Identity Crisis. Kate Donovan

      “From the fairy tale.”

      “Right. Rumpelstiltskin from the fairy tale. Is there anything you don’t know?”

      “Minutia is my life,” she assured him. Then she added fondly, “Knock ’em dead at the bar tonight. I’ll arrange the sale of the car right away. With any luck, Manny’ll be back in Rafferty’s tomorrow.”

      “It’s not exactly a life-or-death situation,” he reminded her. “Find the car tomorrow. I’ll call in the afternoon for the update.”

      She wanted to protest, but knew it might scare him back into loner mode. So she contented herself with saying, “Good night, Agent McGregor. And good luck.” Then she hung up the phone and turned her attention to composing an offer irresistible enough to lure Manny Mannington into their trap.

      And if she succeeded and decided to call McGregor back after all—just to give him a thoroughly professional and unemotional update—what monitor could possibly object to that?

      Chapter 4

      It took Kristie six hours to locate a car for Manny Mannington, and while the mileage was higher than he had specified, she knew a SPIN crew could roll back the odometer and spruce up the details enough to fool the bagman and his bride. Predictably, Manny was eager to consummate the transaction as soon as Kristie made e-mail contact with him, and by 2:00 a.m., West Coast time, they had a deal.

      Elated, she tried to reach McGregor in his San Diego hotel room but was only able to leave him a message. It was tempting to suggest he call her back regardless of the hour, but again she wanted to respect the loner in him, so she provided highlights of her coup in the message itself. Tomorrow would be soon enough to share the rest of the details. And she had to admit, her neck and shoulders were bothering her, courtesy of Ray’s knifing lesson, so she forced herself to be sensible and crawled into bed.

      Coups aside, she was still achy and groggy the next morning. So she dressed in jeans and a black knit pullover instead of her usual bargain-basement suit before heading to SPIN headquarters, where Ray Ortega was waiting in the reception area.

      “My office. Now,” he instructed her.

      She followed him into the room and closed the door. “Am I in trouble again?”

      “There’s a basic self-defense course starting the first of next month at my health club. I want you to enroll.”

      “I told you, I already took a course. Plus, I have Betty Bop as my personal trainer. I’m ready for the big leagues.” She smiled. “But if your offer to teach me personally is still open, that’s a different story.”

      “Last night reminded me why I can’t do that,” he told her, adding gently, “How’s your back?”

      “I’ll live.” She gave him a hopeful smile. “If you hadn’t pulled that little switcheroo, I still think I could have kicked the ruler out of your hand.”

      He chuckled. “Yeah, actually, it was a good kick. Just save it for the bop bag from now on.” Clearing his throat, he added gruffly, “Let’s get down to business.”

      He handed her two sheets of paper, then motioned for her to sit down, while he moved to his seat behind the desk. “Sign on the dotted line. Unless you want to consult a lawyer first.”

      She scanned the first page, which was a consent form allowing SPIN to monitor her cell phone. “No problem. Can I borrow a pen?”

      Ray handed her one. “It doesn’t explicitly exempt conversations with your aunt and uncle, but you have my word that we’ll respect your privacy on those calls.”

      Kristie gave him a grateful nod. “We rarely call each other these days, since they’re always traveling, and the time zones don’t match up.”

      “That must be rough.”

      “On me? Hardly. I mean, they raised me and I love them to death, but after I left for college, the relationship went back to how it was when my parents were alive. Loving but distant.” She winced, knowing that the words didn’t do justice to the huge sacrifice her childless aunt and uncle had made for her. “They’re always there for me, and vice versa. But they have to travel so much, we use e-mail to keep in touch.”

      “That’s covered on page two.”

      Grimacing, she turned her attention to the second sheet of paper. “My personal e-mail accounts? Are you going to bug my apartment, too?”

      “Do we need to?”

      She shrugged as she signed. “What a week.”

      “I know. But you saved a little girl’s life. That counts for a lot.”

      “Not only that—” she began, anxious to tell him about McGregor’s call, but his secretary interrupted, buzzing him loudly on the intercom.

      “What is it, Beth?”

      “Someone named Jane Smith is on her way up. She claims she’s an old friend.”

      “Shit.” Ray inclined his head toward the door. “Excuse me, okay? We’ll pick this up again later.”

      “Who’s Jane Smith?”

      When his only answer was to arch an eyebrow in mock reprimand, she jumped up and saluted just as playfully. “I’ll be at my desk if you need someone to yell at later, sir.”

      “Get going, smart-ass.”

      His tone was light, but Kristie wasn’t fooled. He didn’t want her to be around when the mysterious Jane Smith arrived.

      Intrigued, she stopped at David Wong’s cubicle on her way to her own. “Hey.”

      “Hi.” He leaned back in his chair and studied her casual outfit, then arched an eyebrow. “Late night?”

      She nodded.

      “Hot date?”

      “Knife fight.” She plopped herself into his extra chair. “What do you know about a woman named Jane Smith?”

      “Why do you ask?”

      “Because she’s on her way up. And Ray won’t tell me who she is.”

      David glanced toward the glass-walled office. “It’s need-to-know information. And you need to butt out.”

      “Lovely.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not leaving until you sing like a canary. Starting with the name. It sounds fake.”

      He shrugged. “I never met her. She worked with Ray a long time ago. That’s all I know. Honest.”

      “There she is.” Kristie watched intently as a tall woman with shortly cropped brown hair emerged from the elevator and strode toward Ray’s office. The visitor’s navy blue pantsuit was smartly cut, and she appeared to be in her midthirties. Not particularly pretty, but so confident she immediately owned the place. “Good grief, David. I never met a real dominatrix before.”

      “Shush.”

      “Tell me about her. Please?”

      “I don’t know anything,” he insisted. “And even if I did, I’ve got work to do. And that ringing in your ears is your operative line, if that matters to you.”

      She jumped up. “McGregor! I’ve got to get that.” Sprinting for her cubicle, she managed to grab the receiver one instant before the call rolled over to voice mail. “McGregor?”

      “Goldie? Great. I was about to leave a message on your voice mail, but wasn’t sure whether to address it to you or Melissa.”

      She sank into her chair, delighted to hear his sexy voice, but also a bit sheepish over answering her SPIN line as informally as she’d done. “Did it go well last night?”

      “Better