Xo

record straight, I’m seeing somebody.”
    He gave a wistful, embarrassed smile. “You caught that, hm?”
    “I do this for a living.”
    “I’ve heard about you.” A grin. “I better watch my body language…. Well, Agent Dance—”
    “Kathryn.”
    “Yeah, I was flirting a bit—then and just a few seconds ago. And I’m disappointed to hear about your friend. Never hurts to ask.”
    “Never does.” Edwin Sharp should take some lessons from Peter Simesky.
    “But there was another point to this too. Completely innocent.”
    “Okay, let’s get that wine.”
    In the dim, tacky bar she ordered a Merlot and Simesky a Chardonnay. “What a case you’ve got yourself, that stalker,” he said.
    “He’s persistent and smart. And obsessed. The most dangerous kind of perp.”
    “But you were saying you’re not sure it’s him.”
    “We’re never sure until we get a confession or the evidence proves the case.”
    “I guess not. I’m a lawyer but I never did criminal work. Well, now, my agenda.”
    The wine arrived and they sipped without tapping glasses.
    “About Kayleigh Towne?”
    “No, it’s about you.”
    “Me?”
    “Bill Davis likes you. Oh, wait … not that way,” the aide added quickly. “The only person he’s ever flirted with since college is his wife. They’ve been together twenty-eight years. No, this is a professional interest. Do you follow politics much?”
    “Some. I try to keep informed. Davis is somebody I’d vote for if I was in his district.”
    Simesky seemed to take this as very good news. He continued, “He’s pretty liberal then, you know. And some people in the party are afraid that as a presidential candidate he’s going to be perceived as soft on law and order. It’d go a long way if—yes, you can see this coming—a long way if somebody like you were aligned with him. You’re smart, attractive—sorry, can’t help myself—and have a great record with the CBI.”
    “And I’m a woman.”
    “That doesn’t count the way it used to.”
    “What does ‘aligned’ mean?”
    “What he’d like, if you were interested, is to discuss a Justice Departmentappointment. Something pretty senior. We’d just like to broach it at this point. No commitments on anybody’s side.”
    Dance had to laugh. “Washington?”
    “That’s right.”
    Her initial reaction was to dismiss the idea as absurd, thinking that uprooting the children might be difficult. Also, she’d miss the fieldwork. But then she realized that she’d have the chance to spread word of her kinesic analysis techniques of investigation and interrogation around the country. She was adamantly opposed to extreme interrogation techniques as both immoral and ineffective, and she was intrigued by the idea that she might have influence in changing those practices at a very high level.
    And, reconsidering, as for the kids, what was wrong with exposing them to a different city, especially the nation’s capital, for a few years? Maybe she could commute between the two coasts.
    Peter Simesky had to laugh. “I don’t have your expertise but if I’m reading your face right, you’re considering it.”
    And then she wondered: What would Michael O’Neil think of this?
    Oh, and Jon Boling too? Though as a consultant, he could live anywhere. She wouldn’t do anything without talking to him first, though.
    “This is completely out of left field. I never in a million years thought about anything like it.”
    Simesky continued, “There’re too many career politicians messing up government. We need people who’ve lived in the trenches. They’ll work for a while and go home to the back forty, take up farmin’ again.” A smile. “Or being cops. Is it okay to say ‘cop’?”
    “Not the least offensive.”
    Simesky slid off the bar stool, paid the check. “I’ve given you a lot to think about and you don’t need to decide now, not with this investigation going on. Just let it sit.” He stood up and shook her hand. At the doorway he paused. “That guy you mentioned? Pretty serious, huh?”
    “Yep.”
    “Tell him he’s a lucky man and, by the way, I hate him.” A cherubic smile and then he was gone.
    Dance finished her wine—this would be it for the evening, she decided—and returned to her room, laughing to herself. Deputy Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Kathryn Dance.
    Maybe, just maybe she could get used to that.
    It was now nine-thirty, hardly late, but she was exhausted. Time for