But she had brought men like Rapp to their knees before. They all had a singular weakness. So filled were they with testosterone that the slightest hint of a breast or the accidental stroke of a hand in the right place could send them down a path that had only one destination. Stokes had been like that at one point, but his mother and that little wife of his had culled it from him. They'd neutered what had once been an extremely attractive and aggressive man. Now he was nothing more than a full-grown eunuch in a suit.

Even at his peak though, Stokes didn't hold a candle to Rapp. The CIA man's rugged, handsome features combined with the knowledge that he'd killed other men made him an intoxicating, dangerous object of sexual desire. Stealey stood by the door and watched him, as people filed out of the conference room. He moved with a distinct athletic grace.

At that moment, he caught her looking at him, but Stealey didn't care. She kept her gaze fixed on him, her expression open and warm. She watched as he looked away and then came back to her a moment later. She'd noticed he did that often-kept his eyes moving. He was perpetually alert.

As he drew near, Stealey reached out and gently took hold of his wrist, careful to place her forefinger on the palm of his hand-skin on skin. His reaction was instant, and if she hadn't been studying him so intently, she might not have caught it. His head came around quickly, but not so quickly that he seemed alarmed. It was very smooth, as was the way he withdrew his hand and stepped to the side. His dark eyes turned on her and sized her up. She had never before seen eyes like this, and they caused her to momentarily forget what she was going to say.

Rapp did not like being touched by pretty much anyone other than his wife. Proximity and physical contact was an occupational hazard and not something he associated with casual social or business encounters. He stared at the DOJ official guardedly, wondering what this woman could possibly have to say to him after what had transpired yesterday. He had come here today and kept his mouth shut. He had detached himself from the hunt and realized it was out of his hands. If she wanted another confrontation, though, he would not shy away.

"I'd like to start over." Stealey stepped back so Rapp could get out of the way of the other people who were still trying to leave. "It was unfortunate that things had to get so heated yesterday." She held out her hand.

Rapp shook it and nodded once while he continued to study her. She was the same height as him. Maybe even a bit taller with her heels on. He chose to say nothing.

"It's been a crazy few days," she added.

"Yeah."

"Well," she smiled at the last person who was leaving and looked back to Rapp. "I know you're only trying to do what you think is best. I just hope you understand where I'm coming from."

Just where in the hell are you coming from?Rapp thought to himself. He wasn't going to provoke a fight. He'd come to the conclusion that he'd simply have to work doubly hard to keep information from these hard-core law-and-order types. The bureaucracy was too big to take on. He'd have to go around it.

In a conciliatory tone, giving her what she wanted, he said, "I understand exactly where you're coming from. In the future I'll try to be more well mannered."

Stealey smiled warmly, showing a perfect set of white teeth. "I appreciate that, and I just want you to know that I have a lot of respect for your passion and commitment. You're a hard-working man who's given a lot to this fight."

Rapp smiled slightly. It was more of a reflex than a sign of appreciation. This woman wanted something else from him. What, he wasn't sure, but he'd play along for a while. "How are your two prisoners?"

"Defendants." She corrected him with a grin.

"Defendants."

"Yes...well, they're not saying much. At least not to us."

"Who are they talking to?"

"Their lawyer."

"I forgot about him. Are you taping their conversations?"

Stealey folded her arms across her chest. The movement was intentional, in that it caused her breasts to swell and peek out of the open neckline of her blouse. She sighed and said, "Oh, you're a troublemaker."

"Yeah, but I get results."

"I bet you do." Stealey gave him a coy smile. "I bet you do."

Rapp started to get the idea that this blond-haired, blue-eyed legal eagle was flirting with him. He glanced at his watch, flashing her a clear view of his wedding ring. "Well...I've got to get going, but thanks for making the effort."

"My pleasure." Stealey held out her hand again. "If they tell us anything of interest, I'll let you know."

Rapp sincerely doubted that they would get anything useful from the two men, but didn't say so. He shook her hand and said, "I'll see you later."

Stealey watched him walk away, and thought to herself,Yes, you will.

Rapp didn't make it far. Skip McMahon caught his attention from across the sea of desks and waved him over to his office. Rapp walked around the perimeter and joined the FBI man. McMahon didn't say anything, he just turned around and went back into his office with Rapp following. Paul Reimer was sitting in one of the two chairs in front of McMahon's desk. McMahon closed the door and walked around behind his desk.

"What's up?" asked Rapp. "You guys comparing notes on the cushy jobs you've been offered?"

"Yeah, we're talking about taking a celebratory cruise together," snarled McMahon.

"Hey...don't get defensive. I think it's great. In fact I might join you guys in the private sector."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Reimer.

"Let's just say, I'm getting a little burnt-out."

"You're too young to quit," McMahon said, dropping down in his chair.

"Age has nothing to do with it. It's all the bullshit."

The former Navy SEAL and the FBI special agent shared a worried look. Reimer said, "You're not really serious, are you?"

"Yep."

"You can't. Someone's got to hang around and tell them how it is."

Rapp tilted his head and asked, "Weren't you at the White House yesterday?"

"I'll never forget it."

"Well, I don't know if you noticed, but they don't seem to be listening to me."

"Don't let this turn you sour, Mitch," McMahon said. "You're better than that. You did some great work this week. Without you, I'd hate to think what could have happened."

"I'll be honest. Things were a hell of a lot easier when I worked in the shadows."

McMahon, never one to listen to anyone complain for more than a second or two said, "Yeah, well you're not anymore, so suck it up. You're too damn young to go quitting on us, and besides, what in the hell would you do?"

"Have babies, play golf...I don't know. I'll find something."

"You'd be bored out of your mind in two months," said Reimer. "The only reason I'm leaving is because I'm tapped out after putting three kids through college. I need to make some serious money before my wife and I sail off into the sunset."

Rapp eyed Reimer disbelievingly. "You're not sick of all the B.S. with Homeland Security?"

"Of course I am, but I'm fifty-six. You're only in your mid-thirties. You've got a long way to go before you can say you're burnt-out."

McMahon looked at his watch impatiently. "All right...now that we've got all the career counseling out of the way, and we've decided you're staying, can we get down to business?"

"Sure." Rapp smiled.

"Paul's got some interesting information. Stuff he doesn't want disseminated through official channels, and after you hear it, I don't think you're going to be quitting."

McMahon had his attention. Rapp turned to Reimer. "What's up?"

"The Russians have been quietly helpful. The truth is they are every bit as concerned by these Islamic radical fundamentalists as we are. In some ways they're more concerned."