We’d tried to get a list of the attendees, but Boklovich seemed to be guarding that information tightly. The most we could do was to have the CIA monitor their channels and present us with a list of the most likely attendees. We knew the margin of error was going to be big, and we’d have to cross our fingers that of those people identified as having previous dealings with Des Vries, most either were not big enough to attend or wouldn’t especially notice the subtle differences between Dutch and Des Vries.

The list the CIA gave us was pretty impressive in a holy-cow-these-guys-are-super-dangerous kind of way. Lots of names on the list sounded Middle Eastern. Several others were Asian, and the rest were mostly Eastern bloc and Ukrainian. “It’s the United Nations of weapons dealing,” I muttered, looking over Frost’s shoulder at the list. In the background I could hear Dutch’s smooth baritone singing Sinatra in the shower, and I would have laughed if what I was looking at weren’t so sobering.

“Let’s just say you wouldn’t want to meet any of these guys in a dark alley,” Frost agreed.

Frost clicked on the link next to the name of one Arab sheikh, opening up his profile.

“He looks like someone I’d like to avoid meeting in a dark alley,” I said, pointing to the Saudi.

“Oh, you would—trust me,” Frost said. “He’s also stinking rich. His name is Sheikh Omar bin Muhammad. We’ve long suspected he’s been supplying various anti-Western terrorist groups with money and arms.”

“Is he Saudi?”

“His father was. His mother is from Yemen, where he’s been spending a lot of time lately.”

“We’ve got trouble all over the globe, don’t we, Frost?”

“Cooper, we’ve even got it in our own front yard.”

“Do you think he’ll be at the auction?”

Frost sighed as if he was troubled. “I really hope not, but it’s possible.”

My radar pinged with a little warning. “Why do you hope not?” I asked.

Instead of answering me, Frost clicked over to another window and pulled up a video. He pressed play and I realized I was looking at surveillance video of the sheikh and Des Vries sitting down over coffee, talking business. “He knows Des Vries,” I whispered nervously.

“He does,” Frost said. “And not in a good way.”

“What does that mean?”

“Shortly after this video surveillance was taken, our operative in Dubai reported that Des Vries backed out on an arms deal he had with the sheikh. He left him high and dry and the Arab was furious. Not a smart move on Des Vries’s part, because this guy has a long memory, and he will find a way to get even.”

I felt a cold chill along my spine and I worried anew for Dutch’s safety. “What if he comes to the auction?”

“We’ll have to hope that Sheikh Omar thinks Dutch is Des Vries and doesn’t scrutinize him too closely, and then we’ll have to hope that Boklovich maintains the peace and prevents the sheikh from killing Rivers long enough for you guys to steal back the drone and get the hell out of there.”

I watched the video in silence for a while. The audio was both terrible in quality and in a foreign language, so I couldn’t follow what the men were saying, but it was obvious they were negotiating something and not just trading small talk. The cameraman shifted the angle slightly near the end, and I noticed someone sitting behind Des Vries.

Moving my finger over the mouse pad, I said, “Hold on a second . . . ,” and rewound the section.

“What’s up?” Frost asked me.

I squinted at the screen, then stood up straight and swiveled toward the living room. Mandy was sitting on the couch, twirling her hair and watching Nickelodeon . . . which I seriously considered might be over her head. “Mandy,” I said.

“What?” she replied, never taking her eyes off SpongeBob Square-Pants .

“Come here a second.”

“I’m busy.”

I could feel my jaw clench. “I wasn’t asking,” I said through gritted teeth.

Mandy sighed dramatically, took her time getting up, smoothed out her hoochie skirt, and clomped her skinny butt over to us. “What?” she asked again.

I pointed to the screen, which I’d paused so that I could show it to her. “Is that you?”

Mandy made a face at me and bent over to squint at the screen. Frost was watching her with renewed interest. “Oh, yeah!” she said. “I remember that. Rick took me to Dubai three years ago for my birthday; only we didn’t do much celebratin’ ’cause he had some business or something. It was really hot there.”

Frost pointed to the Arab man on-screen. “Do you remember him?”

Mandy snickered. “Yeah. He offered Rick five thousand bucks for me. He wanted to add me to his harem or something. Rick almost took it, but I talked him out of it. I’m worth way more than five thousand.”

I opened my mouth to tell her exactly how much I thought she was worth, but Frost placed a hand on my wrist, silently warning me not to. Reluctantly I let the moment pass.

“Do you know if Rick and this man met again after this time in Dubai?” Frost asked next.

Mandy shook her head. “No. It was a onetime thing. Rick didn’t like him so much ’cause he said he was cheap. I guess he tried to low-ball Rick or something, you know, like he did when he made an offer on me, and Rick didn’t want to close a deal with him ’cause he didn’t trust him.”

Frost let go of my wrist and closed his laptop to consider Mandy before asking his next question. “I need you to give me your honest answer on this next question,” he said.

“I’ve been honest!” Mandy replied defensively.

“I know, Mandy, and I appreciate it,” Frost told her carefully. “But we’re worried about your safety—as well as Cooper and Rivers. If we send the three of you to B.C. and someone there recognizes that Rivers isn’t Des Vries, it could go bad for everybody, including you.”

“I know,” Mandy said; again she sounded defensive.

“So, what I need to know is, do you think that the Arab sheikh Rick met with in Dubai would recognize Rivers as an impostor?”

To add to my irritation with her, Mandy shrugged like she didn’t know and didn’t care. “Maybe,” she said. “I mean, I can totally tell it’s not Rick, but Rivers’s face is all beat up. I guess he could pass for him.”

Frost didn’t seem to like her answer either, but he let it go. “Thanks, Mandy. You can go back to your TV show.”

Mandy shuffled her way to the couch and did just that. I turned back to Frost and said, “Can I watch that video again?”

“Sure,” Frost said, opening the laptop and hitting the PLAY button.

Something else about the video had caught my attention. I noticed that it was well after dusk, but everyone, save Mandy, was wearing sunglasses. Even Des Vries had on a pair. I remembered something my father once told me—he’d worked for one of the big three automakers in the international arena for most of his career, and he’d done a lot of traveling abroad and made a lot of deals in his day. He’d told me a story about meeting with a large group of Arab sheikhs in his London office on a rainy day, and all the men seated there had worn sunglasses, never taking them off, through the meeting. He’d told me it was a common practice, because the sheikhs believed you could actually give away a lot at the negotiation table by allowing the other person to see your eyes.

It was also the same reason why many poker players wore mirrored shades when they gambled, and it gave me an idea. “I gotta go out,” I said.

Frost’s attention snapped to me. “Why?”

“I need to run an errand.”

“Where?”

“The nearest department store.” Frost eyed me skeptically. “I won’t be gone long,” I told him impatiently.

“Fine,” he said, “but check in with me every half hour—and that’s a direct order.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, grabbing my coat, purse, and keys.

“Can I come?” Mandy asked, jumping off the couch and following me into the front hall.

“No,” I told her firmly.

“Oh, come on!” she yelled. “I’ve been cooped up here for days!”

“Not my problem,” I said, hitting the button for the elevator.

“Fine,” she snapped. “But don’t count on me to back up your boyfriend when he needs it.”

I paused. Frost and Dutch were both insisting that Mandy come with us to the auction, as it would help back up the story that Dutch was Des Vries. Mandy had been with Des Vries for three years, and had met a lot of the nefarious folk that Des Vries hung out with. Frost and Dutch argued that she could be a valuable tool to help Dutch avoid direct contact with someone who might recognize him for an impostor.

Still, she was a total pain in my butt and I disliked the woman intensely. There was no way I wanted to spend even one more second with her than I had to. “Whatever, Mandy. The answer’s still no,” I repeated, and pressed the button for the elevator again.

“Hey, Cooper?” Frost said, and my shoulders sagged.

“What?” I already knew what he was going to say.

“If it’s a quick errand, would you mind taking her, just to keep her happy?”

I sighed and let my head knock against the steel doors. Stupid men. “Fine. But I’ll need the company credit card.”

Frost had taken away the credit card we’d been given when he saw my tab from the shopping spree. I heard him push back the chair and walk up behind me. “Here,” he said, handing it to me over my shoulder. “And please, try to keep it reasonable this time, okay?”

I took the card without promising him shih tzu. “Mandy!” I snapped.

“Yeah?”

“Get your coat. We’re going shopping.”

She was next to me in a hot second. “You’ll need to find me a nail place,” she told me like I was her servant or something. “I gotta get a manicure and a pedicure.”

I turned my head and glared at Frost, who did his best to look guilty. He failed. “Every half hour,” he reminded me when the doors opened. “And if she doesn’t behave, call for backup, or use your stun gun.”

Mandy’s sharp intake of breath was audible, and I smiled evilly at her while directing my comment back to Frost. “Yes, sir,” I said, stepping inside the elevator. I patted the wall next to me and added, “Come on in, Mandy. There’s plenty of room for you, me, and my stun gun.”

I was looking to make one quick stop at a department store, find an opportunity to stun her, then get back to the condo, so as you can already tell, our agendas didn’t match.

“You are such a bitch,” she told me when I parked the car but refused to let her out of it until she promised to stick close to me and do as I say.

“Sticks and stones, honey,” I told her mildly. “Sticks and stones.”

“Look at my nails!” she screeched, shoving both hands right under my nose.

I swatted them away. “They look fine.”

“No they don’t! The cuticles are all screwed up and this one has a chip in it!” Mandy held up her middle finger to show me just how messed up it was.

I leveled my eyes at her. “That one-finger salute is really getting old.”

“It’ll only take an hour,” she begged. “Come on, Cooper!”

I sighed and wished my best friend, Candice, were with me. She’d know exactly how to deal with someone like Mandy. “Fine!” I said, giving in and hating myself for it. “But if you do anything to jeopardize our mission, I’ll make sure they take away your conjungle visit with Des Vries.”

She clapped her hands and stuck her tongue out at me all at the same time. God help me, I wanted to zap her but good. Instead I got out of the car just as my cell went off. Digging it out of my purse, I noticed the caller ID said it was Rick Des Vries. “Hey there, cowboy. Did you enjoy your shower?”

“Where are you?” Dutch said, his voice tense.

“I had to run an errand at the Eaton Centre.”

“Why?”

My brow furrowed. I didn’t much care for his tone. “I had to pick up something. Is there a problem?”

Intuitively I could tell that Dutch was working to pull in his horns. “I don’t like you going off alone,” he said to me. “Not after what happened at the office the other day.”

I looked sideways at Mandy, who was eagerly clomping along next to me like a kid on her way to meet Santa. “I’m not alone. I’ve got Mandy.”

“I’m gonna kill Frost,” Dutch muttered. “Can I convince you to come back to the condo right now?”

I pulled on the door of the department store entrance and motioned for Mandy to go first. “Honey,” I said soberly, “I’m in a public place with tons of people around, and we’re only going to pick up one small item and get Mandy a manicure. We’ll be back in an hour and a half at most.”

I could tell Dutch wasn’t at all happy with the idea that I was insisting on running my errand, but he didn’t push it any further with me, which was a relief. “Okay,” he said. “But send me a text every half hour, okay?”

“Yes, Mom,” I told him.

“Abs,” he warned.

“I got it, I got it. Listen, I’m gonna let you go. Love you and see you soon.”

With that, I clicked off and hurried after Mandy, who was moving down the aisles much faster than I’d ever be able to manage in heels that high. I grabbed her by the arm near the entrance to stop her from getting away from me. “Hold on there, sister,” I said. “I have to go over there.” I pointed to a row of cases lined with sunglasses.

“But the nail salon is right there!” Mandy protested, and I followed her finger to the salon, which was the first shop visible at the shopping center entrance, right next to the department store. I considered just letting her go on her own, but my intuition warned me to keep her in my sights.

“We’ll head there right after I get what I came here for,” I told her. Mandy did the unexpected. She started throwing a fit. A very loud fit. She began shrieking at me, and I could tell that the several days we’d had her cooped up and under our thumb had frayed her nerves to the breaking point. Midway through her tirade, aimed mostly at me and how unfair I was being, a store manager approached and asked if there was a problem.

Mandy’s face was by now bright red, and there were tears dribbling down her cheeks. “She won’t let me get my nails done!” she shrieked. “She’s a mean, mean lady!”

The situation was so ridiculous I hardly knew how to react. My hand had gone immediately for the inside of my purse and the stun gun, just in case she tried to make a run for it, but with so many witnesses now openly staring at us, I thought twice about using it.

“Ma’am!” said the store manager. “Please lower your voice!” Mandy dissolved into a puddle of tears and I could tell from the faces of everyone staring at us that most of the crowd thought I was the bad guy. “Mandy,” I said through clenched teeth. She continued to wail. “Mandy!”

“Stop . . . yelling . . . at . . . me!” she blubbered.

I sighed and looked to the store manager as if to say, “See what I have to put up with?”

He, however, was looking at me reproachfully. “Perhaps you should take her to get her nails done?” he said.

I gave him a tight smile and grabbed Mandy again by the elbow. “Come on,” I growled. “Let’s get you a manicure.”

The tears and drama vanished immediately, replaced once again by an eager smile. I could feel my free hand clench into a fist. God, I hated this woman and her theatrics!

We got to the salon and Mandy approached the counter nearly dancing with happiness. How Rick Des Vries could have put up with her for three full years was beyond me. “I’d like a mani and pedi,” she told the woman behind the counter. “The deluxe package on both.”

“I know you,” said the woman suspiciously, squinting at Mandy like she’d just picked someone out of a lineup. “The last time you were here, your credit card didn’t go through and you said you didn’t have any cash. You still owe us for last time. If you want service today, you’ll have to pay us for last time and this time up front.”

Mandy turned to me expectantly.

“What?” I asked her.

“Well, I don’t have any cash!”

I inhaled a very deep breath and let it out slowly. Grumbling, I dug into my bag and produced the CIA’s company credit card. If Frost wanted to insist that I personally babysit Mandy, then the CIA could pay for her nails.

I handed it over to the clerk, who took it and asked if I wanted my nails done too. “No, thank you,” I said, noticing that Mandy had already moved to one of the pedicure baths and was dipping her feet into the water. She looked absolutely relaxed and happy, especially when her nail tech offered her a magazine and a soft drink. “Listen,” I said, leaning over to the woman behind the counter. “Can you just keep the card and put whatever services she wants on it? I have a quick errand to run and I’ll be right back to sign for it.”

“Yeah, okay,” said the clerk.

I hustled back to the department store and over to the sunglasses counter. The moment I got there, my cell rang again and it was a number I didn’t recognize. “Hello?”

“Ms. Carter,” said a silky male voice.

“Mr. Grinkov,” I replied, a tiny smile forming automatically on my lips. I wasn’t sure what it was that made me hold a small soft spot for this dangerous Russian mobster, but something about him caused me to like him, even against all my better judgment.

“I would like to share a meal with you again. Are you free for lunch?”

I looked at my watch. It was eleven thirty. “Actually, Maks, I’m a little busy right now.”

“Where are you?” he asked, probably hearing the background music from the department store.

“I’m at Eaton Centre making a purchase.”

“Lingerie?” he asked playfully.

I couldn’t help it—I smiled. “Not this time,” I told him. “I’m just picking up a few new things for the auction.”

“Very well,” he said. “A rain check for later?”

“Sure,” I said easily. I mean, what were the odds that he’d get to collect on it?

“Excellent,” he said. “Enjoy yourself.” And with that, he hung up.

I stared at my phone for a moment. “That was weird.”

“May I help you?” asked a woman’s voice. Startled, I looked up to see a salesclerk looking expectantly at me.

“Yes,” I told her, sneaking a peek over to the entrance of the salon. I couldn’t see Mandy, but I could see the tech filing her toenails, so I relaxed and got down to the business of finding the right sunglasses for Dutch. I went through several pairs of shades until I felt I’d found the right ones. While I was purchasing them with my own card, I sent a quick text message to both my fiancé and Frost that we’d be on our way back the minute Mandy’s nails were dry; then I took my small package and threaded my way through the crowd to the nail salon, which was now quite crowded. There was a line at the counter and I decided to just wait out in front of the entrance for Mandy to come out.

After forty-five minutes I was growing impatient. I’d done all the people watching I’d cared to do for the day and swung around into the salon to coax Mandy along. I searched the crowd of faces lining the walls and didn’t see her anywhere. My heart began to pound in my chest and I hustled over to the woman I thought had been her nail tech. “Where did my friend go?” I asked her. She looked at me like she had no idea what I was talking about. “The skinny chick with the long blond hair and big boobs?” I asked. “With the short denim skirt and high heels?”

The tech shook her head at me. “She left like an hour ago.”

My jaw dropped. “No,” I insisted. “No, she didn’t. I left her here an hour ago and she was getting a manicure and a pedicure. The deluxe package.” I was willing this woman to remember Mandy and where she was. “Maybe she’s in the restroom?”

The woman shook her head again. “Nuh-uh,” she told me again. “I started to give her the deluxe, and she said she’d changed her mind and left almost as soon as she’d sat down.”

Which had been right after I’d turned my back on her and gotten the call from Grinkov. My heart really started to pound then, and I had an awful feeling. Angry as all get-out, I marched up to the clerk at the front and demanded she give me the credit card back. “I don’t have it,” she said, thoroughly confused. “Your friend took it with her when she left.”

Breaking my no-swearing rule with a colorful string of expletives, I dashed out of the salon and ran back through the department store while I tried to hold my phone steady so I could call Dutch. His phone went straight to voice mail. “Call me!” I told him, winding and ducking my way through the crowd while my eyes scanned the area, in hopes of finding any sign of Mandy.

When I got to the parking garage, I dashed down the concrete runway in the direction of the car, now in almost a complete state of panic. I held my phone up as I went, looking to make sure Dutch hadn’t called. At one point I paused long enough to call his cell again, but being underground cut off the reception and the call wouldn’t go through. “Son of a beast!” I swore, changing directions, and nearly getting hit by a sleek luxury car as I headed back up to the corner of the garage where I thought I could get the call to go through.

I found a corner where two bars lit up on the cell phone display, and I tried Dutch impatiently. It went straight to voice mail again. “What the freak!” I nearly shouted, before bringing up Frost’s info and calling him.

“Frost,” he said abruptly.

“It’s Abby,” I told him. “Mandy’s miss—”

That’s as far as I got before I felt the most god-awful pain on the back of my head, and out went the lights.