Hawk wasn't crazy about the idea of Sgt. Stone taking his daughter out for some recon study. But the fact was that Lizibeth needed the training and Brand was the best there was. Bar none.

So what was he supposed to do?

"Two set-ups," Stone told Scarlett. "We'll do some harmless recon of the India site first, then swing by the embassy thing at the end of the week. You got IDs and stuff for us, Breaker?"

"You can pick them up at the Hilton in New Delhi on your way back in."

"I'll have something suitable for you to wear. Does your tux need altered or anything?" Scarlett asked.

Stone shook his head. "I haven't sprouted in years. It should still be in the cleaner's bag from last time."

"You have some real targets, here, teach, you know that, right?" Hawk asked-unnecessarily.

Brandon Stone leveled him with a hard stare. A questioning stare. "It doesn't make much sense to have operatives who can only hold up in fake-outs. You gotta get their feet wet and the time to do that is when there's not much at stake and the chances of ending up in a body bag are real small. This gives her two real-world scenarios to play out from the safety of our net before she even has to consider doing something on her own. The cards at the temple site need to be changed and the increased truck traffic warrants a personal appraisal. Somebody would be going out anyway. And the embassy will be fun. Fru-fru, which women like, but absolutely necessary. We won't be the only team there."

Hawk nodded. He knew it. He understood the rationale. He just wasn't sure he was ready for his daughter to spread her wings where he wasn't there to observe, comment, and approve. Because by and large he did approve. Heartily.

Scarlett grinned at him. "It's graduation day, General. We're not sending her out to the bush. She'll be with Brand the whole time."

"Besides," Breaker laughed. "If the government scumbags are supposed to show at this UN function than half the people attending will be agents. She'll be surrounded."

"That's reassuring," Hawk muttered. He knocked both fists on the other man's. "Do it. Do it right and don't take it easy on her because she's my kid. I want to know her strengths, her weaknesses, what makes her buggy, and what false incentives she takes."

"Will do, General." Stone left it completely to interpretation that any special privileges she got out of the exercise were far less likely to be because of her parentage than the fact that he couldn't think straight around her. He was acting like a teenaged boy, for God's sake!

The next night Stone watched water drip off the camera mounts overlooking a road that should have been rarely used and overgrown. Instead it showed signs of recent and frequent egress. The hard copy memory sticks for the series of motion- and heat-activated imaging devices were dry-wrapped and tucked safely inside his breast pocket. Away from the monsoon-strength rain the area was getting. Out of season, of course, or he'd never have volunteered for this particular jaunt.

Lizibeth's teeth clicked twice as she signaled to him. Stone tried to locate what had caught her attention based on her field of vision. Since she was covered in a poncho and a camouflaged thermal sheet it was virtually impossible. J.O.E. had the best gear. Sometimes it was a burden to deal with it.

"Check out those bushes," she murmured so softly that the thin material didn't even move. Stone looked, then he looked again.

"Cute," he whispered.

A baby tiger was wrestling with a thick trailing vine. The vine wended its way down the building's crumbling walls and through a flowering bush whose petals had all been driven off by the heavy rainfall.

"Okay, so other than Simba there, what have we got?"

Lizibeth bit her lip and turned to look at him. "I think we've got an excellent case for moving a satellite. Obviously this road is being used. Just as obviously nothing's showing up on thermal scans. Some below-ground resolution imaging might help us decide if there's something going on in that temple without sticking our heads in and yelling 'boo!' at the top of our lungs."

"Which isn't an option anyway, because our mandate is..."

"Observe and collate data and replace/restock in-place cameras."

"You got it, little one."

Lizibeth smiled at him. She was actually enjoying herself. She rarely got to spend so much time in quiet solitude-being with Stone just seemed like an extension of the world-and she wasn't overly uncomfortable. She'd found a nice tree trunk. Her bug dope was working. The ration bars they'd packed in weren't going to take home any taste test awards, but they did the trick, nurturing their bodies with only what they needed, no waste. She had waterproof boots and a jumpsuit designed specifically for agents in the field. Life was good.

Plus there was the tiger cub. And the butterflies who'd come out to dance briefly that afternoon. And even now a little white frog was hopping closer to inspect the new terrain with its unusual scent.

Stone pulled out a personal camera and snapped two pictures of the tiger in the bushes. Mama was around somewhere, but unless they made sudden moves or took off their gear she probably wouldn't scent them or mark them as a threat. Then he turned, snapping an image of a grinning Lizibeth.

"Is Lizibeth what your mother called you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Nope. It started in second grade. I had a teacher who shortened it. Her voice was so soft, so quiet. She was one of those people who made you feel like they had all the time in the world for only you. One of those hands-on teachers who sat beside you during handwriting and played ball with us at P.E. But anyway, she's the one who started it. And it kind of stuck."

"What did she call you?"

"My mother? Nothing good."

"Ever?"

"Elizabeth. Not Elizabeth Grace, the way my dad does. She made it sharp. Disapproving. When she was drunk or sick or wanted sympathy I was always Bethy. I really, really hate that name."

"What about Liz?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Nobody's ever really tried it on for size. I was always Elizabeth or Lizzie Beth or Lizibeth. And everyone calls you Stone. Do you get tired of it?"

Stone considered. "It's what I'm used to. It's almost like faking people out when I go home and little old ladies on the street call me Brandon. Or Brand, mostly. We've all got family tree names. Nothing recent, all relatives from the turn of the century. To keep things interesting according to my mom."

"She calls you Brand?"

"Nah. She calls us by our branches now. I'm J.O.E., Stephen is Marine, Fitz is Spy, and Greger is Doc."

"Some family?"

"Some family. Fitz is with the CIA and Greger is a heart specialist who leads the nation in successful valve repairs and transplants. She's proud as hell."

Lizibeth was quiet for a long time.

Stone let the silence go on for several minutes. "She'd like you, I think," he told the younger woman. "Tough. Gutsy. Determined."

"All pretty ways of saying stubborn?"

"Yeah," he grinned. "My mother likes strong-willed people. She'd like your sweetness and your honesty, too. Your self-concept. And your adaptability. She raises thousands of dollars a year for the humane society but won't donate a cent to homeless shelters or soup kitchens. She doesn't believe in victims. Says there are too many programs available for people to need so many of 'em."

"Opinionated."

"But open-minded in her way. She wouldn't hold it against you if you disagreed. She'd just click her tongue a little and move on to the next thing."

"Remind me to write her a check. I agree completely."