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was?”
    Walrus nodded to Penguin, who opened up a folder, took out a piece of paper, and said, “The radius of the ping only narrows it to a twenty-square-mile area within the greater metropolitan area. It doesn’t give its exact location.”
    Of course it didn’t.
    “At this point we’re waiting on another ping, set to happen within the next two days, from the device, and if we’re lucky, it will bounce off a different satellite, which could help to narrow the search area.”
    “Do you have any leads at all on where it might be stored, or who might want to buy it?” I asked.
    Walrus and Penguin looked to Agent Frostbite. “Yes,” he said, without any further elaboration.
    Ah, charm. Watching it in action really warms the cockles.
    “Could you be a little more specific?” I asked, silently patting myself on the back for having the guts to do so.
    “No.”
    “Helpful,” I said, with a big ol’ smile.
    “We are narrowing the list,” he said crisply. “We will give you a full briefing before you leave on your assignment.”
    “We?” I repeated, hoping there was someone— any one—a little warmer than ol’ Jack Frost here who could give us the final lowdown.
    “Me,” he said, looking me square in the eye like he’d really love to take me outside and personally show me the many, many ways to interrogate a terrorist. “I will be giving you a full briefing. And I will be your handler while you’re in Canada.”
    Of course he would. If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have none at all.

Chapter Two

    D utch and I were finally turned loose around eight o’clock that evening. My eyes felt dry and gritty and my normal slightly sarcastic side was starting to take on a real edge. It’s a tough thing when you know you’re acting inappropriately and you’re still unable to rein it in.
    The truth was that I was flippin’ scared. Not necessarily of going in undercover to find and recover a lethal weapon, but of failing in that mission. The consequences of either being discovered by the enemy or not returning with Intuit were far too big for me to deal with, and I felt like what I really needed was a phone call home.
    So while Dutch was in the shower, I called my sister, Cat. “Hey,” I said, feeling weary down to my DNA.
    “Hi, honey!” she said, all perky. “Did you get my e-mail?”
    “No,” I said. “I haven’t had a chance.”
    “Busy at the conference, huh?”
    I’d told Cat that I was going to Washington for a weeklong conference on crime fighting. As lame as that story was, Cat bought it. “Yep. There’s just so much information to take in.”
    “Oh, I know how those things go. The way to play it is to absorb only what’s useful and toss out the rest. That’s what I always do.”
    I nodded dully—like she could see me. “What was in the e-mail?”
    “Wedding dresses. Well, more specifically, pictures of wedding dresses.”
    I pinched the bridge of my nose between two fingers. “Cat, Dutch and I haven’t even set a date yet. I mean, I’ve been engaged for less than a week.”
    There was an excited squeak on the other end of the line. “Can you believe you’re getting married ?”
    I smiled and eyed my beautiful ring. Four carats of soft emerald green reflected in the lamplight. “God, I love that man,” I said, thinking dreamy thoughts about my soon-to-be husband.
    “Anyway, I’m thinking mid-October might be good.”
    My attention returned promptly to the phone. “October? You mean this October?”
    “Yes,” my sister said as if I were slow on the uptake. “Why not?”
    “Uh . . . ’cause that’s in, like, six months!”
    “So?”
    “Cat,” I said, using my best “I am going to be reasonable” voice. “I can’t get married in six months.”
    “Why not?” Cat said.
    “Why not?” Dutch echoed from the door of the bathroom.
    I looked at him and winced. “What I mean is . . .”
    “Yes?” said Cat.
    “Yeah?” said Dutch.
    “See, the thing of it is . .