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governmental establishment.
    “Direct Protection Services,” she continues. “When the suits see certain patterns in your testing, you’re given the option to take a post with DPS. It’s almost like the Witness Protection Program, in a way, except for the fact that we’re not running from anyone. If you join DPS, you say your goodbyes and then you vanish. All records, all traces…”—she swipes her hand across the table—“gone. You never existed. From then on, it’s service until you retire or take the long road home.”
    “All in the name of God and country? Admirable, I suppose.”
    Agent Kelly impatiently glances around for the waitress. “Sacrifices were made, but the pay makes it worth it.”
    “Wild guess says that Lisa Kelly isn’t your real name.”
    She shakes her head. “Just like Leo Craft isn’t yours.”
    “Touché, but that one’s free.” Something occurs to me—the way she fidgets in her seat, the way she slyly glances at Deke Carter for approval, and how her fingers can’t stop fiddling with a packet of sugar; they’re all signs of some underlying current of insecurity. “You’re new at this, aren’t you? At least with the DPS.”
    “What makes you say that?”
    The hint of surprise on her face is all I need to see. It means she can be manipulated if the situation calls for it. Somebody thought she was prepared for this role, but you can’t make up for inherent human nature. “What do you need from me, Agent Kelly?”
    When she gives an indirect answer, for once, I’m not prepared for what I hear.

Chapter Three

Present Day
    T here are a few cardinal rules you don’t break in this business. The first is don’t trust anyone. You start making friends, having drinks, watching the game together, it’s easy to slip into this comfortable place where you share tips and tricks and the next thing you know, some muscled prick in red tights with flames down the side is knocking at your front door because your “friend” didn’t live up to that supposed role.
    Happened once, never again.
    The second rule is, nobody will ever understand why you do what you do, so don’t bother trying to explain it to them. I say this because I’ve gotten close—I mean like, close —to a couple of women who could’ve been The One, since my divorce, and I thought they would get it. I thought they would get me . Nope. They beat feet down the front path fast enough to leave a cloud of dust in their wake.
    Happened twice, never again.
    I don’t like moving halfway across the country to hide, and I don’t like having my heart broken.
    I guess there’s an unofficial addendum to rule number two; don’t fall in love in the first place.
    I’d like to again, believe me, but there’s no room for it. Well, I shouldn’t say that. I do it all the time in my imagination. I just don’t act on it.
    The third rule, and quite possibly the most important, is never, ever get lazy. All it takes is one mistake, one tiny little hiccup, and you’re exposed. You’re wide open and you might as well draw a bulls-eye on your back.
    I broke rule number three. I don’t know how or when, but the fact that Charlene sits across from me, smelling like delicious, creamy strawberries, waiting on an answer, means that I slipped up.
    I stare at her with abject speechlessness and race through detail after detail in my mind. I’m clean, I know I am. I can’t think of a single thing I might have screwed up with the Patriotman job. I didn’t so much as leave a flake of skin behind. There was no way in hell that I—
    “Leo?” Charlene butts in.
    “What? Oh, right? What was the question?” I know damn well what the question was but I need two more seconds to think.
    Jeff drops off a basket of fries and says, “On the house, lovebirds.”
    Really? Really, Jeff? Do I need that right now?
    “You’re better than that, you’re better than Dallas, and I’m half-tempted to march over there and tell Kim Jong Un where she can