Person of Interest. Debra Webb

this was who she was, what she did. She made no excuses.

      She dragged the keys from her ignition and dropped them into her purse.

      But this was different.

      Though she had changed faces for the CIA before, a fact for which she had no regrets, this was so very different.

      Elizabeth emerged from her Lexus, closed the door and automatically depressed the lock button on the remote. The headlights flashed, signaling the vehicle was now secure.

      She inhaled a deep breath of the thick August air. It wasn’t entirely daylight yet and already she could almost taste the humidity.

      “Might as well get this done,” she murmured as she shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose and then trudged across the parking lot.

      The CIA had leased, confiscated or borrowed a private clinic for this Saturday morning’s procedure. She noted the other vehicles there and, though she recognized none of them, assumed it was the usual team she worked with on these secret procedures. Of course, she would prefer her own team, but the group provided by the CIA in the past were excellent and, admittedly, a sort of rhythm had developed after more than a dozen surgeries.

      A guard waited at the side entrance. His appearance made her think of the Secret Service agents who served as bodyguards for the president.

      “Good morning, Dr. Cameron,” he said as she neared. Though she didn’t know him, he obviously knew her. No surprise.

      “Morning.”

      He opened the door for her and she moved inside. It wasn’t necessary to ask where the others would be, that part was always the same. Most clinics were set up on a similar floor plan. This one, an upscale cosmetic surgery outpost for the socially elite, was no different in that respect. The plush carpeting rather than the utilitarian tile and lavishly framed pieces of art that highlighted the warm, sand-colored walls were a definite step up from the norm but the basic layout was the same.

      Agent Dawson stepped into the hall from one of the examination rooms lining the elegant corridor. “The team is ready when you are, Dr. Cameron.”

      “Thank you, Agent Dawson.” Elizabeth didn’t bother dredging up a perfunctory smile. He knew she didn’t like this. She sensed that he didn’t either. But they both had a duty to do. An obligation to do their part to keep the world as safe as possible. She had to remember that.

      The prep room was quiet and deserted and she was glad. She wanted to do this without exchanging any sort of chitchat with those involved, most especially the patient.