"Mac, m’boy. Good to see you." The Director pulled a file marked EYES ONLY--CONFIDENTIAL, stamped in bold red ink across the folder.

"Good to see you, too. Hope to hell this isn’t another job you want to talk about. I’m beat." Mac shrugged his shoulders trying to relax some of the tension caused by his long flight home.

"I know you just got in, but I have no choice in this matter. You have to head back to the airport in just a few minutes."

"With all due respect, sir. There must be someone else who can--" Another five minutes in the chair and I’ll be lucky if I don’t fall flat on my keister.

"Sorry, Mac, but you’re the only man I’ve got for this job."

The Director’s eyes never met Mac’s, instead he looked just over Mac’s left shoulder at the citation-covered back wall of his walnut-paneled office. He often sent men into situations where they could be killed or worse, but this case he was about to throw in Mac’s lap looked to be the catalyst that could end up costing him his best agent, though he didn’t think there would be anything life threatening in it.

"Sir, I just got in from a ten-hour flight. I’m bushed. I smell. I need a shower, a hot meal and a stiff drink, not necessarily in that order on the last two items." Mac stretched his tired body. With legs as long as his, planes were not a comfortable place to spend any length of time.

"I know what you’re saying and I know that you’re tired. And I know what you’re going to say; you’ve been in the field too long, you’re getting old and your back hurts. I’ve heard it all before. Sorry, Mac, but as I said, you’re it. The chances are you’ll clean this one up in just a few days, then you’ll have time for that well-deserved vacation."

"Sure." He couldn’t keep the disdain from his voice. He’d heard it all too many times before.

"This thing is so hot there’s no time to even brief you. You can read the file on the plane."

"And of course, I’m supposed to believe that I’m the only warm body you have to send, right?"

"Right." The older man ignored Mac’s sarcasm and used some of his own. "It will undoubtedly need your "expert" touch if you have to go in."

"When did this thing break?"

"When is not the point. That we needed you in California the day before yesterday is."

"Who’s covering until I get there?" He had discovered early on that arguing with the Director was a study in futility. His choices were walk or do the job.

"Tom Landon. He’s partnered you before, that’s why I pulled him for this one."

"Yeah, Tom and I have a history."

"Doesn’t really matter one way or the other, Mac. Since the budget cuts, we don’t have that many loose agents available to cover your back on this unless, of course, it turns nasty."

"Tom will do, we work well together. Do we have anything at all to go on?"

"Everything we have is in this file. I expect you to fatten it up." He pushed the abysmally thin file folder toward Mac. "A car is waiting to take you to the airport. Landon will meet you at the other end. E.E. Grayson, the writer, is your subject."

"The same Grayson who writes the blood and guts Bannister series?"

"The very same. Have you read any of them?"

"No. Why?"

"Just wondering."

Hairs on the back of Mac’s neck stood on end. The Director never asked idle questions. He had a deadly purpose in everything he did.

Forewarned, Mac scanned the first page of the file. "Damn. I should have known. A woman. If this is why you referred to my expert touch, I told you last time out, I wouldn’t play that game again."

"Then let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. You’re the best at what you do, Mac. I’d hate to lose you at this late date."

"That sounds like a threat, sir."

"It could come to that if you jeopardize this case. Keep in mind that there are people I have to answer to."

"Then you’d better know up front, if I have to go in on this one and it gets too sticky to handle, you can expect my resignation."

"You’ve said that before."

"I’m older and smarter. You can make book on it this time."

The Director nodded acknowledgment of the threat and picked up the phone. As he started punching in numbers in his usual manner of dismissal, Mac headed for the door.

"Okay, I’ll shoot by my place and pick--"

"Everything you need in the way of clothes and equipment for a short assignment is on the plane. Anything else you need, you can buy. Only this time, keep the receipts. Have a good trip."

Mac flicked the switch on the voice-activated recorder, ran the tape forward, marked it, then entered the time and location in a logbook.

"Damn. We’re going to have to go in to find out what she’s up to." He could almost see the Director’s smile. "Will you check the area code on that last call, Tom? If she’s gone long enough, her little morning trip could give us the time we need to bug her house. Is the court order for it in place?"

"Yeah. We got it at the same time we got the tap order." Tom pulled a notebook off the shelf and flipped through the pages to California area codes. "She called San Bernardino. Barring traffic jams and acts of God, it takes a minimum of two hours to make it out there and back plus however long it takes to complete this buying business of hers. I wonder what’s so important that she’s going all the way out there?"

An incoming call on the tapped line set the recorder in motion again. The two men enclosed in the CALTRANS panel truck listened carefully to the conversation between the subject Grayson and a party named George.

"Slow down, George. You’re babbling."

"Okay, I’m okay, Ellie."

"Now, who was doing the asking? Take your time and tell me exactly what happened."

"I told you, Ellie. Two guys in suits, white shirts and ties. They were angry when they left because I wouldn’t answer their questions. They said they would be back after I’d had time to think about it. What shall I tell them?"

"Anything you want. I have nothing to hide. They can’t make you talk, George, so suit yourself."

"But I--"

"Goodbye, George. Have a nice day, George. Got to go, George."

Mac made a notation on a clipboard of date and hour. "Now what in the hell was that all about? Sounds like someone else is digging into Grayson’s life." He could feel the case slipping out of control.

"I agree that it sounds that way, but let’s not jump to conclusions, Mac. The suited men that "George" spoke of might have nothing to do with why we’re here."

"I don’t like the feel of this. The Director assured me that we would be the only agency on this case."

"The old man has been wrong before, Mac. He likes to think he has a handle on what the other spooks are up to, but that doesn’t necessarily make it so."

"Well, it sounds to me like he blew it this time." He made a note to check on it.

Tom wiped sweat from his forehead. "God, it’s hot in here. You’d think they could come up with something a little more innovative than the ubiquitous panel truck for these jobs. Crank that fan up another notch, will you?"

Mac flipped the control to high. "I just hope that if there’s another agency involved, they don’t stumble over us and blow our cover."

"Wait ‘til you’ve been with the agency as long as I have." Tom undid another shirt button. "I remember the time--" The look on Mac’s face told him that this was not the time or the place. "Never mind, I’ll save that particular story for another boring day."

"I have plenty of those stories of my own, so thanks anyway." If the truth be known, Mac thought, more than ninety percent of all cases were boring, hurry up and wait situations.

"Figures. How do you want to handle things in the morning, Mac?"

"You tail Grayson to San Bernardino, and I’ll place the bugs and search the house. If I do have to make contact, I’ll need to know the layout of her place."

"Whatever you say, you’re the best inside man I know." The smirk on Tom’s face spoke volumes.

Mac chose to ignore Tom’s remark. "Once the bugs are in place, and we can monitor everything that goes on inside the house, it shouldn’t take too long to get what we need. With any luck at all, and we certainly deserve some for sitting in this heat, I won’t have to go in. Getting next to E.E. Grayson is at the very bottom of my happy list."

Mac thought about the woman he’d seen twice in the last twenty-four hours. All five-feet ten-inches of her. She had shoulders the average man would envy and a stride that spoke of a well-toned athletic body, but hardly feminine in his book.

He wasn’t too comfortable with the awareness he felt when thoughts of her as a person, instead of an investigative subject, filtered through to his conscious mind. It was as if his hair follicles moved of their own volition, following her every motion. It was a new experience for him--one he didn’t like one damn bit.

Hell, he didn’t even like redheads. Give him a well-stacked, short, cuddly blonde any day of the week. He knew just how to keep them happy with no strings attached.