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up to prove that cats can’t change their stripes?”
    She flinched. “I know what you think. But I’m innocent. Again.” She swallowed, wishing she could spill out the story, wishing history wasn’t classified. Tears ran down her chapped face. Her voice dropped to a desperate whisper. “Listen, Micah. I was in a train wreck. In Missouri. I’m in the hospital and my little girl is missing. Please, please I need your help.”
    Silence. She could imagine him rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger, looking like he had the night she told him she was moving to Massachusetts to attend MIT. He handled it par for Micah—passionless, like he didn’t care in the least that she was walking out of his life and slamming the door.
    He’d blown out a breath, pursed his lips, and nodded. No “Please don’t go.” No outcry of frustration. Not even a wince that he might never see her again. Just a nod. Sometimes that nod, in memory, made her want to slap him hard.
    Other times, memory seduced her to grab him by the lapels and kiss him, freeing the emotions that swirled in her chest. He’d looked beautiful that evening—nearly regal in his army dress uniform. To think she’d actually dreamed of that night for weeks, not caring in the least that John was off risking his neck while his best friend, Micah, took her to senior prom.
    She’d hoped that seeing her in the blue chiffon gown would suddenly alert him to the fact that she wasn’t the fifteen-year-old fan that had tripped into his arms, but a grown-up lady, with a grown-up mind to match. She’d hoped it would shatter the frozen Jim Micah facade and release a man of passion, of emotion. A man who loved her more than a friend.
    Just like she’d loved him. Regardless of her feelings for John Montgomery, Micah had been her friend through her darkest hours. He’d been the one to whom she’d wanted to give her heart.
    Oh, the foolish, romantic fantasies of a teenager. Instead of taking her back in his arms, running his wide, strong hands through her hair, and kissing her with the same emotions she thought she’d glimpsed in his eyes, he’d nodded. Iceman. Wasn’t that his new nickname? He’d earned it.
    He obviously hadn’t shaken it in twenty-some years either. “Why should I help you?” he asked.
    Her breath caught, as she chose to hear hope instead of disdain. “Because you were John’s best friend. And because my little girl is John’s daughter.”
    She could hear him swallow, absorbing the information across two states. “And,” she said, her voice tremulous, “deep down inside, you know I’m innocent. You know I could never kill anyone.”
    Silence again, and in it Lacey’s optimism mushroomed. He believed her. He had to know that she could never—would never—kill the man to whom she pledged her life. She’d nearly died trying to save John. Even if Micah couldn’t be privy to the private files of the CIA, he knew her better than anyone. Knew that she spoke the truth. She bit her lip, tasting salt, feeling nearly buoyant.
    “No, Lacey. I don’t know that. In fact, I’m pretty sure you’re lying to me right now. I can’t believe you actually had the nerve to mention John.” His voice shook. “Please don’t ever call me again.”
    “No—!”
    The telephone droned in her ear.
    She began to shake as she cradled the receiver to her chest. The night pressed against the windows, sweeping despair into the room. She stared into the darkness, seeing her wretched self in the reflection, imagining a six-year-old huddled against the elements, terrified, abandoned … dead. A moan started in the pit of Lacey’s stomach and emerged in a feral cry that frightened her. She let the receiver drop, pulled the cotton sheet up to her nose, and wept.
    The agent had stomped into the room at the noise, then skulked out. Nothing but the sound of her hopes shredding, piece by piece, remained.
    She must have succumbed to the grasp of exhaustion because the