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percent on everybody on it. If you can't separate out what happened to your father from what we have to do now, I have to worry about you. I know how you feel..."
    She interrupted him. "No, you don't." Her voice rose. "You have no idea how I feel. Don't you dare presume to know how I feel."
    They'd reached DuPont circle. She pulled to the curb and jammed on the brakes.
    "Get out," she said.
    He looked at her.
    "Get out," she said again.
    He started to say something and bit it back. He got out of the car and slammed the car door shut. She floored it and took off, tires smoking.
    Sometimes he wondered what the hell he was doing with her in the first place. He began the long walk back to his building.
     

 
    CHAPTER 11
     
     
    The haunting voice of Sarah McLachlan filled the elegant rooms of Selena's luxury condo. Her drink sat untouched on the end table beside the couch. She'd been staring out the windows for the best part of an hour, trying to make sense of the conflicting thoughts and feelings swirling through her mind.
    Selena's home was on the top floor of one of Washington's exclusive residential buildings. The wall of the living room was all windows from floor to ceiling. A wide, private balcony with an ornate, wrought iron fence ran outside the glass. The windows afforded a spectacular view of the Virginia countryside across the Potomac. Potted trees and a variety of colorful, flowering plants were spaced at random intervals along the balcony. It was the kind of city living space that inspired the covers of architectural magazines.
    Usually the impressive view calmed her and reassured her that there was stability and order in her world. Not today. Today the foundation of that order had crumbled.
    Her father was a traitor.
    The word traitor echoed in her mind. She remembered the last time she'd seen her father. She'd been 10 years old. Her mother, her father and her older brother were going to Big Sur for the weekend. She'd been looking forward to the trip. But she'd caught a cold and had a fever and couldn't go. Her father had come into the bedroom. She'd been sitting propped up against the pillows, playing with her favorite doll. She remembered he'd smelled of aftershave and cigarettes.
     
    "How's my girl feeling?"
    "I'm much better, daddy. Can I go?"
    "Not this time, pumpkin."
    "Joe." Her mother had called up the stairs. "We need to get going."
    "Uncle William will be here with you. We'll be back Sunday night, before you know it. You'll be all better by then. Next weekend we'll go to the beach."
    He bent over and kissed her on the forehead.
    "Bye, daddy."
    "Bye, pumpkin."
    He'd gone out the door. That was the last time she'd seen him.
     
    It had taken more than a year and a lot of love from her Uncle William to bring her out of her shell after the death of her family.
    The contents of the file Nick had given her had been a series of shocks, one after the other. The first shock was that her father had worked for the CIA. She'd never dreamed he was a spy. According to the file, he'd been under surveillance for almost 3 years before his death. That was a long time to let someone hand over important secrets. It reinforced her belief that the file was false, meant to cover somebody's tracks.
    The file contained dates of clandestine meetings with enemy agents. Records of suspicious deposits into his bank account. Old black-and-white photographs showing drop points and meetings in San Francisco and Washington. Records of phone calls. A damning chain of evidence that led to what seemed an inevitable conclusion, that her father had been selling classified material to the enemy.
    Langley knew her father was working with the Russians and had allowed him to continue. The only thing that made sense to her was that his involvement with the KGB was a sanctioned CIA operation. If that were the case, he wasn't a traitor, he was an unacknowledged hero. Just because the file accused Joseph Connor of treason didn't make it true.
    Nick