Alison risked a glance over at the woman across from her. She had probably been too lost in the girl to notice, but this woman, probably in her early twenties, was, by anyone's standards, nearly as striking. Thin and open in her manner and expression, she was a bit darker skinned than the girl. The woman's eyes were wide and innocent, and her high cheekbones and sensuous mouth were the stuff of cover girls.

Okay, Alison thought to herself. Be careful, but not too careful. . . . It's showtime.

"What color did you choose?" she ventured as the icebreaker.

The woman was clearly used to people starting conversations with her and didn't seem to mind.

"I always use Red Anything Good Lately?"

Her English was excellent, with just enough of a Latino edge to make clear that Spanish had once been her primary language. Alison checked the bottle.

"Great name. Great color. I work with kids, so I'm happy when my nails make it for a week."

"Nails bad," the manicurist muttered. "Very bad."

"You run a day-care center. I heard when you were at the counter. Is it near here?"

"No. Actually, it's outside of Fredericksburg. I came down to meet some friends for dinner, but I'm early."

Actually. Alison decided that as often as not, the word introduced a lie—at least in her world it seemed to.

Actually, I'm an astronaut. . . . Yeah, that's it, an astronaut.

Lying had never been pleasant for her and, in fact, she had never been very good at it, but in preparing to go undercover she had been trained in the art and had proven to be quite educable. She wondered if, when this assignment was done, she would be able to undergo some sort of debriefing to reconnect with the honesty she had packed away.

"Oh, I love children," the woman said. "I look forward to having some, myself, one day."

"I'm sure you will. My name's Suzanne."

Error! Alison realized. Fredericksburg . . . child care . . . Suzanne. She had already offered way too much information. As facile as she had become at bending and even mauling the truth, she had lost sight of the fact that if the woman reported on their adventure at A Place for Nails, Griswold had all the resources he needed to assure himself that, in all probability, no such combination existed. Having established that fact, he might be much more alert than he otherwise had reason to be. If nothing else, from now on he would be paying much more attention to his rearview mirror.

"And I am Constanza . . . Connie."

"Pleased to meet you, Connie. You two are together?"

She nodded toward the girl.

"Yes."

"Is she your sister?"

The smallest cloud passed over the woman's upbeat expression, then vanished.

"No," she said benignly. "Beatriz is . . . just a friend. I am her . . ." She paused, searching for the right word. "Tutor."

She hadn't prefaced her explanation with the word actually, but she might as well have.