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we wouldn’t have a clue where to look once we’re on it. But if we had access to an individual who was highly placed and had top secret clearance . . . and let’s say that individual had a laptop . . . and I got to have a hot date with that laptop, well, then possibilities arise.”
    “Possibilities, huh.” The only one I can think of who has a truly primo position? Well, it’s Luke and Lacey Carson’s dad, the director of the Agency.
    “Are you thinking of the same person I’m thinking of?” Rita asks.
    I nod. “We have to talk to Luke.”
    “Do you think he’ll help us?”
    “I sure hope so,” I say grimly. “Because I don’t know where else to turn.” Aunt Sophie maybe? She could at least give us a clue and a place to stay. I’m afraid to go home in case Mitch is waiting there.
    Rita’s talking, but I don’t take in the words, because out of the corner of my eye, I see Evan sitting at a table on the opposite wall of Starbucks. And he’s staring at us. I turn and narrow my eyes at him . . . and the smart-ass winks at me.
    Panic rises in my throat, and I have to force it back down. There is absolutely no way that Evan has recognized me in this Goth persona. From my combat boots to my black chin-length hair, from my torn fishnets tomy bite-your-head-off dark lipstick, I am nothing like the conservative, uniformed Kari Andrews he knows on a day-to-day basis.
    I sneer at Evan, looking him up and down as if to say, I eat prep-school wankers like you for breakfast. With Tabasco.
    He leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head, and grins. His expression says clearly, You know you want me. Arrogant jerk. My only comfort is that if he does by some crazy coincidence recognize me, he is so self-absorbed that he probably watches his own biceps in the mirror instead of the news. And he cuts class so much that he won’t have heard any gossip about Charlie and me missing.
    And honestly? The guy would wink at anything in a skirt. Anything with two legs and any sort of bumps in the torso area. Let’s face it: Evan Kincaid would wink at a rubber blow-up doll. He’d take one on a date and never realize that his companion didn’t say a word, because he’d be talking about him self too much.
    “You haven’t listened to a single word out of my mouth,” Rita says, clearly offended.
    “Sorry. Do not look right now, but Evan Narcissus Kincaid is right across the room. I don’t think he recognizes me, but I’m sure he does you. We need to get out of here.”
    Rita nods, the picture of cool. “Kari, he’s not that bad.”
    I slug down some more of my now-cold latte. “Yes, he is.”
    She shrugs. “But he’s nice to look at.”
    “Whatever.”
    Rita digs into her Prada handbag for a box of mints and offers me one. “Okay, when do you want to meet next?”
    “Today, at Kennedy,” I say, taking a mint. “Around four p.m. by the back parking lot. Luke should be finishing up track practice then.”
    “Okay.” She peers around furtively. “You leave first. I’ll say hello to Evan and then wait five minutes.”
    “Rita, I doubt that’s necessary.”
    “We have to follow good tradecraft,” she insists.
    I roll my eyes. “Yeah . . . you’re right. So I left a coded message in Evan’s silk Skivvies. You should go feel around for it.”
    Rita balls up a napkin and throws it at me.
    I smirk at her and leave Starbucks for Subway, where I get Charlie a six-inch meatball sandwich on wheat with extra provolone, just the way he likes it.
    •  •  •
    On the way back to the hotel I stop at a miraculously working pay phone and use it gingerly after scrubbing the receiver with a wet wipe. I’m not obsessive-compulsive about germs or anything, but pay phones are disgusting.
    I dial Aunt Sophie’s number. Sophie’s not really our aunt, but she’s a close family friend, and my mom’s like her older sister. They met when Soph started college at Georgetown—Mom was her alumna