.” Decker’s words were rude, his voice sounded overly rough and a little too loud, even to his own ears, and he could feel Tracy’s curiosity and concern as if it were radiating from her. She moved her hand again, this time to touch him more completely on his neck. Her fingers felt cool against the heat of his skin as she caressed him just a little—a minuscule version of a soothing embrace of support.

And, yeah, honey, thanks so much—that absolutely helped. Now, instead of thinking about how pissed he was about all of this—including the fact that Jo was completely messing up his plans: to drive Tracy to the safe house and, once there, to make sure they were never alone again—he was instead focusing on how badly he wanted those cool fingers touching a totally different part of his anatomy.

And now he was getting pissed at Tracy, too, because along with her concern, he was also picking up some curiosity and skepticism. Because despite what he’d told her earlier, it had to be beyond obvious that the animosity he felt toward Jo Heissman was personal. And knowing Tracy, she was no doubt thinking that he’d lied when he said he’d never slept with Jo, because in her world, sex was both the beginning and the end, and yet it also, paradoxically, just wasn’t that big of a deal. If you were hungry, you ate. If you were horny, you screwed. And if the attraction was there, like a well-lit Burger King off a desolated stretch of highway at a time when everything else was closed, why the hell not get your rocks off, even though you knew that, like eating fast food, doing so was neither healthy nor smart?

So, if attraction existed between two people in Tracy’s world, and they’d spent any time at all alone together, chances were strong that they’d gotten it on.

And since Decker was displaying bits of his deeply burning anger at Dr. Heissman, whom yes, he’d admit to finding attractive—even now, sitting near Tracy, who was desire personified—then according to the rules of Tracy’s world, that anger surely had something to do with sex.

It wouldn’t occur to Tracy that he was angry for other reasons, including the fact that during every single one of Decker’s therapy sessions, Dr. Heissman had somehow managed to penetrate his expert defenses. She’d crawled around—unwelcome—in the densely murky shit that clogged up the inside of his head.

In those sessions, Deck had told the doctor things that he’d never told anyone. And, every now and then, when he was man enough to face the truth, he had to admit that the therapy—the talking—had actually helped him.

These days, he actually felt better about a lot of things that had haunted him for years. He’d finally started to recognize that even though he’d made mistakes in the past, his intentions had always been good and true.

He’d done the best he could, given the circumstances. His relatively new acceptance of that had brought him peace. Of sorts.

A fact which, ironically, pissed him off.

It pissed him off because he didn’t trust Jo Heissman then, and he sure as double-fuck didn’t trust her now, with her ridiculous bag-over-the-head story. Help me, his ass.

His bullshit meter was highly tuned and it was screaming. He trusted his instincts completely, and his gut told him that she’d been hiding something from him right from the start. He’d been aware of it during their so-called sessions, and he was aware of it now.

He didn’t trust her, he didn’t like her, but throw her a bang? Apparently today, his answer to that question was a hearty hell, yeah.

“I didn’t look the other way.” Dr. Heissman let some of her own anger show in her clipped words and in the flush that darkened her patrician cheekbones. “Not with Nash and not with any of the other operatives who were being—in my opinion—unfairly pressured to take on additional assignments. I filed reports and became very unpopular. When it became clear that my suspicions were being ignored, I resigned. Needless to say, no one pressured me to stay.” She laughed her disgust. “Until now. In addition to last night’s interrogation, I was given an assignment.”

“Let me guess,” Decker said. “You were told to contact me.”

She nodded. “That’s right.”

“Which you’re doing right now.”

“I wasn’t told to contact you and tell you everything that I’ve just told you,” she pointed out, and it was clear he was pissing her off.

Tough shit.

“Which, incidentally, would’ve been the way I’d’ve done it, if I were you. Play both sides,” Decker told her. “But go on. What else, pray tell, were you told to do?”

“To find out where you are, what you’ve been doing, where you go when you disappear. Apparently, you disappear quite often these days. He told me to persuade you to go back into therapy—”

“That’s never going to happen.”

“Obviously,” Dr. Heissman said, with quite an edge to her normal dulcet voice. “I’m just letting you know what this man said. If you’d rather not know, then—”

“What did he threaten you with?” Decker asked.

“I had a bag over my head,” she reminded him. “He said he had a gun, but—”

“No,” he cut her off again. “I’m talking blackmail threat. He said go gather this info, you said sorry, I no longer work for the Agency, he said oh yes you do and where shall I tell them to send your paycheck, you said no thank you, and he said you’ll do this, or... What? What was his threat?”

The flush was back on her cheeks. “I’d... rather not say.”

Sex. It had to be sex. Cheating on taxes or some other kind of financial fraud generally didn’t warrant that kind of a blush.

“Is it pictures they have, or a video?” Decker asked her.

She shook her head, as Tracy—eyes wide—wisely stay silent. “I refuse to be blackmailed,” Jo decreed. “Which is why I came to you.”

Maybe. It was also possible that everything she’d said was a scam to win his trust.

“I know how these things work,” Deck said. “They don’t just say we have a video, they give it to you. A copy, of course. I’m going to have to see it, first to verify that it exists, and second to weigh the blackmail material.” He could see that neither Jo nor Tracy understood, so he explained. “If the video is of your son committing murder, there’s a strong chance that you’re going to do whatever your Agency master tells you to do, to keep it from going public. If it’s you getting inside the head of one of your clients while he gets inside of—”

“It’s neither of those things,” she cut him off, rather sharply. Clearly it was a touchy subject. “And yes, it’s photos. But it’s really only a minor embarrassment—I’ve never done anything of which I’m ashamed.”

“And yet you’d really rather not say,” he reminded her.

“Because I value my privacy,” she retorted. “I’m well aware that the choices I’ve made today—by coming to you—are going to result in the publication of those photos. I see no reason to endure the violation of my privacy before I absolutely have to.”

“Honey, I just gave you a reason,” Decker said. “Take it or leave it.”

She made a sound that was part laughter, part disgusted exhale, part sigh of resignation, and said, “He was significantly younger and... He was my daughter’s ex-boyfriend, okay?”

Well, here’s to you, Dr. Heissman.

“It was an exclusive relationship,” she said sharply, “that lasted several months, and didn’t begin, might I add, until well after he and Ivy split up and she’d already moved in with her current partner. And the way you’re looking at me right now? Coo-coo-ca-choo, right? That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. But it’s a fact that having those pictures go public is only going to result in hurt feelings. It’ll compound my already strained relationship with my daughter, which is unfortunate. But there’ll be no damage to my career or my reputation. He wasn’t a patient. He wasn’t a student. He was a very attractive younger man with whom I spent a pleasant few months.”

“Coo-coo-ca-choo?” Tracy asked.

“Mrs. Robinson. Simon and Garfunkel,” Decker told her. “Theme song from The Graduate?”

“Got it,” Tracy said. “These days us hep young’uns call it a cougar attack.”

Jo actually winced at that. “His name was Peter. I’m planning to get back in touch with him, to warn him that these pictures have surfaced,” she said.

Decker shook his head. “Don’t.”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to let him stumble over them on the Internet.”

“When did the affair take place?” he asked her.

“It wasn’t an affair. It was—”

“Before, during, or after your years at the Agency?”

She shut her mouth. Blinked. “During,” she said. “It was close to the end.”

“Huh,” Decker said. Coincidental? He would bet that it wasn’t. “Where were you when the photos were taken? Was it at your place or his?”

“A hotel,” she answered. “We took a weekend and went to New York City. Do you honestly think that Peter had something to do with...” She shook her head in disbelief. Her obvious disappointment and hurt almost made him feel sorry for her.

Almost. Because he still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t part of an act. “I think you had a relationship with an attractive man at the end of your tenure with the Agency, and now these photos have turned up. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if the next thing they hit you with is ‘proof’ that this Peter was one of your patients.”

“But he wasn’t,” she said.

“They’re the Agency,” he countered. “Whatever documents they provide will at the very least be realistic enough to create a controversy. Count on it.”

Jo looked from Decker to Tracy and back.

“So what are you doing?” she asked. “Are you actually trying to frighten me into... What? Being their bitch?”

She’d surprised him with her slang, but his laughter didn’t last longer than a short bark. “I’m suggesting,” he told her, “that it’s possible you’re not being honest with us about the nature of the material they’re holding over you.”

She nodded, clearly upset. “I should have gone to the Troubleshooters office, to Tom Paoletti.”

“Why didn’t you?” Decker asked.

She met his eyes, and there it was again—that kiss. But she just shook her head. “Because I’m a fool.” She laughed her disgust at herself. “And because, yes, they told me to contact you.”

“I believe her,” Tracy said, but her words were punctuated by the poke of a fingernail into his shoulder. His ex-fiancée, Emily, had well-cared-for nails, too, and Jesus, he’d loved it when she’d dug in as he’d rode her, hard, as he’d sent her spinning into a freefall so intense that she often left scratches down his back and across his ass. She’d always been embarrassed and aghast in the aftermath, but he’d gotten off on it.

“Why are they so interested in you?” the doctor asked him. “What are they after?”

Decker just looked at her.

“Okay,” she said. “You’re right. It would be foolish to tell me anything. You’ve never trusted me. I know that. But I’m going to be contacted again. If I were you, I’d like to know what these people want and who they are.” She paused. “Unless you already know.”

“Why don’t we just go to the Agency,” Tracy chimed in. “Why don’t we just show up and walk in the door and—”

“We need to be certain before we do that,” Decker said, cutting her off. “Whether or not they’re actually from the Agency, they’ve got access to Agency information. We go there, they’ll know we’ve been there and...” He shook his head. “I’m not ready for that.”

“Then, why don’t we put Dr. Heissman somewhere safe,” Tracy suggested. “Then we can go to her house, and wait for this man to come back, only, surprise, it’s not her, it’s me—and you, ready to kick his butt. We tie him up and fingerprint him, and presto, we have his identity.”

We? “I’m sorry,” Decker said, “but aren’t you a receptionist?”

She actually rolled her eyes as she otherwise ignored him. “When is he contacting you again?” she asked Jo.

“He wasn’t specific,” she answered.

“No.” Decker looked emphatically into the rearview mirror—which was the easiest way to meet Tracy’s eyes. “You’re not qualified, so no.”

“You’d be there.” She was actually arguing with him.

“But you won’t be,” he told her. “You’re going to your friend’s place, remember?”

“I can change my plans.”

“No. And stop. You said you wanted to help? Start now.”

Tracy closed her mouth at that, but he could see her protest in her eyes. It was killing her not to continue to argue.

Deck looked at Dr. Heissman. “I have several things to do tonight that take priority. If you’re concerned for your safety, I’ll help you access a secure location and—”

She was already shaking her head. “I’ll be fine at home. Particularly if you give me something to tell him if—when—he comes back. It doesn’t even have to be true. In fact, I’m happy to pass along disinformation if it’ll get you to trust me.”

Never gonna happen, hon. Aloud, he said, “Maybe we can get them to trust you—if you give them information that they probably already know, but that you couldn’t have known without talking to me. Like, the fact that Tess and I are both currently under investigation by the FBI.”

“What?” The doctor was genuinely surprised. “Why?”

“A former colleague of Nash’s”—Decker told her the story that Tess, Nash and Jules Cassidy had come up with—“had a key to a sealed safe-deposit box, with instructions to open it only in the event of Nash’s death. After he died, the seal was cracked and... Apparently Nash broke the black ops division’s number one rule: Leave behind no evidence. He left a paper trail and some other souvenirs that tie him to several ‘incidents,’ some of them on an international scale. An investigation’s under way to determine how much—if anything—Tess and I knew about any of this.”

She shook her head. “That’s ridiculous. You don’t expect anyone to believe—”

“Believe it or not,” he threw her own challenge-filled words back at her, “it’s true. Your bag man will already know about it. I guarantee it. It’s possible the Agency is working with the Bureau, but it’s also possible that your man is collecting as much information as possible in a CYA move—because someone inside knows that the Agency is going to get looked at by the FBI next. You can let him know that Nash kept both Tess and me in the dark about all of this. And that, as far as we’re concerned, we’d just as soon bury the truth with him. So if there’s anything they can do on their side to quash the investigation, tell them to have at it.” He’d driven in a big circle, and now pulled into the lot of a pizzeria and put the truck into park. “We’re a block and a half from your office building. It’d be best if you walked back.”

She didn’t move. “You honestly expect anyone to believe that you want to bury the truth? I’m sorry, didn’t you once tell me that if you found out I was still working for the Agency, you would kill me?” She looked at Tracy. “Hunt me down and kill me, I believe were his exact words.”

Tracy looked at Decker in the rearview mirror as he shook his head.

“It’s time to move on,” he replied. “Isn’t that what you shrinks are always encouraging us mere mortals to do? Well, I’m doing it. I don’t want to know what kind of ugliness Jimmy invited into his life. He’s gone and I’ve got Tess to think about now. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe. Including S-squared.”

“Sit the ef down and shut the ef up,” Tracy helpfully translated, as if the doctor—who’d worked extensively with spec op warriors—was unfamiliar with the expression.

Jo didn’t even bother to glance at the younger woman, she just sat there, gazing up at Decker, a small smile on her lips. “I honestly can’t tell if you’re lying. I thought I could, but I can’t. I mean, I know you are...” She shook her head. “We’re on the same side here, Lawrence.”

“There are no sides,” Decker lied. “Because I don’t want to turn this into a fight. The investigation will turn up nothing—there’s nothing for the FBI to find, nothing for Tess and me to say. Nothing for the Agency to worry about.”

She finally nodded. “I’ll pass that message along. But if they’re going to believe that I have access to you...”

“You’re going to need to have access to me,” Deck finished for her, aware that beside him, Tracy shifted in her seat. “You’ll get it.” He met the younger woman’s eyes in the rearview and knew that she was thinking of a different kind of access. Or maybe he was the one who was thinking about it. “I think your problem with the Agency is going to go away when my problem with the FBI ends. If not, we’ll deal with it. If you need me, I’ll be staying at Tracy’s place for the next few days.”

“Upstairs from Tess,” Jo verified.

He nodded again. “We should touch base tomorrow,” he told her. “I’ll want to see those photos.”

She nodded, too. “Is your cell number the same?”

“Yeah, but my phone’s not working. If you need to reach me before tomorrow, call Tracy, but keep in mind her line’s not secure.” He rattled off Tracy’s number as Jo plugged it into her phone. She then started to hand him another one of her cards, but he shook his head, adding, “I still have yours in my phonebook.”

That got him another glance from Tracy, who in about five seconds was going to slide all of her warmth and softness away from him. She’d already taken her hand from his neck, a fact that made him feel far too bereft, considering.

“Do me a favor,” Decker found himself saying to Jo, “and tell Tracy here that we never slept together—that there was nothing between us.”

“We never slept together,” the doctor repeated obediently, as she opened the door and climbed out. “But I wouldn’t say that there was nothing between us.”

And wasn’t that just perfect?

As he shook his head, she closed the door and Tracy slid away. And Decker did the only thing he could do.

He put the truck in gear and drove.

“We need to bring more people on board.”

Tess glanced over at Jules, who was driving the van. They’d just dropped off Robin and were now heading toward the low-rent part of town, where there was an entire strip of cheap motels—one of which they were going to pick as the place they’d meet up with Decker.

And Tracy Shapiro.

That was going to be weird—seeing Tracy again after accepting her condolences at Jimmy’s memorial service. And Tess didn’t even want to think about how awkward it was going to be when she and Deck went to the airport to pick up Sophia and Dave, later tonight.

Sophia and Dave. It was humbling to think about all that Decker had sacrificed to protect Jimmy.

“Yes, no, maybe?” Jules prompted, and she realized she hadn’t answered him. What had he said? Something about bringing more people aboard—as in telling them Jimmy was alive, and asking for their help.

“I agree.” Tess had the utmost respect for both Sam and Alyssa, and yet she couldn’t help but feel anxious about leaving Jimmy without a bigger army to defend him, if need be.

“Decker’s resisting,” Jules told her. “And I totally get why he doesn’t want to ask Dave for help, but we’re running out of personnel.”

She nodded. “I’ll talk to him.”

“I could call in some favors with SEAL Team Sixteen,” Jules said. “But I’ll run the names past you guys first.”

“It’s okay if we don’t talk about this right now,” Tess said. “I know you’re freaking out about Robin. Unless it helps to talk...”

Troubleshooter Ric Alvarado had flown in from the Florida office, along with his extremely capable wife, Annie, to take over as head of Robin’s security team, on and off the movie set. Ric’s forte was in personal protection, but regardless of that, it hadn’t been easy for Jules when Robin had gotten out of the van and into Ric’s truck.

Tess knew that it hadn’t helped that Robin hadn’t kissed Jules goodbye. But he couldn’t, because Jules was in disguise. The FBI agent had colored his hair—not drastically, but enough to make it look a naturally lighter shade of brown. He’d messed it up into a less conservative style, and with the goatee and mustache he’d grown over the past few weeks, Hawaiian shirt over a plain white beater, and drab green cargo shorts, he looked like a college student working a summer job driving a van.

The Hawaiian shirt hid his shoulder holster and sidearm as neatly as blue contact lenses and sunglasses hid the warmth of his soulful brown eyes.

He laughed now—a rueful chuckle. “I know Robin’s safe with Ric and Annie,” he said.

“But it’s hard when you’re not right there, with him,” Tess countered. “Believe me, I’m dealing with that, too.”

“We’ll be back at the house before you know it,” he reassured her.

Tess nodded. They would be—provided everything went as planned.

Except there already was a glitch. Deck’s sat phone was having some kind of hardware failure and he’d yet to get his hands on a replacement. So they’d set up a plan for Jules and Tess to e-mail one of Deck’s anonymous free-mail accounts with their location, upon their arrival.

They were going to a motel instead of meeting at the Troubleshooters office because Jimmy had requested they take extreme precautions. Keeping Tess’s location secret was paramount. And the fact was, a hotel or motel room, with its single entrance, was always easier to guard and defend. True, there was no escape route, but if they found themselves under attack, they were the good guys. They could easily call 9-1-1 for backup from the local police.

After they connected, Tess was going to try to fix Deck’s phone, but there were no guarantees she could get the job done before they left for the airport to pick up Sophia and Dave.

That was a meeting that, no doubt, wouldn’t be fun for any of them. Tess would have to pretend that Jimmy was dead—something she hated doing—and that she and Decker were in a relationship. Decker would get an up close and personal look at Sophia and Dave—both of whom would have to deal with seeing Decker again.

Yes, it was going to be awkward all around, but there were a wide variety of reasons—both personal and professional—for them to not tell Sophia and Dave the truth. Everyone was in agreement about that. Well, everyone except for Jimmy, who’d wanted to bring Dave in, right from the start.

But now it was in Dave’s best interest, wounded as he was, to stay out of the fight. And Tess knew Decker would be better off, too, if he knew Sophia was safe.

So she and Deck were going to have to sit down with Sophia and Dave and convince them that Dave’s assault was connected to an investigation they were conducting, but that the details were need to know. And not only did Sophia and Dave not need to know, but lives could well be in danger if they did know what was going on.

They would then have to convince Dave and Sophia to get into a car and drive. And drive. Decker would bankroll them with a bag of cash and a series of bogus IDs. Which they’d use to pay for food and lodging—in order to stay under the radar. About a week in, Dave would be instructed to use his credit card—as if by mistake—in some distant city. It would keep the Agency busy, and would tie up God knows how many operators who would be sent to investigate.

Not that Sophia nor Dave would have a clue that any of this had anything to do with Jimmy.

Dave’s long-term instructions would be to stay on the move, as isolated as possible, until Decker or Tess contacted them and told them it was safe to return.

Of course, they expected protest from Dave and Sophia—both of whom would be unhappy at the thought of deserting Decker and Tess in what surely was an hour of need.

But the plan was to divide and conquer.

Their first stop would be a hotel—different from the motel at which they were meeting Decker and Tracy—where they’d set up Dave and Sophia in an equally secure room, where they’d be able to talk.

It was likely that Dave and Sophia were being tailed, and that they’d be followed from the airport. That was okay. It was good, in fact.

They’d openly provision the room with food and water—as if Sophia and Dave were preparing to hunker down there for the next several weeks—and put the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door.

At which point, Tess and Deck would help Dave and Sophia slip out of the hotel, undetected, so they could make their escape while their enemy continued to watch a now-empty room.

Tess and Decker would then return to the motel where Jules was babysitting Tracy—at which point they’d all head back to the safe house.

At least that had been their plan—before Dr. Heissman appeared on the scene, going to Decker with her conveniently timed plea for help, which would delay their return. Because they were running late and there’d be no time to do it this evening, in the morning Tess and Deck were going to have to pretend to release Jimmy’s ashes into the ocean. And wasn’t that going to be fun?

“Why don’t we just grab Jo Heissman,” Tess said now, “put a gun to her head, and make her tell us who her contacts are at the Agency.”

Jules glanced at her.

“Don’t respond to that,” she said before he could even open his mouth. “I know why we don’t.” That kind of coercion rarely worked. And the information that came as a result of intimidation or even torture—it was highly suspect and exceedingly faulty. “I’m just pissed off.”

“We’ll get more information by working with her,” Jules reassured her. “You’ve got to be patient, Tess. Because what if she’s telling the truth? Or what if she doesn’t have a side—if she’s just trying to protect herself, to stay alive...? If we scare her or threaten her? She may decide that ours is not the side she wants to be on.”

“I know.” Tess sighed. “I’m sorry. I just want this to be over.”

“I’m with you on that,” Jules said, pulling into the potholed driveway of a run-down motel called the Seaside Heights.

It was neither seaside nor at a particularly elevated height. But it did have hourly rates, plus wireless—though only in the lobby.

Tess took her laptop with her as she followed Jules inside, the door screeching as it shut behind her. He went to the front desk as she put her computer on a coffee table that had seen better days, planting herself on an equally faded sofa.

The instructions for accessing the wireless were right there, on a little laminated card. Since her computer was already up and running, she followed the instructions and...

Bingo.

“What’dya say we splurge, sugar-pie, and get ourselves an entire night?” Jules asked her loudly, in a pitch-perfect imitation of Sam Starrett’s Texas twang.

Tess laughed her surprise even as she double-checked that her computer’s firewalls were in place. Zapping a quick e-mail with the motel’s address to Decker’s current free-mail account, she called back to Jules, “Absolutely, Pookie. And they say romance is dead.”