“I’m not likely to run into poisons. Here they just use guns,” Mike said.

“I’d rather take a bullet than a dose of what they use,” Robert said and sounded serious. “The Russians are nothing to mess with these days. You can kill a whole village with some of the substances they use. There are some great Russians, but some damn dangerous ones too.”

“Do you think her death is in any way related to his? Do you think the girl sold him out to the kidnappers?” Mike hated the thought of that.

“Why would she, if he was giving her money, and I would guess he was. He was known to be a generous guy.” Mike couldn’t imagine why he would cheat on Theo with a Russian informant. It seemed foolhardy in the extreme, and he felt sorry for Theo, if she knew about it.

“Do you suppose his wife knew about her?”

“That I don’t know,” Robert answered. “The French agents might. Our informant says the DGSE knew about the Russian girl. It was their investigation, not ours.” Mike nodded, thinking about it. It was all so convoluted, and so tortured and pointless now since both kidnapping victims were dead. And yet he wanted to know what had happened, that Theo was being protected adequately, and that there might be a chance to catch the kidnappers one day—just on principle as a law enforcement agent. Although a year later, it seemed unlikely.

He wanted to protect Theo, but the cast of characters was becoming more and more confusing. And protect her from what, he wondered, and from whom? It wasn’t his investigation. The CIA wasn’t involved.

He thanked Robert for the information.

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything else. You never know what will turn up.”

They hung up a few minutes later.

—

After he spoke to Robert, Mike called Theo on her cellphone in L.A. She sounded distracted when she answered, and he worried that she wouldn’t remember him. Their meeting had been so brief, and probably meant a great deal more to him than it did to her. She must meet a lot of clients, when she wasn’t hiding in the stockroom.

“Ms. Morgan,” he said politely, they hadn’t made it to first names when he met her. The fact that he wanted to invite her to dinner at all seemed ridiculous now. He was sure she wouldn’t accept. “I’m Mike Andrews,” he continued, “the red-bag man the night of your party at the store in New York.” She laughed at his description.

“How did your sister like it?” He was relieved that she remembered him. It had been a startling encounter for her too. Unexpected, but not unpleasant, with an odd undercurrent of something she couldn’t explain, and wouldn’t have known how to put words to.