Dance with Me

"Where are we going?" I asked and stumbled just slightly. It was just me and Chris tonight. Dianne had stayed home.

"You'll see," He said and I felt his arm tense as he steadied me. I could faintly smell his unique scent on the whisper of wind that passed us by.

"Or rather I won't," I teased him right back. My hand was wrapped around his bicep and his other hand was covering mine.

"Don't worry, I won't keep you in the dark for long," I could hear him smiling at the banter.

"Seriously Chris, where are we going?" I asked as we walked down the street. I was comfortable with him leading me now, though most of the time Dianne was with us too. Chris had said that where we were going Dianne wouldn't be very comfortable.

Chris laughed at my impatient tone and I shot a glare at him that was pretty ineffectual. I could tell because he laughed again. "We'll be there soon Miss Impatient."

"Can you at least give me a hint?" I begged.

"Oh no," Chris said and patted my hand, "any hint I would offer would give it away. You're just way to cleaver for your own good."

We walked along in silence for a few minutes when Chris said, "you know you're cute when you pout, but that's not going to get me to tell you where we are going, besides, you'll know soon enough."

I laughed and leaned into him, letting my head rest on his shoulder for the briefest of moments.

After walking a few more minutes I could hear something on the wind, the faintest strains of music.

"Are we going to a concert?" I asked. I could feel his gaze turn towards my face.

"Not quite," he said and steered us closer to the music. At the moment it was a nice piece of west coast swing. I could feel the difference in the air when we entered a building and the music was much louder.

"There is a chair to your five o'clock," Chris said and steered me towards it. I sat down and listened to the music for a moment.

"This is nice music Chris, but why are we here?" I asked. I was dying to know what he had planned.

"Just sit still a moment," Chris said. I could hear him rustling close by and a couple of faint clicks, and I jumped horribly when I felt him touch my foot.

"What are you doing?" I asked and pulled my foot away from him.

"Changing your shoes," he said in a matter of fact tone.

"And why are you doing that?" I asked, I was really confused now, but allowed him to switch out my shoes. I could tell that they were low heels, strapped, but sturdy.

"Remember a few days ago when we were at that little cafe and that song came on?" Chris said. He had finished with one foot and started on my other.

"Yeah, What about it?" I asked. I was beginning to get an idea of where this was all going and I almost wanted to cry from the sweetness of Chris's gesture.

"You said that you missed dancing. You missed the Cha-Cha, and the Samba, Foxtrot, and the Waltz." he said as he finished with my other foot, "So I thought you would like to go dancing again," as he finished he sounded as if he were unsure. I could feel him still crouched down in front of me and I felt the warmth and pressure as he places his hands lightly on my knees. "That is, if you want to," he said, "we can do something else if you would rather."

I couldn't resist leaning forward and wrapping my arms around his neck in a tight embrace. "Thank you," I whispered against his cheek. I leaned back and he stood up, holding on to both of my hands and lead me towards the dance floor.

As a new song flooded the room my left hand slid up his arm to rest just above his bicep and I held out my left for him to grasp. I felt his other hand on my shoulder blade and he said, "you ready?"

I nodded and he lead me with sure movements into a flowing waltz.

Never Did

"I love you."

"You do?"

"Yes."

~~~~~~

"You lied to him."


She nodded, "better a lie which heals than a truth which wounds." She shook her head. "A kind deed for all the pain I have caused is not so much to give. I caused his pain. He needs to heal. This will help him, and when I go, he will never know that I never love him."

What The Heart Has Seen

Alastrina knew his voice. She knew it as if it were her own. The only problem was that she could not remember where she knew it from. It was only a vauge thought in her mind that she should be remembering who he was. Every night she came to the club, and every night she listened to him sing. And every night he slipped away before she could get a glimpse of him.

It had been three weeks now. Three frustrating weeks of trying to remember something that she didn't even know she was supposed to know. Every night it seemed, when she listened to him sing, there was a niggling little thought in the back of her mind, begging to be remembered. Alastrina grasped at it, but it was like trying to hold mist, insubstantial and fleeting.

Alastrina sat in her usual spot now, closer to the stage than when she had started coming to the club, but still not close enough to see him, only his smile, and his bright eyes.

The lights dimmed and the curtain moved aside. Alastrina sat up straight as he began a beautiful song.

Where has that old friend gone
Lost in a February song
Tell him it won't be long
Til he opens his eyes, opens his eyes

A scene flashed in her mind. A stormy day in February, standing in the rain. Then it was gone.

"The eye never forgets what the heart has seen." She muttered to herself. She didn't bother to try to get a better look at him this time. "I just wish I could remember."

Hurt

Elizabeth swallowed all the words she wanted to say to Damien, all the avowals of love and unending passion. She knew she had to say the words that would drive him away, that would keep him safe.

Damien looked at her with his emotions evident in his face.

And even though she knew it would make them both miserable, she said the words.

"I don't love you Damien, I never did."

Elizabeth watched as something died in his eyes. Damien nodded and turned away from Elizabeth.

Elizabeth watched him go, knowing that it was best for the both of them. She watched him until he turned the corner and walked out of her life forever.

She allowed only a single tear to run down her face. Elizabeth wiped away the tear and turned to her equipment.

Small White Lie

"So what do you think?" Sara turned in a circle next to her friend, showing off the dress she was wearing.

Heather stifled a small smile, "do you like it?"

Sara smiled, "yes I do." The dress was a frilly, frothy type of concoction. Pink and white. It was almost as if she had stepped out of Victorian England. Heather was surprised that the design had lasted so long.

"Then I think it looks great."

Possible Adventure Awaits

Quartz columns rose tall, topped by a dome that glowed in the early morning sunlight. A granite bench sat in the precise center of the dome, looking up one could see a circle that one could imagine watching the stars through. Ancient trees bordered the clearing that is filled with lush grass and spring wild flowers. The sky is an impossible blue, mirrored by a small pond next to the stately structure. A path flows from the small sanctuary along the curve of the pond and into the woods. Roses grow in profusion along the pond, butterflies playing tag in the bushes. Wind whispers through the trees, promises of adventure carried on the breeze, beckoning you to follow to what ever end it held.
A soft tread is heard and a lithe figure moves into sight. Tall and beautiful, he is fluid even in in stillness. Bright green eyes watch out of an intelligent looking face. Black hair hangs long, tied back. His clothing would allow him to fade back into the trees. Is this the promised adventure?

My Sometimes Personal Hell

Steam billows out of pots. Something that looks like a cauldron sits in a corner, squat and fat; issuing forth thin streams of steam, only this one is gleaming silver instead of crusted black with age. Peering inside one can see bones of some as yet unidentified amount of chicken, along with bits of vegetables. The air itself shimmers as heat rolls off of the long flat-top. Almost every burner is occupied with pots or pans. Some reducing sauces, some holding mixtures of fluid and solid, waiting to be turned into soup. The floor is mottled concrete, white and yellow embedded in it's surface; which is all littered with a few peels here and there, a stray mushroom or a puddle of water. People walk back and forth, not exactly hurrying, but not slacking either. Calls echo through the room, warning of hot pots or the passage of a person. Delicious scents poor out of the various pots and out of the ovens. The hum of the coolers, the din of the hoods, and the swish, slam and rumble, slosh of the dishwasher are the accompaniment to this cacophony of sounds. Not to mention the splash of a person trying to prevent another flood, much like a sailor bails a leaky boat, it is a constant chore to keep the kitchen afloat, and water free. Hot fat sizzles in a pan, and hisses, flames leaping as food is added. The oven door opens and closes in an irregular pattern, usually with another bang. The clack of a wooden spoon as it hits the floor is followed by a low curse of frustration. Greetings are called out as residents pass by, gossip and news being exchanged. The swinging door bangs against the frame it sits in. A quiet hiss and click is heard as vegetables are cut, followed by the slightly sinister sound of metal on metal as a knife is sharpened. There is a sharp clatter as an empty pan is dropped. The food piles up in the back room as it is delivered throughout the day. Music plays in the background. And at the end of the night all is silence and darkness.

Tell Me What You Know

"So, tell me what you know."

"The suspect in question did in fact have the gun. The GSR came back positive."

"Are you sure about that?"

"I also know that on the night in question the victim met with the suspect. They met at the local bar. The Mas-Spec confirmed that there was a cocktail of burbon and vodka in his system."

"And?"

"And I also know that he didn't do it."

"You know this for certain."

"Yes."

Don't Antagonize The Dragons

Don't antagonize the Dragons

"I told you not to do that."

"Yeah but you didn't tell me what would happen." The voice was whining

"Well what did you expect? That nothing would happen?" Sarcasm layered thickly in this voice. "Use your head. Fire burns, yes? And you are mostly made of stuff that will burn, yes? So it stands to reason that your hair would burn right?"

"I suppose so."

"I can't believe you went and poked the dragon. Haven't you ever heard the phrase, 'don't antagonize the dragons?' Though I must say, you certainly look ridiculous."

"Oh shut up."

A Fighters Hands

Dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun, a black beanie crammed down to her eyebrows. Black eyes were obscure under the camouflage paint, they saw everything and analyzed it in a second. There was no insignia on her uniform, this was not sanctioned, it never happened. Her gestures were sharp and pointed, conveying a direct meaning. Cover flank, flow around to the rendezvous, I'll take point. Move out! They moved silently through the compound, each knowing their jobs and accomplishing objectives with deadly skill. Such was the life of the special forces.

She had very graceful hands, they moved like pale silk ribbons in a gentle breeze, forming her thoughts and emotions.

Silent As The Grave

Nobody really noticed that David was different. He seemed just like everyone else, quieter certainly, but normal.

Jessica had never heard David's voice. Though from his facial expressions and the intensity in his gaze, she knew his voice would be perfect when he finally got around to speaking to her. Everyone knew what he meant and what he wanted, just by his focus.

"Hi David." Jessica had finally screwed up the courage to talk to him. She did in fact have a legitimate reason for being at his desk, she needed to give him the plans for the new building that was going up down town.

David looked up from his work, his steady hand pausing in the middle of a schematic. He offered a smile to the pretty girl next to his desk. His dark blue eyes looked her up and down, and he raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

"How have you been?" she was hoping to keep the conversation going for a bit.

David shrugged, his expression clearly meant to convey that it was okay, but nothing special. He raised an eyebrow in question at her.

"I've been okay." Jessica, already nervous, decided to make a retreat. "Well, I'll talk to you later."

David smiled and nodded, his focus returning to his work. A smile now hovering around his silent mouth.

Writers Tennis Part 14

(Nagi)

Kenneth was pacing a circle behind the camera. His expression was tense - brows furrowed, eyes dark, and he and Eddie were deep in conversation. Angela averted her gaze politely - she had no desire to read their lips and see any more than she had to see. So she paused by the table where the blue screen crew was set up.

Oddly enough, the blue screen crew for this film was a group of nervous, young Japanese men who spoke little English but ignored their translator more often than was helpful. Angela had once done deep cover with a group of otaku who were hacking government computers and selling data to the highest bidder, so her Japanese was good. At first the techs looked nervous, but once Angela settled back into the rhythm of the foreign language, they opened up. She played ignorant about the blue-screen process, as this was technically her alias’s first big visual effects film, and the men scrambled to explain it to her.

Before things could really get interesting, however, Eddie called things to order.

“All right, let’s get this baby blocked and then shot. Angela, Kenneth, start over here!”

Angela moved to stand opposite Kenneth on one corner of the set. The lights overhead had been filtered to give a nighttime effect. Angela resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the thought of a kiss in the middle of the night and followed Eddie across the set. The blocking was simple and, Angela thought, artful. She and Kenneth were supposed to exchange blows and arc down diagonally across the open room, and once the fight came to a head - with Angela pinned up against a wall, and she could never imagine a boy like Kenneth actually being able to pin her - the kissing would begin. The closer they got to the wall, the more pale Kenneth became.

“You clear with that?” Eddie asked.

Angela nodded and headed back to her corner of the set. Kenneth settled in opposite her, and then it came, that fateful cry,

“Action!”

Angela leapt at Kenneth and started into the fight choreography, careful to pull her hits. They followed the blocking across the set, and then it came, the fateful pin. Angela saw terror flash across Kenneth’s face, but he leaned in to kiss her.

And then someone yelled, “John Henricks, get on the ground! This is the FBI!”

Writers Tennis Part 13

"Right there." Kenneth pointed out the part in the script which called for a kiss. Not only a kiss, but a passionate kiss.

Angela swallowed. It was getting more and more difficult to keep her thoughts focused when it came to Kenneth. Angela briefly read over the part and smiled, putting on a show. "Well, I hope it won't be to bad for you to have to do this."

Standing she stretched; it was time to get back to work again. "After you." Angela held the door open for Kenneth and followed him back onto the set.

"Action!" Eddie yelled when everyone was in place. Angela went through the motions of the scene but was concentrating more on how she would get information out of Johnny without him realizing it and without him getting to jumpy.

Johnny was a skittish type of person, she could tell that by looking at him. He was not the type to lead, he was a follower, doing what he was told, and not asking why. He had probably been in the wrong place at the wrong time and had gotten mixed up with the wrong people.

The next day dawned bright and clear; Angela was unreasonably nervous about the scene today. Arriving on set she went through the motions of make-up and costume, some sort of artfully ripped clothing, and finally props. Johnny was hooking her up to some gizzmo or other. She took the moment to see if she could get any information out of him.

"Hey Johnny, did you hear the news this morning? Apparently there has been another kidnapping." She flipped her hair out of her face, putting on a dumb blond routine. "They are saying that it is a home-grown terrorist cell, but of course who would believe that. What do you think?" She looked at him briefly; his hands were shaking and a bead of sweat ran down his neck. Definitely nervous. "I mean where would you keep people here in America if you wanted to hid them?"

Johnny mumbled something unintelligible, his hand slipping as he hooked up something.

"Personally," Angela continued, "I would hide them in the desert, or perhaps the mountains." She watched Johnny's face carefully. He blanched ever so slightly when she mentioned the mountains. She went on, "Now, East or West coast would be tough, The West is less populated so that would make more sense. Perhaps the Sierra-Nevada's." Here his hand trembled so violently that he dropped what ever he was working on. Angela decided not to push him further. "Oh well, who would believe any of that anyways, I certainly don't." Johnny finished what he was doing and Angela smiled at him, "Thanks Johnny, you're great." Angela patted him on the back and walked away towards the set. She would have to find a way to get Thomas the information he needed.

Angela placed a brief call on her way to the set, relaying the important intelligence that she had gathered.

Writers Tennis Part 12

(Nagi)

Angela sank down on the small sofa. After Kenneth hovered in the doorway for a few moments, Angela gestured to one of the smaller chairs opposite her.

“You can sit, you know.”

“Are you sure? I mean, Eddie’s been grumbling about us being behind schedule anyway,” Kenneth said, but he closed the trailer door and sat down anyway.

“I’m sure.” Angela reached up to massage her temples. Global war and domestic terrorism were the last things she needed on her plate. She wasn’t sure if this day could get any worse, but she wasn’t holding off on her bets yet.

“So...did you get tomorrow’s call sheet?” Kenneth asked.

Angela opened her eyes. “Pardon? Tomorrow’s call sheet? No. I’ll get it tomorrow.” She laughed, keeping her tone light, and let her hand drop to her side to check that she still had Thomas’s sidearm. She had to find a way to arm up, and she had to do it alone. “What makes you ask?”

“Well, I’ve got my AD to keep a day ahead on the schedule for me,” Kenneth said, and he dropped his gaze down and to the right. So this wasn’t a lie, this was...more of that inscrutable guilt.

“That’s nice of your AD,” Angela said. She sat back and studied him more closely this time, for an entirely different reason. In their three weeks on the set she’d become utterly familiar with his every gesture, smile, expression, but this was the first time she noticed how very frail he was. Thin. He’d been a model before he’d been an actor, or so the government dossier said, and those dossiers were rarely wrong. If things went south with Johnny - and she had to get a handle on him in the next twelve hours - the Kenneth would be a risk. She couldn’t protect him and herself, and she couldn’t trust him to protect himself, could she? Still, the boy was unerringly beautiful. She thrust that thought aside and focused on his current mood once more. “You nervous about tomorrow? What’s tomorrow?”

“My, er, first screen kiss,” he said.

Angela felt her world tilt on its axis. Hers, too. But she couldn’t let him know that.

“Oh. Just - go with it. It won’t be that big a deal.”

Kenneth lifted his gaze. “It’s with you.”

Angela blinked. “What?” Then she scooped up her copy of the screenplay. “Where?”

Writers Tennis Part 11

Everyone was clamoring for information.

"What was that about?"

"Are you alright?"

"Are you free now?"

One voice stood out from the others, Kenneth's voice. "Angela, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, it was just a misunderstanding. Apparently they were looking for another actress that went by the name of Angela Carslile. I guess she's into some pretty serious stuff. I explained that it was not me, and they let me go."

Everyone milled around, still astonished by what had happened. Angela discreetly looked around and spotted Johnny walking back to the props area. She would keep an eye on him.

Kenneth was still hovering nearby, waiting to make sure that she was fine. Angela looked over at his beautiful profile and smiled, "Really Kenneth, I'm fine. I will however, be changing my screen name. Do you have any suggestions? I don't want to be confused for this other Angela in the future, especially if it is going to involve the FBI or other police force."

"I will have to put some thought into that Angela. The name must be as beautiful as you are." Kenneth blushed as the words came out, feeling sure that she think them corny. "Can I walk you back to your trailer?" Kenneth offered his arm to her and was thrilled when she took it.

"Thank you Kenneth," Angela said simply, slipping her arm into his. together they strolled back towards the trailers. She was trying not to develope feelings for him. It would be unprofessional, and unethical.

Writers Tennis Part 10

(Nagi)

“You’d better make this fast,” Angela said. She glanced over her shoulder to where some of the other agents were holding off Eddie and some of the ADs. It was the betrayed look on Kenneth’s face that stung unexpectedly.

But Angela had to keep her head in the game.

Thomas nodded his understanding. “Don’t worry - we have a couple of federal prosecutors on hand to counteract anything the studio lawyers try to pull.” He thrust something into her hands - small, a microchip; she’d have to look at it later in her trailer. “Another victim went missing today; that’s ten American hostages in total. If we don’t figure out where they’re being kept in the next seventy-two hours, we risk sparking outright global war.”

“Why isn’t the NSA or CIA handling this?”

“Because this cell is homegrown,” Thomas said. “Your mark is part of a sleeper cell, possibly an Omega, so he hasn’t been in this alone.”

“How do you know?”

“The last victim went missing while he was on set.”

“That explains why the timing on his squibs has been off. He’s been antsy.”

“By the time he gets his synchronization on those back in line, it may be too late,” Thomas said. “Do you have your firearm?”

“No, but I could steal one from props in a pinch.”

Thomas shook his head. “Collateral damage is more than the Bureau is willing to risk.” He unbuckled his shoulder holster - he always carried two pieces on him, shoulder and ankle - and handed it to her. “Keep an eye out and see if you can corner him. We need information, and we need it fast.”

Angela nodded. “All right. What do I tell the others when I get back on set?”

“Tell them that the Angela Carlisle we were looking for was a washed-up actress and recommend to your agent that you pick a new screen name.” Thomas smiled tightly and opened the car door.

Angela slid out and made a big show of tossing her head and smoothing her clothes, indignant. Then she headed back onto set. Immediately, she was surrounded by producers, Eddie, and a cadre of worried make-up girls. Oddly enough, the one who seemed most concerned was Johnny, still clutching the triggers for his mis-timed squibs.

Writers Tennis Part 9

Angela went for her gun in a knee-jerk reaction. When she realized that it was not there she felt exposed and vulnerable.

Everyone on the set looked up in shock, stopping where they were.

Agents came swarming out of nowhere, pointing their firearms at everyone, almost daring someone to move. One agent, Tharen, walked out from behind the others. "Angela Carlisle?"

Angela raised her hand slowly, making no sudden moves. She knew that they would shoot to kill if provoked.

Agent Tharen walked towards Angela. "Angela Carlisle, you are under arrest." He withdrew a set of steel cuffs from behind his back and placed them on Angela's wrists behind her.

"May I ask what this is about?" Angela looked like she was in shock.

"We will discuss that on the way." Tharen said. He placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her forward.

Everyone on the set stared after them in complete shock, not knowing what was going on. They watched the agents place Angela in the back of black car with tinted windows, Agent Tharen sliding in after her.

"Sorry about that Anggie." Thomas reached over and un-handcuffed her. "I hate to pull you out of your cover like that, but we need you."

"Angela rubbed her wrist for a second. "What about my mark?"

"Don't worry, we have it covered for a short while, and then you will be back. There should be no problem in explaining the situation; especially for you. No problems with your cover."

Angela nodded to her superior. "What is going on? Why do you need me?" She was in full agent mode now.

Writers Tennis Part 8

(Nagi)

Kenneth broke her concentration. He must have seen her agitation, and Angela took a deep breath, hoping her next words would be quiet, calm, level. Jennifer had been her best friend, and she’d made the right choice that day, the only choice - but that didn’t mean Angela hadn’t felt hurt.

Betrayed.

“Hello,” Kenneth said, turning to Jennifer. He was smiling brightly, his Hollywood starlet smile, acting as though Jennifer hadn’t shouldered him aside the way bullies had done to him at school for years and years. He extended a hand, the gesture utterly cordial and sincere. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Kenneth Arlington, Angela’s co-star. What brings you to the set?”

It was gratifying to see Jennifer, the ever-cool Agent Halladay, looking flustered when those bright green eyes were gazing at her. Jennifer shook his hand politely; Angela had the feeling that the gesture wasn’t nearly as confident as Jennifer usually made it.

“I’m an old friend of Angie’s,” Jennifer said, and Angela did her best not to flinch. Only Jennifer had ever called her that, and after leaving the Bureau Angela had done her best to discourage anyone else from ever calling her that.

Kenneth’s smile brightened. “It’s good to meet you. If you like, one of the ADs can give you a tour of the set. Unfortunately, Eddie’s called us back to start shooting.” He reached past Jennifer, smooth as any other Hollywood lothario, and hooked an arm around Angela’s waist, tugged her out of the trailer.

The other two agents, Bartlett and Gallow, looked suspicious, but Angela just cast them her sunny starlet smile and followed Kenneth onto the set.

“Thanks,” she said, as soon as they were out of earshot of the agents.

Again with that sweet, crooked smile. “Think nothing of it. Couldn’t leave you hanging there, could I? Would’ve been cruel. Besides, you looked uncomfortable, and we need you alert for the next scene.”

Johnny, the lead effects manager, came over to help the costume girls fix a new set of squibs beneath Angela’s shirt. Once the fussing was done, Angela scooped up her prop gun and took her position along the south side of the wall.

Eddie yelled, “Action!”

Someone yelled, “Freeze! FBI!”

Writers Tennis Part 7

"Truth be told, Angie, we need you." Jennifer said, glancing back over her shoulder at the other agents. Agents Gallow, and Bartlett shifted a little uncomfortably. "Can we talk Angie?" Jennifer asked as she turned back towards her friend. "Please."

Angela's eyes had gone wide when Jennifer told her that they needed her for a case. Only the love for her friend made her stop at all to listen. "Yeah," Angela jerked her head towards her dressing room, "We can talk in there." Turning back to Kenneth, Angela offered a small smile, saying, "Perhaps another time Kenneth."

Angela didn't look at the others, walking rapidly towards her trailer. Opening the door, Angela gestured Jennifer inside. "Please wait outside, Bartlett, Gallow." Angela said, motioning them to stop at the door. She was more at ease with her old friend. "So what do you want Jen?"

A short while later Angela had the whole story. "I can not believe what you are asking me to do." Angela was dumbfounded. "You know what happened to me! You know why I left!" Her voice was rising now. "I can't. There is no way that I could do that."

"Angela, there is no other way." Jennifer stated firmly, taking her friends hand. "I know this will be hard for you, but we need you. I need you to be there with me. Help me now, my friend."

Angela took a deep breath, pushing back thoughts and memories, trying to focus just on her friends need.

Writers Tennis Part 6

Kenneth shifted his weight from foot to foot. Angela’s mind spun with textbook information that had been gathering dust in her memory. Some of what she’d learned was still good for acting school, and some of it was better lost to the annals of time.

In short, however, he was nervous. His posture, though nervous, was still faintly relaxed, his shoulders back, so he wasn’t feeling - guilty. Good. No awkward propositions, then.

“Say, Angela, me and some of the other lads - some of the stuntmen, actually, were thinking of going out for a pint - er, drink after shooting ends for the day. Would you like to come along? Play some darts?” He lifted his head, and Angela saw the smile that no paparazzo had ever caught. If girls loved him for the fake Hollywood grin he offered whenever he was in front of a crowd, they’d follow him to the ends of the earth for the sweet smile he was offering her now.

She swallowed hard and tried to think up an excuse. Her mind spun with memories - more memories of hanging out in a bar after work, grinning into her mug while Agent Holladay took down a group of strangers at a game of darts. Of course, Agent Holladay was so beautiful that the men didn’t care how soundly they’d been beaten - a beautiful woman was talking to them, after all.

“Kenneth, as much as I’d love to, I have to --”

“Angela Cuaron?”

Angela went still at the familiar voice. One hand twitched for her sidearm - but it wasn’t there. Kenneth jumped and spun around.

Agent Jennifer Holladay looked just as good now as she had five years ago when she’d only been the team liaison. Now she walked more confidently. Angela noticed the slight emphasis on her right side when she approached and knew she was carrying a government-issue sidearm.

Had it been anyone else, Angela would have run - or struck out in anger, but then whoever had sent Holladay knew that.

Holladay pushed past Kenneth and pulled Angela into a hug. “It’s been so long! How you been, girl?”

Angela looked over Holladay’s shoulder and saw that several other innocuous agents had ordered security to stay back.

“I’ve been good.” Angela resisted the urge to hug her one-time friend and stepped back. “What brings you to the set?”