Live and Let Spy by Elizabeth Cage

she—his prime investigator—didn’t even know existed ?
    â€œTheresa and Caylin are conferencing on the other line,” Uncle Sam stated. “So I’ll talk to you tonight. Keep your eyes and ears peeled for any information on Ewan’s girlfriend.”
    Jo hit end and scowled. Despite her nausea, she felt more determined than ever to go out and get the goods.
    Nobody called her a nobody and got away with it.
    Nobody.
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    â€œThis is great work,” Uncle Sam told Caylin and Theresa, who were conferencing him from two separate cell phones. Caylin was perched on a park bench near the theater while Theresa stood in front of an apartment building two blocks over.
    â€œAlexandra Parsons, Anka Perdova—A.P.,” Uncle Sam continued. “An unusual coincidence. Perhaps this Ms. Parsons is the impostor in this scenario. But you had better FedEx the folder to me right now—there’s a drop box three blocks north of the theater. Don’t keep that information on you for longer than you have to.”
    â€œGot it.” Caylin nodded, scanning the passersby to make sure no familiar faces spotted her. Most everyone was distracted by a marionette puppet show in the park; they didn’t even give her a second glance.
    â€œShould I snag those blueprints, too?” Theresa asked.
    â€œDefinitely,” Uncle Sam replied. “You need to know that theater like it’s your bedroom. And by the way, the ID on the pictures you shot of von Strauss’s escort came back, Caylin. It’s his daughter.”
    â€œHis daughter?” Caylin echoed, aghast. “Oh, drag. That’s so non -juicy.”
    â€œAfraid so,” he said. “And knowing von Strauss’s attitude toward his family, he would probably never put his own daughter in danger. It’s unlikely she knows anything.”
    â€œGreat,” Caylin muttered, slumping against the park bench. “Another dead end.”
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    â€œWant to go grab some joe?” Hannah asked Theresa after a grueling evening performance. The backstage area swarmed with dancers and technical people preparing to go home for the night.
    Theresa had her eye on one superstar dancer in particular.
    â€œNah, I have to get going,” Theresa said as she watched Fake Anka gather her bag and coat. “Rain check?”
    â€œSounds good. Catch you tomorrow.”
    â€œEvery day,” Theresa replied.
    As she followed Fake Anka to the exit Theresa slipped a black cap on her head and tucked her tousled brown hair up under it. Her heavy black wool overcoat completed the ensemble.
    â€œSo long, Anka!” a dancer said as Fake Anka pushed open the door.
    â€œUh-huh,” the impostor replied gruffly.
    Theresa followed her out, lagging about twenty paces behind her.
    â€œTime to find out who you really are,” she whispered. She slipped on a pair of sunglasses just to be safe. Even though the sky was dark, she didn’t want to chance being recognized. Besides, the lenses were dark enough to shield her eyes but light enough to see out of at night. The perfect stalking shades.
    The night air was frigid. Anka headed down the back alley behind the theater toward the main street. Live jazz poured out from an open tavern door, but otherwise the streets were silent. A trio of cats scurried near a bank of trash cans, scavenging for food.
    A trash can lid spun from beneath a cat’s paws and clattered to the street.
    Theresa gasped and ducked behind the cans.
    Fake Anka whirled, staring.
    Just the cats, just the cats, just the cats, Theresa silently prayed. Keep going!
    Moments passed. Fake Anka stared out into the darkness.
    One of the stray cats sniffed at Theresa’s foot. She gave it a nudge toward the middle of the alley.
    The cat meowed loudly and scurried away.
    â€œJust a cat,” Theresa whispered, hoping somehow that that would convince