Reckless

Sally pulled her coat around her shoulders forlornly. “Unfortunately, yes. I do. He’s an asshole and a player. Totally toxic. But there literally is no one else like him. Once you’ve loved someone like Hunter, it ruins you for normal, stable men.” She laughed, embarrassed. “You probably have no idea what I’m talking about.”

An image of Jeff Stevens’s face popped, unbidden, into Tracy’s mind.

“Oh, I do,” she told Sally. “Believe me. I absolutely do.”

TRACY WAS WOKEN AT six the next morning by a phone call from Greg Walton.

“We’ve had complaints.”

Tracy rubbed her eyes. Good morning to you too. “What sort of complaints?”

“Serious complaints. From the British Home Office. According to them you were uncooperative and obstructive in yesterday’s meeting.”

“That’s absurd.” Tracy cast her mind back to her conversation with Jamie MacIntosh and Frank Dorrien at MI6 yesterday, trying to think of anything she said or did that might be construed as obstructive. “They asked me to interview a journalist, a contact of Hunter Drexel’s, and I did that. Who complained, Greg?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me,” Tracy said hotly. “It was Frank Dorrien, wasn’t it?”

“Like I said, that’s not the issue.”

“He made it clear yesterday he didn’t trust me.” Tracy could feel her anger growing. “But you know what? The feeling’s mutual. He’s more involved in all this than he lets on. Hunter Drexel doesn’t trust him.”

“How do you know that?”

Tracy filled Greg in on yesterday’s meeting with Sally Faiers. He was excited.

“That’s huge, Tracy. Great work. We’ll have the Brits subpoena her phone records.”

“No, don’t,” Tracy said hurriedly. “Let’s keep them out of this for now. Sally trusts me. If she feels she’s being used or spied on, she’ll shut down. She dislikes General Dorrien almost as much as I do.”

“Hmm.” Walton didn’t sound happy. “I don’t know about that . . .”

“You won’t find anything anyway. Hunter Drexel’s a pro. He’s bound to be on disposable phones.”

“All right. We’ll leave it for now. But stay close to her. And remember, General Dorrien’s on our side. You’re there to find Althea, not to investigate the general.”

“But what if the two are connected?”

“They aren’t, Tracy.” A note of firmness had crept into Walton’s voice. He quickly replaced it with a warmer, more flattering tone. “I’ll be sure to tell the president about your great work over there. Believe me, he’ll be delighted to learn that Drexel’s still alive at least. That’s a lot more than we knew yesterday.”

“Hopefully it’s only the beginning. There’s a lot more I need to do here. Althea’s not part of MI6, I’m sure of that. But . . .”

Greg Walton cut her off. “Actually, Tracy, I’d like you back in the States by tomorrow, Thursday at the latest.”

“What? Why?” Tracy was bewildered.

“Agent Buck has some potential new leads.”

“What new leads? The best leads we have are right here in London.”

“Buck will fill you in when you get back here,” Greg Walton said, in a way that made it clear Tracy’s return was a command, not a suggestion. “Like I said, we’re grateful for what you’ve achieved. But diplomatically it’s important you come home.”

“OK,” Tracy said, deadpan.

Walton seemed relieved.

“There’ll be a ticket waiting for you at the BA desk at Heathrow.”