The Library Café had been a little-known gem in downtown Alexandria, Virginia, for nearly forty years. Open for breakfast and lunch seven days a week, the place had a Bohemian flair, and always smelled of bacon and frying onions in the morning, and freshly baked bread and cinnamon in the afternoon. Their coffee cake was legendary. The walls were lined with books that customers were welcome to read while they relaxed for a meal or a cup of coffee, or to take home for as long as they liked. Just like a real library, some of the books were never returned, but according to the owner, Rose Whiting, most of them made their way back onto the shelves eventually.

Sean loved the café, and had made it his second home in Alexandria. Toni fixed a heavenly breakfast, and Rose always made it a point to wait on him herself, even when she had plenty of help. Sean had the same thing almost every time he came in—scrambled eggs with ham and cheese mixed in, eaten on top of wheat toast, with bacon on the side. A deadly cholesterol load, but twice a month he could spoil himself.

In the time since he had moved here to work at the Pentagon, he had dated a dozen girls, half of them more than once, but had yet to meet a woman with whom he would be willing to share the Library Café. It was his little Fortress of Solitude. He figured when he eventually met a woman he wanted to take out for breakfast here, she would be the one.

“How were your eggs, honey?” Rose asked as she topped up his coffee.

“You do ’em perfect. You know that.”

Rose smiled. “That’s Toni. She knows just what you like.”

The woman added just enough naughtiness to her inflection that it would be impossible for Sean to miss the innuendo. Toni, a fortyish single mother, always flirted with him when he came in, and sometimes she used Rose as her go-between. The women made a little game of it, and Sean always went along. Most times he thought she was joking—that the flirtation was only surface—but on occasion he had wondered if there might be something more to it. The prospect of finding out tempted him, but his work was not conducive to long-term relationships, and he was too fond of Toni to treat her affection as something disposable. But innocent flirtation? That he could do.

He slipped some money into the leather folder with the bill Rose had left on the diner-style counter.

“Keep it warm for me,” he said, sliding off his stool and heading for the men’s room.

“I always do,” Rose called.

Sean smiled to himself as he went into the restroom, but after he’d used the urinal and was standing at the sink, washing his hands, his thoughts went back to his sister. Cait had sounded off, and he didn’t blame her. This afternoon, when he could steal enough time for a longer conversation, he would call her back. They might be adults now, but he knew he would never stop worrying about her.

When he came out of the men’s room, Rose was wiping spilled coffee off the floor and there were napkins soaking it off the counter. A middle-aged suit with wire-rimmed glasses had taken the stool next to where Sean had been sitting, and now he was dabbing at coffee stains on his shirt. When he spotted Sean, his expression turned sheepish.

“You must be the guy whose coffee I just spilled,” he said. “Sorry about that.”

The guy had apparently slung his briefcase onto the counter. It sat on the stool beside him now, a few small rivulets of coffee dripping down the side.

“No worries,” Sean said, grabbing some napkins and pitching in, wiping the counter. “Happens to the best of us.”

“Especially if you’re as uncoordinated as I am.” On the counter in front of the man was a brand-new coffee in a to-go cup. He picked it up and offered it to Sean.

“Why don’t you take mine? I just got it. Haven’t even taken a sip. It’s got cream in it, but if you want sugar—”

“He’s sweet enough,” Rose said, straightening up. She smiled and went around behind the counter.

Sean felt a little awkward, but he needed to get going, and the guy seemed to feel so sheepish that he hated to refuse.

“That’s great, actually,” he said, taking the offered cup. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. It’s the least I can do.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who has to clean that shirt,” Sean said, gesturing toward the stains on the man’s clothes. “I got off easy.”

The guy laughed, a little less sheepish now.

Rose dumped the napkins and paper towels in the trash, then took a clean cloth and gave the counter one more wipe down. Sean picked up a biography of Houdini, which he’d left on the counter. By some miracle, the pool of coffee had not reached it. He took a couple of long sips from the cup—hot, but not scalding. Perfect.

“Thanks again,” Sean told the guy, raising his coffee cup. “See you soon, Rose. Give Toni a kiss from me.”

“You could give it to her yourself if you’d shave that beard, or at least trim it back a little,” Rose teased him, picking up the faux-leather folder that held the check and his money and slipping it into her apron.

Sean ran a hand over his bristly, close-cropped hair and then pushed his fingers through his tangled snarl of a beard. “I think it’s distinguished.”

“Hah! It’s a rat’s nest,” Rose said with a laugh.

“That’s no way to keep your customers coming back.”

She winked at the clumsy, coffee-stained guy, then turned back to Sean. “You’ll be back, honey. Where else are you gonna get such a warm welcome?”

Sean chuckled. “You win. No arguing that.” He held up the Houdini book for her to see. “I’m going to borrow this one, if you don’t mind.”

“You know I don’t. Enjoy it, honey.”

“I already am,” he replied. As he headed for the door, he glanced back. “Tell Toni I said good-bye.”

The bell above the door chimed as he pushed it open and stepped onto the sidewalk, a smile on his face. The fans had been spinning inside the Library Café, but out here on the street it was warming up fast. The forecast called for a hot one today, but manageable. Tomorrow, though … the cute weather girl was predicting a scorcher.

Still sipping his coffee, Sean headed toward home, but not directly. Two blocks down there was a small market. He needed to pick up some OJ and a jar of peanut butter, and probably a loaf of bread as well, if they had anything decent. The bread stock at Taraji’s Market was always a roll of the dice.

He hitched up his pants, glancing casually around to make sure he wasn’t being observed as he adjusted the holster he wore clipped to his belt at the small of his back, his long shirt easily covering it.

As he did, he licked his lips, realizing he was suddenly thirsty. He took another sip of coffee, but then had second thoughts. Water would have been better. His throat felt so dry. And the sun … it was so bright that his temples began to throb.

Stupid, Sean thought, having a big breakfast on a hot August morning. He’d be feeling full and sleepy all day. Walking would do him good. Despite the pressure in his temples, quickly growing into a genuine headache, he picked up his pace.

He dropped the half-empty coffee into a trash can he strolled past, realizing that his throat felt even drier. He swallowed, felt it constricting, and frowned. You’d better not be getting sick. Actually, though it had been years since he’d had a bad one, this felt a lot like a hangover. His mouth felt stuffed with cotton, his lips swollen, and now he blinked, unsteady on his feet.

Sean froze, there on the sidewalk.

Oh, Jesus, he thought, as he realized what it was. This wasn’t a hangover at all.

He turned to glance back at the trash can where he’d just dropped the coffee cup, then at the Library Café, thinking how stupid he’d been. Of all people, he should have known better than to take anything from a stranger. Bile rushed up the back of his throat and he dropped to his knees, vomiting blood and scrambled eggs onto the sidewalk. His stomach convulsed and he threw up again, unable to catch his breath.

Then the seizure started.

A good Samaritan, seeing him twisting in agony on the ground, shouted for someone to call 911 and raced to his side. By the time the man reached him, Sean McCandless had stopped breathing.

The Houdini book lay open, facedown, on the sidewalk beside him, blood and vomit soaking its white pages.