"Okay, Jaz," I said as I shuffled my cards for the hundredth time, trying to relax to the whish of a perfect bridge, "here's the deal. You will not yell at Albert for at least five minutes." I figured the call would be over in two, but I'm one to hedge my bets when it comes to losing my temper. "You will keep your opinion of him to yourself this time, and you won't mention Mom at all."

  "Okay, I'll try," I told my closet door reflection, "but I'm not making any promises." I nodded to myself, then I called Albert.

  He answered on the fifth ring. Not a good sign. His voice, when he said, "Hello," sounded faint and weak.

  Though he'd gotten himself into this predicament, he would now expect pity. Ugh! I grabbed a pillow and threw it across the room. "Hey, Albert," I said, trying to sound pleasant and not overly concerned. "Evie tells me you're not feeling well."

  "She's a meddler, that one, just like your mother."

  I gritted my teeth. I would not argue with him over the fact that what he saw as meddling, we saw as Mom coming home early from work to find him in the sack with her best friend!

  "I heard you fired your nurse."

  "Goddamn busybody. Always wanting to know what I was eating, always poking me with those damn needles."

  My Rage-O-Meter spiked. I could feel the veins in my forehead throb like war drums as my temper began to shred. It's a fragile thing, my temper. Sort of like the pretty colored tissue paper you find lining gift bags. My inner eye watched it disintegrate into little, raggedy edged pieces that floated away to perhaps reassemble themselves in another place and time as my father whined, "She treated me terrible, Jazzy. And now I feel terrible."

  "Oh, for Chrissake, Dad, you feel terrible because you're not following your doctor's orders. Evie's going nuts worrying about you, and Dave and I don't have time to come coddle you so you'll quit trying to fucking Mil yourself! So here's the deal. We're hiring you another nurse. You will eat what she says. You will take the insulin shots without complaining. And if you fire her, I will personally haul your sorry ass to the Veteran's home and dump you on their doorstep."

  "But—"

  "Furthermore, you will make an appointment with your doctor today, and if he has to cut off your goddamn foot none of us are going to pity you because you brought it on yourself!"

  "Jasmine Elaine Parks—"

  "Don't you dare pull your Dad voice out on me, old man. I know exactly what kind of game you're playing and it doesn't wash. You weren't there when we were growing up. What makes you think your pitiful health is going to make us come to you now?"

  There was a long silence, during which I'm sure Albert was looking longingly at his beer can while I was kicking myself for yelling at a decrepit old war hero. I knew he'd been an awesome Marine. He had a drawer full of medals and an address book full of phone numbers of men who would still willingly die for him. He just never should've had children.

  "I'm tired," I said, suddenly feeling even older than his 61 years. "I'm working on a big account and it's got me on edge. Evie's call knocked me over that edge and now you're catching the fallout."

  It wasn't an apology. He didn't deserve one and he knew it.

  "I'll call the doctor this morning," he said. I guess if I could make concessions, so could he.

  "Good. I'll call you when I find a new nurse."

  "Okay."

  Another awkward silence. This was the point at which many fathers and daughters would exchange little affectionate phrases like 'I love you' and 'I miss you.' We knew that. We just had no way to get there from here.

  "So… I'll talk to you later," I said.

  "Okay. Bye."

  "Bye."

  Beep. I found it terribly ironic that lately all my conversations with family members ended in a high, annoying sound.

  I threw the phone on my bed, dropped down beside it. Before other things demanded my attention I picked up the phone, dialed Evie's number and left a message for her to get me the number of the nursing pool we'd drawn the last woman from. Hopefully I could hire one who hadn't yet talked to his old nurse and learned what an ass Albert could be.

  Chapter Seven

  I woke to the sound of a doorbell.

  "Hey," I told the clock, which was blinking 1:00 p.m. at me, "I went back to sleep. How cool is that?" Even better was the total lack of nightmares. I started to bounce out of bed, but my ribs turned it into more of a slow roll. Grief accompanied me to the door. Vayl had taped a note there.

  Jasmine,

  Before I went to my rest, I ordered you something special, since I know how much you hate to eat out. See you at dusk

  V

  I looked through the peephole. Nobody. And the only inhabitant of the hall, when I opened the door, was a serving cart full of covered dishes. I imagined the waiter dashing back to the elevator after he'd rung so I wouldn't catch a glimpse of him and think, gasp! that real people actually ran this hotel. I supposed the employees did a lot of darting into stairwells and linen closets. Were they required to run sprints every morning before work to keep themselves in shape? Hmm, a definite thought. By the time I had the cart inside, the door locked, and the table set for my meal, I'd decided the entire staff met in the attic every morning for calisthenics, and every one of them, maid, cook and maintenance worker alike, wore matching pink leotards.

  I uncovered the lids to each dish one by one, offering each plate a round of applause as it appeared. Number one plate held three small pancakes, a slab of butter and a mini-pitcher of syrup. A mushroom omelet spread itself across plate number two and plate number three held four slices of extra crispy bacon. Vayl had also ordered coffee and a big glass of orange juice. I saluted his closed door with my mug and said, "To you, Boss. May you never realize how much I truly like you."

  Which brought up toe-tingling memories of last night. You know what, best to leave those alone. Write the whole thing off to delayed reaction due to surviving a car wreck and an assassination attempt and ignore the fact that it had never happened before despite some close brushes with death on our previous missions together. Stuff those uncomfortably exciting feelings in a manila folder and lock them in one of Pete's black metal file cabinets. Case closed.

  As I ate the most delicious breakfast I'd consumed in months, I planned my afternoon. Since anything to do with Assan fell under Vayl's domain, I tabled the whole issue and moved on to our more immediate problem. Four fairly well-informed killers disguised as religious fanatics did not just materialize and try to eliminate two Central Intelligence Agency employees. I wasn't sure how they'd even found us on that highway, but I did have a theory. Someone must have told them we were after Assan, so they had probably watched his house until we showed up. That someone had taken a big risk too, because only a handful of people even knew we existed. That included Pete, the three senators on our department's oversight committee, Bergman, and the woman I was about to call.

  Our secure phone sat where we'd left it last night, beside the laptop in front of the unoccupied chair at my breakfast table. I swallowed my last bite and used that phone to call Martha. She answered on the first ring.

  "Demlock Pharmaceuticals," she said in her gravelly baritone. She hadn't smoked a day in her life, but you'd never know it by her voice.

  "I need to establish an order."

  "Hold, please."

  Moments later Martha was back on a line that was now secure from her end as well as mine.

  "What do you need, hon?"

  My secretary called me 'hon.' How cool was that? Of course, she could pretty much do as she liked. She might be a 4'8" granny with mocha skin and whipped cream hair, but she could nail your ass to the floor with a single look. I asked her about it one time. She said it was the result of raising seven children, every one of whom still wilted beneath The Look like old lettuce. Never mind the only one of her kids without a Ph.D. was an M.D. All of them acknowledged her as the Supreme Leader of the Evans clan. Luckily she had her soft-spoken hubby, Lawrence, around to make sure her rule didn't run to fascism. Lawrence spent his weekdays teaching at the Southern Baptist Seminary and his weekends saving souls at Hope Baptist just down the street from my apartment. What a sweet man. And generous too, unlike some guys I was about to name.

  "Hey Martha, I need to talk to Pete. Um, how is he feeling today?" As Pete's secretary (and Vayl's—we're big on sharing at the C.I.A., just ask the F.B.I.) she was in the best position to know.

  "Annoyed. But that's typical." She sighed. "This morning I told him the other department heads had started a pool based on the timing of his last gasp. They're giving two-to-one odds on a heart attack at the office. The man has no idea how to relax!"

  Ouch. If he died, I'd have even more guilt to add to the trailer.

  I was already towing. Not a pretty thought. "You should talk him into going on a fishing trip or something."

  "I could. But he'd just end up snagging his line on a body or catching sight of some high level, vacationing drug lord and that would be the end of that."

  "Well, we'll think of something. So… did he tell you about last night?"

  "I heard your car got a little bent out of shape."

  "Yeah. But it wasn't my fault."

  "It never is, hon. Are you and Vayl okay?"

  "Yeah, we're fine."

  "Well, that's what really matters." She sighed. Disappointed we'd survived, or just dreading the task ahead? "I'm starting the paperwork this morning, so it should be ready for you to sign when you come back. Do you need a new ride? I might even be able to get you one from the same company."

  The same company. Holy crap, Martha knew exactly what kind of car we'd been driving because she'd made the rental arrangements to start with! She could easily have given Graybeard the details. Of course, Pete would've had access to that information too. The senators? Yeah, they could've found out as well. So much for narrowing down my field of suspects. Only Bergman had an airtight alibi, that being his paranoia. He'd never hire someone else to do his dirty work because he'd be too sure they'd betray him.

  Bergman's bow out of the race gave me no consolation. That still left five other people I liked and/or worked for. No way would finding the answer to this particular riddle make me a happy camper. My stomach churned, spitting acid all over my delectable breakfast, making it want to part company with my digestive system.

  "Jasmine?"

  "Sorry, I was spacing out." Out, out, out… I dug my fingernails into my thigh. "Naw, don't worry about the ride. It's taken care of. Pete, however, is another story. Is he busy?"

  "Never too busy for you. Hang on."

  I didn't have long to wait. Pete's got a thing about telephone charges. He doesn't like paying them.

  "What's up, Parks?"

  "Last night's fiasco. We seem to have an information leak in our department. There's no other way those jokers could've found us."

  "I agree. I'm also concerned about the Assan side of things. If we don't handle this right—" he stopped, because what could you say that didn't reek of drama? We sat in frozen silence, fully understanding the ramifications of a plan that included the words 'terrorist sympathizer,' 'evil vampire,' and 'virus.' Then I guess our dwindling phone minutes snapped him back to reality, because Pete trucked right on, saying, "Last night I suggested to Vayl that you might want backup. He said he would let you make that call."

  Hell yeah, I wanted to say. How about the Florida National Guard for a start? But in our business, if you pressed the panic button every time you thought the world might be ending, you'd be out of work before you could say, "But we thought—"

  However it would be nice to have someone outside the Agency we knew we could trust, because you never knew what these loons were going to throw at you. And I had an ideal candidate in mind.

  "I want to bring in Bergman."

  Thoughtful pause while Pete tallied up the potential expense of that request. "You sure you need a tech-head?"

  "We've already got plenty of muscle. I know it's gonna cost you, but I shouldn't have to remind you the guy's a genius. Plus he's an outsider." Way out, actually, but I knew how to deal with that. "He made a big difference in the result of our last mission. You said that yourself."

  "Okay, give him a call."

  "Thanks. And, Pete, I really think we've got to go silent until this is over." I waited for him to protest. If he'd engineered last night's attack, he'd want to keep track of us so he'd know where to send the next wave. His reply, immediate and definite, left no doubt in my mind where he stood.

  "I think that's for the best."

  Yes! That left one less heartbreak on my horizon. "Okay, talk to you on the other side."

  "Parks…"

  "Yeah?"

  "You're clear on your duty to Vayl. I know that. But take care of yourself too. That's an order."

  "Yes sir."

  After we hung up I did a little happy dance around the rim of the pit, managing not to fall in despite some spectacular high kicks. Gosh, if I hadn't minded the whole world ogling my butt I could've been a showgirl! I took one more victory lap, settled back down at the table and called Bergman.

  After drumming my fingers through five different sets of prerecorded options and punching a combination of buttons that practically committed me to sacrificing my first-born child if I revealed any detail of our pending conversation to anyone, I had to leave a voice-mail. While I waited for his return call I keyed the name of Senator/Suspect #1 into our database and started reading.

  Two hours later I'd read all the information I could gather on Senators Fellen, Tredd and Bozcowski. I'd also done a short background check on Cole Bemont out of pure nosiness. I felt much better about our spontaneous exchange of affection now that I knew he was definitely one of the good guys.

  Wondering when Bergman would decide to crawl out of his cave and reenter the real world, I decided I'd wait more patiently if I could do so standing up. So I moved all the furniture out of the pit and lined it up against the walls like freaked out pre-teens at the Christmas Dance.

  Taekwondo was the first martial art I ever learned. Mom started sending me to class when I was eight, somehow managing to find me a new instructor every time we moved, so that by the time I hit eleven I'd earned a first-degree black belt. I've trained in plenty of other disciplines since then, but taekwondo is still my favorite. I started with white belt, worked my way through each form until I reached my present rank, 5th degree black belt. By the time I'd finished my ribs were pounding out an S.O.S. on my lungs and my sweats were soaked. So I headed to the shower.

  I peeked out the curtain on the way. "Nothing moving out there. The whole damn state must be hungover." Which was when I realized a new year had crashed on me. Should I make a resolution? Be nicer to old women and cats? Swear less? Learn a new language?

  "Got it!" I told my reflection as I went into the bathroom to undress. "My resolution is to learn how to swear in a new language."

  If Evie were here she'd be rolling her eyes. "That's not swearing less, Jaz," she'd say.

  "Ah, but that is where you are wrong little round grasshopper," I'd tell her in my Chinese grocer accent. She loves that one because, of course, I do it terribly. "I will be swearing less in English. And I will be learning a new language."

  I lingered over my second shower, afterward took the time to shave and pluck and cosmeticize myself into some semblance of order. Now wearing black jeans and a long-sleeved purple shirt with prehistoric cave-paintings printed all over it, I was ready—to wait some more. These were the times I missed Evie the most. She's one of those people who's easy to be with, laid back, undemanding, never in your face—like me. I do sometimes think it's good we were military brats. All those moves forced us to become friends with each other because we knew our other friendships couldn't last.

  Okay, much more of this mushy crap and I'll have to trade my PPK for a parasol.

  I dropped to the bed, turned on the't.v. and picked up my cards. While Oprah helped some poor schmuck finally let go of her dead poodle, I shuffled. It sounds lame, I know. But I like the sound the cards make slapping against each other. It's much sweeter than the clatter of my thoughts, looping around my brain like the cars on a kid's racetrack, never winning, never ending, just rushing in circles until I want to lay down on a busy stretch of railroad and hope Dudley Do-Right is busy elsewhere.

  Bergman called just as I turned the channel and, what do you know!, Dudley Do-Right galloped across the screen, riding Horse backwards because that's how all courageous Mounties ride their steeds in the backwoods of Canada. "Jasmine? Are you secure?"

  Hmm, really too many ways to answer that question, and not all of them comforting. "It's safe to talk," I said. "What're you up to?"

  "Nothing."

  Which meant he had several high-level, top-secret projects on the burner, none of which he wanted to discuss. "Cool. That means you've got some free time, right?"

  "Could have. What do you need?"

  "Backup. Big-time backup with all the bells and whistles. How soon can you be in Miami with a vehicle?"

  Long silence as Bergman did some mental calculating. "How soon do you need me?"

  "Dusk would be good." I chuckled, but he got the message.

  "I'll leave tonight and call you when I hit town."

  "Excellent," I said, and we hung up. Nice thing about Bergman, he likes to leave the details for face-to-face conversations. "Don't worry, Vayl," I said, looking at my wall as if I could see through it, straight into his room, "help is on the way."

  Chapter Eight

  Nobody could rent me the kind of power I needed in a vehicle, though I only meant to use it until Bergman showed, so I ended up leasing one. That chore accomplished, I spent the rest of the time until dusk rearranging furniture. I reset the pit, using a completely different configuration than the hotel preferred and thinking I'd showed up their designers big-time. Evie always forces me watch the Home & Garden Network when I visit, and I felt sure most of their decorators would approve of the cozy new conversation area I'd created. Now I just had to figure out why I thought I needed one.