And Jasmine.”

“Good.” Rebecca studied the young detective. She looked calm, despite the enormity of the operation and her position on point. She looked solid. “How’s Sandy doing?”

“She’s good.” Dell took a breath. “I don’t think she should stay at her apartment if Irina’s going to be down the hall.”

“I don’t imagine Sandy’s too happy about that.”

“She’s okay. But if trouble follows us home, I don’t want her around. Besides, with Sandy working the streets for you, I think it would be better to put some distance between us.”

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“You’re right, but she’s not going to like it.”

“I can put her up in my condo for a while.”

Rebecca shook her head. “I don’t think so. Too isolated. I know their security is tight, but none of us are close enough if there’s trouble.”

She watched a tugboat push a huge oil barge up to one of the refinery docks. “She can probably stay here with Michael and Sloan.”

“Oh, man, you think so? This place is like a fortress. And Sandy really likes Michael.”

“I’ll check it out. In the meantime, how are you doing with Irina?”

“Okay, no problem,” Dell said, flushing.

“You need to keep some objectivity there,” Rebecca said. “You can’t let yourself get attached.”

“I know.”

Rebecca had run cops undercover before, but usually sting operations on porn dealers or pimps. Nothing this long term or at such a distance. She needed to know what might shake Mitchell up. She needed to know what might get Mitchell killed. “Are you going to be all right with her and the physical situation?”

“I don’t feel that way about her. I mean, she’s attractive and…”

Dell looked away, then squared her shoulders and met Rebecca’s gaze.

“I can’t help getting turned on sometimes. It’s not like I mean to, or even want to. I…I’m keeping my focus, though.”

“I think it would be tough getting up close to her and not feeling anything at all.” Rebecca was proud of Mitchell for admitting something that a lot of cops wouldn’t. Whether it was drugs or girls or easy money, temptation was everywhere, and no one wanted to admit to being tempted, even when they managed to resist. “But you need to keep your head clear. And that includes not feeling bad about reactions out of your control.”

“I’m trying. I’m good.”

“I want you to talk to Catherine about it.”

Dell stiffened. “I don’t—”

“Not a request, Detective.” Rebecca gripped Mitchell’s shoulder.

“I trust you, okay? But you’ve got to be completely on top of things.

For your own safety. For Irina’s. And for Sandy’s. You read me?”

“Yes ma’am, Lieutenant.”

“Good. I’ll tell her you’ll be by today.” Rebecca touched her

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knuckles briefly to the edge of Mitchell’s jaw. “You’re doing a good job.”

“Thank you,” Dell whispered as Rebecca walked away, the praise running through her like a warm caress. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

v

“Of course I’ll make time to see her,” Catherine said when Rebecca phoned her. “I’ll tell Joyce to fit her in whenever she calls. What about Irina?”

“I’m on my way to see Clark right now,” Rebecca said. “Hopefully we’ll be able to put her with you in the next day or so.”

“All right, darling. Are you driving?”

“Yes, but not very far. Just—”

“How’s your vision?”

“Perfect. A little headache,” Rebecca volunteered, “but otherwise no problems at all.”

“Will you do me a favor?”

“Yes.”

“Go home for a few hours this afternoon. Take a nap.”

Rebecca did some quick mental calculations. She wanted to shadow Mitchell when she took Irina to the Troc and Ziggie’s, and that meant being out on surveillance most of the night. In fact, almost everything that was going on in the operation was going to happen at night. She could take a few hours’ downtime during the day. She wouldn’t ordinarily, but Catherine asked so little of her. “All right. I will. I’ll call you when I get home.”

“Thank you, darling. I love you. I’ve got to go. Patients.”

“I’ll call you later. Love you.” Rebecca disconnected and pulled into the underground parking lot below the federal building at Sixth and Market. With any luck, she’d be able to track Clark down.

v

Kratos Zamora touched the edge of the linen napkin to his mouth, then deposited it next to the china plate in front of him. He placed the heavy silver knife and fork engraved with the crest of the Union Club together on the plate and smiled at Talia. Seated across from him,

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she wore a red dress in a style appropriate for a business meeting, but even the subdued lines and conservative cut couldn’t hide her inherent sensuality. He enjoyed the persistent arousal her presence always instilled. He always found the unattainable exciting.

“How was the lamb?” he asked.

“Delicious.” Talia sipped her wine, aware of the glances from the mostly male diners. Only a few years ago, women had not been welcome as members of the elite business club, and she wagered that Kratos had not been welcome either. At one time his lineage would have been enough to deny him entry, but now, money was the main requirement. Money legitimized everyone and abolished social divides, at least on the surface.

“Might I hope that the reason for your lunch invitation was simply that you wanted my company?” Kratos inquired, reaching across the table to stroke Talia’s hand.

Carefully, she shifted her hand to her wineglass, not wanting to make the movement appear as a rejection to him or anyone who might be watching. Swirling the claret before sipping, she allowed the wine to linger on her tongue, inhaling slowly, savoring the bouquet. She knew he was watching. His eyes were hungry. “I’ll need some time to breach Sloan’s system.”

“But you can do it.”

Talia smiled. “Of course.”

“Good.”

Talia was silent as the waiter glided up to the table. When he inquired if there was anything else she needed, she replied, “Espresso, please.”

“Very good, madam. And for you, sir?”

“Just coffee.”

When he disappeared as soundlessly as he had arrived, Talia said,

“Someone like her could be very valuable.”

“What do you mean?” Kratos asked.

“She could do anything she wanted and no one would have the expertise to detect it. And she has direct access.” Talia shrugged.

“Interviews, files, evidence—all of it.”

“Can’t you do the same thing?”

“I’m touched by your faith,” Talia said with a faintly mocking

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lilt. “Yes, given enough time. But I can guarantee that Sloan’s primary agenda right now is to make the central files as impregnable as possible.

It would be so much nicer if she were helping us get in rather than working to keep us out.”

“What kind of leverage do we have?”

“This.” Talia reached into her purse and withdrew the photograph of Sloan and the blonde in the ambulance. She’d added another clipping after searching newspaper archives that morning.

Kratos took the two photographs and stared at the woman who had caught his attention in the surveillance videos. The caption said her name was Michael Lassiter. Michael. She was wholly feminine, and the androgyny of her name only heightened her allure. Enjoying his instantaneous erection, he brushed his thumb along the outline of her body. “Sloan’s lover?”

“It would appear so.”

“We can’t touch her.” He shook his head. “Not after all the attention our Russian friends stirred up recently.”

Talia laughed softly. “You can’t honestly think I was suggesting something as crude as that, can you?”

Kratos frowned. “What then?”

“How would you like to get to know Ms. Lassiter personally?”

“I’d like nothing better,” he said, his gaze drifting to her mouth.

“Almost nothing.”

v

Avery Clark didn’t keep Rebecca waiting long, once she’d found his office in the warren of hallways lined with nondescript wooden doors and frosted glass windows. She announced herself to the lone secretary in the tiny waiting room and had just settled into an uncomfortable, thinly upholstered chair against the wall when Clark himself opened another unadorned door at the rear of the room and gestured her inside with a surprisingly friendly smile.

Rebecca followed him into the inner office and closed the door, waiting for him to walk around behind his plain gray metal desk before she sat in yet another uncomfortable chair in front of it. With his jacket off and his white shirt sleeves rolled up, Clark was standard government issue—somewhere between thirty-five and forty, brown hair, dark steel-

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framed glasses, conservative haircut, conventional suit, dark tie, plain shirt. Wedding ring, hip holster, sharp eyes.

“Lieutenant,” he said, settling into the fake black leather desk chair. He tilted back slightly and swiveled a few degrees from side to side. “Back to work already? Glad to see that injury isn’t slowing you down.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca replied, wondering just how glad Clark really was to see her back on the job. Her headache had ratcheted up the moment she’d walked into the federal building. She doubted the dull throbbing behind her eyes had anything to do with her injury. She’d never liked the politics of law enforcement, but now that she’d been promoted, she had no choice but to navigate the murky waters populated by self-interested elected officials, federal agents, and local police.

Power and control were the sought-after prizes, and public perception often more important than results. It wasn’t a game she liked, but she had to play.