“Caitlyn James is coming in on the SAT line,” Rebecca told the Boss. “And the senator from Florida canceled.”

“Good. And good. Now I don’t have to cancel on him. Patch Caitlyn through. Oh, and have one of the boys bring my car around. I’m leaving at five.”

Rebecca’s jaw dropped, and she backed out of the room as if unsure if he would leap over the desk and strangle her.

The Boss rolled his eyes. Okay, so he was married to his job. And he seldom left the office before nine P.M. (Frankly, he didn’t know how bankers and brokers pulled off that whole forty-hour-workweek thing.) But was it so terrifically unusual that he wanted to leave at a decent hour in order to take Stacy to the Oceanaire? Not at all. But meet a nice girl and send her flowers and take her to dinner and you’d think it was one of the signs of the Apocalypse.

He picked up the SAT line. “Mirage, this is Team Leader. Go.”

“What?” Caitlyn said. The connection was excellent; it sounded, unfortunately, like she was in the room with him.

“Mirage. That’s your code name when you’re in the field,” he explained, “and I’m Team Leader. This is an SAT line, which means—”

“Yeah, yeah, save it for the technogeeks. Why Mirage?”

“Because, frankly, nobody here ever knows when you’ll show up for a mission. You’ve only yourself to blame for that one. Mirage.”

“I hate you. And it’s not a simple, easy hate like people hating fish. I hate you like the plague. I hate you like a famine. I—”

“Mirage, can we speed this up? You have no idea what this is costing me per minute.”

“Aw, go bitch to AT&T. Listen, there were just a few tiny details you forgot to share with me when you sent me to Paris. Paris, Texas, you big jerkoff.”

He giggled. He couldn’t help it. “Describe exactly what your face looked like when you found out you weren’t in the City of Light. Leave out nothing.”

“How about I describe what your face is gonna look like after I get done pounding it for about three hours? Now listen to me, you sadistic fuck. You didn’t tell me the guy you think is killing all the geeks is not only not a former agent of yours, but he’s been infected with nanobytes too!”

“It was all in the file,” he said inexorably. Sadistic fuck? Lord, the mouth on this girl. He peeked at his watch. He’d finish up this call and then go pick Stacy up. He should probably give his bodyguards the night off. They might cramp Stacy’s style. “Every bit of it.”

“Dmitri Novakov…The Wolf? Hello, could he have a scarier code name? Why not just call him Killer and be done with it?”

“We can’t all get Mirage,” he said with a straight face.

She ignored his obvious jibe and proceeded to tell him things he already knew. He yawned and peeked at his watch while she droned on. “Lithuanian by birth, nationalized here when he was twenty-two. Speaks flawless English, Russian, Japanese, French, and Spanish? Oh, and did I mention, he’s a freak like me?”

“No one is a freak like you. That is both your blessing and your curse.” Not to mention mine.

“Oh, save it for the recruiting speech, ya big weirdo. Plus…plus! I recognized one of the dead guys. Which gave me a total start, I can tell you. He was Egghead #1. He’s the guy who was hanging around when I woke up in the hospital after you ruined my life.”

“Yes, Dr. Jeeter.”

“Jeeter? Like Skeeter? Look, all I know is, he was one of your main dudes for the nanoteam, and he’s dead. Along with two of his team members.”

“Mirage,” he said, forcing patience, “I know all this.”

“Well, thanks for mentioning it! Bad enough I had to spend almost two hours in Texas—do you know what that climate did to my ends?”

“Your what?”

“My ends, the ends of my hair. Next time send me to Ireland. I read somewhere that all the moisture in the air is great for your skin. But I digress.”

“Yes,” he agreed, resting his forehead on his hand. He had his daily Caitlyn headache, right on time. Never mind a Tylenol. He needed a jab of morphine.

“Bad enough I even set foot on that lame plane of yours to go anywhere. Bad enough you send me after a guy you so affectionately named the Wolf. But you think he’s killing the team that made him? And me?”

“Well,” the Boss said reasonably, “someone is.”

“And he thinks it’s me!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If it was you, we’d know.”

“Well, thanks for that. I think. Plus, he says he never worked for you.”

“Well, he’s wrong,” the Boss snapped.

“So, he worked for you like I work for you, which is to say not at all, you lame, delusional weirdo. That is, you think we’re working for you, but in our hearts we’re not.”

“Oh, Caitlyn, you’ve really got to jettison this idea of personal freedom you—wait a minute. He said? You’ve spoken to the Wolf?”

“Dude, I’m in his plane right now!”

The Boss nearly dropped the phone. How vastly he had underestimated Caitlyn James! She had left his office that morning and, in the hours that followed, tracked down the Wolf (the Wolf!), took him into custody, and commandeered his private jet. Now she was returning to him in triumph. Oh, it was sweet.

“Mirage…I don’t know what to say. I’m very p—”

“If you say you’re proud of me, I’m barfing right into the phone, you wretch.”

“I was going to say I’m very pleased,” he lied.

“Well, don’t sprain your elbow patting yourself on the back, chum. I think you might be jumping to a few conclusions. He’s not with me. I’m with him.”

“What?”

“You heard me. We got to talking in the Wally Dorfman Motel…something else I’ll be kicking your ass for now that I think of it, and anyway, I’m going home with him.”

His knuckles whitened on the phone. “Is this…is this part of your plan?”

“My plan to get laid, maybe.” She laughed. “Don’t wait up…Boss.”

There was a gentle click as she hung up. But even though she was thousands of miles away, flying over the ocean somewhere, he could still hear her laughing.