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get it, either. You had such a bright future. You had the smarts to get yourself into Harvard, but you threw it all away by running a massive, multifaceted cheating operation for rich students. Your scams ran the gamut from hiring impostors to take tests to creating entirely fake transcripts that you planted in the registrar’s office. When you were finally caught, you and a dozen students were expelled and seventy-eight of your other victims were quietly forced to repeat entire academic years.”
    “They weren’t victims. They came to me to take advantage of the unique services that I offered so they could have more time for their leisurely pursuits,” he said. “Harvard taught me how to be an enterprising entrepreneur in a global marketplace.”
    “What you learned was to target the rich and the venal, people who could afford to be swindled and would rarely report the crime or press charges because they wouldn’t want to be seen as fools,” she said. “That’s what’s kept you out of jail. Until now.”
    “It’s odd to hear you talking to me about jail,” Nick said.
    “I don’t see why,” she said. “I’m an FBI agent and you’re a crook.”
    “Your mother died when you were seven. Your father, a career soldier, took you and your younger sister with him from base to base, all over the world, so you lived the same regimented life that he did. Instead of escaping from the military life when you were eighteen, you joined up, becoming a Navy SEAL, until your commanding officer tried to cop a feel.”
    “He was a jerk.”
    Nick grinned. “You broke the jerk’s nose, and the good ol’ boynetwork made you settle for an honorable discharge instead of court-martial. You joined the FBI after that, which is like the army only there’s no uniform and no saluting. You don’t play well with others. You work alone, because you’re too driven and emotionally distant for anyone to last as your partner, and you live alone for the same reason. So you’re in your own kind of prison. Which is really a shame because you’re very pretty, frighteningly competent, and compellingly complex.”
    Kate was momentarily speechless. She was shocked that he knew all those things about her. And she was gobstruck that he thought she was pretty.
    “I usually look better,” Kate said, “but I threw up.”
    “I hope it wasn’t on my account.”
    “I’m pretty sure it was the breakfast burrito.”
    “You should take better care of yourself and stop eating all that fast food,” he said.
    “How do you know these things?”
    “Facebook.”
    “I’m not on Facebook.”
    “But your sister is and so is everybody else in your family. I love the pictures from your thirteenth birthday party. What was with the braces on your teeth? I’ve never seen anything like it, all those wires, rubber bands, and headgear—”
    “I had crooked teeth and an overbite, okay?”
    “You were cute.”
    “I wasn’t cute. I looked like a demented chipmunk.”
    Nick smiled wide. “I thought you looked cute.”
    Kate narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re playing me.”
    “I’m not playing you. I’m serious. I’m attracted to you. You’re sexy and exciting.”
    “That’s it.” She slapped the file shut, tucked it under her arm, and got up. “Forget about a deal. Let’s see what your smile is like after ten years in prison.”
    Kate stormed out, slamming the door behind her. She squinched her eyes closed and slapped herself in the forehead hard enough to rattle things loose. “Ugh!” she said. “Crap, damn, phooey!” She threw the file against the wall, ran over to it, and kicked it twenty feet down the hall.
    The door to the observation room opened, and Carl Jessup stepped out and eyeballed the file scattered over the floor.
    “Feel better?” he asked.
    “No. I’m sorry, sir. I let him get to me.”
    “He’s a con man, it’s what he does. But it doesn’t matter. He’s sitting in there in irons. You got him and he knows