Look-Alike. Meredith Fletcher

infuriated Elle. How could she stand there so calmly and make no response? “Couldn’t your agency have sent someone more experienced in this area?”

      “I was asked to pick up Tuenis by Alexandra Forsythe and Allison Gracelyn,” Sam said.

      Elle matched the names from stories she’d shared with Sam. “They’re both from Athena Academy.”

      “Yes.” Sam sipped a breath.

      Trusting people was hard for Sam. Elle understood that. Though Sam had grown up in the more affluent American world, her life had been lacking in so many ways that Elle’s hadn’t been. Knowing that allowed Elle to be patient.

      “Something came up in an investigation they were conducting,” Sam said. “Several files involving blackmail schemes were all grouped together under a folder headed Spider.”

      A surge of excitement rattled through Elle. The SVR had its own Spider files involving blackmail and payoffs as well as political corruption.

      “Allison managed to track some of the Web activity back to a domain hosted and operated by Tuenis,” Sam went on. “I’m supposed to bring him in.”

      “Without CIA backing?” Elle shook her head. “How are you supposed to do that?”

      “Allison is working on that,” Sam replied. “If we hadn’t basically abducted Tuenis, I was hoping to talk him into accompanying me.”

      “Or getting into his hard drive and Web space,” Elle finished.

      “There’s something else, too,” Sam said.

      “What?” Elle wasn’t happy now. She was certain her mood matched her sister’s.

      “One of the files that Alex and Allison pulled had to do with our parents.”

      A wave of uncertainty and fear filled Elle. Their parents, their lives and their deaths, remained mysteries to her though she had looked at their files. Despite her attempts at acceptance and her adoptive father’s apologetic reassurances that she wouldn’t ever know what had happened to them, she still longed to know. “What about our parents?”

      “All the files were encrypted and coded,” Sam explained. “It takes time. Allison is working on breaking the encryption and code. She thought perhaps she would have it broken by the time I got back. As soon as she knows, she’ll tell me.” She caught herself and rephrased her answer. “Us.”

      Turning, Elle gazed at the houseboat only a short distance away. “You also want access to Tuenis’s records aboard the houseboat, then, right?”

      “Or to acquire access to them from his machine long enough to copy them,” Sam agreed.

      At that moment, the iPAQ in Elle’s jacket went off. She took the PDA from her jacket and consulted the flashing screen.

      “It’s a silent alarm,” Tuenis said. “I have it tied to the boat’s computer wifi. Someone has broken into the boat.”

      Elle made the decision. She pushed the iPAQ into Sam’s hands. “Let me borrow the pistol you commandeered.”

      Without hesitation, Sam handed the weapon to her. “Be careful,” Sam added.

      But Elle was already in motion, striding toward the houseboat.

      Chapter 5

      Pulling Tuenis into motion, Sam walked to a position beside a forty-foot yacht moored at the side of the canal. She immediately attracted the attention of the boat’s security officer, but he remained at the railing twenty feet away.

      For a moment, Sam saw Elle slinking through the shadows along the canal, then her sister was gone—vanished into the darkness provided by the boats tied to cleats. Party music—industrial, techno and old-fashioned rock and roll—thundered from the nearby boats and from clubs that dotted the area. Amsterdam was proving louder by night than by day.

      “Who are you people?” Tuenis asked.

      “Quiet,” Sam snapped. The thought of Elle encountering whoever was on the boat by herself didn’t rest easy. Maybe Elle had more experience with the city, but she wasn’t invincible.

      “Are you guys criminals or government?” Tuenis asked.

      Sam silenced the man with a sharp glance. “Another word,” she promised, “and I’ll tie you to an anchor and heave you into the canal.”

      Tuenis nodded weakly.

      Sam took her cell phone from her pocket. Chipped for international use, the phone also had a GPS locator. The global positioning satellite system accessed at least twelve of the twenty-four satellites in fixed orbit around Earth at any time.

      She punched in Riley McLane’s number and waited.

      Riley answered on the second ring. “Miss me?” he asked, and she could hear the mocking grin in his voice.

      “Yes.”

      “Look, I’ve been thinking,” Riley said, “I shouldn’t have gotten angry the way I did. I know that—”

      “I need help,” Sam interrupted.

      Riley paused.

      “At least, I may need help.”

      “What do you need me to do?” he asked.

      That was one of the things Sam loved about Riley. He was more talkative and chatty than she was, and more willing to reveal his feelings—maybe even more certain about how he felt—but he knew when to listen.

      “Can you access a satellite view of my position?”

      “Yes. Give me a minute.”

      Tensely, Sam waited in the shadows.

      Elle crept close to Satyr Dreams, then put a hand on the houseboat. As a water taxi sped by, she ducked to avoid the splash of light that ran along the vessel’s gunwales.

      Getting the rhythm of the houseboat, she leaned her body weight on the side and pulled herself over as it rocked on the wave. Lithely, she rolled to her feet and flattened beside the stern door. A quick glance at the security system told her it had been bypassed.

      Holding the H&K .45 in her left hand, Elle eased the safety off and put her hand on the door to test it.

      It was unlocked.

      Readying herself, Elle raised the gun and swung into position just inside the door.

      The soft blue-white glow of a computer monitor filled the bedroom. Data streamed across the screen.

      And the illumination fell across the dead man lying in the middle of the floor. She knew exactly what the black dot in the center of the man’s forehead was.

      Silently, a shadow separated itself from the darkness. Only motion gave her attacker away. She pulled the gun up and fired. The pistol kicked back against her palm as the weapon’s silenced “cough” wheezed into the houseboat cabin.

      Inside the room, a man cursed in surprise.

      CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

      Standing in the ops mission control room, Riley McLane stared at the images on the wall screens. He was a little over six feet tall and dressed in a brown turtleneck and tan slacks. Although he was currently riding a desk job, he wore his pistol in shoulder leather. His wavy black hair hung just above his eyebrows. His cheeks were smooth, freshly shaven.

      Amsterdam. What the hell are you doing in Amsterdam, Sam? The question chafed at him.

      The mission control room was quiet except for the hum of the computers and electronic equipment. Occasionally whispered conversations over the headset reached his ears.

      “C’mon, Tolliver,” Riley coaxed. “This connect isn’t going to take all night, is it?”

      “No.”