Seven

      Emily drew in her breath to scream when LaRue came through the door. She had no idea who he was, but she was sure the game was up.

      “It’s me Em,” he whispered.

      “Doc?” she asked with a relieved laugh. “How is that look believable?”

      “Because, Em,” he said, the level of his voice back to normal. “These people live in the world of make-believe. The less believable your cover story or your disguise is, the quicker they believe it.”

      Besides the clipboard, she had placed everything she had found, except for one of the pistols and switchblades, into Travers left desk drawer.

      LaRue locks the door. “Travers has been killed by his own people. This office won’t be used until a new agent is brought in.

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