Jillian must have sensed Nick’s growing concern because she took hold of his hand and looked deep into his eyes.

“We’ll be okay, Doc. Besides, I loaded up on Pepto before we left and then did something I almost never do. I took a beta-blocker to combat all this adrenaline and keep my heart from exploding out of my chest.”

Their anxiety was understandable, but their plan had a decent chance of working, despite Junie’s objections to it for being overly risky. The entire scheme hinged on getting Jillian alone with the computer in Paresh Singh’s office. For better or worse, almost everything depended on Nick being able to sell a bogus injury, severe enough to frighten Daintry Calnan and have her make her boss come to his aid.

Reggie estimated they would need Jillian to be alone in Singh’s office for five minutes. Nick’s acting job would be a delicate one. Daintry had to be upset enough to call Singh down to the lobby, but not so frightened that she dialed 911. Nick had no desire to be calling Don Reese begging for another favor. If things came to that, all hope of penetrating Paresh Singh’s computer would be lost.

Jillian unzipped her bag and peeked inside. She sifted through the contents, mostly cosmetics, before extracting the small, two-gig USB key Reggie had given her earlier.

“It’s here,” she announced. “What’s on this thing again?”

Nick tried to recall Reggie’s exact words, but when he was unable to do so he opted to read them. From his jacket pocket, he pulled out the folded piece of paper containing the instructions the teen had printed out.

“It’s called a rootkit,” Nick said. “It’s used to disguise the fact that a computer system has been compromised. Remember, all you have to do is plug that USB key into the USB port you locate somewhere on the computer and double click the program icon on the screen to launch it.”

“Sounds simple enough. Put the key in the port and double click the icon.”

“Best laid plans,” Nick muttered to himself.

Unfortunately, he spoke loud enough for Jillian to hear and she shot him a distressed, panicky look.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. We’ll be fine,” Nick said, though his words failed to reassure himself.

Nick reread Reggie’s detailed instructions one last time. For Jillian’s benefit, as well as his own, he tried to summarize the technical aspects of the plan.

“I guess what’s on here will install some sort of backdoor access, allowing Reggie to create, as he wrote here, a VPN-a virtual private network tunnel-into the system through a proxy server.”

“I don’t know anything about VPNs and proxy servers. You really trust him with this, Nick? I mean, most kids his age spend their free time shooting hoops, not hacking computer systems.”

“Actually, he does that, too. Pretty well, to tell you the truth. But I trust him. If he says it will work, all we have to do is our part. Okay, then, we’re ready. Let’s sync our watches.”

It was imperative that Jillian know exactly when Nick planned on initiating his diversion. She had to be ready to move the instant Paresh left her alone in his office. Being even a minute off schedule could result in failure… or worse.

“You just sell it,” Jillian said. “If I get my chance, I’ll do my part. That’s a promise.”

“I’ve had this injury for years and my knee still really does lock from time to time. I’ll sell it, no problem. Are you ready, Mrs. Collins?”

“Ready, Mr. Collins.”

Nick eased the Benz around to the spacious, partially filled parking lot at the rear of the building.

“To luck,” Nick said, touching her lips with his, but not forcefully enough to disrupt her perfectly applied makeup.

Delicious.

He exited the Mercedes and walked around to her door.

“You look beautiful,” he said as she stepped out of the car.

Jillian’s ruby lips flashed a movie star smile worthy of any red carpet, but Nick could feel the tension in her grasp and see it in her eyes.

The rear of the Singh building was nearly identical to the front. Their figures reflected handsomely in the eleven-foot windows that ran the width of the structure. The security desk was to the right, just on the other side of the glass, but there was no sign of the militialike guard-a definite break, provided the man stayed away.

They felt the sudden drop in temperature from the air-conditioning as they stepped into the resplendent marble foyer.

Daintry, austere behind her marble desk, rose to greet them. “Welcome back, Mr. and Mrs. Collins,” she said, taking first Jillian’s hand, then Nick’s.

Her grip, like everything else about her, seemed rehearsed and controlled.

“Thank you for fitting us in the way you have,” Nick replied, reminding himself not to lose sight for a moment of the fact that the woman had things to hide.

As was the case with their previous visit to the spa, it surprised and slightly embarrassed him that acting rich and arrogant wasn’t totally unpleasant.

“Dr. Singh is upstairs in his office. He shouldn’t be long.”

“No security man today?”

“Garth? No, he’s here, but at the moment he’s off making rounds.”

“I’m impressed that you take security so seriously.”

Careful, Nick warned himself. You may look the part and even act the part for short spurts, but this woman is used to the real deal. Mess with her and she’ll sniff you out as a fraud in a heartbeat.

Nick took Jillian by the waist and guided her over to a towering work of art that filled half of the rear wall.

“Ready to roll?” he whispered.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I confess I’m glad I won’t be here to watch.”

“You’ve still got the tough job. But there is one encouraging sign.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“My knee is actually starting to ache.”

Nick and Jillian spent the first ten minutes of their second visit to the medi-spa fidgeting in the sitting area to the right of the receptionist’s desk.

“I do apologize for the delay,” Daintry said, seeming genuinely concerned. “I’ll ring the doctor and see if he’ll be much longer. I know that he is very eager to meet you both. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

As if on cue, Nick heard the chime of one of the elevators as it arrived at the lobby level. The polished brass doors glided open and out stepped Paresh Singh. The surgeon, slightly built with a thin mustache and wire-rimmed spectacles, was singularly unimposing, except for his eyes, which were piercing and dark, and his smallish hands, expertly manicured and featuring a number of rings that were probably worth more than Nick claimed on last year’s tax return. He was no more than five-foot-seven, and although his jet-black hair was razor cut, and his suit finely tailored, Nick found it a stretch to believe that the man was world renowned and the master of this glass-and-steel palace.

“So,” Singh said, after the formalities of introduction, his accent clipped British with a modest amount of Indian. “I apologize for the delay and hope that Daintry has taken good care of you. She has been with me since the beginning, and I would be absolutely lost without her.”

“She’s been wonderful,” Nick said. “You’re lucky to have her.”

“Dr. Singh,” Daintry said, “as you requested, I’ve had the solarium prepared for Mrs. Collins’s private meeting.”

Nick and Jillian immediately exchanged sideways glances. They had seen the solarium on their tour-plants, sculptures, and waterfalls, but no computer. All Nick could do was shrug. The plus of having the security guard off on rounds had just been trumped by this latest turn. Why had he thought for even a moment that their plan would come off without a hitch? But this hitch was potentially fatal.

Jillian meeting with Singh in some Luddite heaven, devoid of the one thing they needed, was certainly not part of their strategy. If Nick’s SUD score had been hovering around a six, it just shot up close to an eight: Freaking out. The beginning of alienation.