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NOBODY had ever asked Alexander Knight if a man's belly could really knot with anxiety but if someone had, he'd have laughed and said bellies couldn't knot any more than pigs could fly.

Besides, why ask him?

Anxiety wasn't a word in his vocabulary. He knew what it meant to feel his nerves tense, his blood pound. Taut anticipation, after all, had been part of his life for a long time. You couldn't put in years in Special Forces and then in covert ops without experiencing moments of stress, but that wasn't the same thing.

Why would a man be anxious when he'd trained himself to face danger?

Alex pulled his BMW into a parking slot behind the building he hadn't seen in three years. Hadn't seen, hadn't thought of….

Hell, that was a lie. There'd been too many dreams where he'd awakened, heart pounding, sheets tangled and sweaty.

The first thing he and his brothers had agreed on, even before they'd come up with the idea of starting a company called Risk Management Specialists, was that there wasn't a way in hell they'd ever walk through these smoked-glass doors again.

"Not me," Matt had said grimly.

"Or me," Cam had added.

And Alex had said, Damned right. It would be a hot day in January before he so much as drove by the freaking place.

His jaw tightened.

So much for promises. It was November in D.C., the weather gray and cold, and he was going through those damned doors, walking across the tiled floor to the security desk.

The hell of it was, it all felt as familiar as if he'd never left. He even found himself reaching into his pocket for his ID card but, of course, there was no card in his pocket, there was only the letter that had brought him here today.

He gave his name to the guard, who checked it first against a list on his clipboard, then on his computer monitor.

"Move forward, please, Mr. Knight."

Alex stepped into the seemingly benign embrace of the security gate.

Checkpoint one, he thought, as the electronic snoops did a preliminary scan. This was his last chance to turn and walk straight out the doors.

A second guard handed him a visitor's ID badge. "Elevators are straight ahead, sir."

He knew where the damned elevators where. Knew, after he stepped inside and pressed the button, that it would take two seconds for the doors to slide shut, seven for the ride up to the sixteenth floor. Knew he'd step out into what looked like a corridor in any office building — except that the luminescent ceiling was filled with lasers and God only knew what else, all checking him from head to toe, and that the plain black door marked Authorized Entry Only would open after he touched his thumb to a keypad and looked straight ahead so that another laser could scan his retina and verify that he really was Alexander Knight, spook.

Ex-spook, Alex reminded himself. Still, he pressed his thumb to the pad, just to see what would happen. To his surprise, it activated the retinal scan and a couple of seconds later, the black door swung open exactly as it had years ago.

Nothing had changed, not even the woman wearing a dark gray suit seated behind the long desk facing the door. She rose to her feet as she had a hundred times in the past.

"The director's expecting you, Mr. Knight."

No "Hello." No "How have you been?" Just the same brusque greeting she'd always offered when he'd had to stop here between assignments.

Alex followed her down a long hall to another closed door. This one, however, opened at the turn of a knob, revealing a large office with bulletproof glass windows overlooking the Beltway that circled Washington.

The man at the cherrywood desk looked up, smiled and rose from his chair. He was the only change in this place. The old director who Alex had worked for was gone. His assistant had replaced him, his name was Shaw, and Alex had never liked him.

"Alex," Shaw said. "It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you, too," Alex replied.

It was a lie, but lies were the lifeblood of the Agency.

"Sit down, please. Make yourself comfortable. Have you had breakfast? Would you like some coffee or tea?"

"Nothing, thank you."

The director sat back in his leather swivel chair and folded his hands over his slight paunch.

"Well, Alex. I hear you're doing quite well."

Alex nodded.

"That company of yours — Risk Management Specialists, is that the name? I hear excellent things about the work you and your brothers do." The director gave a just-between-us-boys chuckle. "Quite a compliment to us, I think. It's nice to know the techniques you learned here haven't gone to waste."

Alex's smile was tight. "Nothing we learned here has gone to waste. We'll always remember all of it."

"Will you?" the director said, and suddenly the phony smile was gone. He sat forward, folded his hands on his desk, his blue eyes boring into Alex's. "I hope so. I hope you remember the pledge you took when you joined the Agency. To honor, defend and serve your nation."

"To honor and defend," Alex said coldly. To hell with phony pleasantries. It was time to get down to basics.

"Yes. I remember. Perhaps you remember that the Agency's interpretation of that pledge was the primary reason my brothers and I resigned."

"An attack of schoolboy conscience," the director said, just as coldly. "Misguided and misplaced."

"I heard this lecture before. You'll understand why I'm not interested in hearing it again. If that's why you asked me to come — "

"I asked you to come because I need you to serve your country again."

"No," Alex said, and rose to his feet.

"Damn it, Knight…" The director took a deep breath.

"Sit down. At least listen to what I have to say."

Alex looked at the man who had been second-in-command here for more than two decades. After a moment, his face expressionless, he took his seat again.

"Thank you," the director said. Alex wondered how much it had cost him to say the two simple words. "We have a problem."

"You have a problem."

That garnered a sound that was almost a laugh.

"Please. Let's not play word games. Let me speak my piece in my own fashion."

Alex shrugged. He had nothing to lose because no matter what the director said, he'd be walking out the door and away from this place in another few minutes.

Shaw leaned forward. "The FBI's come to me because of a, uh, a delicate situation."

Alex's dark eyebrows rose. The FBI and the Agency didn't even acknowledge each other's existence. Not in public, not in Congress, not anywhere it mattered.

"The new head of the FBI is an old acquaintance and…well, as I say, a situation has arisen."

Silence. Alex swore to himself he wouldn't be the one to break it but curiosity got the best of him and curiosity, after all, didn't mean he'd get involved in whatever was happening here.

"What situation?"

The director cleared his throat. "The oath of secrecy you took when you joined us is still binding."

Alex's mouth twisted. "I'm aware of that."

"I hope so."

"Suggesting I'm not is an insult to my honor. Sir," Alex added, his tone making a mockery of the honorific.

"Damn it, Knight, let's drop the nonsense.You were one of our best operatives. Now, we need your help again."

"I already told you, I'm not interested."

"Have you heard of the Gennaro family?"

"Yes."

Everyone in law enforcement had. The Gennaro family was deep into drugs, prostitution and illegal gambling.

"And you know about the indictment against Anthony Gennaro?"

Alex nodded. A couple of months before, a federal prosecutor in Manhattan had announced the indictment of the head of the family on charges that ranged from murder to leaving the toilet seat up. If convicted, Tony Gennaro would live out his life in prison, and the family's power would be ended.

"The feds tell me they have an excellent case. Wiretaps. Computer files." The director paused. "But their ace in the hole is a witness."

"I don't see what this has to do with me."

"The witness has not been cooperative. After initially agreeing to help, the witness balked. Now the Justice Department is uncertain as to what will happen next. The witness has finally agreed to come forward — "

"Under pressure," Alex said, with a tight smile.

"The witness has agreed to come forward," the director said calmly, "but — "

"But, the Gennaros might get him first."

"Yes. Or the witness might decide against testifying."

"Again."

The director nodded. "Exactly."

"I still don't see — "

"The attorney general and I go back a long way, Alex. A very long way." The director hesitated. Alex had never seen him do that before; it made the hair on the back of his neck rise in anticipation of what would come next. "He feels that the usual methods of witness protection won't work in this particular situation. I agree."

"You mean, he's not eager to put this witness in a cheap hotel room in Manhattan, hit up his budget for a one-man guard detail 24/7, count on the hotel staff not to talk about their star guest or sell the info to the highest bidder?" Alex smiled thinly. "Maybe they've learned something while I've been away."

"What they need — what we need — is an experienced operative. A man who's been in the line of fire, who knows better than to trust anyone, who isn't afraid to do whatever it takes — whatever it takes — to keep this witness safe."

Alex stood up. "You're right. That's exactly the kind of man you need, but it isn't going to be me."

The director rose, too. "I've given this a great deal of consideration. You're the right man, the only man, for this assignment."

"No."

"Damn it, Knight, you pledged your loyalty to your country!"

"What part of 'no' don't you understand, Shaw?" Nobody ever used the director's name. It hung in the air between them, a deliberate reminder of Alex's removal from the life he'd once led. "I'd say it was nice seeing you again," he said, reaching for the door, "but hell, why lie about it?"

"They'll never get a conviction without your help!" Alex opened the door.

"They'll kill the witness! Do you want that on your conscience?"

Alex looked at the older man. "My conscience won't even notice," he said tonelessly. "You should know that better than any man alive."

"Knight! Knight, come back here — " Alex slammed the door behind him and walked away.