Miranda told him. “Just name it.”
“It’s not a favor,” Kristie corrected, sending McGregor a warning glance. “It’s an assignment.”
“Even better. Name it.”
McGregor laughed. “Don’t you want to know the details first? It’s strictly voluntary. And a little odd.”
“Sight unseen it’s better than anything I’ve been doing lately,” Miranda replied. “And like I said, I’d do anything for you two.”
Kristie sighed, knowing from Miranda’s file that indeed her recent assignments had been dismal ones, mostly consisting of dates with politicians or minor criminals. Nothing tawdry—at least, not exactly—but certainly nothing interesting. And definitely nothing that used the marksmanship talents that had earned her entry to the CIA in the first place.
To put it bluntly, Miranda Cutler had been typecast over the last year as a femme fatale, and while she was indeed pretty, Kristie had no doubt it was the sexy videotape with Ray Ortega that had short-circuited the young operative’s career.
Miranda looked from Kristie to McGregor, as though trying to fathom their hesitation. “It’s fine. Really. Ask me anything.”
“Okay.” Kristie took a deep breath. “How much do you know about Ray Ortega?”
“What?”
“I mean, about where he’s been and what he’s been doing these last eleven months.”
“I have no idea. And I don’t care.”
Kristie winced, but persisted. “Did you know he left public service—”
“Left it? As if he had a choice? He’s lucky he isn’t in prison! I’ll never understand why President Standish pardoned him.”
“Because he saved my sister’s life, for one thing,” McGregor told her, his voice soft.
“Oh. I didn’t know that.” Miranda arched an eyebrow. “I’m guessing it’s his fault she was in danger in the first place though, right?” When McGregor nodded, her green eyes flashed. “Why are we talking about him? Has he done something else?”
Kristie reached across the table and grasped Miranda’s hand. “Ray went into seclusion after—well, after the pardon. He wanted to cleanse himself spiritually. To restore balance to his life. He was riddled with guilt, Miranda. It’s so unfair. He’s a good man. A great man, really. You know that in your heart, don’t you?”
Miranda stared at her for a moment, then spun toward McGregor and demanded, “What’s going on?”
“I don’t blame you for being confused. What you don’t know is that Ortega and Kristie are close friends. He hired her. Trained her to be a spinner. She owes him a lot. Loves him like a brother.”
Miranda gave a cool smile. “I guess that makes sense. But it doesn’t explain why you asked me here.”
“It’s simple,” Kristie told her. “Ray doesn’t want to have anything to do with me—with any of us—anymore. But we need his help. There’s a global conspiracy brewing—a dangerous paramilitary cartel—and he’s the only person in the world who can thwart it.”
“I doubt that,” Miranda drawled.
“No, really. He once saved the life of a major player in this conspiracy. A man named Jonathan Kell. We think Ray can get Kell to confide in him.”
Kristie had expected Miranda to scoff again, but the redhead surprised her by smiling with delight. “That’s what you want? Great! I won’t let you down. I’ll get Kell to talk. Believe me, I’ve had practice. And I’m embarrassed to say, I’m pretty good at it. Just tell me what you need to know, and I’ll make him spill it.”
Ignoring McGregor’s chuckle, Kristie insisted, “No, Miranda. You’re missing the point. We don’t want you to talk to Kell. We want you to talk to Ray.” Before the CIA operative could protest, Kristie forged ahead. “I’ve tried, but he shuts me out. He won’t talk to Will—Director McGregor—either. But he feels terrible about what he did to you. How he lied to you. Plus—”
“Kristie, don’t,” McGregor cautioned.
But the spinner knew she was right. “He fell for you that night, Miranda. I think you can get to him where all the rest of us have failed.”
“Fell for me?” Miranda repeated, as though she couldn’t trust her own hearing. “You’re kidding, right?” Her voice grew strident. “Ray Ortega used me. Lied to me. Made a fool out of me. Humiliated me. Ruined my career. That’s what happened that night, Ms. Hennessy. You think he feels guilty for it? Good! I hope you’re right about that. But don’t kid yourself. I was just a dupe, like he said in his stupid statement. I was naïve—”
“You were young and beautiful, with flowing red hair, a perfect face and a great body. And a warm, beautiful smile. Just the kind of female that gets to him. He said it to me himself, when we were investigating the murder together in L.A. He said he met a girl who made him remember what it’s like to fall in love—”
“He was lying! To save himself. My God, you’re worse than I was. I understand he’s your friend, Ms. Hennessy—”
“Call me Kristie. And listen to me, Miranda. I’ve seen the video. I know what happened between the two of you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Drop it, Goldie,” McGregor muttered.
But it was too late. Miranda Cutler was on her feet, clearly upset by the reference to the alibi tape. “You want to know what happened between us that night? He screwed me. Literally and figuratively. That’s what you saw on the video.”
“Miranda—”
“When the cameras stopped rolling, Ortega was just getting started. He seduced me, just like he and Jane Smith planned. But don’t kid yourself. It had nothing to do with genuine feeling. It was all part of a scheme. Then he planted the idea in your head, too. Which makes you a dupe, too. Welcome to the club.”
Before Kristie and McGregor could even begin to respond, Miranda added unhappily, “I’m sorry. I know you think he’s your friend. And I’m sure he cares about you in his own way. But I’m sure he used you, too. Just like he used me. I thought he was this heroic, noble, patriotic guy. He played that part so well.”
Settling back down, she murmured, “He had just killed a man, but he flirted and teased as though we were really on our first date. That’s the Ray Ortega I know.”
“We owe you an apology, Miranda,” McGregor told her with quiet insistence. “We didn’t know how—well, how fresh all this was to you. Or how deep your feelings ran. Obviously, we don’t expect you to contact Ortega.”
“I’ll contact Kell instead,” she interrupted, her passion morphing into confidence before their eyes. “Trust me, I’ll get the information you need. Just tell me where to find him. If he’s heterosexual, he’ll talk to me.”
“I’m sure he would,” McGregor agreed with
