She smiled when she walked by and slid into the booth right behind where Kopp would sit. Nate didn't get up. "You don't need to be here."

She didn't turn when she answered. "I'm here for Marisa. She wants to know what's going on."

That made sense.

Sam pulled out her laptop. Apparently she planned to work—or maybe email updates to Rae and Marisa—as she eavesdropped.

He didn't like having an audience, but Sam was probably right—and the rest of them, too. Kopp's insistence on coming to New Hampshire was suspicious.

So Nate pretended she wasn't there and checked his watch and watched the door.

Garrison Kopp stepped inside like he owned the place. He was a few inches north of six feet tall. He'd worn a crew cut when Nate had last met him, but now his light brown hair had grown out a little. Very little.

He stood straight, hands in fists at his side, and within a second of walking in, his gaze landed on Nate. He said something to the hostess, who giggled and blushed. She didn't take her eyes off Kopp as he approached Nate's table, whispering to the waitress who stood beside her.

"You found it okay," Nate said.

"Can't hide anything from the FBI."

There was that sense of humor again. Nate hadn't remembered that from his last encounters with Kopp. "Former FBI," he corrected.

Kopp slid into the booth across from him, hiding Nate's view of Sam. She hadn't even looked up when the guy walked in. Town clerk turned James Bond.

The waitress approached, slid Nate’s drink on the table, and set a menu in front of Kopp. "What can I get you to drink?"

"Just water." His fingers tapped the menu. "You have a Reuben?"

"Best in the world."

"I'll take that and french fries."

"Good choice." She looked at Nate. "How 'bout you."

"I'm good with my drink, thanks."

She took their menus and stopped at Sam's table.

Nate had brought all the notes he and his friends had compiled the previous day. He opened the file on the table. “Here’s what I have. I guess all your information is stored in your head."

"Yup."

"So, where shall we start?"

Kopp leaned forward. "Why don't you tell me where Marisa Vega is."

Nate set his pen down. "I told you, I have no idea. She called me and told me what happened with her sister and her daughter. I agreed to try to help her."

Kopp rested his arms on the table between them. He folded his hands and leaned back. He didn't say a word.

Nate had used a similar tactic a thousand times on people he'd interviewed. Keep silent, get them talking. He smiled and sipped his Coke.

A minute passed before Kopp said, "You know I'm way ahead of you, right?"

"You don't seem that quick to me."

Kopp cracked a smile and leaned forward. "How was Mexico?"