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birthday?”
    Kira
smiled at her sister.
    “A gift from me. Something
special. I’ve paid the cover and made the arrangements. They have my
specific instructions. If you get there and decide you don’t want to play, my
feelings won’t be hurt. But damn it, Jo, try going there once and see if the
atmosphere works. Okay?”
    Jo
threw up her hands. “Alright, already. I’ll do it. But
don’t blame me if the whole night’s a disaster.”
    “Just
go with the flow. You might be surprised.”
     
    * * * *
     
    The
hotel room was pretty much standard luxury issue—king-sized bed, a conversation
area, a work area for laptops and other electronic devices. Sean Murphy
impatiently paced the room, raking his fingers through his shoulder-length
hair. It was a new look, along with the short beard that concealed the scar on
his chin. There was nothing he could do about the ones on his body.
    He
stopped and turned toward Kira, sitting cross-legged in one of the arm chairs.
    “So
she said yes?”
    “After
a lot of pushing and arguing,” Kira told him. “Listen, Sean. Don’t you think it
would be better if you called her or went to see her and told her what
happened? It’s not like the situation wouldn’t be something she couldn’t
understand.”
    “Oh,
right.”
    First
I’d have to tell her I lied to her about my job. Then I’d have to lay out a
tale that sounds like something out of a movie or a work of fiction.
    “It’s
better than having her believe you walked out on her.”
    “Yeah? Tell me how you’d react to the truth?”
    He
paused and shoved his hands in his pockets.
    “Hi
honey, sorry I ran out on you the way I did, but some things came up. See, I
wasn’t really a government lawyer, although I have a law degree. I’m part of a
covert agency that tracks and “disposes” of bad guys. Our entire operation is
off the government books. The day after I proposed I got called away on a
critical mission to South America. Only, shit happened, I got captured.”
    “Ohmigod!” Kira covered her mouth with the tips of her
fingers.
    He
scrubbed his face with his hands.
    “These
are not nice people. They threw me in a concrete cell and barely gave me enough
to eat or drink. When they got drunk at night they’d draw straws to see whose
turn it was to beat on the prisoner. Some days, I prayed to die.”
    “Jesus,
Sean. How long were you there?
    “Three
years. Took the agency that long to find me and rescue me. It took another year
for me to recover. My voice will never be what it once was after the damage to
my vocal chords. But hey, here I am, ready to pick up where we left off!”
    He
held his arms wide.
    “Sean,
you don’t give my sister enough credit.”
    “I
don’t want to screw this up.”
    He
rubbed the ridged scar on the back of his neck from the rope where his captors
often pretended to hang him. They’d tighten a noose around his neck and stand
him on a short stool. There was some kind of game to see who got to kick the
stool out from under him. And as he’d sense squeezing pressure on his throat
they’d untie the noose and drop him to the floor. In the beginning, he’d
panicked every time it happened. Trying to hold his weight in
a way that would ease pressure from the noose. He’d tried kicking out at
whatever guard came forward to push the stool away. After months of this and
other forms of torture, both mental and physical, he’d begin to wonder if dying
might not be his best option.
    Even
now he’d wake up at night, covered with sweat, heart pounding, feeling as if he
were choking. It had taken every bit of the past year to learn how to control
those dreams. The panic. So many
mind games. Maybe he was screwed up and should forget this whole
thing.
    “You
won’t screw it up. She agreed to the trip to Fantasy for her birthday. You make
all the arrangements and I’ll set the stage. I can at least convince her to let
them prepare her and take her to a private room. After that, it’s up to