She’d loved sailing with her grandfather. Thrilled to the spray on her face, tugging against the sail, his voice insisting it didn’t matter how small she was, or that she was only nine, she could do anything. His voice was always there in her head, urging her on, telling her she could overcome anything if she tried hard enough.

If only that were true.

“Damn.” She rolled to a stop in the scenic overlook and switched off the engine. The wind in the high trees behind her combined with the shush of waves against the shore ahead of her, creating a quiet that breathed, slow and steady. She closed 31


her eyes to listen, and wished her heart could find that strong, unhurried rhythm.

She had no more success than usual. Dollar amounts and bank statements danced behind her eyelids. Swirling around all of it was the jarring memory of all her lost hopes—every time Tamara Sterling asked about it she felt an ache in that familiar, deep wound.

This is a waste of energy, she warned herself, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it. From the time she was twelve she’d been filling out her Secret Service application in her head.

As the years went by she’d mentally added her degree, and on the actual day—so important—the names of her immediate family and their occupations. She’d been so proud to put in her grandfather’s name—Rudyard Kipling Barrett, twenty-six years service, deceased. She felt as if she was immortalizing him by following in his footsteps. For a while, she’d certainly appeared to be a chip off the old block.

There was just one thing she couldn’t do, one choice she couldn’t make. Every time it had come up in the simulation she’d hesitated. Her focus and aim had wavered.

Her supervisor had told her, over and over, “You’re not going to be in the field, Barrett, it’s just a machine. Shoot the suspect and get the heck out of training.”

She tried to tell herself it had no meaning. Just a computer game, like hundreds she’d played. A computer game with a real gun, real bullets—but the bad guys weren’t real and if she made a mistake, no one would get hurt.

She inhaled fresh sea air with the pungent tang of pine, trying to clear her memory of the sweltering warehouse with lung-choking clouds of gasoline fumes and electricity-tinged smoke.

Shoot, then ask. Just do it. It’s not real. Just a game. Just a test.

Pass the test. Just pull the trigger.

She pivoted on her heel, leaving the peaceful vista behind.

Some Xena, some superhero she was. She couldn’t do what needed to be done, plain and simple. So she could handle a drunk—big effing deal. She wasn’t capable of acting on instinct. Her brain 32


always wanted facts before taking action.

On her good days she told herself that the simulator had indeed served its purpose. She wasn’t fit to protect the President of the United States. Best to know that before a real situation erupted in her face.

“I’m not ashamed,” she told a fallen tree. “But what a way to find out.”

All her hopes and dreams gone, and a life rebuilt in spite of the disappointment. Plenty of bad guys to catch.

“You don’t always get what you want, Barrett.” She kicked a rock into the undergrowth and went back to the car, vexed that she was dwelling on a past she couldn’t change and, in honest moments, knew she wouldn’t even if she had that power.

When she got back to the cabin she lit the woodstove, and then settled down to continue her methodical work, more than halfway through the papers Tamara Sterling had given her.

She would find out who was stealing from SFI, and she would bring him, or her, or them to justice. It would be a challenge and if she was a little tired right now, that didn’t matter. SFI’s code of ethics was well-known and absolutely necessary to make sure that clients had full trust in the integrity and abilities of every SFI staff member. White-collar criminals who stole millions from everyday people so often went free, as if financial losses didn’t take a real toll or cause tremendous damage to every victim.

Underpaid, overworked prosecutors counted on SFI to be rock solid on the witness stand.

This thief was one of their own, and had broken their code and endangered the path of justice. She would get back every dime she could lay her hands on and then she would present the culprit and the cash to Tamara Sterling on a silver platter.

“Another red?” The steward paused next to Tamara’s seat with the napkin-wrapped bottle in one hand.

“No—not a good idea.” She was depressed enough as it was 33


to be heading for home without accomplishing one useful bit of work. She’d had just enough time at her hotel this morning to shower and change, only to get a call from the SFI local office head that the meeting had been canceled. She’d turned around, checked out and headed back to the airport. At least she’d managed to get on a slightly earlier flight.

“It’s twice as powerful at altitude,” he admitted. “Can I clear away your dinner then?”

She nodded and turned her attention back to the reports she’d carried all the way from Seattle. Reading them would be something useful for the time she’d wasted on this trip. She hated flying coast-to-coast in less than twenty-four hours.

At least she would see her own bed before midnight. The New York office manager, Hank Jefferson, had been equally appalled that Tam had wasted the trip, and he’d promised to get to the bottom of it. They both hoped it wasn’t a case of the client deciding to sleep in on a Saturday morning instead. Weekend meetings usually meant something serious was suspected.

Somewhere over North Dakota she initialed the last report and slid it into her briefcase. Nothing but reports, meetings and more reports leading to more meetings. She liked running her own firm, but in the most perverse way, she had been almost relieved to find an investigation right under her nose, and had at first thought she could run it all by herself.

Not that she was glad there was an embezzler on their staff.

But once her initial disbelief had eased, she’d felt the old and familiar thrill of a puzzle to solve. Now she delegated puzzles to other people. She didn’t miss working for the Feds, but she missed the thrill of seeing if she could outwit a criminal on a one-to-one basis.

You’re not a kid anymore, she told herself, and you’re pushing forty. You have responsibilities. You love this work. If only she’d get a good night’s sleep she knew she’d feel better in the morning.

Her depression led from one bleak thought to another. Had Nadia’s laugh on the phone been the last pleasant thing she could remember? She could still hear it. She would have eventually 34


recognized Nadia, she was certain, but hearing that unforgettable laugh in an English class in college had made her scan the rows of the lecture hall until she found the source. Nadia had recognized her, too. They hadn’t become the best of friends, but there were binding ties that had nothing to do with friendship that they both respected.

She closed her eyes and saw Ted’s face in the Student Union Lair, that night fifteen years ago when he and Nadia had met.

One-of-a-kind love story, that one. She’d known Ted from mutual computer science classes. He’d taken one look at Nadia and it was all over. His eyes were mirrors of his every thought.

Nadia had tossed her hair back with a look that said she knew he was already hers. “Tam, seriously, how did you not mention that such an attractive man was in your classes?”

“I’m not on Tam’s radar,” Ted had said.

Nadia had laughed, showing off that lovely voice. “Well now you’re on mine.”

Just like that, and three months later they were married.

They credited Tam with their introduction. Nadia had made sure that Tam caught the bouquet, but fifteen-plus years later that magic hadn’t happened. She’d rarely gotten to a second date and never to a sixth. Not being able to talk about her work limited the conversation. A few women understood that it wasn’t lack of trust, but the rules. Most, however, failed to make another date.

One woman had summed it up with, “If I’d wanted a mystery for dinner, I’d have ordered a book.”

She let her gaze drift over the clouds outside the airplane, exhausted and worried. Clouds shaped like horses and dragons, angels even, failed to distract her until in the depths of one she saw Kip Barrett’s eyes, full of conscious intent and disciplined fervor. She liked that trait in people. It would have been fun to work with her on this mystery, to see how her mind worked out the complexities.

“Would you like anything else before we land?”

Tam couldn’t hold back a startled gasp.

The steward looked chagrined. “I’m sorry, I woke you just as 35


you were dozing off, didn’t I?”

“No... I was just daydreaming,” Tam said. “I’m fine.” Tam handed her empty water cup to him and realized he was leaning a little closer to her than duty called for.

“Do you live in the Seattle area?” At her nod, he went on,

“Maybe you could recommend a restaurant or two? I’ve got an extended layover and I’ll be on my own.”

Oh, please, she thought, do I really have to come out at 38,000 feet? Fortunately, a sharp downdraft, followed by a crash from the galley, sent the steward scurrying up the aisle. When he came back, Tam’s eyes were closed.

She wished the sleep weren’t feigned, but she was too caught up in brooding for the comfort of sleep. She wondered if Kip Barrett was making progress. She ought to have asked explicitly for her to contact her with a progress update tomorrow, even if it was a Sunday.