A uniformed limousine driver was holding up a hand-lettered sign that said MR. GRADY. He headed in that direction and was almost there when a hand slid under his elbow and turned him quickly away. He looked down and saw a plain matronly-looking woman with a pleasant smile clinging to his arm.

“Don’t cause trouble, Mr. Grady,” she said without breaking her smile. Something pressed into his side under the cover of their linked arms. “Feel that?”

“Yes—”

“It’s a gun. Keep walking. Do not make eye contact with the limo driver.”

He walked with her, sweating. Kidnapped by a grandmother at JFK. He was going to end up a movie of the week, just as he’d feared.

“Do you have any other bags?” Grandma asked, and patted his arm.

“No.” He resisted the urge to add, ma’am.

“Why, very good, that’ll save us quite a lot of time. Might even save your life. Right through here, young man, through that door.”

The door in question was blank wood except for the knob. Should he try to hit her with the door and run? He’d never expected to be a secret agent, no one had bothered to inform him about the proper procedures for being abducted. Behind the door could be anything—interrogation, a quick bullet, a body bag. He had to do something.

But it just didn’t seem possible.

He opened the door and went through, Grandma still clinging tightly to his arm. The lights were much lower inside the room; he blinked as she let go of him with one last fond pat and stepped away.

“Where are we?” he asked. The room was furnished with comfortable couches and chairs, reading lamps, shelves of books and magazines. A TV played quietly in the corner. Only the muffled rattle of aircraft and the lack of windows made it clear it wasn’t a normal living room.

“VIP lounge,” Grandma said, and opened her purse to slip a round gold tube of lipstick inside. He stared at it.

“Where’s your gun?”

“Oh, sonny, we’re in an airport. I don’t have a gun.” She gave him a wink and ducked back out into the airport again. He stood helpless, bag dragging at his hand, and flinched when another hand fell on his shoulder.

Adrian Carling. He looked down into her deep blue green eyes and had a sudden longing to kiss her, but her expression was all business.

“You almost went with the limo, didn’t you?” she accused. He shrugged. “Damn it, Marty, we’d be picking your body parts out of the Potomac if you’d made that mistake. Be a little more careful, would you?”

“You said you’d meet me.”

“I am meeting you.” She shook her head in disgust. “Martin Grady, meet Special Agents Jennings and Mendoza. You just met Mrs. Womack, who’s on loan to us from another agency.”

“CIA?”