The Third Coincidence Read Online Free Page B

moisture off her face, she responded to the chimes of her cell phone.
    Speak of the devil, Jack McCall.
    “I believe you know why I’m calling,” he said.
    She knew that for him, becoming an intelligence operative had not been a random choice made during some overwhelming cam- pus career day. The job possessed him. He lived it. She wondered if the years had worn the edge off that intensity, and how his well-mus- cled six-two frame and boyish face had changed. She also remem- bered that he believed in the chain of command, so she opened with the needle.
    “Hi, Spook. Do you remember me?”
    “Of course,” he told her. “Seven years ago. The Persian Gulf.
    We worked together for two weeks.”
    Cradling the phone with her shoulder, she sat on the bed, drew her knees up against her still wet, bare breasts and wrapped her arms around her legs. Jingles jumped up and began dragging his body across her damp calves.
    “Is spook okay?” she persisted, determined to get under his skin, “or do you prefer Agent McCall?”
    “Listen,” he said patiently, “I know you wanted to head this task
    26 David M. Bishop

    force, but you’re not. When no one else is around you can call me whatever you wish. My concern is whether or not I can count on you to follow orders and be a team player.”
    She used the side of her foot to push Jingles off her bed. “I’ve been given my assignment. I’ll do my job.”
    “How do I know you mean that?” “Trust me. I work for the FBI.”
    “Now that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard today.” “I do work for the FBI.”
    “You know about Monroe?”
    She scooted back and leaned against the headboard. “Poison. His death was assigned to me the day he died. We all saw it as wait- ing for the autopsy to confirm heart attack. So the toxicology report brought us up short. Today, the director also put me in charge of the murder of Justice Montgomery and the death of Santee. You figure he was murdered too?”
    “Probably. It could be an oddly timed accidental death, but I doubt it.”
    “That’s how Monroe looked at the beginning,” Rachel said, “like an accident, well, like a heart attack. I’m not sure what we’re going to be chasing here, but we’re holding the loose end of a big ball of something.”
    “Listen. I’d like us to talk in person,” he said. “Tonight. In the morning we need to hit the ground running. Shall I come to you or do you prefer to come here?”
    “You didn’t ask if I already had plans.” “If you do, cancel them.”
    “And which charm school did you attend, Spook?”
    She heard him take a deep breath. “I’m sorry if you had other plans.”
    “Give me directions.”
    She jotted down what she needed and said, “I’ll be there in twenty to thirty minutes.”
    “Have you eaten yet?” he asked.
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    “No.”
    “I’ll throw a couple of burgers on the grill. They’ll be ready when you get here.”
    She knew that McCall had made a gesture with his offer of a ca- sual meal and she appreciated it. And she knew the two of them meeting before his entire team met was a good idea.
    After trying on several outfits, she hooked a pushup bra, slipped on a scoop-necked blue jersey and white shorts. Her outfit, didn’t say FBI professional, but she didn’t wish to convey FBI professional.
    Eat your heart out, Spook, she thought. Next time I’m turning you down.

    “Except for those very busy two weeks seven years ago,” Jack said to Rachel, “I know nothing about you. Tell me about yourself.”
    “What do you want to know?” Rachel asked.
    “Oh, just start somewhere and end somewhere else.”
    As he listened, he noticed she was wearing her dark hair a little longer than he remembered. Shoulder length with a softer look along her forehead. A thin nose above a mouth a little wide, and at times a little too smarty, an intelligent face with a gentleness that avoided the hard cynical look that all too often leeched in from their