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lot of the Borderline Bar and Grill and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. She’d been toying with the idea ever since she’d left Michael’s office that morning.
    There was little doubt that even if Susan and Michael believed that she wasn’t conspiring with Ryan Smith, they were having her followed and watched by the CIA’s Office of Security. If Smitty or Conrad attempted to contact her tonight, they would be arrested. She didn’t want that. Not before she knew why Con had faked his death only to show up again on her doorstep and why Smitty was helping him.
    Then there was the issue of the other guys, the ones who had bugged her apartment. She had yet to tip her hand where they were concerned. For the time being she wanted to leave the bugs alone, so it would not be wise for her and Con to discuss anything inside her apartment.
    Julia watched her rearview mirror for signs she was being followed. Checking over her shoulder had been second nature for years, but she had become less vigilant about it since returning to America. In the Land of the Free, she’d become one of the brave, or careless, as Con would say, again.
    Assured no one was following her, Julia stepped out of the car and locked it before entering the bar.
    Smoke hung lazily above the patrons’ heads as their voices buzzed over the voice of Kenny Chesney crooning from a jukebox in the corner. The after-five crowd, wearing faded jeans, ratty T-shirts and leather boots, was off to a good start on the evening’s drunkfest. Julia scanned the male faces that turned her way as she walked to the back of the bar. No one looked familiar and, outside of a few who ogled her, none appeared particularly threatening. She stuck her hand inside her purse looking for coins and felt the cool handle of her SIG Sauer P229R. Lighter than the Beretta, it was easier to carry and it could still do significant damage to anyone who got too close wanting to do her harm.
    Of course, Conrad was right, she’d never killed anyone and she prayed she never had to. But she was CIA trained and still completed five hours of firearm training every week out of diligence to her previous life. She was more likely to shoot to injure but she could kill if necessary.
    Two pay phones hung on the wall near the restroom doors. A stained and tattered piece of paper was taped to one of the phones, announcing it was out of order. No doubt had been for years. She would have used her cell phone, but couldn’t take the chance anyone might pick up her conversation. Standing off to the side of the working phone, Julia glanced again at the men at the bar. Most had gone back to their glasses of beer, complaining about their wives or discussing sports. Dropping two coins in the phone, Julia dialed a number she had last used a lifetime ago.
    Two rings and she was connected. “Ace’s Mortuary,” answered one of Conrad’s favorite access agents. “You stab ’em, we’ll slab ’em.”
    “Did you know he was alive?” she asked over the background noise. Her pulse was pounding viciously as she waited for the answer she didn’t actually want to hear. There was a long pause and she knew Ace was trying to place her voice and put what she was asking in context.
    “I take it you’ve seen him?” His question answering hers.
    She grazed a finger over the buttons of the phone and tried to keep her voice from giving away the ecstatic relief and unbelievable hurt swirling around inside her heart. “He paid me a casual visit this morning.”
    “Casual?” Ace chuckled in her ear. “You ask me, wasn’t ever anything casual between Solomon and his queen.”
    Julia turned slightly and partially covered her mouth with a hand, keeping the bar patrons in her peripheral vision while blocking any spying eyes from reading her lips. “Can you get a message to him?”
    “No guarantees, but for you, Sheba, I’ll give it my best shot.”
    Julia knew Ace would dial Conrad’s number the moment she hung up. If