“Are you a U.S. citizen, ma’am?”

She nodded.

“Talk out loud, ma’am. I need to hear your voice.”

“I’m not,” she told him. “My position is a great deal higher. I’ll have you know I’m an undocumented national of indefinite residential status. Our government cherishes me, so if you mess with me you’d better look out.”

“Mexican?”

“Russian.”

“You don’t sound Russian.” The Mounty himself sounded impatient.

“I ’aff lied.” Cassie’s eyes were cast down demurely. “I am uf Byeloruss. Een my own country vimen such as I are calt belles. Here you tsay dingdongs.”

The Mounty heaved a sigh. “Let’s see some ID.”

“I haf a tattoo.” Looking up at him, she licked her lips. “Ees var’ preety. Tzum private place, da?”

The Mounty reached into the car and grabbed her purse.

“That’s twice tonight I’ve had my purse snatched,” she told him. “It was an American cop the first time.”

The Mounty nodded. “He has my sympathy.” After glancing at her driver’s license, he returned her purse.

Smiling, Gideon slid back into his seat and shut the door. As their car glided silently away from the checkpoint he said, “Any questions I haven’t answered?”

“Five or six hundred. Will bringing out my star quality make me a star?”

“Yes.”

Cassie felt a sudden pang of sympathy for the Mounty. “Enlarge on that a bit, will you?”

“If you were . . .” Gideon waved his hand vaguely. “A factory worker. In that case it wouldn’t, and I’d have to bring you to the attention of the right people. I could do it, but it might take a week. As it is, I don’t have to. You’re an actress already. That will be sufficient.”

“My show is closing—what time is it?”

“Two fifteen.”

“Ummm . . . You didn’t look at your wrist. Or at the clock in front of me, either. I see it now.”