At the mention of food, Sam’s stomach rumbled in a very unladylike manner. Fletcher gave a little laugh and pointed at the kitchen. “We’d be in your debt, Agent Daniels.”

“Sure thing.” The kid disappeared. Sam and Fletcher took seats across from each other at the dining room table. He put the secure laptop on the table, and Sam plunked down the black binder on Souleyret. He turned on the machine, plugged in the SD card.

“There’s a lot of data here. It’s going to take a while to upload.”

“And off we go,” she murmured, opened the stiff faux-leather cover and started to read.

* * *

Sam found the FBI file on Amanda Souleyret much more satisfying than the one the State Department had given her, and also more infuriating. Souleyret had definitely been operating under her own auspices for several years. She was an autonomous undercover agent, working around the edges of the pharmaceutical world, reporting to multiple people— including Girabaldi at State when necessary—sending reports back to the FBI. She made her own cases, did her own thing. She had few handlers, and even fewer people knew she was FBI. She seemed to take jobs from all sorts of agencies on an ad hoc basis. She was a freelancer, in many ways, with a variety of aliases to backstop her stories.

Clearly, Amanda Souleyret was a very accomplished spy.

As Girabaldi had told them, she specialized in getting information out of corporate databases. Which explained the SD card, Sam thought. She traveled the world on cases, settling into cities and jobs as needs be.

There was a photo in the file, too, one taken a few years earlier. Souleyret was smiling, lips closed, but there was a sparkle in her eyes. Sam was right; she’d been quite pretty. Not a bombshell by any means, but pretty. Sam imagined if you glammed her up with makeup and clothes she would stand out in a crowd, but dressed down, hair in a ponytail and no makeup on, she looked like a fresh-faced farm girl. Cute enough to use her looks if she needed them, but more than likely, she played it down in order to move around without notice.

And move around she did. Sam counted fifteen countries in the past two years. It seemed her specialty was getting close to a worker at whatever institution she needed to break into, steal their credentials, get the info and get out of Dodge. Simple, straightforward and effective. A friendly girl could wreak one hell of a lot of havoc if she knew what she was doing, and Souleyret obviously did.

There were specifics she hadn’t seen in the other file, as well. Souleyret had gone to school at the University of Virginia, was recruited right out of the job fair, started at the academy three weeks after graduation. She’d scored top of her class in firearms and classwork, attracted the attention of the covert ops group, then went on to specialized training at the Farm, the CIA training center.

So Amanda had gotten the best of both worlds, and was sent out in the world to do her industrial espionage. And clearly more than that—the commendation had been for getting an FBI asset out of a firefight in Cairo. She got her hands dirty when it was needed.

Despite all the new information, Sam had the distinct impression she was being given a sanitized version of Amanda Souleyret’s work life. The information was solid, but not detailed. Not redacted, to be sure, but Sam couldn’t help but feel like something was still missing. And why would that be?

Either someone was trying to cover their tracks, or Amanda Souleyret was into something bigger than anyone knew, and someone was trying to keep her secrets.

TUESDAY: AFTERNOON

But evil is wrought by want of thought,

As well as want of heart.

—Thomas Hood

Chapter 26

Tuesday afternoon

BEAUTY WATCHED THE brown-haired wren walk across the street and enter a town house with an angel out front. She moved like water, gliding gently, head up, shoulders back, a small spring in the last part of her step, like a little girl excited and bouncing on her toes.

He’d been watching her for days, months, years, it seemed. She was the ideal woman for him—just shy of being thin, pretty but not beautiful, brunette, good taste in clothes and restaurants, unmarried. He bet she’d know how to make conversation, be witty and clever, laugh at his jokes and fetch him cool drinks on hot days without asking.

He took his eyes off her long enough to look at himself in the rearview mirror. Narrowed his eyes, made himself look mean and started a vehement, virulent argument with himself.

I want her.

She doesn’t fit the parameters.

I don’t care. I want her. I want her now.

She has protections. She is not like the others.

And I’m supposed to do what, just sit back and content myself with looking? I want to feel her. That skin, so soft, so clean, so fresh.

The rules are there for your protection. You’ve spent twenty years making this work. You recognize the signs, it’s happened before. It’s simply an infatuation. Infatuation will be the end of you, of this. You won’t be able to watch anymore. Do you want her more than you want your life?

An eyebrow raised.

No.

Good. You’ve been much too impetuous lately.

I’m bored.

Then we’ll find something to make you unbored. But she isn’t it. Now, drive away like a good little boy, and find another. Besides, your blood’s still fizzing from the last one. Enjoy it. Relax. Go have a drink. You’ve taken two in the past two weeks. They are onto you. She will be onto you, as well, and soon. They are connecting the dots. Once they connect the kills, how long do you think you can stay ahead of this? Lie low for a bit, and see what happens.

I know she’s onto me. That’s what makes this so fun. I need something...more. A challenge. Yes, I think a challenge is in order. I can’t stay cooped up anymore. I need to breathe the air and feel the breeze on my face. I need to touch her. I need to know what her hair smells like.

You need a challenge like a hole in the head. Are you an idiot? Do you want to get caught? Do you want to throw twenty years of work away? Because they will put this together sooner rather than later, mark my words. And then you’ll be finished.

She will. She’s the one who will see what I’ve done, and come after me.

And he licked his lips at the thought.

They fought for an hour, waiting for her to reemerge. When she did, with the cop and a younger guy who looked both scared and excited, he took a few discreet pictures for good measure, a little something for the road, so to speak. Thought about how nice it would be to touch that shiny hair, wind his fingers through it, bring it to his nose and sniff deeply of her essence. He knew she must use something expensive on it; her clothes were high-quality. She took care of herself.

Don’t do it. Walk away. There are others, ones who fit the parameters, who are everything you’re looking for and more. Rules exist for your protection, Beauty.

You’re a fucking shit, you know that, right?

A smile in the mirror.

I’m the best friend you could ever have. Now, drive away.

And he did. Headed his car west, toward home. As much as he wanted her, Beauty knew it was better to let the anticipation build. It was too early. Too soon. There was so much more watching to be done.

He would leave the little wren alone.

For now.

Chapter 27

Capitol Hill

AS QUIETLY AS she’d come, Robin left her sister’s town house. She’d done a thorough search, looked in all the hiding spots Amanda had created throughout the place. Someone else had also done a thorough search of the house, especially of the renter’s mail, but leaving practically no trace behind, which made the hair on the back of her neck stand up and her vision pulse with violet.