The Elliotts: Bedroom Secrets: Under Deepest Cover. Barbara Dunlop

did.”

      “Pardon me?”

      “After I talked to you, I knew I wouldn’t be returning to Alliance Trust. So I threw caution out the window. Before, I was careful to cover my tracks when I downloaded information. I figured that didn’t matter anymore. So I just downloaded everything in sight. Practically the whole computer system. I can’t believe how much that little memory stick holds.”

      “You downloaded everything?” he asked, hardly able to believe it.

      “Everything I’ll need. It will take some time to go through it all. Whoever was embezzling from the retirement funds was very sneaky. But I’ve got calendars, phone lists, log-on and log-off times, passwords, who attended what meeting when. Using a process of elimination, I can figure out who made the illicit withdrawals—I know I can.”

      “You won’t have to. The agency has some of the best minds in the country—” He stopped. Until he knew who had betrayed him, he didn’t dare turn this information over to anyone. One keystroke, and all of the evidence Lucy had risked her life for could be erased.

      “I could do it,” Lucy said. “I’m very good at puzzles. Maybe your organization has experts and high-tech equipment, but I know the people involved. I know how everything worked at that bank. No one is more qualified than me to analyze this data.”

      She might just be right. “What will you need?”

      “A computer powerful enough to handle the amount of data involved. A quiet place to work. That’s it.”

      The plan he’d been working on earlier became a bit firmer in his mind. It was kind of crazy. But he didn’t know any other way to keep Lucy safe. He had access to any number of safe houses, but safe from whom? Everyone who was part of this mission knew those houses, too—Tarantula, Stungun, Orchid and his immediate supervisor, Siberia. His list of suspects. Four people whom, until an hour ago, he would have trusted with his life.

      “I think I can accommodate you,” he said.

      “Okay, then.” She settled back into her seat, looking satisfied. “Where are we going?”

      Finally. He’d wondered when she would get around to asking that. “New York.”

      “Your home turf.”

      Bryan felt a prickle of apprehension. How did she know that?

      “Your accent,” she said before he had a chance to ask. “I went to school with a guy from New York. Long Island. You sound just like him.”

      Observant little thing, wasn’t she? During his training, he’d learned to erase every trace of accent from his voice. His safety, and that of his wealthy family, depended on keeping every detail of his personal life separate from his life at the agency. It was like that for all the agents he worked with. They all used their code names, and they never revealed any personal information for any reason.

      How had he let his guard down long enough that Lucy had figured out where he was from? Maybe he was slipping. Because of the intense pressure, a lot of agents didn’t last long in the field.

      “You work for the CIA?” she asked.

      He used to. They’d recruited him in college, when he’d been studying business management with every intention of joining the family business, Elliott Publication Holdings. They said it was because of his straight As and his uncommon athleticism. He’d worked a lot of undercover.

      Then a nameless, faceless person had recruited him to a newly formed investigative arm of Homeland Security, an agency so secret it didn’t have a name. The agency had no central office, and it wasn’t mentioned in the national budget. Basically it didn’t exist.

      Lying usually came easily to him. But for some reason he didn’t want to lie straight-out to Lucy. He settled for a partial truth. “I work for Homeland Security.”

      “I didn’t know Homeland Security had its own spies.”

      “Things are still evolving there.”

      “How does one become a spy?”

      “Why, are you interested in joining up?”

      “Maybe. Anything’s better than what I was doing.”

      He’d only been kidding, but she was serious. “So why did you work at a bank if you didn’t like it?”

      She shrugged. “It was expected of me. And the money was pretty good. I’d been thinking about doing something else, though.”

      “Like what?”

      “I dunno. Running away and joining the circus, maybe. I’d make a good lion tamer.”

      “You?” he blurted out, then wished he hadn’t, given Lucy’s reaction. He’d insulted her.

      “Why couldn’t I tame lions?”

      “I’m sure you could. You could poke them with umbrellas.”

      “I think you’re making fun of me. But you didn’t think it was so funny when I had you on the floor. I almost gave you an impromptu tracheotomy with my trusty umbrella.” She looked around the car. “Oh, we left it behind. I liked that umbrella.”

      “I’ll buy you a new one,” he said, feeling a bit sorry for her. Her life had been disrupted, and it would never be the same. He didn’t think that fact had sunk into her head yet.

      “We won’t be going back, then,” she said.

      “Not in the foreseeable future.”

      “Good. If I’d had to spend one more night in that boring town house with its boring white walls, wearing those boring suits, I’d have slit my wrists.”

      She’d surprised him again. He’d done a considerable amount of research on Miss Lucy Miller. She came from a solid Kansas farming family, had attended the state university, got good grades. She’d been working at a job for which she was underqualified, but her employee reviews had come up glowing.

      The only mystery about Lucy Miller was a period of about two years shortly after her college graduation, for which Bryan could not unearth much information. Her passport indicated she’d done some traveling abroad. The best he could figure, she’d been soaking up some culture before tying herself down to a serious career. She had an older brother who lived in Holland, so she might have been staying with him.

      “My family will be worried,” she said.

      “You won’t be able to contact them.”

      “Ever?” she asked in a small voice. “Am I going into the witness protection program?”

      “Is that what you want?”

      She sighed. “I could stand a new identity. I’ve always hated the name Lucy. But I want to pick the name.”

      “What would you pick?”

      “Certainly not something as silly as Casanova—though I guess given the way you schmoozed Mrs. Pfluger, it fits. She’s always been mean as a snake to me.”

      “Casanova wasn’t my idea. You can call me Bryan.” She would have learned his real name soon enough.

      “And you can call me … Lindsay. Lindsay Morgan.”

      “Sounds very sophisticated. Does it have any significance? Do you know anyone named Lindsay? Or Morgan?”

      “No. I’ve always liked the actress Lindsay Wagner. You know, the Bionic Woman. I catch it on late-night TV. And Morgan—I don’t know. I pulled it out of thin air.”

      Exactly what Bryan wanted to hear. “Then Lindsay Morgan it is. Get used to it.”

      Oh, God, she thought, he was serious. She was really getting a new identity. A new life. A new job, a new home, maybe somewhere exciting like New York. She knew she should be terrified.