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Georgetown, was an oasis of tranquillity in the teeming, bustling capital city.
    The tables were draped in pink damask and had been placed far enough apart to permit intimacy between diners. Candles glowed warmly in crystal holders, Impressionist paintings and gilt-framed mirrors adorned walls covered in silk paper. In a far corner, a tuxedo-clad man played Gershwin on a gleaming black Steinway grand.
    "Oh, this is absolutely lovely," Rachel enthused after the maître d' had welcomed Shade back to Washington, led them to a plush banquette at the back of the room, handed them a pair of tasseled menus and the wine book with a continental flourish, then departed.
    At first she was surprised Shade had chosen such a pretty location for his interrogation, then recalled his talent for putting his intended victim off guard. A person would not be likely to expect a brutal grilling in these genteel surroundings.
    Shade glanced around with a decided lack of interest. "It's okay, I guess." They'd been shown to Shade's usual table. Although a long way from the power booths located at the front of the restaurant, it allowed him to view the entire room while engaging in private conversation. It also kept his back to the wall.
    He handed her the leather-bound wine list. "I've got some business to attend to. Why don't you pick out something for us to drink?"
    Her attention drawn to what appeared to be either an original Monet or a very good copy hanging on the wall behind him, Rachel nodded absently.
    Ignoring the bank of pay phones in the hallway leading to the rest rooms, Shade took the service elevator to the second-floor offices.
    The manager of the restaurant, long appreciative of the business Shade and his colleagues represented, greeted him as expansively as the maître d' had, hoped he was enjoying his visit to Washington, then left the office without being asked.
    Shade claimed the black leather chair behind the desk, picked up the phone and dialed a number he knew by heart. An unfamiliar, obviously computerized female voice came onto the line, asking for his security code. Missing the flirtatious banter of the old operators, Shade punched in the new five-digit code he'd acquired just that afternoon.
    There was a brief pause as the computer verified the number, then a clicking as the call was processed.
    On the other end of the line, in an office in suburban Virginia, the phone was picked up on the very first ring.
    "McGee," the voice answered.
    "It's me." Shade was also not into proper telephone etiquette.
    "Christ," Agent Elizabeth Anne McGee complained when she recognized Shade's voice. "It's only been a couple hours since you left here. I told you we'd put a rush on the job, but you know Tony's a perfectionist."
    "I'm not calling about the papers. I want you to run a background check on someone."
    "Dammit, Shade," she complained, "I was just on my way out. I have a date."
    "A date?"
    "Yeah, you remember what that is, don't you, lover? A few drinks, a nice dinner in an out-of-the-way bistro. Maybe, if the guy's real lucky and treats me real nice, a little roll in the hay at the end of the evening. A date," she repeated. "Kinda like what you and I used to do, except we never seemed to get around to the dinner."
    "I don't remember you ever complaining."
    "I wasn't complaining now. I was just pointing out that I had other plans for my evening. With a guy who doesn't flinch every time he sees me slip into my shoulder holster."
    "Does he work for the Company?"
    "Hell, no." She laughed, but he thought the sound lacked her usual self-assurance. "He's a cardiologist at Georgetown hospital. And he must be a little cracked, because he's actually talking marriage." Another shaky little laugh. "What do you think, Shade? Can you see me as a doctor's wife?"
    "You'd make a damn terrific wife, Liz." Shade meant it. Realizing that he'd never be able to give her what she deserved—a home and a family—was the reason he'd let their affair drift