Identity Crisis. Kate Donovan
than ten years, the barfly had chosen one particular bar, Rafferty’s, to frequent at least five nights a week. According to reliable sources, one could usually set one’s watch by Manny’s comings and goings, especially on Wednesday nights, otherwise known as All-You-Can-Eat Hot-Dog Night.
What on earth was going on?
“Are you sure he’s in town?”
“Yeah, just staying home.”
“Impossible.”
“I read the file, too,” McGregor assured her. “But facts are facts. He isn’t coming to the bar.”
“You said he’s been a no-show for four nights straight. But you’ve been there for over two weeks. That means there was contact at the beginning?”
“Yeah, it went like clockwork.” McGregor chuckled. “That toy-salesman cover you designed for me seemed stupid, but you were dead-on right. It provided endless topics for casual conversation with the guys. Manny in particular has fond memories of Christmases past, and luckily, I remembered enough from my nerdy grade-school days to be able to sound professional.”
“I’ll bet Manny played with G.I. Joe, right?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?” He paused. “You’re something else, S-3.”
With the cordless handset pressed firmly to her ear, Kristie moved to her computer. “You’re sure he’s at his house? Let’s see if he’s online.”
“You can do that?”
“I did it a couple of times last month, when I was working up his informant profile. You can learn a lot about a person by watching them surf. Hold on, I’m just about—there!” She studied the screen. “He’s very active. Looking for something. Shopping, or rather, scavenging. Mostly the auction sites. Hold on.”
“What’s he shopping for?”
“A blue 1969 Mustang convertible in near-mint condition.” Kristie bit her lip. “There’s nothing in his background to indicate he’s a car buff. This doesn’t make sense, unless…” She scrutinized one of Mannington’s online offers closely. “He doesn’t just want low miles and great condition. He wants this baby right away. What would make a bagman so desperate to acquire a particular car?”
Wracking her brain, she arrived at only two possible conclusions. Either this was a favor for “the Boss,” or it was a gift for Manny’s debutante wife. Those were the only two people in the world that could keep the loquacious socializer out of Rafferty’s on Hot-Dog Night.
“It’s got to be the wife,” she murmured, grabbing the duplicate file from her desk and scanning it anxiously. “Maybe her birthday’s coming up.”
Locating the relevant information, she grinned. “Or worse. Her birthday was four days ago. And I’ll bet poor Manny missed it. And now he’s in the doghouse and out of the bed.”
McGregor whistled softly. “That’s gotta be it. The man’s insane for that woman, and it’s not hard to figure out why. Five foot ten with state-of-the-art implants. And if half of what he says is true…well, never mind.”
Kristie laughed. “We’ll get those lovebirds back together in no time. The Bureau gave SPIN a big budget for this case, so acquiring the Mustang quickly shouldn’t be a problem, even if we have to do a little restoration. As soon as we hang up, I’ll respond to Manny’s inquiry using one of our auction pseudonyms.”
“Like I said, you’re something else. Thanks for the help. Give me a call if you need anything on my end.”
“Wait! We’re not done.”
“We’re not?”
“Uh-uh. We’ve been given an amazing opportunity here, McGregor,” she insisted. “Manny’s vulnerable. We need to find a way to take advantage of that.”
“Just get the car. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Kristie smiled at his take-charge, impatient tone. A loner, just like everyone said. But it was time to teach him the usefulness of partnering with a spinner.
“Won’t you please hear me out?” she asked, and when he grumbled something that sounded vaguely like permission, she forged ahead. “Manny won’t be back to Rafferty’s for a day or two. But you should go there later tonight. And instead of being your usual charming self, you’ll drink too much and mope at the end of the bar. When the bartender asks what’s wrong, you’ll resist talking about it at first, then you’ll end up pouring your heart out to him.”
Pleased that McGregor hadn’t yet interrupted her, she continued. “You’ll tell him all about Melissa Daniels, the girl you’ve been seeing. She’s beautiful, wild, sexy, temperamental—and unbelievably jealous. She saw you having an innocent drink with your secretary and dumped you on the spot.”
A warm chuckle came over the phone line. “What’re you doing to me, S-3? I’ve got a reputation to protect with these guys.”
Kristie laughed, too. “You don’t really care what the rest of them think, right? You just want to be friends with Manny.”
“You figure when he gets back, he’ll hear about my broken heart and think we’re…what? Kindred spirits?”
“Right. He’ll probably start coming to the bar as soon as he knows the car is on its way. But until it’s actually delivered, he’ll still be in the doghouse in his wife’s eyes. You’ll have a few days to cry in your beers together.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” McGregor murmured.
“And as far as your reputation is concerned, all you need to do is tell the guys about some of your sex-capades with Melissa, and they’ll see you as a stud not a wimp.”
The agent was laughing again. “Sex-capades?”
“Right. You can draw on your own experience, or if you’d like, I could come up with some for you. Either way, lay it on thick. Like the story of the first time you met her. At a toy convention in Vegas. How the two of you had so much chemistry, you couldn’t wait to get upstairs to your hotel room, and ended up tearing each other’s clothes off in the elevator. Likewise with the first dinner date—you picked her up in a limo but never made it to the restaurant. Just drove around all night making wild, passionate love. And don’t even get me started about the first airplane trip you took together!”
“Those are the same sorts of stories Manny tells about his wife.”
“Right. He knows all about stormy relationships. The kind that can consume a person if they’re not careful. Jealousy, breakups, gut-wrenching arguments, exquisite make-up sex—the most obsessive, destructive, exhilarating addiction possible. Show him you and Melissa have—or rather, had—that sort of thing, and he’ll be putty in your hands.”
McGregor was silent for a moment, then proclaimed, “It’s effing brilliant.”
Kristie exhaled in relief. “I’ll have a courier bring you a snapshot of her tomorrow for your wallet. Something sexy but classy. We’ll rough it up so it looks like you’ve been carrying it around for a while.”
“You have a picture of this Melissa?”
“Computer generated. I use her a lot. She’s sort of a virtual operative. She usually has red hair and green eyes, but if you’d prefer something else, name it.”
He was silent for a moment, then said simply, “You decide.”
“Okay, red it is. Do you need anything else from me?”
When he was silent, she asked warily, “McGregor? Is something wrong?”
“I can’t keep calling you S-3. What’s your real name?”
Startled, she gave a nervous laugh. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
“I’m