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Casper took the hit.
    “We’re bumping you back to running a field office,” Deputy Director O’Neill, Casper’s superior, mentor, and friend, had informed him. “It can go two ways from here, Denny. Something else bad happens, your career with the Bureau is finished. I won’t be able to help you. But if you catch a high-profile case and close the matter successfully, I can get you right back on track.”
    As Casper parked his car in front of the Gulf Beach office, his gut told him this was that high-profile case, this would be his ticket back to the big time. Confident of success, he put on his hat, exited the car, walked quickly into the office. Inside, he shook hands with Bayer, who introduced him to Gerhardt and Childs. Introductions finished, Casper moved as far from the windows as possible. “Agent Chance should join us momentarily. I’d like her to hear this.”
    When she arrived, Casper made introductions, said to the Chief.
    “How do you read this, Quint?”
    Bayer rubbed his jaw, thoughtfully. “The restaurant maitre d’ told Mr. Gerhardt that Beck left with a woman Mr. Gerhardt has identified for us as Joanna Perlman. There are two ways this could play out. Either Beck and the woman have gone off and are consensually together somewhere or she lured him away and we have a kidnapping on hands.”
    “He knew we were flying out this morning,” Gerhardt blurted out. “He would not have missed that flight.”
    Casper saw fear in Gerhardt’s eyes. This was the man who knew Beck best and he was beside himself. “He didn’t try to call you?
    Leave a voice mail?”
    Gerhardt’s expression became defensive. “No. Nothing.”
    “What do you know about this woman he met?” Hanna asked.
    As Gerhardt relayed the story of Perlman buying the car to gain an audience with Beck, Casper became convinced this was a kidnapping.
    “Agent Chance,” Casper said when Gerhardt had finished. “Call this advertising agency in New York and find out about Joanna Perlman. Call Mercedes. Talk to this Miles Marin.”

CHAPTER 13
    Hanna started to reach for her cell.
    “You can call from my office if you’d like,” Childs offered pointing to a door behind the registration counter. “Down the hall, second door on the right.”
    “Thanks,” Hanna said, pleased to have a little privacy. In Childs’ office she used the phone on Childs’ large mahogany desk, had information connect her.
    “Belgravia and St. James.” The receptionist said so fast it almost came out as one word.
    “Joanne Perlman, please”
    “Who’s calling?”
    “Hanna Chance.”
    A commercial for a beauty cream started playing. A melodious husky-voiced woman was saying she looked ten years younger.
    Under her voice was a soothing music track. The soothing music and announcer stopped abruptly.
    “Perlman.”
    “Ms. Perlman, this is Hanna Chance. I’m a FBI agent assign—”“FBI? Why are you calling me?”
    “Ms. Perlman, have you visited Sarasota, Florida recently?”
    “No. Why?”
    “You didn’t buy a Mercedes here in Sarasota in order to meet Jens Beck?”
    “You’ve got the wrong person.”
    “You’ve been in New York all week?”
    “Yes.”
    “Can you verify that?”
    “Absolutely. What’s this about? You’re beginning to frighten me.”
    “Someone, calling herself Joanna Perlman and saying she was from your agency, is a person of interest in one of our investigations.
    Ms. Perlman, have you been the victim of identity theft?”
    “No.” Perlman’s voice was high, anxious. “What did she have of mine? What did she do?”
    “At this point, all I can say is that this woman posed as you and we’re looking for her. Let me give you my name and number.”
    Hanna rattled it off. “Thanks for your help.”
    “Wait—” she heard Perlman say before she rang off. Hanna felt for her. The call had to be unsettling.
    Again, she dialed information, had them connect her.
    “Mercedes Benz of Sarasota.” This receptionist had a