"No," I said, "but it's easy enough to grab fake IDs these days."
He glanced at me and smiled—a heat I felt rather than saw. It shimmered through me like sunshine, warm and inviting. "And you know this because …?"
"Because I was once a teenager who used fake IDs to get into places I wasn't supposed to be."
He laughed, and something within me wanted to sigh in pleasure. "They could be using a prepaid cell."
"I doubt it—if only because the number can still be traced."
"Not if they dump it."
"Which they can't do if they want regular reports."
"It seems you have an answer for everything."
I smiled. "Only most of the time."
He laughed again, and this time I did sigh. "Do you want help tracking down the number?" he asked. "I'm sure I could dig up a nefarious friend or two."
"The boring investment adviser has nefarious friends?"
"No, but this incarnation of me has only been around for the last eight or nine years. I was something far less savory before this."
I opened an eye and peered at him. "Like what?"
A grin teased his lips and crinkled the corners of his bright eyes. "A politician."
"No!" I stared at him for a minute. "Seriously?"