“I know all of that,” Rudkowski said snidely. “I’m arresting him for obstruction of justice, tampering with—”

“Oh, for godsake!”

“—evidence, and impersonation of a federal agent.”

“That’s ridiculous. He only resigned in order to—”

“He didn’t resign from anything,” Rudkowski said. “That badge he so theatrically surrendered, no doubt to impress you with his self-sacrifice, is counterfeit. It will be submitted as evidence at his trial.”

“Counterfeit?”

“Oh. Like you didn’t know,” he said with scorn.

She turned to Drex. “What is he talking about?”

Before Drex could speak, Rudkowski practically squealed, “He’s a phony. He and his merry band are imposters. They only profess to be FBI agents, flashing around fake badges and IDs whenever the mood strikes.”

She rounded on Rudkowski, then looked at Locke and Menundez.

Locke cleared his throat. “He, uh, had us convinced, too. Until Rudkowski told us different.”

Rudkowski said, “I assumed you knew, Mrs. Ford. Which is why I came down so hard on you. I thought you’d gone along with him, never mind that he’s a criminal. Most women do.”

“‘Criminal’ is a pretty harsh word,” Locke said.

“How about lawbreaker?” Rudkowski said. “Use whatever word you like. They all mean the same thing. He commits crimes. And since he’s a repeat offender, and has already served time for the same offense, he won’t get off so lightly this time. I’m going for the maximum sentence.”

To Drex, it seemed an eternity that Talia stared at Rudkowski, unmoving, before she came slowly around to him. The instant she looked into his face, she saw the truth engraved there. Her disillusionment caused his heart to contract.

Speaking low, he said, “Five years ago, I served eight months of a two-year sentence in federal prison for impersonating an FBI agent. Mike and Gif got off on probation.”

She placed her hand at the base of her throat, which already showed a bruise Jasper had inflicted. Drex knew he was bruising her almost as deeply now.

“He’s run a great con,” Rudkowski said.

Giving no regard to him, Drex said, “I used the badge, played the part, but never for self gain. Only as a means to capture Weston Graham.”

In a faint voice, she said, “You never were with the FBI?”

“Mike and Gif were until…” He hitched his chin toward Rudkowski. “They were with the bureau when I went to them and sought their help.”

“Because they were corruptible,” Rudkowski said.

“Because of their particular skills,” Drex said. “They assisted me—”

“Covertly and illegally.”

“—because they believed in what I was doing. After my release from prison, they left the bureau and started working with me.”

“As accomplices,” Rudkowski said. “And by the way, the FBI was happy to be rid of them.”

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up?” Menundez muttered.

Talia seemed unaware of them. Her wounded gaze remained on Drex. “Is the doctorate another fake?”

“No.”

“Then why didn’t you just use it and join the FBI?”

“Because I didn’t want to be fettered by procedure and bureaucracy.”

“It was easier just to act the part?” she said.

“Not easier. More efficacious.”

“Efficacious.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Good word. A writer’s word. You certainly had gullible me fooled. Drex the writer. Drex the federal agent. Drex the good guy,” she finished huskily.

“I’m the same man, Talia.”

“The same con man,” Rudkowski said. “Let’s go.”

The stoic stranger, whom Drex took to be another agent, nudged him forward. He went without protest, but as he came even with Talia, he stopped. “Talia—”

“Anything you have to say, I don’t want to hear. I’m not listening to any more of your lies,” she said and turned her back to him.

Epilogue

Drex read the discreet sign on the office door, summoned his courage, and pushed it open. Talia was seated at a desk, looking into a computer monitor. She turned her head with a smile of greeting in place. Upon seeing him, it dissolved.

He stepped into the office and closed the door.

The space was smart yet inviting. Vintage, arte-deco travel posters in matte black frames gave the light gray walls modish splashes of color. A Palladian window, virtually a wall in itself, overlooked a landscaped courtyard enclosed by ivy-covered brick walls, a burbling fountain in the center. The mix of chic and nostalgic created an environment that he would expect of her.

Her plain white shirt looked anything but plain on her. Sunlight coming through the window backlit her hair, creating a halo of red and gold.

She hadn’t stood up to welcome him, but, since she hadn’t yet picked up the crystal objet d’art on her desk and hurled it at him, he said, “I need help planning a trip.”

“I only work with established clients.”

“You came highly recommended.”

“By whom?”

“Elaine Conner.”

Looking pained, her gaze dropped a fraction.

He put his hands in his pants pockets and strolled over to one of the posters, studying the sleek lines of the artwork as he said, “I heard you escorted her body to Delaware.”

“She stipulated in her will that she wanted to be buried there beside her husband.”

“You saw to the dispersal of her estate to various charities.”

“A while back, she had asked if I would be the executor. I agreed, of course, never guessing…”

When she trailed off, Drex said, “May she rest in peace.”

After a respectful silence, Talia curtly changed the subject. “I heard you pled guilty.”

He turned away from the poster and looked at her. “Who’d you hear that from?”

“Gif.”

“He’s recovered. Almost like new.”

“Yes, I know,” she said. “He stopped by to see me before going home to Lexington.”

“Yeah? You two have a nice visit?”

“Very nice. He apologized.”

“For what?”

She gave him a baleful look, which would have caused a less determined man to duck and run. He stayed.

Her desk was a sheet of gray-tinted glass supported by an iron base. Black. The same color as the high heel that was angrily tapping up and down against the floor beneath her chair, where she sat with legs crossed, providing him a six-inch view of thigh above the hemline of her narrow, black skirt.

“Where are you traveling to?”

Her question drew his gaze up from the scenery underneath the desk to her stormy eyes. “Pardon?”

“Where are you going on the trip that you came here to waste my time about?”

“Waste your time?” He thumbed toward the door. “You’re open for business.”

“To established clients.”

“So you said.”

She looked down at her wristwatch. Such a dainty wrist, with a sprinkling of golden freckles. “One of which is due here soon with his wife to discuss their African adventure.”