There were a few flaws in her plan, she thought, staring dreamily at what’s-his-name’s hands as he shifted gears. He had wonderful hands, big and blocky, and the knuckles were sprinkled with fine black hair. If she couldn’t stare into his dreamy blue eyes, she’d stare at his hands. Oh, and think about the flaws. Right. That too.

Flaw number one: she wasn’t the killer.

Flaw number two: she wasn’t sure he was, but on the chance that he wasn’t, the killer was still running around loose. Killing…what did he say? Members of the Wagner team? She knew about them, they were the team that had infected her. Wagner for Jamie Wagner, the Bionic Woman. Ha. Ha. Ha. Somebody at the O.S.F. was watching too many reruns.

Flaw number three: she had just agreed to be taken into what’s-his-name’s custody for an indefinite amount of time.

Flaw number four: she didn’t know what’s-his-name’s name.

Flaw number five: she was letting her hormones do her thinking for her, which, while almost always resulting in short-term satisfaction, led to long-term poor results.

Flaw number six: the Boss.

“That reminds me,” she said. “I need to make a phone call.”

“Where’s your cell phone?”

“Pal, you’re probably looking at the one person in the state of Minnesota who doesn’t have one.”

“Gregory Hamlin sent a green recruit into the field without a cell phone?”

“Don’t yell. I’m sitting right here.”

“Unbelievable,” what’s-his-name muttered. “Truly. The mind reels. The mind is boggled.”

“Pal.” She snapped her fingers. “Are you with me? Stay focused, okay? I. Need. A. Phone.”

“When we get to the jet, you can use mine.”

“Okay.” Jet? Oooh. Jet? “Jet?”

“Yes.”

“Where are we going?”

“My home.”

“Okey-dokey.”

She supposed it was time she read that stupid file. She settled back in the luxurious leather seats of the whatever it was he was driving—she had never been a car babe—and closed her eyes. And read.

Dmitri Novakov sneaked another glance at the odd blonde in the seat next to him and nearly drove into a telephone pole. That’s enough of that, he told himself. Pay attention. Yes, she’s quite pretty, but that’s also quite irrelevant.

He had calculated several results from his trip to the motel, but the probability of her willingly going with him was only eight point five two three percent. The probability that he would have had to kill her had been almost sixty percent. He was, frankly, amazed she’d gotten into his Lexus.

He would have to redo all his calculations, because as it was, he was playing it by ear. And he hated playing it by ear. Too many variables made it impossible to predict outcome with any accuracy.

And now…she was asleep!

He quickly calculated the probability of the Wagner team killer agreeing to come with him and then falling asleep in his car. It was low…one point two six seven percent.

It was all very strange, and she was possibly the strangest of all in what he knew to be a very odd and cutthroat business. For a field agent, she was remarkably…real.

Of course, they trained them to be charming, and pretty girls were often specifically recruited, but truly, she was like no other woman he had met. And the amazing thing was, it had nothing to do with the fact that she was the other cybernetically enhanced human being walking around on the planet.

No, it was just her. When she wasn’t yelling, she was…well, yelling. But when she’d regained consciousness, she had been more angry than scared. In fact, he didn’t believe she had been scared at all.

Most agents, upon waking in the presence of the Wolf, would have soiled themselves in terror. Or at least cringed a little. Not this one. Not this…Caitlyn.

And what could her sinister motive be, to willingly come with him? Was he on her hit list? It would make sense, of a twisted sort…she had certainly taken care of enough of the Wagner team.

That was perhaps the oddest thing of all. She didn’t seem like a cold, detached assassin. She was more like…like someone you might run into at a coffee shop.

But perhaps that was part of her skill.