The Hit by David Baldacci Page A

glanced away from the TV in time to see Nicole Vance walking down the street at a hurried pace. He glanced at his watch. She was about fifteen minutes late. She was applying a touch of makeup and lipstick and checking the results in a small mirror she carried. He noted that she had changed from her working clothes into a dress, stockings, and heels. Maybe the reason for the lateness.
    She fortunately did not see him watching her as she hurried past him to the door of the restaurant, slipping her makeup kit back intoher small purse. Robie doubted Vance would have wanted to be spotted “checking her face” before their dinner.
    “You look thinner.”
    Robie glanced up as Nicole Vance sat across from him. “And you look harried,” he replied.
    “Sorry about being late. Got stuck on a case.”
    The waiter came and took their drink orders. When he departed Robie broke a breadstick in half, ate part of it, and said, “Something new?”
    “Something interesting at least.”
    “I thought all of your cases were interesting.”
    “The bad guys are usually pretty obvious. It just becomes a matter of evidence collection. And that tends to get very boring very fast.”
    “Care to talk about it?”
    “You know better than that, Robie. Ongoing investigation. Unless you got transferred to the FBI and nobody told me.” She stared across at him. “So, have you been out of town?”
    “You already asked me that.”
    “You didn’t answer me.”
    “Yeah, I did. I said, not much.”
    “But some?”
    “And you’re concerned about my travel schedule why?” he asked.
    “Some interesting things going on in the world. Right in our backyard, even.”
    “They always are. So what?”
    “I’m not entirely unfamiliar with what you do for a living.”
    Robie looked right and then left and then back at Vance.
    Before he could speak she said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone there.”
    “No, you shouldn’t.”
    “We got off on the wrong foot.”
    Robie said nothing.
    “Okay,
I
got off on the wrong foot. How have you been?”
    “Busy, just like you.” He paused. “I thought about calling you afew times. Just never got around to doing it. I’m sorry. Things got a little crazy for me.”
    “I have to say I’m surprised you even thought about calling me.”
    “Why? We’d agreed to keep in touch.”
    “I appreciate that, Robie. But I don’t think your job allows for a lot of downtime.”
    “Neither does yours.”
    “It’s a different sort of thing. You know that.”
    Their drinks came and Vance gratefully took a sip of hers. “Omigod that is good.”
    “Can you taste the linen?”
    She set her glass down and smiled. “Every single thread.”
    “Sense of humor will get you through a lot.”
    “That’s what people keep telling me. But I keep finding fewer things to laugh at.”
    “Which brings us back to tonight. Why the call for drinks and dinner? Really?”
    “Two friends getting together.”
    “A busy FBI agent working long hours? Don’t think so.”
    “I have no agenda, Robie.”
    Robie just looked at her.
    “Okay, I sort of have an agenda.”
    “Then let me sort of hear it.”
    She sat forward and lowered her voice. “Douglas Jacobs?”
    Robie’s face was impassive. “Who is he?”
    “Who
was
he. Jacobs is dead. Shot at his office.”
    “Sorry to hear that. What happened?”
    “Not sure. He apparently worked for DTRA. Do you know them?”
    “I know of them.”
    “I say ‘apparently’ because I’m pretty sure everyone I’ve spoken to is lying his ass off.”
    “Why?”
    “You know why, Robie. This is spook territory. I’m sure of it. And they always lie.”
    “Not always,” he reminded her.
    “Okay, but most of the time they do.” She took another sip of her cocktail and eyed him keenly. “You’re sure you didn’t know Jacobs?”
    “I never met the man,” Robie said truthfully.
    Vance sat back and looked at him skeptically.
    “Do you know everyone at the FBI?” he said.
    “Of