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woman. It wasn’t an issue of desire. It was one of trust. Without that, Robie couldn’t muster the desire.
    Robie was trained never to be deceived. Never to be played for a fool. Never to be left without a seat when the music stopped. And yet he had been deceived. It had been a humbling experience that he didn’t care to repeat.
    Vance’s voice sounded the same. A little too amped up for Robie right now, but he had to admire the woman’s energy.
    “Yeah, it has been.”
    “You been traveling lately?”
    He hesitated, wondering whether she had put the events in Central Park together with him.
    Vance had a good idea of what Robie did professionally. As an FBI agent sworn to uphold and protect, she couldn’t be privy to any more than she already knew. They operated in two distinct worlds, both necessary, both not mutually exclusive.
    But both incompatible nonetheless. And if their jobs were incompatible, then so were they as individuals. Robie clearly saw that now. In fact, he had always known it.
    “Not much. You?”
    “Just the mean streets of D.C.”
    “So what’s up?”
    “You free for dinner?”
    Robie again hesitated. He hesitated so long, in fact, that Vancefinally said, “It’s not that complicated, Robie. Either you are or you aren’t. No skin off here if you say no.”
    Robie wanted to say no. But for some reason he said, “When?”
    “Around eight? I’ve been wanting to try this new place over on Fourteenth.” She told him the name. “I hear they strain their tomatoes through linen cloths to make their cocktails.”
    “You like cocktails that much?” he asked.
    “Tonight I do.”
    Robie knew there had to be an ulterior reason for Vance to be calling him to go to dinner. Yes, he believed that she liked him. But she was super agent Vance for a good reason. She never turned it off.
    “Okay,” he said.
    “Just like that?”
    “Just like that.”
    “I’m officially surprised.”
    So am I
, thought Robie.
    “Any interesting cases you’re involved with?” she asked. “It’s just a rhetorical question, of course.”
    “How about you?”
    “Oh, this and that.”
    “Care to elaborate?”
    “Maybe I will at dinner. Or maybe I won’t. Depends on the quality of those cocktails.”
    “See you then.”
    He put the phone away and watched out the window again as people scurried along the streets trying to escape a rain that seemed to have settled into the bones of the area, making things as wet and chilly and miserable as possible.
    Robie slowly moved through the eleven hundred square feet of his apartment. The place was where he lived, but it seemed to be uninhabited. There was furniture, to be sure. And food in the fridge. And clothes in the closet. But other than that there were no personal effects whatsoever, principally because Robie had none to bring here.
    He had traveled the world, but had never purchased a souvenir to bring back. The only thing he had to bring home on his return trips was himself, surviving to do what he did another day. He’d never purchased a postcard or snow globe after ending someone’s life. He just got on a plane, or train, or sometimes drove or walked home. That was it.
    He took a nap and when he woke he showered and changed into fresh clothes. He had a few hours to kill before going to meet Vance.
    He opened his laptop, inserted the USB stick, and the life of Jessica Elyse Reel came to life in all its megapixel glory.
    But before he could start reading his phone buzzed.
    He looked at the email that had just popped into his box. It was quite to the point.
    Sorry it’s come to this, Will. Only one can survive, of course. Selfishly, I hope it’s me. Respectfully, JR.

CHAPTER

7
    R OBIE IMMEDIATELY CONTACTED Blue Man and told him what had happened. A trace was put on the email Robie had received. The report came back thirty minutes later and it was not good.
    Untraceable.
    For Robie’s agency to concede something was untraceable was a big deal. Whoever Reel