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“What last name do you go by, then?”
She laughed a little. “Would you believe... Jones?”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not.” She darted a look at his face. “I wanted an American name so common no one would be able to trace it...or me. The only names I could think of like that were Smith and Jones.”
“‘Alias Smith and Jones,’” he murmured under his breath.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing. Just an old TV western Alec and I used to watch on cable.” He looked as if he were going to explain more, but changed his mind.
She waited, but he didn’t say anything, so she continued. “Cate Smith sounded too much like Kate Smith, the singer—I didn’t want anyone to remember me for any reason.” Her smile faded. “The book I read in the library about going underground advised not changing your first name too much, especially the first letter. Too easy to slip up and say your real name—or at least start to say your real name—if you’re taken unaware. Same thing for signing your name. So I became Cate Jones.”
“Cate Jones.” He tilted his head to one side as he considered it. “Not bad. And most people who heard you say it would think K not C, making it even less likely they’d recognize your name.” Then his soft brown eyes hardened. “So why were you going underground in the first place?”
She wanted to look away from that hard, uncompromising stare, but she couldn’t. “Alec knows,” she said finally. Painfully.
“But you don’t want me to know, is that it?”
Cate shook her head. “You don’t have a ‘need to know,’” she reminded him.
“Touché,” Liam said with a little huff of laughter. “Touché.”
* * *
“Escaped?” roared Aleksandrov Vishenko in Russian to the two men who were the bearers of bad tidings to their boss. “What do you mean, she escaped?”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” said one man as he tried to placate his boss. “But there was interference from an unexpected source—Diplomatic Security Service agents who happened to be in the courthouse...armed. Both of our men are dead. At least they cannot talk.”
“They would not have talked anyway,” insisted the other man.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” the first man said, glancing at him. “They are dead, so it no longer matters.” Then he faced his boss again. “The courthouse is swarming with FBI agents and men from the US Marshals Service—both marshals guarding the woman were wounded. One of the federal prosecutors is dead, the other could die any moment. And the woman was spirited away by one of the men who foiled the initial attempt on her life. We do not know where he has taken her. Not yet.”
“Find out,” Vishenko hissed at his men. “Find out where she is and take care of her. Permanently. If she lives to testify, we are all dead.”
* * *
Liam’s cell phone shrilled, interrupting his conversation with Cate, and he grabbed it. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” said Cody Walker, Liam’s brother-in-law. “I spoke with my boss, Nick D’Arcy, in Washington.”
“Was that necessary?”
“Not unless I wanted to have a job tomorrow,” Cody said dryly.
“Sorry,” Liam apologized. “I guess I’m not thinking clearly at the moment.”
“D’Arcy can be trusted. There are only a few absolutely incorruptible people in the world, people I’d trust with my own life, and Nick D’Arcy is one of them. He’s also one of the most brilliant minds in the business, not to mention eerily omniscient. Didn’t I ever tell you his nickname is Baker Street?”
“Yeah, you mentioned it once or twice. Keira, too. Sherlock Holmes, right?”
“Right,” Cody said. “So do you want to hear the plan he came up with, or not?”
“Let’s have it.”
“The agency has a safe house in Fairfax, Virginia. Got a pen and paper?”
“Hold on a sec.” Liam pulled both from an inner jacket pocket, and balanced his cell phone as best he could on his shoulder. “Shoot.”
“Go to this address first.” Liam jotted down the address Cody gave him, then repeated it back. “Right. Someone from the agency will meet you there and exchange vehicles—just in case they know who you are, just in case they’ve got your license plate number and are tracking you that way.”
“Make it an SUV, okay? I’m more comfortable with that kind of versatility and power under the hood.”
“Sure thing. You won’t have any complaints. And he’ll have a new cell phone for you, too. Encrypted. Untraceable. At least I think it’ll be untraceable. Alec had to tell the FBI who you were, so of course they’ve got your cell phone number. They can locate you by triangulating on the cell towers your phone pings off.”
