On the brighter side, there was no way in hell he’d been followed—assuming the man he’d met with was even interested in doing so. More likely, he could be taken at his word. A truce had been called and now it was just a question of whether Smith would honor it—which, of course, he wouldn’t.

And that was just about guaranteed to make things interesting going forward. Whoever the man was, he was clearly not someone to be screwed with. Nor someone accustomed to passing out second chances.

Smith heard a car approach and retreated a little farther into the woods. He didn’t recognize it when it crested the hill, but it slowed and started hugging the edge of the road when it got close.

Smith darted from cover, timing it so he could grab the handle and jump in before the vehicle came to a full stop. The sudden acceleration nearly caused the door to clip his foot as the driver executed a perfect 180. Engine noise filled the cramped interior and steam rose from the tires as he fumbled with his seat belt.

“You’re sure you weren’t followed?”

“Don’t insult me,” Randi Russell said, casually sipping from a Starbucks cup despite their speed and the rain.

He looked around at the shabby upholstery of the nineties Honda for a few seconds, then craned his neck to take in a backseat full of old CDs and dog hair. Not your typical Agency-issue vehicle.

“Did you sweep the car for bugs?” he said.

“Nah. I stole it. Best way if you want to be absolutely sure.”

Smith leaned an elbow on the windowsill and rested his wet head against his hand. She’d always had what his grandmother euphemistically called “sticky fingers” when he was a kid. But instead of candy bars and comic books, she tended toward things like Humvees, small aircraft, and cars.

“I really don’t need this right now, Randi.”

“Don’t be such a prude. I got it from long-term airport parking and I’ll have it back before the owner ever knows it’s gone—detailed and with a full tank of gas. Besides, I believe you got me out of bed to come save your ass. A little gratitude would be in order.”

*  *  *

C ARPET!” MAGGIE TEMPLETON WARNED.

Smith leaned against the doorjamb to remove his muddy running shoes before proceeding into the outer office.

“Towel!”

He grabbed the one folded neatly on top of a safe that served as a filing cabinet, using the thick cotton to catch drips as he made his way toward an open door at the back.

“So you’re certain you’d never seen the man before,” Klein said by way of greeting.

“Positive.” Smith arranged the towel on a chair before carefully lowering himself onto it. Despite the effort, he could hear the metronome-like drip of water falling to the floor.