“Hey.” Gates’s voice was still raspy, not quite back to the liquid velvet she’d grown to love.

“Hey.” She forced her voice to be clipped, flat. She wasn’t giving anything away. It hurt too much. “I was just going to call you.”

“Really?” he said, softly. “How can I help you?”

She bit her lip, wishing she could hate him. Wishing that she didn’t still want him. “The search we developed turned up some things.”

“What?” He was alert now, all business. “What did you get?”

“A shipper in White Plains, New York. Moroni used them, so did the Miami gallery, to ship to Pratch in Berlin.” She’d recognized the international number as Berlin, made the connection. “I’m flying in there in the morning.”

“Fly into LaGuardia. We’ll meet up.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Ana said, her heart clenching at the thought of seeing him again.

“Ana.” He just said her name, nothing more.

“No, Gates,” she said, working hard to keep her voice even. “You shut me out, shut me down. That’s somehow going to be okay now? Now that I’ve got a lead?”

“No, no, I understand,” he said, his husky voice soft. “It’s just that I found something too.” He was silent for a long minute.

“Gates?” Her heart clenched. He didn’t sound like himself. He’d sounded sharp for a minute there, but now he sounded tired, almost sleepy.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, still talking softly. “I’m here. It’s another connection.”

“What?” she demanded. “You want me to give? You give.”

“Yeah, okay,” he chuckled, and she heard him yawn. “It’s probably not much, but did I tell you I found your hacker, the deep-search one?” he said, taking her back a step. She’d forgotten all about the search, forgotten to follow up on her tracking of it. Everything else had taken precedence.

“Who? Where?”

“Fly to LaGuardia. We’ll pick you up.”

“You can’t keep this hostage, Gates,” she argued. “Talk to me. Wait. We?”

“Dav’s here on business,” he drawled. “He humored the invalid, let me tag along.”

“Are you on meds, Gates?” she asked.

“Mmmmm. Just took another dose. I hate the stuff, it makes my head swim. Stops my guts from hurting though. Except for one part.”

“Really?” Now Ana was concerned. “If you still have pain, you should talk to your doctor, or the nurses.” She heard him chuckle softly. “Seriously, Gates.”

“It’s not medical, Ana.” There was a long moment where all she could hear was his breathing.

“Gates?” she called. “Gates?”

“Hmm? I hate to say it, but I’m sleepy now, Ana,” he murmured. “I think I’m supposed to go to sleep, okay?” He laughed, like a pleased but sleepy child would. “I have these really great dreams about you, you know.”

She realized the meds had taken effect. “No, I didn’t know. Gates,” she said, hearing the pleading in her own voice, but unable to stop herself. As much as she wanted to know about his dreams, she needed the data he had. “Gates? I need to know about the search.”

“In your own building,” he said softly. “Really weird. Sleep tight, beautiful Ana. I miss you,” he whispered, and the phone went dead.

What the hell was she supposed to do now? What did he mean, in her own building?

Ana dropped into the chair by the desk, confused and tired. Nothing occurred to her, no matter how much her thoughts raced. Tears filled her eyes. He dreamed about her, but he’d sent her away. He could care enough to keep hunting, finding out who’d been searching her, and yet be so cruel.

Now he could turn her inside out with the knowledge that he knew data, and he knew who was stalking her, then hang up because he was too loopy to stay awake. God, she was so confused.

“I guess I’m going to LaGuardia,” she finally said, moving to the computer to change her ticket.

Despite her fears, she started to smile, thinking about Gates’s call. What an idiot to phone when he’d taken medication. “I’d better call Dav, though.”

Picking up her phone, she sent a text to Dav’s phone. He’d asked her to keep him posted anyway.

She waited for a call or text for twenty minutes. When none came, and there was still no word from TJ, she shut down and went to bed. There was nothing she could do until morning anyway.

When she arrived in LaGuardia the next day, she went through security and descended to baggage claim. Among the line of chauffeurs and waiting families, a man held a sign with her name on it. She stopped in her tracks, wondering if it were a trick until the man tipped down his sunglasses and she saw Damon, the chauffeur who’d driven them to the restaurant. He smiled briefly, then flipped the shades back up.

He turned the sign briefly over, and it said, “Walk by.”

Creepy. Why did he want her to walk by?

She acted as if she were scanning the overhead signs for the directions to baggage claim, just like half a dozen other incoming passengers. As she walked toward him, he looked at his watch, scanned the paper he was holding, and folded the sign with her name on it.

He took out his cell phone, just as she walked by him, and he fell into step half a pace behind her.

“Yeah,” he said, as if talking to someone. “I’m here, but she’s a no show. Yeah, parked outside Gate Seven. No. No, the flight was on time. Yeah. Okay. The short sedan, yeah, the black ’Cedes.”

He hung up, passed by her, and walked out into the gray New York day at the exit for Gate Five.

Turning down the concourse, she made her way to Gate Seven and stopped, scanning the crossings, noting the busses and the yellow cabs that were parked or slowly moving through the terminal for pickup. Beyond the first lanes, reserved for cabs and official vehicles, were the lanes for personal pickup. She could see the black Mercedes sedan, with Damon standing by the front bumper, phone to his ear.

Her phone rang, and she tapped the small earpiece tucked behind her loose hair.

“See me?”

“Yeah.”

“Come straight out and get in. Leave your bag at the curb, I’ll get it. Mr. G’s in the back.”

“Yes.”

“Welcome back, ma’am,” he added, and hung up.

It couldn’t have gone smoother if they’d rehearsed it. When the door closed, a breath of relief whooshed out, and Dav smiled.

“Cloak and dagger, I believe you call it, eh, Ana?” He smiled and handed her a glass of sparkling water.

“Yeah, not really my thing, despite the showing at the gallery.”

“Hmmm. That was quite the show, in itself.” He chuckled.

“How is he?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.

Dav didn’t look at all surprised. “Still cranky. He doesn’t remember calling you, or he says he doesn’t.”

Ana had already braced herself for that. It was enough though, to know that in his uninhibited moments, he thought of her. It might not get her anywhere, or take them anywhere, but she hadn’t been a fling. With all that had happened, both in Rome and with Gates, she wasn’t sure she could stand it if everything they’d done and felt had been meaningless.

“Detective Baxter,” Dav said, looking straight ahead, “believes that he has identified the sniper.” Dav finally looked at her and she could see the worry, the anxiety that shone in his eyes.

“Really? Gates was the target, then.”

“Oh, yes.” Dav’s chuckle was forced, and she knew it cost him not to show just how worried he was about his friend. Ana swiveled to face him.

“You don’t need to put on a show for me, Dav. I know how much you two mean to one another,” she said quietly.

He nodded, reaching out to clasp her hand tightly, then release it. He patted it now, a brief acknowledgement of the worry that connected them.

“You of all people will appreciate how many calls I received,” he said as he tipped his cup of coffee, using it as a prop to keep his hands busy. She wished she had a cup of coffee too, not just as a prop, but because she needed the caffeine.

“Calls?”

“Oh, yes.” He smiled at her. “Various factions from all over the world making sure I understood that they had not targeted my second in command.”

Ana sorted the sentence for a minute then began to smile. “Ah, the rats will run, I guess.”

“It made for some instant negotiating opportunities,” he said coolly, smiling as he took another sip. “I took full advantage of the situation.”

She laughed. “Good for you. Some good should come of it.”

“It is good to hear you laugh, Ana-aki,” he said.

“It’s good to laugh, Dav-aki,” she said, returning the favor.

The car made a turn onto the Triborough/RFK Bridge, heading into the heart of the city. “Would you like us to stop for some coffee, or can we get you some at the Waldorf?”

“Is there a Starbucks near the Waldorf?” she asked, unsurprised that he’d noted her interest in his coffee.

“In the lobby. Damon?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Would you mind getting Agent Burton a—” He turned to her, inviting her to give her order, which she did. “A venti mocha, when we get to the hotel and bring it up to the suite?”

“With or without whipped cream, Agent?” Damon asked, smiling as he glanced in the rearview mirror.

“With,” she said.

They talked of pleasantries until they got to the hotel, turning off Forty-Ninth onto Park and easing up to the front of the hotel. The car glided beyond the main entrance to an unobtrusive, private canopy. In seconds, she’d spotted Queller and one of the women who’d been at the gallery opening. The redhead, Declan, was there too, but he was wearing a ball cap and coming in from a run, passing them to go in the main doors. The bellman stopped him and pointed to the cap, which Declan removed before going through the revolving door into the lobby.

“No ball caps in the public areas,” Dav said with a smirk, sliding out on the same side as Ana so they could easily and quickly move through the private entrance. “I’ve wanted to buy a Red Sox hat,” he said, crossing the elegant boutique-style lobby to where a uniformed doorman had an elevator car waiting. “And wear it as I go through the main areas.”

She snorted, suppressing the guffaw that wanted to jump out. It was over-hearty, and she knew it, but she was nervous about seeing Gates again. “Think they’d dare say anything?”

“I heard they made A-Rod, the star Yankee player, take off his Yankees cap, just days after the last time the Yankees won the pennant,” he said, grinning. “Relax, Ana-aki. This will sort itself out.”

“God, I hope so,” she muttered as they reached the top of the Waldorf Towers, stepping onto the plush carpet and through the doors that another member of Dav’s staff held open.

“Agent Burton,” Gates’s assistant murmured, her infectious smile blossoming. “I hope your flight was uneventful.”

“It was, thank you,” she said, trying to remember the perky assistant’s name. She recognized the young woman from Dav’s house. Alice? No, Alexia.

“Mr. G, Agent, we’ve set up in the conference room. Mr. B had everything up and running, but they made him go rest.”

“Thank you, Alexia. Damon’s bringing a coffee up for Agent Burton. I trust that you and Theresa were able to get everything we needed.”

The woman looked affronted, but simply said, “Of course, sir.”

“Thank you,” he said, striding through a set of double doors to the left. Ana gave the woman a reassuring smile and followed.

“What have we got?” she heard Dav ask and had to stifle a gasp when she cleared the doors and saw the setup. Four computers hummed on the table, a world map hung on the wall with photos of the artwork tagged to their cities of origin and a secondary line running to the terminus city where the fraud was discovered. On a parallel board, there were pages taped together listing artwork sold at the same time that was authentic, untainted.

“Gates didn’t have much else to do, these last two days while I was in meetings,” Dav said at her elbow, as Alexia appeared as well, handing her the distinctive sleeved cup from Starbucks.

“Thanks. Yeah, I’ll say.”

“Pick a seat,” Dav said. “Alexia will order us some lunch, yes?”

Ana sat down. She chose a position at the nearest terminal, watching the data that was scrolling there. On the next laptop over, an algorithm sped equations across the screen. She recognized it as a variation of the search parameters she and Gates had worked out, but couldn’t decipher what data sets it was comparing.

She couldn’t see the third, but when she turned, she saw him. Gates stood in the doorway that led to the back of the suite. He hadn’t shaved this morning, she decided, but otherwise, he looked dramatically better than the last time she’d seen him. He was moving carefully, one hand trailing on the wall.

“Hello, Gates,” she said, staying in her seat for fear that her legs wouldn’t hold her if she tried to stand.

“Don’t spill that coffee on my keyboard,” he said, moving forward to grip the back of the chair nearest the door, four down from where she was sitting. “I hate it when that happens.”

Dav was right, he was cranky. At least he was trying for a smile.

“Thank you, everyone,” Dav said, motioning the others to leave. Once again, Ana envied his ability to command the room. “Get some sleep, Gates?” Dav continued, speaking to Gates now.

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” he growled.

“Sit down before you fall down, idiot,” Dav snapped, sitting down on the opposite side of the table from both Ana and Gates. “Enough of this posturing.”

Gates bared his teeth, looking for all the world like a wounded lion, but he complied, sinking into the chair he’d been holding. The three chairs separating them along the side of the table could have been an inch apart or a mile. Gates wasn’t giving anything away.

Dav muttered under his breath, something about fools and small children. She remembered her Greek nanny saying the same thing when she’d done something particularly dangerous or foolhardy.

“Gates.” She brought his full attention her way, though he was still shooting irritated looks at Dav. “You said you knew who instigated the deep search. Who did it?”

“I don’t know who, precisely, but I dug out the origin. Your building, then bounced to Oregon as a final destination.”

“Perkins,” she said, immediately. “And Hines. That bastard.”

“Agency?” Dav said, reading her fury right. It was bad enough to have to fight the bad guys, but to have to fight your own was torture.

“Yeah. I have to call this in, let my Special Agent know.”

“Pretzky? Isn’t she a little low-rank for that kind of intel?” Gates sniped.

Ana didn’t go for the bait. He was taunting her, trying to piss her off so she’d treat him like dirt. It would be his way of keeping her away from him.

Some time in the night, or on her trip from DC to New York, she’d figured it out. He’d sent her away. He’d decided it was too dangerous to have her with him.

Two could play that game.

“She ranks me,” Ana said, her phone already in hand. “Which is where I have to start. I overstepped my wingman once, and two people died for it. I won’t do it again.”

That shut him up. He and Dav exchanged troubled looks, but she ignored them both.

“Burton? What’s the sit-rep?” Pretzky asked.

“I’m with Mr. G and Gates Bromley. Did you get my text?”

“Got it. You need to check your e-mail. You’ve had incomings popping up every minute for the last twenty.”

Why had Pretzky been in her cubicle, or monitoring her e-mail?

“No time for that,” she said, yanking her yellow pad out of her briefcase, fumbling for a pen. Dav leaned across the table and handed her a gold fountain pen. “Efharisto,” she said. Thank you.

He nodded in answer, then braced his elbows on the table to try to follow her conversation.

She took notes as she talked, following her own steps on paper as she spoke. “Hines is a mole.”

“Hines?” Pretzky repeated.

“One of the original agents on the case. You got the copy of my notes? Yeah. First page. The two original agents were McGuire and Hines, out of DC. You can call McGuire in New Orleans; he’s retired. He’s the righteously pissed member of the team, and he’s already had an attempted hit.” Ana waited out the storm of protest that came from Pretzky, noted the grim look Gates and Dav exchanged.

“Yes,” she continued. “Hines is the mole. McGuire’ll fill you in. Yes. I talked to him last night. That’s when he told me some bully-boys showed up to go for him.” She waited out Pretzky’s exclamation and complaint that Ana hadn’t put that in her e-mail. “The guy’s a tough nut. Took one out with a head shot. The other’s in the hospital, but not talking. McGuire wouldn’t rat his former partner, but when I told him I couldn’t get a hold of Hines, he indicated that I’d better find him. So, Hines is Oregon. Mr. Bromley tells me the data search origin is from our building with a bounce to Oregon. We’re running with the theory that Hines is the one who yanked my data chain, possibly using that dead guy from IT, Perkins.”

It was starting to come together.

Pretzky asked several questions, but the one Ana answered was about whether she’d begun hunting Hines’s sorry ass to prep it for a good whipping. “I figured I’d start that this morning, with gusto, but when I got to my meeting with Mr. G and Bromley, their data added fuel to the fire.”

“Wait, wait,” Pretzky said, and Ana heard her flipping notes. “Did you report that, the deep search?”

Crap. Had she? “I believe it’s in my notes, Special Agent, but I’m not sure how extensive my profile was. At the time, I never considered that it might be one of ours. Or how it might tie into the case. I considered it peripheral.”

Gates chuckled, and she glared at him. Dav was smiling as well. They knew she’d suspected Gates had done the search.

“Hell, I don’t think there are any coincidences at this point, Agent. We’ve got news on this end too.”

Ana waited for the other shoe to drop, and it did.

“Davis is compromised.”

“The files. My notes,” Ana snapped, now understanding the extent of the problem, why she’d been unable to get ahead of things.

“Exactly,” Pretzky replied, and her voice told Ana how pissed she was.

TJ typed as fast as he could, sending e-mail after e-mail. He wasn’t sure how much time he had left before D’Onofrio found him. He knew now that the man was hiding his identity in the families TJ had been watching. He’d been watching Ana on the West Coast, stalking her.

“I didn’t make the connection, damn it,” he cursed, wondering why. Someone on the inside, someone in the Agency had blocked information. He was afraid he’d missed something and knew now how Ana had felt in Rome. He realized how badly he’d fucked everything up. If he got out of this alive, he’d do time, but that was a small matter now.

“Doesn’t matter now,” he muttered, typing as fast as he could. If he could get everything out, everything on paper, so to speak, maybe Ana could sort it out. Using linked computers, he sent both Wi-Fi and hardwire in case anyone was smart enough to jam the wireless. He sent copies to every e-mail he had, every one he’d registered with the Agency, every one of Ana’s that he knew, both Agency and private. He hard-saved everything on the computer to a thumb drive with every stroke of the keys.

He heard them coming and hit SEND, jerking the small portable drive out of the machine as the door to the low-rent hotel burst inward. His laptop exploded in the hail of bullets, and his heart did too.

Dropping the miniscule USB device into his pants as he went down, he felt the cold hand of death sweep over him.

His last thought was of Ana.