Identity Crisis

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.”