IT WAS almost midnight when Agents Preston Turner and Richard Delaney knocked on Maggie’s hotel-room door.

“How ’bout a nightcap, O’Dell?”

“I don’t know, guys. It’s late.”

“It’s not even midnight.” Turner grinned at her. “Party’s just gettin’ started. Besides, I’m starved.” He glanced back at Delaney for reassurance. Delaney only shrugged.

Both men noticed that Maggie had answered the door with her Smith & Wesson gripped firmly at her side. However, neither mentioned it. They had been her shadows since Stucky had escaped last October. When she complained to Cunningham, he had been insulted by her accusation that he was providing watchdogs to make certain she didn’t go after Stucky on her own.

“You know you guys don’t need to babysit me.”

“Come on, Maggie, you know us better than that.”

Yes, she did. Turner and Delaney had never singled her out as some damsel in distress. Maggie had spent years working to be treated like one of the guys. Perhaps that was why Cunningham’s motive, however honorable or well intentioned, still angered her.

“Ah, come on, Maggie,” Delaney finally joined in. “Knowing you, your presentation is all ready for tomorrow.”

Delaney politely stayed in the hallway while Turner leaned against the door frame until she agreed.

“Let me get my jacket.”

She closed the door enough to give her some privacy. She strapped on her holster, then slid her revolver in and put on a blazer to hide the bulge.

Turner was right. The nearby bar and grill buzzed with late-night conventioneers. Delaney led the way, finding a table in a dark corner. Only when he and Maggie sat down did they realize they had lost Turner, who had stopped to talk to a couple of young women perched on bar stools.

“How does he do that so easily?” Delaney asked. “You know, even when I was single, I hated dating. But Turner makes it all look so easy.” He twisted his chair closer to the table and leaned in as though ready to give Maggie his full attention. “So what about you? Are you thinking about getting back into the game?”

“The game?” She had no idea what he was talking about.

“The dating game. What’s it been? Three, four months?”

“The divorce isn’t final yet. I just moved out on Friday.”

“I thought you broke up months ago.”

“We did. It was more practical for both of us to live there until things were settled.”

“Shoot! For a minute there I thought maybe the two of you were thinking about giving it another shot.” He looked hopeful. She knew Delaney was a firm believer in marriage. Despite admiring his partner’s finesse at dating, Delaney seemed to love being married.

“What would you do if Karen made you choose between her and being in the FBI?”

He shook his head, and she was sorry she’d asked. His face got serious. “Part of the reason I became an instructor was because I know Karen gets nervous about me being in the middle of hostage negotiations. That last one in Philly, she had to watch most of it on TV. Some sacrifices are worth making.”

She didn’t want to have this conversation.

“So I’m the bad guy because I’m not willing to sacrifice my career to make my husband feel better?” The anger in her voice surprised her. “I would never ask Greg to stop being a lawyer.”

“Relax, Maggie. You’re not the bad guy.” Delaney remained sympathetic. “There’s a big difference between asking and expecting. Karen would never have asked. I made the decision.”

“Do you miss it?”

He glanced back at her and laughed. “What’s to miss? Standing in freezing-cold or stinking-hot weather for hours, trying to talk some asshole out of blowing away innocent people?” He scratched his jaw, his eyes serious again. “Yeah, I do miss it. But I get called in on a case every now and then.”

“What can I get you two?” a waitress asked as she squeezed between two diners to get to their table.

Immediately, Maggie felt a wave of relief, welcoming the interruption. She saw Delaney’s face relax, too.

“Just Diet Coke for me.” He smiled up at the pretty redhead.

Maggie was impressed with his unconscious flirting. Had it simply become a habit from hanging around Turner so long?

“Scotch, neat,” she said when the waitress looked her way.

“Oh, and that guy over at the end of the bar—” Delaney pointed “—it doesn’t look like it now, but he will eventually be joining us. Is your grill still on?”

The waitress checked her watch. “They’re supposed to close down at midnight.” She kept her voice friendly though Maggie could tell it was an effort. “There are still a few minutes if I get it in now. Any idea what he wants?”

“A burger and fries,” Delaney said without hesitation.

“Medium rare,” Maggie added.

“With pickles and onion.”

“Oh, and cheddar cheese on the burger, too.”

The waitress smiled at them. Maggie glanced at Delaney, and they burst out laughing.

“God, I wonder if Turner realizes how predictable he is?”

“It sounds like the three of you are very good friends,” the waitress said. “I don’t suppose you know what he’ll be drinking?”

“Do you have Boulevard Wheat?” Delaney asked.

“Of course. It’s a Kansas City brew.”

“Okay. Well, that’s what he’ll want.”

“I’ll get his order in and bring back your drinks.”

“Thanks, Rita,” Delaney added as though they were old friends.

As soon as she left their table Maggie gave Delaney’s shoulder a shove. “I thought you said you weren’t good at this stuff?”

“What stuff?”

“This flirting stuff. Usually Turner’s doing it, so I don’t get to see the real master at work.”

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” But it was obvious from his grin that he was enjoying the attention.

“‘Thanks, Rita’?”

“That’s her name. That’s why they wear those name tags, so we can all share a friendly meal.”

“Oh, right, only she never gets to know our names or sit down and eat with us. How friendly is that?”

“Hey, guys.” Turner slid into the last chair. “Lots of attorneys here this time.”

“Those two women are attorneys?” Delaney craned his neck.

“You betcha.” He waved a piece of paper with their numbers. “And I never know when I might need an attorney.”

“Yeah, right. Like the three of you were talking legal matters.”

Maggie ignored their banter and simply asked, “What conference is this anyway?”

Both men stopped and stared at her as if waiting for the punch line.

“You’re serious?” Turner asked.

“Hey, I make the same presentation every time, whether I’m in Kansas City or Chicago or L.A.”

“You really don’t get into these things, do you?”

“It’s definitely not why I joined the FBI. Besides, Cunningham keeps my name off the program roster, so it’s not like anyone is coming specifically to hear me and my words of wisdom.”

She had interrupted their jovial moods, reminding them why she was really here. Not because she longed to teach profiling to a bunch of cops, but to keep her out of the field, away from Albert Stucky. Rita returned, relieving Maggie once again, this time with a tray of drinks. Turner immediately raised his eyebrows at her when she placed the bottle of beer and a glass in front of him.

“Rita, you’re a mind reader.” He wasted no time using her name just as Delaney had, as if they, too, were old friends.

The pretty waitress blushed. “Your burger and fries should be ready in about ten minutes.”

“Oh, my God! Rita, will you marry me?”

“Actually, you should thank your friends. They got the order in just before the grill closed.” She smiled at Maggie and Delaney this time. “I’ll bring the rest of the order as soon as it’s ready.” Then she hurried away.

“So, Turner,” Delaney said. “Why are there attorneys at this conference?”

“Mostly prosecutors. Sounds like they’re here for that computer workshop. You know, the database the Bureau’s been setting up. Lots of D.A. offices are finally getting connected. And since they’re all so-o-o busy, and can never spare an experienced attorney, it looks like they’ve sent their fresh young things.” He sat back and surveyed the room.

Maggie and Delaney shook their heads at each other. Just as Maggie tipped back her glass, she saw a familiar figure in the long mirror behind the bar. She slammed her glass down and stood, sending her chair screeching. She looked over to where she thought the mirror had reflected the image.

“Maggie, what is it?”

Was it her imagination? She checked the mirror again. The figure in the black leather jacket was gone.

“What’s going on, Maggie?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “I’m fine.” She sat down, avoiding her friends’ eyes. They were getting used to her jumpy, erratic behavior. Soon, she’d be like the little boy who cried wolf, and no one would pay any attention. Maybe that was exactly what he wanted.

She grabbed her glass and watched the amber liquid swirl. Had it only been her imagination? Had she really seen Albert Stucky or was she simply losing her mind?