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and her fashionable
     Range Rover, of course.
    He punched another number on the cell phone.
    “Dr. Cassady.” He heard her voice almost immediately. She
knew
it was him. He usually called from the car on his way over to see her. They liked to get each other hot and bothered on the
     phone. Telephone sex as foreplay.
    “They’ve done it to me again,” Shafer whined miserably into the phone, but he was smiling again, loving his flair for the
     overdramatic.
    A short silence, then, “You mean they did it to
us
, don’t you? There’s
no way
you can get away? It’s only a bloody job, and one that you detest, Geoff.”
    “You know I would if I possibly could. I do hate it here,
loathe every
moment. And it’s even worse at home, Boo. Jesus, you of all people know that.”
    He imagined the tight little frown and Boo’s pursing her lips. “You sound high, Geoffrey. Are you, dear? Take your pills today?”
    “Don’t be horrible. Of course I’ve taken my medications. I
am
rushed. I
am
high. On the ceiling, as a matter of fact. I’m calling between blasted staff meetings. Oh hell, I miss you, Boo. I want to
     be inside you, deep inside. I want to do your pussy, your ass, your throat. I’m thinking about it right now. Christ, I’m as
     hard as a rock here in my government-issue office. Have to beat it down with a stick.
Cane
it. That’s how we British handle such things.”
    She laughed, and he almost changed his mind about standing her up. “Go back to work. I’ll be at home, if you finish early,”
     she said. “I could use a little finishing myself.”
    “I love you, Boo. You’re so kind to me.”
    “I am, and I could probably get into a little caning, too.”
    He hung up and drove to the hideaway in Eckington. He parked the Jag next to the purple and blue taxi in the garage. He bounded
     upstairs to change for the game. God, he loved this, his secret life, his nights away from everything and everyone he
loathed
.
    He was taking too many chances now, but he didn’t care.

Chapter 21
    SHAFER WAS TOTALLY PUMPED UP for a night on the town. The Four Horsemen was on. Anything could happen tonight. Yet he found
     that he was introspective and pensive. He could flip from manic to depressive in the blink of an eye.
    He watched himself as if he were an observer in a dream. He had been an English intelligence agent, but now that the Cold
     War had ended, there was little use for his talents. It was only the influence of Lucy’s father that had kept him in his job.
     Duncan Cousins had been a general in the army and now was chairman of a packaged-goods conglomerate specializing in the sale
     of detergents, soaps, and drugstore perfumes. He liked to call Shafer “the Colonel,” rubbing in his “rise to mediocrity.”
     The General also loved to talk about the glowing successes of Shafer’s two brothers, both of whom had made millions in business.
    Shafer shifted his thoughts back to the present. He was doing that a lot lately, fading in and out like a radio with a bad
     connection. He took a settling breath, then pulled the taxi out of the garage. Moments later, he turned onto Rhode Island
     Avenue. It was beginning to rain again, a light mist that made the passing traffic lights blurry and impressionistic.
    Shafer drifted over to the curb and stopped for a tall, slender black man. He looked like a drug dealer, something Shafer
     had no use for. Maybe he would just shoot the bastard, then dump the body. That felt good enough for tonight’s action. A sleazebag
     dope dealer whom nobody would miss.
    “Airport,” the man announced haughtily as he climbed inside the taxi. The inconsiderate bastard shook off rainwater onto the
     seat. Then he shut the creaking car door behind him and was on his cell phone immediately.
    Shafer wasn’t going to the airport, and neither was his first passenger of the night. He listened in on the phone call. The
     man’s voice was affected, surprisingly cultured.
    “I think I’ll just