Tracy sat in the conference room, in the Troubleshooters office, verifying that, indeed, all of her photos of Michael Peterson had been wiped from her laptop computer.

It was weird being back here. It seemed bizarre that it had only been yesterday that she’d told Tom she was leaving for the day, and locked the door behind her as she’d headed for the bus stop.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

Of course, the past hour alone seemed like four lifetimes—arriving here, and finding out that Decker was nowhere to be found. They’d split up after she’d gotten into Lopez’s car.

Lopez had told her it was like a version of a shell game, with her as the shiny but elusive prize. He’d taken back roads to the office, while Decker, apparently, had dangled himself like bait along the main drag, hoping that whoever was trying to kill her—and him, too—would go after him.

At which point, apparently, Decker’s plan was to do a high-speed U-turn, and start chasing the chasers.

Sometimes, Lopez had told her with a perfectly straight face—he was actually serious—you gained more from running toward an attacker than running away.

So here Tracy sat, worried that Decker was lying in some street somewhere, bleeding—again. And maybe, this time, bleeding to death.

Lindsey had come in, trying to engage Tracy in a conversation, now that Lopez wasn’t listening in. “So. I had no idea you and Decker were... you know. Friends in a naked way.”

For someone who had jumped her now-husband’s bones mere days after being introduced, Lindsey could be pretty disapproving of sexual activity that she considered inappropriate.

“I’m not having this conversation,” Tracy told her friend. “You know, the one where you tell me I don’t respect myself enough. Because I do. I respect myself. Very much.”

“I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing,” Lindsey said. “You guys work together. It could be awkward and... I mean, okay, I didn’t really expect his thing with Tess to go anywhere. But then, of course, there’s Sophia.”

Of course, there was Sophia. Whom Tracy was convinced was just dallying with Dave, while carrying a torch for Deck.

But Lindsey surprised Tracy then. “To be honest, I never really saw that working out either—Sophia and Decker. Her baggage and his baggage... Bad match.”

“What baggage does he have?” Tracy found herself asking, like a pathetic eighth-grader in the cafeteria. “I mean, in your opinion?”

“Well,” Lindsey said, as she sat down next to her at the table. “I’m not completely sure—and that’s part of it. He doesn’t talk. About anything. To anyone. Ever. Like—just as an example—when we all go out for a beer at the Ladybug Lounge. I’ve watched him and he stands off to the side. I’ve seen it more times than I can count.”

“Did you ever ask him to sit with you?” Tracy asked.

Lindsey looked surprised, but then laughed. “No,” she said. “But he’s Decker. He doesn’t want to sit with lowly me. If he did, all he’d have to do is ask.”

Tracy just raised her eyebrow and looked at her friend.

As she watched, Lindsey thought about what she’d said and nodded, her brown eyes filled with chagrin. “I really suck,” she said.

As a team leader, Decker would never ask to sit with any of his subordinates, for fear they would feel obliged to say yes. And as for the other team leaders? Dave usually grabbed a booth with Sophia, whom Decker wouldn’t go near, for reasons that Tracy now understood. And Tom, Sam, and Alyssa—all fellow team leaders—had also all been former naval officers. As a former Navy chief—an enlisted man—it made sense that Decker wouldn’t be completely comfortable hanging with them, either. And his partner and best friend—Nash—was in an intense, still-new romantic relationship with Tess. Joining them, time after time, would have made Decker feel extremely third-wheel.

“He stands off to the side because we put him there,” Tracy told Lindsey. “I did it, too. I never really thought he was human. But he is.” She shrugged. “So here I am. And you know what?”

Lindsey shook her head.

“I think it’s possible I’ve never respected myself more.”

And Tracy’s best friend in the world, whom she admired more than any other woman she’d ever met in her entire thirty-something years of life, smiled at her.

“Good,” Lindsey said. “And you look like you’re not freaking out because he went off the radar—which is good, too. Because Deck? He goes off radar a lot. You want to do this? Hook up with him for any length of time? You better get used to waiting and wondering.”

Tracy nodded. “I know. I’m freaking out inside,” she confessed. “I wish he would get back here already.”

“That’s normal,” Lindsey said. “To wish that. And it’s okay, too, if you freak out when you’re with me.” She glanced over her shoulder. “When the door’s closed. But for the record? Deck’s very good at what he does. He’ll be back soon.”

Tracy had to smile. Those were words she herself told Lindsey, repeatedly, when her husband, Mark, was overseas with his SEAL team. Lindsey recognized that, too, and grinned. “Also for the record,” she said, “reunion sex? Always extremely great.”

Tracy felt her cheeks heat. “I honestly don’t know how this is going to play out,” she told her friend. “I mean, I know what I want, and I’m pretty sure I know what hewants—right now. But what he wants tomorrow...?” She shrugged. “I’m trying to... be reasonable.”

“Who are you,” Lindsey mocked her, “and what have you done with my too-impetuous friend Tracy?”

She had to laugh. “Shut. Up.”

Lindsey laughed, too, and stood.

But Tracy caught her arm. “Hey, change of subject?” she said. “Michael Peterson.”

Lindsey nodded and sat back down. She knew the name well.

“Do you remember,” Tracy said, “when we did a girls’ night out back in January? It was a Thursday, so we had a wine-free dinner.” The Troubleshooters office was open Thursday evenings, so they’d all had to go back to work. “That’s wine without an H.”

Lindsey nodded. “You, me, Sophia was in town, and... I think... Didn’t we invite Tess, too?”

“Yeah, and it was weird because she and Jimmy were fighting,” Tracy said. “That’s the night. I went out with Michael the evening before and...”

“You brought him home with you,” Lindsey remembered. “I remember thinking that you were insane. What was it, your second date?”

“Yeah, I’ve beaten myself up enough over the past six months, thank you very much,” Tracy said. During their date—their second date ever, yes—Michael—if that was his name—had started talking about getting married. He’d stopped himself, and looked mortified, as if he were embarrassed and afraid that she would think it was too soon. Tracy had played it so cool, like, we really do need to get to know each other, although inwardly she’d started shopping for a dress. He was smart and funny and sweet and pulse-stoppingly handsome. He was perfect, and he loved her. Or so he’d said, with tears in his evil, lying eyes.

“Sorry,” Lindsey said.

“Live and learn,” Tracy repeated Decker’s words to her. It was a good motto. She was going to pin the words to the wall of her workstation. “But here’s my question. After we got back to the office, I wanted to show you his picture, and I had one on my phone, but it was so small, so I downloaded it onto my computer. Or was that your computer? Wasn’t that when you just got your Mac?”

During the past year, Lindsey had become one of those obnoxious PowerBook users. Anytime anyone had trouble opening or downloading a file using their PC, Lindsey would nod and say, “That wouldn’t happen with my computer.”

She now stood up. “I think it was mine. Let me check.”

“It was months ago,” Tracy said, following her into the hallway, trying not to get too excited at the possibility. “You probably deleted the file.”

“Nah,” Lindsey said as she led Tracy into her office. “My hard drive’s massive. And I’ve been busy. And lazy.” She sat behind her desk and woke up her laptop. “Michael wiped your phone, too, huh?”

Tracy nodded. “It freaks me out. Thinking that he came back into my apartment to do that. I mean, I remember looking at his picture in February.” On Valentine’s Day—she was such a loser. “So sometime between then and now...” It had to be either while she was sleeping or in the shower. “That gives me the creeps.”

“Okay, January, huh...?” Lindsey frowned at her computer screen and started flipping through picture files. “Lemme see....”

And then, like magic, there it was. The photo of Michael that Tracy had taken while he was talking on his cell phone, leaning against the front hood of his car. “Yes!” Tracy leaned closer to look, and Lindsey hit print.

“Would you look at that?” her friend, a former LAPD detective, said. “We’ve got his face—and his license plate numbers.”

“Those won’t be his plate numbers,” Tracy said.

“You never know,” Lindsey told her. “If he thought you were easy—” She winced. “Not you—the job. You’ve got no military or law enforcement training. You’re a receptionist, not an operative. That kind of easy. This may actually be his car.”

Her computer had printed the photo on regular paper, so it wasn’t very high quality, but it was still good enough.

Tracy followed Lindsey as she took the picture down the hall to the lobby, where Jo Heissman was being babysat by Lopez. Lindsey handed the older woman the printout.

Jo laughed grimly, and looked up at Lindsey and then Tracy. “That’s him,” she confirmed. “Peter Olivetti.”

It was stupid, but part of Tracy had hoped both she and Jo were wrong. Of course, it was only relatively recently that her twenty-year-long hope that someday her prince would come had been fully dashed.

“AKA Michael Peterson.” Tracy turned to Lindsey. “Is there a secure way—completely secure—to send this photo to Alyssa?”

“I’ll call her,” Lindsey said.

“Tess is with her,” Tracy said. “Tess would know.”

“I’m on it.” Lindsey disappeared down the hall.

Jo stood up. “When do we get to find out what’s going on—what this is all about?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Tracy told her, told Lopez, who’d also gotten to his feet.

“Is Jim Nash still alive?” Jo asked. She had a way of looking at people as if she could read their minds.

So Tracy thought about Decker, about how badly she wanted him to walk through that door. Please, God, she wanted to know that he was safe. And then, she wanted him to take her by the hand, and lead her back with him to his office, where he’d close the door. Only, as soon as the door shut, it wouldn’t be his office anymore, it would be a hotel room. In Paris. With roses—hundreds of them—in vases around the room, surrounding a pillow-covered bed. And on any surface where there weren’t vases of roses, there would be lit candles, smelling faintly of vanilla.

Outside of the window would be cobblestone streets and the most beautiful sunset, with an accordion playing a haunting, romantic tune—way in the distance.

Decker would look at her, and she’d smile and say Game on, and he would smile, too, and then with heat in his beautiful eyes, he’d kiss her and...

“God, I wish,” Tracy told Jo, through a throat that ached with longing. She didn’t wait to see if Jo believed her as she followed Lindsey down the hall.

Decker’s intention was to stop in at the Troubleshooters office and pick up the secure satellite phone that Lindsey had left there earlier.

His intention was to call Jimmy Nash while he drove over to the hotel where Tom and one of his SEAL friends were standing guard outside of Dave’s—and Sophia’s—suite. Because it was time—and he hoped Nash would agree—to tell Dave—and Sophia—the truth.

But when he walked in, Jo Heissman, who was hanging in the lobby with Lopez, sat up and called, “Tracy! Decker’s back!”

Jo had been curled up and dozing on one of the couches, near where Lopez was using a laptop computer to monitor all of the security cameras that were positioned outside of the building. The SEAL was both guarding Jo and standing sentry—with no risk of mosquito bites.

“Okay,” Lopez said, “I didn’t see your truck enter the parking lot, and that’s a problem.”

Decker leaned over the screen. Pointed. “My truck’s there now.”

Lindsey appeared in the hallway, and she, too, shouted for Tracy. “Tracy, Deck’s here.”

“So it is.” Lopez looked up at him, embarrassment and chagrin in his brown eyes. “Sorry, Chief. I don’t know how I missed that.”

“Have some coffee,” Deck told him. “Stay alert.”

It was then that Tracy came flying down the hall, past Lindsey, and he braced himself because it seemed inevitable that she would launch herself into his arms. But she didn’t. She stopped short, and just stood there, looking at him. And there it was again. Her heart, in her beautiful, intelligent eyes.

“Are you all right?” she asked, as behind her Lindsey faded into her office.

“They didn’t come after me,” Deck said as he gazed back at her, admittedly a little disappointed. It had been a long time since a woman had been so happy to see him that she’d flung herself at him. Emily had never been the flinging type. In fact, toward the end, she’d gotten so passive-aggressive about the time he spent away, she’d made a point never to be home to greet him when he returned.

Ranger was always home, though. And Ranger always damn near knocked him over in delight, whether Deck was gone for two hours or two months.

Decker hadn’t realized how much he’d missed that.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Tracy said. “Like you’re unhappy that you weren’t attacked.”

“I am,” he admitted. “I want this over and done.”

Tracy nodded. “I think it’s safe to say that we all do.”

Damn, but she was beautiful, even with no makeup on. Especially with no makeup on. She’d washed it off in the shower. Her hair was wavier than it usually was—probably because she’d done nothing to it or with it. She’d gotten into his truck, several hours ago, with it still damp.

From the shower.

And yeah, guess what he couldn’t stop thinking about.

She was wearing those jeans that he liked, with a campaign T-shirt saying “Got hope?” and those cute pink and white sneakers on her feet. She looked unbelievably good, although admittedly not as good as she’d looked when she was naked and holding out her hand to him.

In the shower.

She held out her hand to him now, but it wasn’t to pull him down the hall and into his office, where she’d kick the door shut and unfasten his pants. No such luck. She was holding out her hand because she was giving him a sat phone.

“I programmed it with your number,” she told him. “I think it’s secure, but you should double-check that with Alyssa or Tess before you use it.”

“Thank you,” he said. Their fingers touched only briefly before she pulled her hand away. “That’s, um...” He looked at it, flipped it on, flipped it shut. “What I came back for. That’s great that you, uh, thought to have this ready for me. I appreciate that.”

Jesus Christ, he sounded like a moron. I appreciate that? What the fuck was his problem? If he wanted to drag her into his office and kiss the hell out of her, he should just goddamn do it.

“I’m in charge of equipment,” Tracy was saying. “I figured you’d want to have it. I mean, okay, I wanted you to have it. It was driving me crazy that you were out there without a phone. But you should definitely check with Tess—on a line that we know is secure—to make sure that I set it up right. It’s too important not to, and... I won’t be insulted. Not at all.”

Decker looked at her standing there. She was nervous as hell, and so clearly trying hard to be a professional. She turned, her body language indicating that she wanted to walk with him back down the hall—probably to his office where he could access that secure landline.

And kiss the hell out of her.

He glanced back at Jo Heissman and Jay Lopez, both of whom were watching them. It was clear, from where they were sitting, that no one was willing to let the doctor roam free. Which was a good thing. Just because he didn’t think she’d maintained her Agency ties didn’t mean he wasn’t wrong. And if the doctor really wasn’t on the side of the bad guys, she wouldn’t mind their precaution.

Of course, she was a cougar, so maybe she was just enjoying Jay Lopez’s low-key but enormously attractive undivided attention.

And okay, that was harsh. And Deck had to confess that one of the reasons he didn’t like his former therapist was because she knew too much about him. Including the fact that he would never, never kiss Tracy here in the lobby of the company office.

Never.

And Jo Heissman also knew that odds were he wouldn’t do it, even in the privacy of his office, with his door shut.

She was shaking her head at him—just slightly—the smallest of smiles curving her lips. Yeah, she’d noted all the body language and whispered conversations between him and Tracy, back at her house, and she knew damn well what was up. And as Decker met her eyes, she actually flashed him an L—for loser.

“You’re allowed to be happy,” she said, adding, “Shortest therapy session ever.”

That made him laugh and shake his own head as he turned—and lengthened his stride to catch up with Tracy, who was nearly halfway down the hall.

“You need to call Tess and Alyssa anyway,” Tracy was saying, “because I found a picture of Michael or Peter or whoever he really is.”

“Really?” he said, instantly back in step. “A picture of his face?”

“No, of his elbow.” Tracy shot him a look of disdain as she stopped at his office door. “Yes, of his face. And of his license plate, too. Go, me.”

And really, that was all it took. Ballsy Tracy was back, kicking nervous Tracy to the curb. Nervous Tracy made Decker think too much about fraternization, and how, for years, he’d had a self-imposed zero tolerance rule when it came to sexual relationships with fellow employees. Nervous Tracy made him nervous, too, but he knew exactly what to do with ballsy Tracy. He grabbed her by the arm—the one that he hadn’t scraped the shit out of with Jo Heissman’s back door—and yanked her into his office.

She slammed against him, but the full-body contact didn’t faze her. On the contrary, she had her arms around his neck, her hands in his hair, and her lips locked on his before the door that he’d kicked shut hit and locked into its frame.

Her mouth was soft and sweet, and Jesus, so eager.

It was a replay of that kiss they’d shared in Sam and Alyssa’s garage, except he was neither dizzy nor nauseous nor without his pants—which, this time around, was a crying shame. He was none of those things, and he was also no longer aghast at the idea of where this might go.

In fact, Deck knew exactly where it was going, and he couldn’t fucking wait to get there. But it couldn’t happen now. Not here. Okay, maybe here, but definitely not right now.

He pulled free. From her mouth only. The rest of her he held on to—tightly. She was soft and warm and pliant—as if she’d melted against him. She was breathing as hard as he was, and looking at him as if she could not believe he’d stopped kissing her. He understood her amazement. He could barely believe it himself.

“This was what I came back for,” he told her, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Not the phone. I just wanted to make that clear.”

She pulled his head down and kissed him again. And yeah, it was even harder to stop kissing her this time, because his hands were on her incredible ass and God save him, he’d wanted his hands there for what felt like a lifetime, and he didn’t want to move them to a place more suitable for a serious conversation. So instead, he kept kissing her as he pulled her even closer, and merciful Jesus, she sat up on his desk and opened herself to him, and yeah, there he was, a real hero —dry-humping her, because he could... not... stop....

It was Tracy, then, who pulled away. “You have to make that phone call,” she breathed. “We both have work to do.”

Decker nodded. And kissed her again.

She was laughing as she pulled away again. “I am not going to risk getting you mad at me for distracting you when you should be saving the world.”

Deck nodded again. And kissed her again.

And this time, instead of pulling away, she pulled him closer. “Unless,” she whispered. “You’re okay with our first time being a quickie...?”

Decker had to laugh. “I’m stopping,” he said.

But he kissed her throat, her neck, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair, and she clung to him more tightly. “Sixty seconds,” she breathed into his ear. “I’ll set the alarm on my phone. When it goes off? We’re done.”

Decker caught her mouth with his own. Mmm. “I’m pretty sure at this point we’ve been talking about it for more than sixty seconds.”

“My point exactly,” she said. “I take longer bathroom breaks in the middle of a workday. Even in the middle of a crisis.”

He stopped what he was doing and looked into her eyes. “You’re serious.”

Tracy laughed and shook her head as she pushed him away from her—well out of kissing range. She straightened her clothes and slid down off the desk. “I would hate it if someone was hurt or killed while we were getting busy. Even for sixty seconds. And I know you’d be thinking about it the entire time, which wouldn’t be fun for you. I mean, I know you’re already freaking out because we’re in your office, not to mention the fact that I’m me—that I work for you”—she made quote marks in the air—“which is not true, but I know you don’t think so, and knowing you it’d probably be a problem if it was only that I worked with you. So no, I’m not serious.”

As she continued speaking she crossed over to the couch that he usually kept cluttered with files and boxes and papers and books. She’d cleared it off—it was obvious that while he was gone, she’d been camping out here, in his office. She’d brought in a fleece blanket—one of those little ones that people took to evening football games—a pile of new legal pads, and some kind of computer printout.

“Okay, I’m probably a little serious,” she said as she picked up the printout and held it out to him. “Because I really love the way you kiss me and I want very much to do that again. At a time when we both feel as if we can take a break. Maybe even...” She paused dramatically, a sparkle of humor in her eyes. “For five or yes, even ten minutes.”

Decker laughed.

“I know,” she said. “It’s almost too exciting to imagine. And considering the way you kiss me...? I’m going big in terms of imagination. FYI, I’m using The Secret, too,” she teased. “The best ten-minute break I’ve ever taken in my entire life is in my very near future. But right now, Sparky, we need to get to work.”

Deck saw that the list she was holding contained personnel information for everyone who worked both out of this office and out of the Troubleshooters’ Florida office. And he knew that she’d anticipated—exactly—his next move, and was preparing to contact everyone who was on their employee roster.

He nodded, and picked up his desk phone, punching in access to the company’s secure landline.

Tracy gathered up all of her things. “I’ll get you a cup of coffee,” she told him. “And that picture of Michael Peterson–Peter Olivetti—who, by the way, has the same middle name, which is Asshole, agreed upon mutually by his conned ex-girlfriends everywhere.”

And with that she left the room, closing his door tightly behind her.

Jimmy was awake when his phone rang. He tried to answer it quickly, because Tess had fallen asleep, curled up next to her computer and a variety of photos and papers that she’d spread across the plush carpeting of the bedroom floor.

He saw from the incoming number that it was Decker—about fucking time. “What’s going on?”

“It’s time,” Deck said.

“I figured as much,” Jimmy agreed as he watched Tess push herself up so that she was sitting. She swept her hair back from her face and looked at him questioningly, so he repeated Deck’s words and embellished. “It’s time to bring the entire Troubleshooters team on board—let ’em know I’m alive, tell ’em what’s going on.” It was extremely likely that their enemy would also realize that he was alive, but so be it. It was time to protect their friends—as well as ask for their help.

She nodded, and Jimmy told Decker, “Tess agrees.”

“Where is he?” Tess asked.

“Where are you?” Jimmy repeated into his phone. “I’m putting you on speaker.”

“TS HQ,” Deck told them both. “I’m with Lindsey and Lopez. And Tracy. We’re babysitting Dr. Heissman—you got my message about her, right?”

“That you no longer think she’s Satan?” Jimmy said. “Please bear in mind that I’m not yet convinced.”

“No worries—we’re not letting her run free.”

“But you’re undermanned over there,” Jimmy pointed out. “Lopez is adorable, don’t get me wrong, but he’s no Lindsey—”

“We’re in lockdown,” Decker said. “The building’s secure. Don’t even think about coming out here. Tracy’s already started calling people in—we’ll have backup ASAP.”

Jimmy glanced at Tess, who looked pointedly back at him. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised them both.

“Besides,” Decker continued, “I need you working the what the fuck angle. Everything these motherfuckers are doing now? It’s drenched in panic. We need to figure out what it is that they know that we know. Jesus, I’m tired. Did I just make any sense at all?”

“They, as in the motherfuckers,” Tess translated, “appear to know, absolutely, that we, as in the collective we currently participating in this phone call, have information that will, again absolutely, serve to identify them, thus resulting in their going to jail for a long, long time.”

“They’re not afraid of jail,” Jimmy interjected. They were afraid of him—and they were right to be.

But Tess wasn’t done. “However, we haven’t yet figured out what it is that we, collectively, know. So really, the best thing we can do right now isn’t to hunt for them in order to shoot it out, but instead to hunker down, do research, and crunch facts and information. I think when we put it together, we will know who they are.”

“Exactly,” Deck said. But then he paused. “I understand why you’re not eager to share that list that you made, but—”

“No,” Jimmy interrupted him. “I’m doing it. In fact, I’ll call Cassidy right after I hang up. He’s got a copy for Tess. I’ll have him get a copy to you, too. Just...” He sighed. “Shit.”

“I won’t leave it lying around,” Decker said.

“No.” Jimmy tried to explain. “It’s just... Christ, this is hard to say, when I don’t even fucking know what I want to say—”

“How about that we’ve both done things that we never would’ve done, except we thought we were working for the good guys,” Decker said quietly. “We found out, the hard way, that the end really doesn’t justify the means. Because if you believe that it does, then you shoot the seven-year-old in order to kill the terrorist, and you don’t fucking blink. Am I right?”

Jimmy looked at Tess, who’d clearly spoken to Deck at some point over the past few hours. But she shook her head. She hadn’t talked to him. This was something he’d figured out on his own.

“And then? Eventually? You just shoot the seven-year-old,” Decker continued. “Unless, sometime, long before you hit that point, you admit you got it wrong, and you walk away. You walked away, Jim. We both did.”

Jimmy felt himself nodding, even though Decker couldn’t see him. “It’s just that those things on that list—”

“Are in the past,” Decker finished for him. “It’s over and done.”

“I’m just,” Jimmy said. “I’m...” Afraid. He, who’d spent most of his life fearless, was afraid that the two people who mattered most to him in the world were going to turn away from him when they found out the truth.

“Jimmy,” Decker said quietly. “I know you. I know you. And Tess does, too. The list is... It’s not nothing, because I see that it matters to you, but there’s so much more to you than some list of past transgressions.”

Tess had pulled her knees in tightly to her chest, and was sitting there on the floor—with tears in her eyes—nodding.

“Okay?” Deck asked.

“I hear you,” Jimmy said. What he really wanted to say was I want to hear you say that—later. But he didn’t. Because he was too afraid of what he might hear from Decker later.

“Tom Paoletti’s over at the Hilton, with Dave,” Deck said. He added, “And Sophia,” almost as an afterthought. “I was gonna go over there—”

“Not a good idea,” Tess spoke up.

“If anyone should be told in person, face-to-face...” Deck said.

“I agree,” Tess said. “It should be Tom. And Dave and Sophia. But you’re talking about putting yourself at risk in order to do that. As well as risking the safety of everyone who’s currently at the office.”

“I think I should call him,” Jimmy interjected. “Dave. Tom, too. I want to call them. Is that okay with you?”

Deck was silent on the other end of the phone. “Fair enough,” he finally said. “But do let them know that the sooner they get over here, the easier I’ll breathe.”

“I’ll pass that along,” Jimmy told his friend. “Keep us posted if anything comes up.”

“Will do,” Decker said. “Oh, yeah. The picture. Tracy’s photo of Michael Peterson–Peter Olivetti. Let’s crop his car and his plate numbers out before we float it out there. It’s a long shot that those numbers will lead us to a current address, but let’s play that card close for now, all right?”

“Agreed,” Tess said. “I’ll tell Jules and Alyssa to dig for an address under the radar. We’ll let you know what they come up with.”

“Thanks,” Deck said, and cut the connection.

Jimmy turned off his speaker and dialed Jules Cassidy’s cell.

The FBI agent took three rings to answer it, which meant that Robin had made good on his promise to help him sleep. “Everything okay?” Jules asked.

“Yeah,” Jimmy said. “Sorry to wake you, but I just spoke to Deck. I’ve got some info I want to pass along, plus... I’m ready to show Tess the list, so as soon as you can...”

“I’m on my way,” Jules said.

Jimmy hung up the phone to find Tess looking at him. “Well, here we go,” he said.

But she shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded, but he wasn’t going to hold her to that.

He reached for his phone again, because he had to call Tom and Dave—give ’em the “good news.”

Although, ultimately, when Dave realized the implications of Jimmy’s not being dead? He was not going to be thrilled.

Dave rewrote his will, longhand.

He also made a list of all of his various bank accounts. His years of frugal living would make it possible for Sophia to never have to work again, provided she lived modestly and the kid went to state schools and...

Dear God, he didn’t want to die.

But he had to be ready to. And knowing that he could take care of Sophia, even after death, was going to help him be ready for anything.

He’d used up all the paper in the room, and had sent SEAL Chief Ken Karmody down to the front desk for more. And then, finally, for envelopes.

“Anything else I can get you, master?” Ken asked. “Maybe a snack from the kitchen, a bottle of wine, a foot massage...?”

“No, thank you,” Dave said as he wrote Decker’s name on the outside of one of the envelopes. He’d written a note—well, a report-sized note—telling Decker everything he’d found out on his recent trip to Kazabek, about Sophia’s husband Dimitri’s death. He put the note inside and sealed the envelope.

“Yeah, see, I was kidding,” Ken was saying as across the room, Tom Paoletti’s phone rang. “And... Just... Never mind.”

“Don’t go far,” Dave said, looking up to add, “Please? I’m sorry if I seem rude or abrupt, but... I’m trying to do this while Sophia is sleeping. I need you to witness this, to make it legal.” Tom had already signed it, while Ken was downstairs.

Ken realized what Dave was doing, and sat down on the other side of the writing desk. “I’ll sign whatever you want,” he said, “but it’s not necessary, because we’re not going to let anything bad happen to you.”

Dave looked at the SEAL. “You mean, you’re going to try not to—”

“Star Wars fan,” Ken said, shrugging expansively. “I can’t use the word try without my mental Yoda kicking in. So... we’re not going to let anything bad happen to you.”

“Holy shit,” Tom said from the other side of the room. He was talking on his phone. He said it again, laughing this time. “Holy shit.”

“Well, in my experience, there are no guarantees in this line of work, so in case using the Force doesn’t get the job done...” Dave handed Ken his pen, spinning the document to face him.

“I think I know what you’re thinking,” Ken told him as he painstakingly printed his full name. “One of the most beautiful women in the entire world is in your bed. The universe doesn’t randomly do shit like that, you know, the beauty falling for the geek, so your death must be imminent.”

Dave nodded. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

Ken nodded as he put the pen down on top of the paper and pushed it all back across the desk. “Of course it is. It always is. But sometimes you’ve just got to bring it down to the bottom line.” He leaned forward and spoke in a stage whisper. “There’s a gorgeous woman in your bed, Dave. Right now. And you’re out here, talking to me. What is wrong with this picture?”

Dave just shook his head as he sealed his will in a second envelope, which was when Ken noticed the first one.

“Aren’t you going to write Open only in the event of my death on this?” he asked as he tapped on the envelope.

“I was going to,” Dave answered evenly, “but I thought it would be too dorky, even for me.”

“What if Deck opens it and you’re not dead? That could be embarrassing.”

“I’ll be happy,” Dave said, “to be embarrassed, which means I won’t be dead.”

“Good point.” Ken nodded, but then said, “Well, I’d write it, but, hey, I’m a dork.”

“You’re a SEAL,” Dave reminded him.

“And a dork. One is not exclusive of the other. It’s not like they give you your budweiser pin with one hand and take away your laminated Battle-star Galactica Fan Club card with the other.”

“Yeah, well,” Dave said, “I’m not a SEAL, so people don’t think it’s cute when I’m a dork.”

“So what if you’re not a SEAL,” Ken scoffed. “You’re a legend in the SpecWar community. Anyone who knows anything knows you could breeze through BUD/S with one hand tied behind your back. And the fact that you’re capable of fooling people into thinking you’re too geeky to tie your own shoes? That’s money in the bank. Being underestimated has saved my ass a time or twelve. I know you know what I’m saying.”

Dave did know.

“You want me to hold on to those for you?” Ken asked, pointing at Dave’s two pristine envelopes.

Dave nodded. “I’d appreciate that.”

“No problem-o.” Ken folded and smashed both envelopes in half and stashed them in one of the many pockets in his cargo pants. “I look forward to giving them back to you,” he said. “Now, go into that bedroom, wrap your arms around that woman o’ yours, and get your ass to sleep.”

Dave stood up, the pain in his knife wound making him press his hand against his side. Something wasn’t right with it. An infection was setting in that the antibiotic he’d been given wasn’t able to kick out of his system. Either that, or some little piece of dirt or fabric hadn’t been removed. He needed a return trip to the hospital—which wasn’t going to happen in the near-future.

The SEAL however, didn’t miss anything. “You okay?”

“I think I might need an upgrade in my antibiotic.”

Ken got out his phone. “You want me to call Kelly?”

Tom Paoletti’s wife, Kelly, was a doctor. “No,” Dave said, “it can wait. Until morning.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, thanks,” he said. “And thank you, too, for saying what you said about BUD/S.”

The SEAL held out his hand for a fist bump. “I speak the truth, my brother. Besides, it’s good when we brainiacs stick together. You and I are living proof that the hottest of the hot blond chicks? They loves it when their men be super-smart. We catch their attention with our ability to use complicated physics and/or calculus to save the world from destruction, and we seal the deal with our uniquely dorky but endearing charm.”

Dave had to smile. “If only that were true.”

“Malkoff.” He looked up to find Tom Paoletti coming toward him. “Phone call.”

Tom was holding out his sat phone, as if Dave should take it.

So he did. “Who is it?” he asked Tom.

“It’s the answers to a lot of questions,” Tom told him.

It wasn’t like his boss to be so cryptic or evasive. Or annoying because he was being cryptic and evasive. Dave reminded himself that both Tom and Ken were doing him a huge favor as he dutifully put the phone to his ear, and said, “Malkoff.”

“Hey, Dave,” came a familiar voice. “It’s Jimmy Nash. I’m kind of not dead.”