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tonight.”
    Kim said nothing, but she entered the cab and tried to focus on Dixon instead of the many ways a commercial pilot could screw up when flying an airliner through an ice storm.

 
    CHAPTER FOUR
     
    Thursday, November 11
    11:22 a.m.
    Washington, DC
     
    Gaspar said, “Reagan National, please.”
    They settled into the back seat for the short drive along ice-slicked streets. Kim glanced at Gaspar and allowed her anger to surface. “He knew about O’Donnell when he called this morning. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have lit such a fire under us to get there. But no warning at all. Not a word. Why not?”
    Gaspar nodded toward the taxi driver, reminding her of the dashboard camera before he replied, “Because he wanted us to stay on course.”
    “Why? We didn’t learn a damn thing. Nothing but a waste of time.”
    “Ours is not to reason why . . . .” She glared at him. He shrugged. “You’re losing your perspective, Sunshine. This is just business as usual.”
    Kim said nothing. She was no mind reader, and Gaspar wasn’t either. The Boss had his own agenda. Whatever that agenda was, it didn’t include sharing information vital to their assignment. She’d already learned that lesson the hard way. Still, she wasn’t used to working for a man she didn’t trust with a partner she didn’t know on a mystifyingly dangerous assignment where people attempted to thwart her at every opportunity. The assignment was more than a challenge. So far it had been a constant ten-day nightmare.
    When the taxi dropped them off at the terminal, Gaspar paid the driver before joining her on the sidewalk, where they stood a moment in silence before he asked, “Now what, Suzy Wong?”
    Their assignment was to be completed in as close to total secrecy as possible, revealing their identities when required but never the true nature of their mission. Which was okay because neither Kim nor Gaspar knew the truth anyway. Their cover story was difficult enough and they disclosed it only when unavoidable. Staying off the grid was a constant struggle, but it was the only piece of the job that made Kim feel safer.
    Surveillance at Reagan National was perhaps the most comprehensive in the country. There was no way to stay off camera but they could slow the hunters down by refusing to provide audio instructions to go with the video. A weak grin lifted the right corner of her mouth. Whoever wanted to know where she was going next would have to do a bit of digging to figure things out. Keep ’em guessing as much as possible was not much of a plan, but it was the only one she’d come up with so far that occasionally worked.
    Gaspar could figure things out. They entered the terminal building. He approached the ticket counter and returned saying, “We’re departing in twenty-minutes.”
    They hustled through security, passing their guns and badges to the TSA officer, and were the last two passengers aboard the plane. As usual, Gaspar relaxed into seat 1A while Kim chose a seat a bit further back in the first class cabin where she couldn’t see and hear too much of what was going on with the flight crew. She popped two antacids, gripped the seat’s arms, and closed her eyes as if she might save herself from disaster only if she didn’t see it coming.
    After they reached the appropriate altitude, the flight attendant announced electronic devices could be used. Kim loosened her death grip on the armrests and reached for her laptop. A bolt of panic stole her breath before she remembered she’d left everything she owned back at the DC hotel. She didn’t even have a charger for her phone, meaning she couldn’t afford to drain its remaining energy by working on the inadequate keyboard.
    Which left her no choice but to do the one thing she avoided whenever possible while flying: think without the benefit of distraction.
    An hour and fifteen minutes later, Gaspar was still sleeping when she tapped him on the shoulder to disembark. He yawned,