While the credits of the movie rolled, Trixie shifted and a slow smile crept over her face at the weight of Jim's sleep-heavy hold. The mindless action flick had been a welcome distraction, but it was over. As she pondered her options, she was pleased to observe that one of her predictions had come to pass. Mart was stretched full length, his head thrown back and his legs extended past the coffee table. A gentle but persistent rattle emanated from his nose, and a thin trail of drool trickled down his chin. The sight was at once so homey and comforting that Trixie felt an unexpected warmth spread through her soul.

Her happy smile exploded into a snort when she glanced to the love seat. Honey was curled into a tight ball, her cheek on the arm rest. Diana was huddled against her, raven hair covering her face. Against all odds, they seemed comfortable.

A familiar arm stole around Trixie's shoulders. “Should I get my camera?” Dan asked.

She shook her head. “I really only enjoy black-mailing Bobby,” Trixie admitted.

Dan's eyes twinkled. “Oh, I thought you might want one or two for your own personal collection.”

Trixie pretended to ignore his implication, although one quick glance was enough to imprint on her mind the image of Jim's sleeping form.

Grinning at Trixie's flushed face, Dan strode past her to the kitchen. “Coffee's calling,” he said by way of explanation. Within minutes, the aroma of rich dark grounds filled the chalet.

Trixie eyed him suspiciously. “What are you doing up?” she demanded. “And don't tell me you couldn't sleep. You're exhausted.”

Dan inhaled deeply of the coffee that was still too hot to drink. “Okay,” he agreed. “I won't tell you.”

Trixie glared harder.

Taking a cautious sip of the steaming coffee, Dan relented. “Look, you're going to crash in a few hours. I figure I can sleep then, too. In the meantime, we might as well get some work done.”

Trixie nodded, although she didn't quite buy his explanation. “Well, what are we waiting for?” she demanded. “Hasn't the coffee kicked in yet?”

Dan took a second, slightly bolder sip before gesturing to the second living area. “Let's set up in there.”

After the laptop was up and running, however, they found themselves staring at each other, identical blank expressions on their faces.

“Where do we start?” Dan asked, still waiting for the coffee to work its magic and boost his energy.

Trixie thought for a moment. “More of Saunders' journal entries. There has to be something there.”

Dan opened the files and they skimmed through the brief entries.

Date: Subject successfully convinced an enemy spy to defect.

Date: Subject successfully infiltrated a large organization and gathered essential data.

Date: Subject avoids me whenever possible. I'll have to find someone on his team to watch him, but I must choose carefully. Certainly not any of the recruits he hand-picked.

Trixie's stomach churned. “You know, I never liked Saunders, but I had no idea he was so devious.”

Dan's mouth quirked in a wry grin. “You do remember that we work in intelligence, don't you? Saunders didn't stop being a spy when he became the Director.”

“I know,” Trixie sighed. “I just don't like the idea of him spying on one of us. And sending someone to do his dirty work for him.”

Dan nodded, remembering the cruel politics that had defined his time with the Cowhands. “It's ugly,” he agreed before turning back to the journal entries. “Trix, have you noticed that every journal entry is about this 'subject'? He doesn't mention any cases unless they apply directly to the 'subject'.”

“Must be pretty important to him,” Trixie replied absently, still reading. She frowned and leaned forward. “Looks like Saunders managed to force him in for a physical.” She narrowed her eyes. “They really put him through it. Physical, mental, emotional... I thought you only had all those if you were being investigated.”

“The physical looks good,” she commented, scanning the brief report. She continued on to the results of the psychological evaluation.

“Dan, does this make any sense to you?” She pointed to a particularly long and convoluted paragraph. “Heightened activity in a lobe of some sort?”

Dan promptly forgot that he was exhausted. “Subject displays abnormally elevated pre-cognitive abilities.”

“What was going on with this guy?” Trixie asked, her blue eyes wide. “This does not sound normal.”

Dan shrugged. “Don't look at me. My medical training is glorified first aid.”

“Did someone say first aid?”

Trixie jumped at the interruption of the calm, low voice. “Brian! Medical jargon! Sit down,” she ordered, simultaneously scooting over to make room for him on the couch, grabbing his hand to pull him down, and shoving the computer screen in his face.

Brian rubbed his eyes blearily. “Geez! I got up because I smelled coffee. Not only is it not morning, you're springing a pop quiz on me.”

“The coffee's my fault,” Dan apologized. “I needed a pick-me-up.”

Brian glanced at his sister as she vibrated with impatience. “How much has she had?” he asked, addressing Dan.

Dan rolled his eyes. “Not a drop. This is Trixie, au natural.”

Brian and Dan's quiet laughter was interrupted by Trixie grabbing Brian's arm and pointed him at the monitor. “Read,” she demanded, with an imperious tone reminiscent of her younger brother.

“I'll get you some coffee,” Dan offered, knowing that Trixie was determined to keep at Brian until she understood the medical report.

Still adjusting to the glare of the monitor in the otherwise dark room, Brian read slowly, taking frequent sips of the coffee Dan provided. “Is this a joke?” he finally asked.

Trixie frowned. “Of course not.”

Brian turned back to the file and studied it again.

“What is it?” Dan asked.

Brian faced them with obvious reluctance. “This isn't my area of expertise,” he warned.

Trixie waved aside his disclaimer. “Right. Just tell us what it's talking about.”

Brian gestured to a colour-coded diagram of a brain. “This is all wrong. There's a burst of activity in this area,” he pointed to the screen, “that I can't explain.” He frowned. “From what I can tell, the part of the brain that processes how we interpret what we see has much more activity than anything I've ever seen. I can't even imagine what the patient must be thinking, what his world must be like...” Brian shook his head, intrigued by the possibilities. It was with genuine surprise that he met Trixie and Dan's blank stares.

“What?” he asked defensively.

Trixie sighed in exasperation. “You were supposed to make it clearer.”

With a sheepish grin, Brian tried again. “Okay. When you're driving and you see a red octagon, it tells you that you have to stop, and wait until it's safe to proceed. The brain has to process what it sees, and take appropriate action. A lot of it we do without even thinking. But, here,” he pointed to an area of the brain with vibrant colours, “you can see that there's a lot going on. Synapses firing, new connections being formed... It's really quite beautiful.” He paused for a minute, but continued before Trixie could prod him. “What does this mean for the patient? I can't be sure, but in conjunction with the report of heightened pre-cognitive abilities, I would say that the patient has found new and surprisingly accurate ways of interpreting what he sees. He might be able to tell if a person is lying, or. well, really anything.” He shrugged. “As far as I know, there are no other cases like this. It's uncharted territory. If this brain activity is accurate, and the results of the pre-cognitive tests are verifiable, well, let's just say I could write one heck of a medical journal article and take my pick of hospitals.” He leaned back so he could look both Trixie and Dan in the eye. “Is this for real?”

Trixie shrugged. “Someone thinks it's real. We've been reading the journal entries of a person who's been following the patient closely.”

“Brian, let's say it's another operative who's been having this unusual brain activity. Would Trixie and I have noticed any unusual behaviour?” Dan asked.

Brian thought carefully before answering. “Probably not. You can't see brain activity from the outside, of course. At most, you might have noticed that he has really good instincts.”

“We're spies, Brian. We're all supposed to have good instincts,” Trixie said.

“Frankly, I don't think many of you have the unusual brain patterns to back it up,” Brian told his sister fondly. “But, I could be wrong. Like I said, this isn't my area of expertise.” He stood and stretched. “If you don't need me for anything else, I think I'll head up to bed. Sleeping on the floor is even less comfortable than it looks.” Eyes twinkling, he added, “And, Trix, you better not let Di find out her seating arrangement didn't work.”

Laughing at the chagrined expression on his sister's face, Brian left, secure in the knowledge that Dan would take care of her.

“I knew she was up to something,” Trixie sighed, remembering the conveniently available spot beside Jim on the couch.

Dan nodded. “If I didn't know better, I'd think she was trying to make you feel better.”

Trixie had to laugh. “Well, I'm not actually complaining, and I am feeling better.”

“Good. You had us worried.” Dan's tone was light, but his dark eyes were serious.

“I know,” Trixie sighed. “I'm sorry I freaked out in the hot tub. I barely even think of those scars anymore, but...”

“But it's different being around the Bob-Whites,” Dan concluded.

“It doesn't feel right to keep secrets from them. Telling them that we're CIA was one thing—I love my job and it was a relief to tell them about it. But talking about the scars...” Her face reddened. “It still hurts.”

Knowing that she wasn't referring to the physical pain of her injuries, Dan nodded in understanding, but didn't speak.

“Anyway, I think I'm more confused now than I was before,” Trixie complained, thinking about what Brian had told them.

“Is it time for a list?”

Trixie groaned. “I hate lists. You know that.”

Dan handed her a notebook. “Yes. I also know that they help both of us to think. And you don't hate lists. I think you secretly yearn to make lists all day long, but you're scared to admit it.”

With a roll of her eyes, Trixie took the notebook. “Okay. You got me. Deep down, there's nothing I'd like better to sit behind a desk for the rest of my life, reducing everything around me to point form.”

Dan grinned at the pert expression Trixie always assumed when employing sarcasm. “Well, until that day comes...”

“Back to the beginning,” Trixie agreed, quoting one of Bill's favourite maxims. “But what is the beginning? The more I read in Saunders' files, the more I think this goes back further than we realize.”

Dan nodded uneasily. “For now, let's go back to the beginning for us.”

After closing her eyes and concentrating, Trixie began writing.

1. Bill gives us the cross and files.
2. Someone breaks into our apartment.
3. Someone accesses my work computer.
4. Someone watches us while tobogganing.
5. The clubhouse is wired and watched.
6. Juan Velásquez, former object of a CIA investigation, appears at our vacation destination.

Trixie paused and gnawed her pen thoughtfully. “That's a pathetic list,” she declared.

“Then let's do better. What do we know about the cross?”

Trixie began writing.

1. Bill had in his possession files related to each other only by the presence of a cross.
2. All of the people who possessed the crosses died of unnatural causes.
3. All of the people possessing crosses were scientists.

Trixie stopped. “We're missing something, Dan. I know it.”

“We'll come back to it,” he assured her, not liking the feverish pitch to her voice. “Now, what about the 'someone' who seems to be following us? What do we know about him?”

Trixie flipped to a new page.

1. He knows where we live. He knew which room to focus on, assuming he was looking for       the cross.
2. He has at least one accomplice, who helped him escape in the game preserve.
3. He knows our workplace; specifically, he knows which computer is mine.

She tapped her pen on the note pad and looked up from her position on the floor. “No wonder Grayson told us not to talk to anyone on our team. 'Someone' knows way too much about us.”

“That doesn't necessarily make him an insider,” Dan pointed out. “We're pretty good at following people and learning their habits ourselves.”

“Are we dealing with another spy?” Trixie wondered out loud.

“It could be,” Dan acknowledged. “Especially if our secure line isn't secure...”

Trixie pushed back her sleep-tousled hair. “There are too many possibilities. If he is a spy, is he one of us, or an unknown?”

It was a question neither could answer. Reluctantly, Dan redirected their focus. He paused. “Trixie, maybe we should look into the nightmares you've been having.”

Trixie looked away. “Why? We both know I'm prone to them. What's the point?”

Dan chose his words carefully. “I think we both know that the dreams you've had in the past few weeks have been...different.”

When Trixie didn't respond, Dan took the note pad from her.

1. First nightmare occurred at our apartment, shortly after our return from Minsk. You were      wearing the necklace on and off.

“That wasn't a nightmare,” Trixie protested. “I wasn't even dreaming. All I remember is you bursting into the room.”

“That's right. But, Trixie, believe me, something was going on. You were screaming, and...”

Trixie took the note pad back and pushed back the memory of being awakened by her own screams. With a sigh, she continued the list.

2. Second nightmare occurred a month later, the night the apartment was searched. The        dream consisted only of the image of a man. What was remarkable was the intense            presence of evil. And the fact that it was directed at me.

Feeling Dan's concerned gaze on her, Trixie struggled between elaborating on her experience, and moving on. “It wasn't so bad,” she said, her frank blue eyes meeting his. “There was no reason for it to affect me the way it did.”

Dan nodded, recollecting her uncharacteristic clinging, but he didn't agree with her opinion.

3. Third nightmare occurred on the way to Pine Point. In this dream, I could hear voices, all    on top of each other. I couldn't understand them because there were so many. And            then...

Trixie broke off and opened her left hand. The outline of a cross was still visible.

Dan started and leaned forward, taking Trixie's hand in his and studying the imprint. “Shoot! I'm sorry, Trixie. I completely forgot about this. I meant to check on it...”

“I'm fine, Dan.” Trixie took her hand back and stuffed it in the pocket of her sweatshirt.

Dan continued to study her thoughtfully. “That wasn't the first time you clutched the cross in your sleep.”

“The first dream,” Trixie remembered. “It was on my night stand when I went to sleep, and when I woke up, I was holding it.” She nibbled the cap of the pen. “I was wearing it for the second dream. For the third dream...” Trixie closed her eyes in an attempt to remember accurately. “In the third dream something was reaching for my neck.” She frowned. “I couldn't breathe.” She opened her eyes. “Dan, what's happening?”

He shook his head. “What else do we know about the cross?” At Trixie's blank expression, he pointed to the notebook. “Describe it.”

Instead of flipping to a new page, Trixie moved to a new spot on the floor, her back against the couch. “It's a plain gold cross with bevelled edges.” She fingered it. “Although...”

“Although, what?” Dan prompted.

“This is going to sound silly,” she warned. “The night of the first nightmare, I was lying in bed, playing that memory game where I try to remember as many details as I can about the room. I was thinking about the cross.” She turned to look her partner in the eye. “Dan, when I described it to myself, I said it had scratches on it. When I looked at it, I couldn't find any, but I was so sure...”

Dan knew that Trixie's powers of observation seldom served her false. He raised a hand cautiously, remembering Bill's reaction when he had attempted to look at the cross in his former team member's hand. “May I?”

Trixie acquiesced and raised her chin so Dan could lift the cross from where it rested on her chest. Inexplicably nervous, she chewed her bottom lip as Dan inspected the pendant carefully.

“It feels smooth,” he commented, but his voice wasn't certain.

“What? What is it?”

Dan shook his head. “I can't see or feel anything out of the ordinary, but I think you're right. In the morning I'd like to take a closer look at it,” he said, thinking of the special tools and magnifying glass he kept in his over-sized bag.

Trixie turned so the cross slipped through Dan's fingers and settled back on her chest. “In the morning,” she agreed. The thought of subjecting her cross to a close and possibly damaging scrutiny disturbed her more than she cared to admit, and she sighed wearily.

“Why don't you head on up to bed?” Dan asked.

Trixie stood, considered the staircase, and dropped to the couch. In typical Trixie fashion, she fidgeted until her back was wedged against the arm rest and her legs were in Dan's lap.

“Trying to tell me something?” Dan teased, knowing full-well what she was after.

With an impish grin, she waggled her toes and pleaded, “Please, Dan? It'll help me go to sleep.”

Dan raised an eyebrow and tortured her for a full thirty seconds before picking up her left foot and beginning to massage it. He was rewarded with a gentle sigh as he expertly rubbed the pad of her foot. “Better?” he asked, noting with satisfaction her closed eyes and dreamy half-smile.

“Mmm,” she responded, her voice a purr of satisfaction.

He worked in silence for several minutes.

When he set down the first foot to begin on the second, Trixie commented, “Some vacation, isn't it? We were expecting a few days at Crabapple Farm. Instead, we got to leave work early, and stay away longer.”

Dan grinned. “Maybe that thing around your neck really is a good luck charm.”

“Some good luck charm,” Trixie snorted, and then sat up abruptly. “Good luck charm! Dan, that's it!” She tripped over words in her haste. “Saunders gave a good luck charm to someone.”

“We read that in his journal entries,” Dan agreed, not sure where Trixie was heading.

“Yes, but remember we'd heard something called a good luck charm recently? Well, I remember where. Bill! Bill kept referring to a good luck charm in those files he gave us.”

“I thought he was talking about his partner, Patrick,” Dan recalled.

“What if he wasn't? What if he was talking about this?” Trixie clutched the cross in her fist.

“So Saunders gives a cross to Bill, intending to track his reactions. It works for a while, but then Bill's mind starts to go, and he gives the cross to you.”

“His mind,” Trixie whispered. “Dan, that means the subject with the abnormal brain activity is Bill. He doesn't have Alzheimer's, he had--”

“The cross.”

Trixie let go of the cross as if were burning her.

“I think you should stop wearing it,” Dan said quietly.

Trixie's heart pounded. “I can't.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I take it off for any length of time, I start to worry about it. I can't focus if I'm not wearing it.”

“But what if wearing the cross is what made Bill sick?” Dan asked, secretly horrified by Trixie's admission.

“What if not wearing it caused the problem?” Trixie countered.

Dan rubbed a hand over his eyes. “We have no way of knowing.”

Lines of worry creased Trixie's forehead. “We have to get to the bottom of this. Before--” To her chagrin, she couldn't continue. The stress of the incident in the hot tub, trying to sort out her relationship with Jim, and the disturbing conjectures about the cross were suddenly too much to bear, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut to keep the tears from spilling.

“What I don't understand is how wearing the cross could produce changes in a person's brain activity,” Dan pondered out loud in an effort to distract Trixie.

She blinked. “I have no idea. Maybe we're barking up the wrong tree. None of this makes any sense.”

“We'll worry about it tomorrow,” Dan assured her. “You've had it for months; a few more days aren't going to hurt.”

“A few more days are all we have left of our vacation,” Trixie lamented. “It hasn't been nearly long enough.”

“We'll just have to make the most of it, then. As far as I know, there are no plans for tomorrow. What would you like to do?”

“Go out with Honey and Di,” Trixie said immediately. “We haven't had a chance to get together, just the three of us.” She frowned. “Do you think Brian, Mart, and Jim will mind if we desert them?”

Dan grinned. “Of course they will. But I'm sure they'd much rather go skiing than shopping, so it'll be fine.”

“I know they mean well, but I really don't feel like answering any more questions about, well, anything. And Honey and Di won't push.”

Dan raised his eyebrows.

“Okay, they will,” Trixie laughed. “But they know when to stop, which is something I can't say for my brothers.

“Speaking of stopping...” Dan motioned for her to resume her former position with her legs in his lap.

“You don't have to--” she protested, but stopped abruptly as he began toying with her toes. “Wow, that feels good. I guess I was carrying some tension in my feet.”

“You usually do,” Dan reminded her.

Trixie's eyes slid shut as he gave his full attention to the task. Just as Dan had hoped, focusing her thoughts on plans for the following days relaxed her noticeably. As the tension drained from her body, she drooped against the side and back of the couch. Within minutes, she was asleep. With slow, cautious movements, Dan inched closer to his own end of the couch so that Trixie could stretch out, her feet still on his lap. He leaned back and closed his eyes, but sleep eluded him.

A short time later, Dan heard heavy footsteps. He opened his eyes to see Jim staring at him inquisitively.

“She just fell asleep,” Dan whispered, cautioning Jim to be careful.

Jim nodded and sank into the recliner beside the couch. “How's she doing?” he asked quietly.

Dan shrugged. “She's had better days,” he said, still frustrated by the fact that Trixie had been reminded of a painful part of her past when she already had so much on her mind.

The two men sat in silence, staring at the petite woman who had such a large impact on both their lives.

“She should go to bed,” Jim commented.

“I'm not waking her,” Dan protested. “She might not go back to sleep. And a sleep-deprived Trixie is not a good thing.”

“I could carry her up,” Jim suggested.

“She'd wake up,” Dan warned. “And you wouldn't live to see tomorrow if Di woke up and caught you in the girls' room.”

Jim laughed. “I guess not. But are you just going to sit here all night?” he asked.

Dan shrugged and held up his coffee mug. “I'm good for a while. You?”

“Only if there's more where that came from.”

The two friends settled back in the dark quiet of room, keeping watch.

Several hours later, Trixie awakened to the sound of running water. She bounded out of bed, a quick glance at the clock confirming her suspicion that she had slept away a good portion of the morning. In the bed beside her, Diana still slept soundly, her midnight tresses forming a halo around her. No wonder she's such a great artist, she thought. She's practically a work of art herself.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the bathroom door. Honey stepped out, looking very comfortable in one of the many robes provided at the chalet.

“I'm glad you're awake!” Honey said, squeezing excess moisture from her hair with a towel. “Maybe you'll be able to get Di out of bed. I couldn't even get her to open her eyes.”

“That's because you're not nearly cruel enough,” Trixie informed her. “I bet all you did was whisper her name a few times.”

“I suppose you have a better plan?” Honey sniffed.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” A sly smile caused Honey to step back in alarm.

“Trixie Belden, what are you planning?” she demanded, her attempt at disapproval failing miserably.

Trixie winked before walking heavily to the bedroom door. “Okay, Honey,” she called, opening the door. “Have a good time shopping for shoes at that Italian boutique. And enjoy your pedicure!”

Before Trixie could close the door behind the supposedly departing Honey, Di sat up and rubbed her eyes.

“Shoes?” She yawned and threw back the covers. “Pedicure?”

“Good morning, Di,” Trixie said sweetly while Honey shook her head in amusement.

“Don't leave without me,” Diana warned, and disappeared into the bathroom.

When the shower began, Honey asked, “When did you come to bed? When Di and I came up, you and Jim and Dan were camped out in the living room.”

Trixie shrugged. “I didn't look at the time. But Jim was snoring and my neck hurt, so I decided it was time for a bed.”

Honey nodded, and then turned back to Trixie's ploy to get Diana out of bed. “Do you really want to go shopping? I know we talked about a girls' day out, but...”

Trixie laughed. “No, that was a calculated risk on my part. I was just hoping for lunch, but I suppose we could do the pedicure thing, too. I think I saw a spa downtown.”

Honey's mouth dropped open. “You want to go for a pedicure?” she asked.

Trixie shrugged. “I wouldn't mind. I like foot rubs,” she said with a grin.

“And Dad did ask us to check out the town thoroughly,” Honey pointed out.

Before long, the girls were ready to take on the town. Diana shook her head as she read the note the boys had left.

“I can't believe they got up early to go skiing.” She yawned for the umpteenth time.

“At least they didn't try to get us to go with them. I don't think Mart was too pleased with the early start.”

“Oh, I wouldn't feel too sorry for him.” Trixie nodded toward the kitchen, where dirty dishes littered every available inch of counter space. “It looks like he was more than compensated.”

Honey frowned as she gingerly picked up an empty package of bacon and threw it in the garbage, then scrubbed her hands.

“Don't even think about it,” Trixie warned.

“Think about what?” Honey asked, her eyes on the grease-splattered stove.

“Cleaning up their mess.” She steered Honey in the direction of the door. “They're big boys. They can take care of it when they get back.”

Honey looked back over her shoulder. “But the eggs are drying in the frying pan...”

“They should have thought of that before they left,” Diana interrupted and handed Honey her jacket. “Let's go! There are still lots of shops to check out.”

Linking arms, the three friends stepped out into the mild winter sun and headed for the near-by commercial district. When Trixie had looked at more curios and clothing than she would have thought possible for the little town to hold, she ushered her friends into a quaint building. Bright sunshine poured through the large street-facing windows. Everywhere they looked, delicate flowered, striped, and checked fabric adorned all available surfaces. Curtains, table cloths, tea cozies, and seat cushions provided the room with an airy, comfortable atmosphere.

A middle-aged woman greeted them. “Welcome to Tea Time. I'm Rose.” The petite, elegant woman smiled invitingly, and showed them to a table looking out onto the street.

“I'll be right back with tea,” she promised.

“And menus?” Trixie requested hopefully.

After ordering a light lunch, the girls sipped their tea slowly.

“So, what's with the girls-only lunch?” Diana asked bluntly, her violet eyes sparkling with mischief. “Does one of you have,” she paused to waggle her eyebrows suggestively, “juicy details to share?”

Honey rolled her eyes. “You already know my details,” she reminded her. “Or lack of them...”

Diana nodded sympathetically while Trixie listened in surprise.

“I thought he seemed more affectionate lately,” Diana remarked.

Honey shrugged. “Sure, when we're on vacation. As soon as we go back to work, he'll go back to being Mr. Honourable.”

Trixie's brow creased as she tried to follow the conversation. “What do you mean, Mr. Honourable? Wait. I'm not sure I want you to answer that. He is my brother, after all.”

Honey tucked a strand of shoulder length hair behind her ear. “There's nothing to tell, Trixie. Believe me.”

When Trixie continued to frown, Honey tried again. “Do you remember how you felt in high school when Jim was away at university?”

“I hardly ever saw him, and, when I did, I was lucky if we held hands,” she recalled. “He drove me crazy! I was pretty sure he liked me, but he barely did anything to show it Man, did I envy you two. Did you guys actually see any of those movies we were always renting?”

“Nope!” Di and Honey chorused.

Trixie groaned. “It was my own fault for asking.”

“Have you talked to him?” Di asked, returning to Honey's problem.

“He's always too busy, or too tired, or...” she shrugged. “I know. I have to do it sometime. I just don't want to ruin our vacation.” She paused. “Speaking of Mr. Honourable, how is Jim, the original Mr. Honourable, doing, Trixie?”

Trixie's cheeks pinked. “Um, good, I guess.”

“Really? How good?” Diana teased. “Rumour has it you and Jim were out on the veranda on Christmas Day for quite a while.” She leaned forward. “Did he do a good job of keeping you warm?”

Trixie hastily bent to retrieve the spoon she had knocked to the floor.

“Oh! I hadn't heard about that,” Honey commented as Trixie set the spoon on the table. “Do tell,” she invited.

“He, uh...well, we...we talked,” Trixie stammered.

“That's not what I heard!” Diana teased. “Or, at least, that's not all you did.”

Trixie glared at her. “How do you get your information?” She shook her head as she determined the most probable leak. “Bobby is so dead.”

Diana giggled. “He may have said something to Mandie, who may have said something to me, but that's not what's important here.” She tapped her perfectly manicured nails on the lace tablecloth. “Details, Trixie. We want details.”

“Well, not too many details,” Honey cautioned. “Just enough to give us the general idea.” She tugged Trixie's elbow. “Did he really kiss you?”

Trixie couldn't stop a tiny smile as she remembered the sensation of being in Jim's arms.

“He did!” Diana concluded triumphantly, tossing back her hair. “Plug your ears,” she commanded Honey as she leaned in close to Trixie. “Spill it, girl. How was it? Wait. Don't answer that. I can tell by that goofy look on your face that it was good. What did he say? What did he do?”

Trixie pushed a handful of curls away from her suspiciously flushed face. She shrugged in what she hoped would pass for a casual manner. “We just talked a bit. He said he couldn't stay angry with me.”

“And?” Diana prompted.

“Well, he started to kiss me, but then Bobby walked in.”

Diana watched as Trixie avoided her eyes. “And then...”

Trixie squirmed on the pretty floral cushion adorning her wooden chair. “I, um, kind of kissed his cheek when we said goodbye.”

“That's it?” Evidently, Honey had been expecting more.

Diana, however, was not as easily misled. “I don't think so,” she stated. “A kiss on the cheek wouldn't have given her that star-struck look a minute ago. We're waiting,” she imperiously informed her friend.

“Okay. He may have kind of pulled me back for a real kiss,” Trixie admitted. She clapped a hand over her mouth as the memory caused her to smile self-consciously.

“A real kiss?” Diana probed.

“Most definitely,” Trixie assured her. Her giggles subsided. “Man, it's been a long time since I've been kissed like that,” she sighed.

“Really?” Honey sounded surprised. “I thought in your line of work...” Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

Trixie grimaced. “I didn't say I hadn't kissed someone like that for a long time. I said no one's kissed me like that.”

“Oh.” Both Diana and Honey suddenly found their tea cups fascinating.

“It's not like that. Not really,” Trixie said quietly. “Yes, I've done some flirting, but it doesn't go beyond that.” She lowered her voice even further. “I meant what I said to Jim. A good agent does whatever it takes to get the job done. A great agent never does anything they don't want to do.” She met their eyes. “I'm very good at what I do.”

“Of course you are. It's just hard for us to visualize what your life is like,” Honey admitted.

“Well, it's not exactly like a Bond movie, if that's what you're thinking,” Trixie teased.

“What? Dan doesn't sleep with every beautiful woman he comes in contact with?” Diana asked, her violet eyes twinkling.

“Nope. He does charm them all, though.”

“So, you're saying not much has changed since high school,” Honey surmised.

Trixie rolled her eyes. “Let's just say he's not lacking in the confidence department,” she said, remembering their recent trip to Minsk and the ease with which he had convinced Marlena to help him. Deliberately thrusting aside all thoughts of work, Trixie turned to her dark-haired friend.

“So, Honey and I have shared our pitiful details. What about you? What's new in your love department?”

Diana flicked her hair. “You have not told me everything, and you know it. You can't tell me that you've shared an apartment with Dan Mangan for two years and have never once thought about--”

“Stop right there,” Trixie commanded, covering her ears. “Thinking about Dan that way is, is...”

“Extremely satisfying?” Honey speculated.

“Highly gratifying?” Diana supplied.

“No! More like...”

“If you say it's like thinking about your brothers, I'll know you're not telling the truth,” Honey warned. “I have a brother, and that's definitely not how I think about Dan.” She grinned. “He's much too hot for that.”

Trixie glared. “Okay, Dan may not be a brother, exactly, but,” she threw up her hands. “Can we be done this conversation now?”

Diana grinned. “For now. But, one of these days, I want to hear the full story about sharing an apartment with Dan the Man.”

Trixie rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

The girls continued to laugh and tease, but Trixie couldn't help noticing that Diana hadn't revealed anything about her own life. Once again, she recalled their conversation on the way to Pine Point.

Trixie snorted. “Diana Lynch, you have never needed lessons in the flirting department and you know it. Men have always been putty in your hands.”

A shadow passed over Diana's face so fleetingly that Trixie wasn't sure of what she had seen. “Well, it never hurts to be prepared,” she quipped, flipping her raven hair over her shoulder.

Trixie looked up at Diana's natural, happy expression. She appeared perfectly at ease, but Trixie was suddenly certain that she and Dan weren't the only Bob-Whites with secrets.