He handed her the credit card and the folded bills. He pecked her on the cheek and then left before she could object. But she noticed he had enough time to stop at the door and talk to the couple he had seen earlier.

Suddenly, she realized the wine steward was still at the table and now staring at her, stunned and waiting for her instructions.

“I think I’d like the bill, please.

He continued to stare, then held up the uncorked bottle. “I didn’t even pour one glass.”

“Enjoy it later with the other waiters.”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m serious. On me. Really. Oh, and before you bring the bill, would you add two of the most expensive entrées you have on the menu.”

“You want them as takeout?”

“Oh no. I don’t want them at all. I just want to pay for them.” She smiled and held up the credit card. Finally, he seemed to get the message, smiled back and hurried off to take care of it.

If Daniel insisted on treating her like a hooker, she could certainly accommodate him. Maybe her silly little mind couldn’t possibly comprehend something as complex as the stock market, but there were plenty of other things she knew about that Daniel didn’t have a clue about.

She signed the bill for the wine steward, making sure to add a hefty tip for him. Then she took her two hundred dollars and hailed a cab, hoping the anger would burn off by the time she got home. How could he ruin this for her? She had been looking forward to a celebration. Maybe ten thousand dollars was a drop in the bucket for Daniel, but for her it was a tremendous accomplishment in a long journey uphill. She deserved a pat on the back. She deserved a celebration. Instead, she had a long, lonely cab ride home from D.C.

“Excuse me,” she said, leaning forward in the stale-smelling cab. “When we get to Newburgh Heights, forget the address I gave you. Take me to Louie’s Bar and Grill on Fifty-fifth and Laurel.”

CHAPTER 15

Kansas City, Missouri

Sunday evening

It was almost midnight when Agents Preston Turner and Richard Delaney knocked on Maggie’s hotel-room door.

“How ’bout a nightcap, O’Dell?”

Turner wore blue jeans and a purple golf shirt that enhanced the rich brown of his skin. Delaney, on the other hand, still wore a suit, his lopsided tie and open collar the only indications that he was no longer on duty.

“I don’t know, guys. It’s late.” Not that sleep mattered. She knew she wouldn’t be going to bed for hours.

“It’s not even midnight.” Turner grinned at her. “Party’s just gettin’ started. Besides, I’m starved.” He glanced back at Delaney for reassurance. Delaney only shrugged. Five years older than both Turner and Maggie, Delaney had a wife and two kids. Maggie imagined Delaney had been a conservative Southern gentleman even when he was ten years old, but somehow Turner managed to bring out a reckless competitive side.

Both men noticed that Maggie had answered the door with her Smith & Wesson gripped firmly in her right hand, dropped at her side. However, neither mentioned it. Suddenly it felt extra heavy. She wondered why they put up with her, though she knew Cunningham purposely assigned the three of them to the same conferences. They had been her shadows since Stucky had escaped last October. When she complained to Cunningham, he had been insulted by her accusation that he was providing watchdogs to make certain she didn’t go after Stucky on her own. Only later did it occur to her that her boss might do so in an attempt to protect her. Which was ridiculous. If Albert Stucky wanted to hurt her, no show of force would stop him.

“You know you guys don’t need to baby-sit me.”

Turner pretended to be wounded and said, “Come on, Maggie, you know us better than that.”

Yes, she did. Despite their mission, Turner and Delaney had never singled her out as some damsel in distress. Maggie had spent years working to be treated like one of the guys. Perhaps that’s why Cunningham’s motive, however honorable or well intentioned, still angered her.

“Ah, come on, Maggie,” Delaney finally joined in. “Knowing you, your presentation is all ready for tomorrow.”

Delaney politely stayed in the hallway while Turner leaned against the door frame as though taking up permanent residence until she agreed.

“Let me get my jacket.”

She closed the door enough to make Turner retreat into the hall and give her some privacy. She strapped on her holster, looping the leather contraption over her shoulder and buckling it tight against her side. Then she slid her revolver in and put on a navy blazer to hide the bulge.

Turner was right. The nearby bar and grill in what was called Westport buzzed with late-night conventioneers. Turner explained that the midtown Bohemian district, which still showed quaint signs of its early days as a trading post, was “KC’s nightlife hub.” How Turner always knew these details Maggie had never bothered to find out. It did seem as if Turner quickly became the expert at finding the hot spots in every city they visited.

Delaney led the way, squeezing through the crowd along the bar and finding a table in a dark corner. Only when he and Maggie sat down did they realize they had lost Turner, who had stopped to talk to a couple of young women perched on bar stools. From their tight knit dresses and shiny dangling earrings, Maggie took a wild guess that they weren’t law enforcement officers, but rather a couple of single women looking to meet a man with a badge.

“How does he do that so easily?” Delaney asked, watching and admiring.

Maggie glanced around while she scooted her chair against the wall so she could see the entire room. She hated having her back to a crowd. Actually, she hated crowds. Clouds of cigarette smoke hung over the room like fog settled in for the evening. The din of voices and laughter blended together, making it necessary to speak louder than comfortable. And though she would be with Turner and Delaney, she hated the looks thrown her way, some of which reminded her of vultures waiting for their prey to be left alone and vulnerable.

“You know, even when I was single, I hated dating,” Delaney confessed, still watching his buddy. “But Turner makes it all look so easy.” He twisted his chair closer to the table and leaned in as though ready to give Maggie his full attention. “So what about you? Are you thinking about getting back into the game?”

“The game?” She had no idea what he was talking about.

“The dating game. What’s it been? Three, four months?”

“The divorce isn’t final yet. I just moved out of the condo on Friday.”

“I didn’t realize the two of you were still living together. I thought you broke up months ago.”

“We did. It was more practical for both of us to live there until things were settled. Neither one of us is hardly ever there.”

“Shoot! For a minute there I thought maybe the two of you were thinking about giving it another shot.” He looked hopeful. She knew Delaney was a firm believer in marriage. Despite admiring his partner’s finesse at dating, Delaney seemed to love being married.

“I don’t think reconciliation is possible.”

“You sure?”

“What would you do if Karen made you choose between her and being in the FBI?”

He shook his head, and before he answered she was sorry she’d asked. He pulled his chair closer and his face got serious. “Part of the reason I became an instructor was because I know Karen gets nervous about me being in the middle of hostage negotiations. That last one in Philly, she had to watch most of it on TV. Some sacrifices are worth making.”

She didn’t want to have this conversation. Discussing her failed marriage accomplished nothing these days except to remind her of the hollowness in her gut.