 
The Lie that is Vermont Avenue

MONOP - Book One

L. S. Fayne

Dedication

I want to thank all the law enforcement officers who work in their daily lives to protect our lives, our happiness, and our freedom. Without their choice to do so, and the sacrifices they make, we would live in a world of fear and complete chaos... Thank You

### Memorial Services Held Honoring Fallen Special Agents

"Every May, when we join together in remembrance of our fallen heroes, we are reminded of the risks the men and women of law enforcement face each and every day, and of the courage they must demonstrate in confronting those risks," said Attorney General Eric Holder.

"We come together today because we have not forgotten the cost of freedom. We have not forgotten the sacrifices these men and women have made on our behalf, nor have we forgotten the sacrifices borne by the families and friends of those we have lost," said Director Mueller.
Publication by Fayne Artists – November, 2015

Copyright © 2015 by L. S. Fayne

Revision C.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015917427

Smashwords Edition

License Notes: This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of L. S. Fayne.

To gain permission of content use, contact...

lsfayne@fayneartists.com

Some historic events may be written into a fantasy forum. The author reserves the right to Freedom of Speech to express her views on some historic events. Any resemblance to persons living is purely coincidental.

ISBN-13: 978-1-60903-041-4

BOOK CONTAINS ADULT SEXUAL CONTENT

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Epilogue

From the Author

Other Books by L. S. Fayne

Prologue

Sarah ran full out. Her heart was pumping. If she had not been so terrified, her legs would have ached, her lungs would have felt as if they were bursting. Her mind was screaming, _Oh My God! Oh My God!_ Maybe, she was even screaming the words out loud, but she was in too much shock to realize anything except to run—to run for her life!

She'd found the secret room. And he had found her! She didn't see the park, the trees, or the children playing. All she could see was the blood—and the woman's body that he was sawing! She shuddered. The woman had still been alive!

Thomas suddenly swung out in front of her, and grabbed her arm. She had not realized it, but she had been running in circles around the large park. Not through it, and out the other side.

"Stop it, Sarah!" He shook her, and then pulled her close. He murmured low in her ear. "It's not what you think. She was in pain." He stroked her arm, "I was helping her. She asked me to help her!"

Sarah started screaming, and fighting to get loose for all she was worth. She never saw the hammer as it descended onto her head. She didn't see the look of shock from the woman pushing the stroller. Didn't hear the shrill sound of the little girl as she screamed for her father. All she knew was the sharp pain as darkness descended.

Thomas cradled her as he made his way back to the house. He sighed. He'd have to watch her closer. He perked up. If all else failed, he'd simply put her in the shrine room. After all, he'd created the room just for her—his Anna!

He laughed. Why not? The idea excited him. That was the answer! She shouldn't need any more help than that. She'd found Christ. That was why he'd married her. She'd found Christ, and unlike the others, she wasn't in pain.

"Crap!" he yelled, picking up his pace.

He could hear the sirens from a couple of blocks away. He laughed. They were heading to the other side of the park. He would be inside the house, and it locked down, before anyone could get to him. He slipped into the drainage system that would lead to the tunnel.

"Hell," he muttered, "there's no way they are going to find us now. Don't you worry little Anna. I'll have you home real soon."

TOC
Chapter One

F.B.I. Unit Chief Carl Armison's face was gray. He studied his agents. Half of the team was still in Mississippi. They would not be notified until after their return.

"Attention please!" Armison called out. "Agent John Edward Turner was shot and killed today in the line of duty. He was shot by a perpetrator who had been paid to kill his witness. He saved the witness's life, but lost his own. The time of his memorial has not yet been set."

Pain and grief hung heavy in the air. John had been one of them. They were family. They worked, ate, played, and yes—even sometimes slept together. Their lives were so intermingled that there was not much that went on that didn't affect everyone else. That he was gone, truly, truly hurt!

"Let's get started," Carl cleared his throat as he opened the file of a new case. "I'm assuming you've read the initial report."

The few who sat at the table nodded.

They were the second FBI response team called in. When the original team realized they were dealing with a serial killer, Armison's team was notified. He had only read the files through once, before dividing them out for review. This was the first time the team had met to discuss the case.

"Shelly," Carl looked over at her. "What of the victim?"

"The doctors say Sarah Munshaw is suffering from trauma," Consultant Shelly Winfield summarized the medical report she had written after visiting the victim. "The medical scans are clean. I mean, she still has that crack in her skull, but the swelling has normalized. She's awake, but isn't responding to any kind of stimuli. She maintains herself, but she hasn't spoken since she woke up. If you can call that waking up. Basically, she just stares and rocks."

The first impression Shelly gave people was that she was cute and perky. She was of medium height, and a little on the light side. She had red highlights in her shoulder length, dark brown hair. Her eyes shifted in color from blue to green depending on how she was feeling, and the colors surrounding her. At the moment, her eyes just looked murky.

Shelly was an empath, recruited by the FBI at the age of fourteen. She was now twenty-six. She had earned a Master's degree in psychology. She had wanted to understand the emotions she sensed. She'd profiled a lot of people—innocent and villain alike.

"So, we don't know what she remembers," Carl frowned.

Carl's cold, blue eyes stared into her. He was in his mid-forties. He was not a large man, but people took notice. His hair was raven black except for the silver running along his temples. Shelly was not intimidated by his gaze. She knew that under that cold exterior was a decent man who had just seen too much. She trusted him with her life.

"Sir," Shelly paused, "I'm not even sure she's really there anymore—if you know what I mean. I tried to talk to her. She just looked through me as if I wasn't there. I got absolutely no emotional flicker from her whatsoever."

"Huh," Carl nodded. If Shelly said the woman was lost, then she was lost. He turned to Adam. "Report?"

Special Agent Adam Sheldon, a former CIA analyst, nodded. His thick, dark brown hair was standing on end. Carl knew he hadn't really slept solid in a week, none of them had, but his gray eyes were sharp. They didn't miss anything. He was a large man, a strong man. In a suit, he looked quite formidable. Carl had personally recruited him after working on a joint FBI/CIA engagement. A point of fact that still pissed off the CIA Director and Chief.

Adam shuffled papers and pictures as he thought about the situation. "The local police captured Thomas Munshaw at his residence on the day witness, Mrs. Cathy Sawyer saw him hit his wife in the head with a hammer at the park. He then picked her up and ran with her. Mrs. Sawyer lives just two houses down from the Munshaw's. She was pushing her son in a stroller. She easily identified him."

"He hit her hard enough to fracture her skull," Shelly reminded them. "That was not just a little love tap. No one else saw anything?"

"No one else was named in the initial report," Adam answered. "There isn't any mention of them canvasing the park. The hammer was not recovered."

"Initial?" Keaton frowned

"Three hundred and five people came forward once the hotline went up for a cop killer," Adam scowled.

"Oh, yeah," Rebecca murmured.

"There would be," Shelly said dryly.

"Sloppy!" Keaton muttered.

"They cornered him at the residence, 3617 Oak Drive. He gave up without a fight. Sarah Munshaw was found on the bed in the main bedroom. She was unconscious, and bleeding from a head wound. She was transported to the St. Samuel Hospital." Adam continued, "The D.A. was filing it as attempted murder by a domestic partner. They had enough to put him away for a long time. During transport, he killed a police officer and escaped. After that the whole thing became a manhunt. They distributed his picture and created the hotline. They didn't investigate further. They did not run his DNA through the database. At that point, it stopped being about Sarah Munshaw, and became a Cop Killer case. They just ran at anything that moved."

"Since they hadn't ran his DNA through the national database," Rebecca frowned, "they hadn't discovered that the husband, Thomas Munshaw has an alias, Jacob Hutton. A serial killer wanted in two other states with six kills to his name!"

"Unreal!" Shelly shook her head.

"He'd slipped through the system like a wet, slimy eel!" Rebecca muttered.

"The FBI hadn't been called in until after Munshaw had kidnapped his wife from the hospital, and crossed the state line. They raided the hotel where she was stashed, but she was alone. The killer had escaped again." Adam finished.

"Ballsie bastard," Keaton set the report down in disgust. "and patient. He waited three weeks after his escape before trying to grab her."

"We don't know where he stayed while he waited," Adam mentioned. "After he grabbed her from the hospital, he stashed her at the hotel close to the airport. Hotel registration has him listed simply as _Smith_. He'd only checked in two days before the raid. He was obviously, anticipating more travel. He could have another residence most anywhere."

"That would be bad," Shelly muttered. "That would mean he's probably already set up shop."

"More bodies," Rebecca shuddered.

"Sarah was lucky," Shelly frowned. "Our perp might be invisible, but Sarah was not. People remembered her from the news clips."

Keaton rubbed his tired eyes. He growled in frustration. Even as they were talking, he knew the bastard was lining up his next victim. He wasn't sure he was fit for this line of work. He was an action kind of guy, running in to save the day! This sitting about analyzing things just didn't fit well with him.

Carl studied Agent Keaton Stewart. He knew exactly what Keaton was thinking. Keaton was wrong though. They needed someone exactly like him. Someone who could think on his feet and act fast. Someone with drive and energy.

Keaton was _pretty_ with sunny blue eyes and curly, dark brown hair. He was tall with broad shoulders, lanky, and warrior strong. Women's eyes followed him wherever he went. He could melt most of them with just a smile. They tended to chatter in his presence. Carl snorted. An invaluable skill in their line of work.

"Sloppy and Stupid!" Shelly snarled. "They should never have taken their eyes off of her. Just how did he know that anyway?"

"He watched," Adam considered, "and waited. He's methodical."

"He knew where the cameras were," Shelly added, "That means he had been inside already. There should be footage of him before he tried to take her."

"Rebecca?" Carl looked down the table. "What about the computer found at the house?"

Agent Rebecca J. Rogers face was tight. Her lips thin.

"I still don't have access to it," Rebecca growled. "It's still in the physical forensic's lab."

"I'll make a call," Carl's eyes narrowed.

"Thanks!" Rebecca scowled. She'd been making calls for the last four hours.

Rebecca was only five foot two, and fine boned. Her hair was long and dark brown. She always wore it braided and tied away from her face. She had the bluest eyes that Carl had ever seen, and a double set of dark lush lashes. She was quite pretty. If she wasn't such a clever little demon with computers, Carl wouldn't have her on his team. He didn't allow her out in the field. He knew she could protect herself, but just her dainty size would make other agents want to shield her. That distraction could cost lives.

Rebecca knew what people thought of her. They thought she was too fragile to be a Bad-Ass FBI Agent. She also knew it wasn't true. She had a Third Degree Black Belt in Taekwondo with a smattering of street fighting in Ninjutsu. She had four older brothers who were big, and didn't give a damn that she was little. She could take care of herself—and any other problems that might walk her way. She could be a menace in a dark alley.

Armison's decision was fine with her. She had no desire to be out in the field. She had enough nightmares from the photos. She didn't need a front row seat with what this team dealt with.

"Grab Tori when she gets in," Carl ordered. "I want the data from the other murders gone over with a fine, toothed comb."

"Right," Rebecca nodded.

"At least the woman is out of his reach," Adam frowned, "for now."

"The house?" Carl studied his team.

"The police missed the room," Adam snarled. "The room where he butchered his victims. Look at photo series twelve."

Rebecca felt sick. The first thing she saw was the dead woman strapped to the metal table. Her sightless blue eyes stared upwards. Her mouth was contorted. Pain and horror had followed her into death. Other pictures showed the counters surrounding the table. Various tools sat ready for easy access. The pictures were in color, and the resolution was fine. The room was coated in a dark brown substance—dried blood.

"There is DNA from two other women," Adam continued.

"How the hell did the police miss this!" Nathan asked. "The smell of blood and death alone should have alerted them."

Agent Nathan Gentry was a slender man, nearing six feet. He had blond hair, and intense blue eyes. He was in his mid-thirties. He was brilliant with computer script. He was clever, and could infiltrate most anywhere. He was double jointed, and be most any place. Nathan was a mystery to the team. Only Carl knew where he had come from. Only Carl knew that he had been an assassin for the Secret Service. Directed by the most important man of the United States.

"The cellar is double walled," Adam answered. "It's not part of the house's building plan."

"How do you know that?" Carl asked.

"All the houses on that block are like cookie cutter houses," Adam answered. "They are all identical except for color and yard ornamentation."

Carl turned to Rebecca, "Check out whose names are on the contract. Chase it down to the original buyer. See if there were any building permits issued."

Rebecca was typing on her laptop before Carl had even finished his sentence.

"The cellar had been planned out, and was well hidden. It has two access points. One from a sliding wall in the storage room. One from a tunnel leading to the drainage system in the street by the park. I'm guessing, he used that entry when he avoided the police at the park."

"Makes sense," Rebecca murmured thoughtfully. "The call went in quick. They had the park surrounded, and he still managed to get her out unseen."

"These pictures are of the rooms below," Adam continued.

"There's a bathroom with a shower?" Nathan interrupted. "How large is that area?"

"According to the report, he used the whole underside of the house," Adam answered.

"He's beginning to sound like a _Spook_ , or even a _Specter_ ," Nathan muttered.

Carl considered. A specter—a special spy—someone trained in the art of invisibility and stealth—usually an assassin. Nathan would know all about that.

"How does he access money for all this?" Shelly asked. "The Munshaw banking account was bare bones."

"I'll know the answer to that when I get his computer," Rebecca muttered irritably.

"The house above looks like any other house on the block. They moved to the house two years ago. They lived alone. The house was sparsely furnished, not unlike a lot of other families in the neighborhood. The only DNA found in the house was from the perp and his wife. There weren't any weapons, or drugs."

"I sometimes wonder just how these women miss the fact that their husbands or boyfriends are such Monsters," Shelly scowled, "but in this case I can see how she was blind-sided. He was very, very careful. He spent a lot of time and money preparing for what he does."

"Carol Malloy," Keaton glanced at Shelly, "her roommate before she got married, said she wasn't a player. I guess she grew up with a lot of _Uncles_ , and was determined not to go down that road. She'd worked full time at a pizza parlor since she turned seventeen. She was insistent on finishing her degree. Sarah has a younger sister, Ginger Iverson—now Moore, who she took guardianship for as soon as she turned eighteen. She met Munshaw when she was a senior in college. They dated for six months before getting married. According to Miss Malloy, she was still a virgin when they got married."

"He did the typical isolation tactics?" Shelly asked.

"Yes," Keaton nodded, "he moved her across the state right after they got married. It didn't take long before Carol lost touch with her."

"The sister?" Shelly asked.

"Ginger Iverson got a full scholarship at U.C.L.A," Keaton answered. "The two had a falling out when she moved there to start school. According to Miss Malloy, Sarah didn't like her little sister moving so far away. She tended to be over protective to the point of stifling. Miss Malloy thought Ginger had deliberately sought out West Coast Universities."

"Find out where Munshaw lived while he courted Sarah." Carl told Rebecca. "Get Sam on it if there is reason enough to suspect a shop. Adam and Tori can go over the Munshaw house again."

Rebecca made a note. It didn't matter that she wouldn't forget. She liked her i's dotted.

"There was a building permit issued to that residence four years prior to the Munshaw's moving in, but no follow up inspections." Rebecca read from her screen. "The house changed ownerships quite frequently. I'll send you a list according to county records."

"Noted," Carl frowned.

An awkward pause of silence followed.

"Anything else?" Carl asked them, looking at each agent.

"I need coffee," Rebecca growled.

Carl studied his team. They needed more than just coffee. They needed sleep. They'd been running full tilt for two weeks on the Kimball kidnapping. It wasn't even all tied up, and they were dumped this sloppy mess. Nine cases of butchered women across three states, a trickle of DNA evidence, and a madman on the loose who had such a generic face that he could look like just about anyone. They were short staffed.

"What about the wife?" Shelly asked.

"What about her?" Carl's eyes narrowed. "She's no good to us in her current state."

"I was thinking of maybe handing her over to MONOP," Shelly hesitated.

"Do you really think that will accomplish anything?" Carl asked her.

"It'll cost us," Shelly looked him straight in the face, "but they're good. If anyone can bring her back—they can. It would also provide a safe place to stash her, and free up our agents who will be guarding her."

"Arrange it," Carl told her.

Shelly nodded. MONOP was code for Monopoly—safe houses. Not just standard safe houses though. The Operatives at MONOP were specially trained to manipulate their _Clients_. They were tied in with high level government agencies, and had special _permissions_ to use whatever means were available to bring about the required results.

Shelly had never suggested using them before. Not very many agents even knew they existed. It was best to keep it that way. Being an empath opened a lot of doors she would rather others not know about. Sarah Munshaw—Shelly shrugged. She wasn't even sure _Sarah_ existed anymore.

"Coffee?" Rebecca interrupted Shelly's thoughts.

"Sure," Nathan grinned down at her.

"I was asking Shelly," Rebecca glared at him.

"I know," he told her, "but you always bring back those blueberry muffins. I'm either looking in all the wrong shops for them, or you ladies buy them up before I get there. This way, I thought if I go with you. I'll score—so to speak."

"Join us," Shelly answered for them.

Rebecca's brows rose. She didn't like Nathan. Shelly's eyes narrowed as she studied her. Rebecca shrugged.

Nathan suppressed a grin. He knew he made Rebecca edgy. He'd been assigned to the division four months ago. He just figured it was time for her to stop looking at him as if he had warts. He was surprised when Shelly winked at him over Rebecca's head.

Scowling, Rebecca made for the elevator. Shelly pressed the button for the first floor. It stopped at the third floor. Two women stepped in. One pushed the button for the underground parking lot. The other glanced at them. Shelly braced herself.

"I hear Elliot won the lottery," Tina Knob mentioned casually.

"Dauss?" Kate Basker feigned surprise. "What was the prize?"

"Six weeks of vacation," Tina answered.

"Huh," Kate glanced over at Shelly, "Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy."

Shelly felt an emotional cocktail spike coming from Rebecca. Her cheeks were flushed.

"That's a lie," Nathan looked straight at Tina.

"What?" She asked surprised.

"Your body language gave you away," Nathan's eyes were cold.

Tina shivered and looked away. The elevator chimed and stopped at the second floor.

"Damned _Specs_ ," Tina muttered as she hurried off.

_Specs_ was slang for profilers. They tended to make people nervous.

A clerk got in and pushed the button for the next floor.

"They were lying?" Rebecca asked Shelly.

"Yeah," Shelly was puzzled. "Their comment was aimed at me. I have no idea why."

Rebecca waited for the clerk to get off before turning to Nathan.

"You know about the lottery?" Rebecca accused.

The _Lottery_ was a term used at The Arsenal—a FBI, female exclusive, online club. The term _Lottery_ was code for sexually transmitted diseases. There weren't any forbidden topics in the forums. There was a list of names for who practiced unsafe sex, as well as a list of people with STDs. Gossip and lies were taboo. To get a black ball, was to be banned from the site, and added to an unfavorable list. The site was used to keep women informed and safe. Honesty had to be a key factor. Michele Jansen, owner and moderator, did not mess around!

"Michele Jansen," Nathan held out his hand to her. "Nice to meet you."

Rebecca's brows rose. Her hand automatically rose to meet his.

Nathan glanced at Shelly, only to find her meeting his gaze straight on. She had not been surprised.

"Michele Jansen?" Rebecca asked surprised. "You are Michele?"

"It looks like Tina's in for a black-ball," he muttered, "oh dear."

Shelly snorted.

"You created the Arsenal," Rebecca told him, "that was like five years ago."

"I know," Nathan studied her. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

The elevator chimed a warning. The doors opened. Rebecca continued to stare at him.

"Coffee?" Shelly reminded them, "muffins?"

Nathan created the Arsenal after a co-worked—and friend—committed suicide. The isolation and loneliness had driven her to extremes which accumulated into her death. There was a special page in the Arsenal dedicated in remembrance of her.

Rebecca frowned in thought as they finished the hike to her favorite coffee shop.

TOC
Chapter Two

"Sarah," Keaton called out to the woman staring sightlessly from the chair. She rocked repeatedly to-and-fro.

"Nothing," Shelly whispered. "Just like before, I'm not getting anything from her at all."

Shelly shivered. Dead-eyed ones always freaked her out.

They'd brought Sarah to MONOP, but none of their Operatives had been able to initiate a response. Director Leya DeSoul had explained that they just didn't have the time or resources to waste with her if they couldn't get an immediate response. Sarah was of no value to them. She didn't hold the keys to homeland or international threats. She wasn't even being shot at. Her connection was to one man. Sure, a really horrific man, but still—only one man. DeSoul wasn't sympathetic. Sarah was just another casualty of a cruel world.

"I want the favor!" Shelly spoke softly.

She had never played that card before, but this case had her disturbed.

"Tell you what," DeSoul frowned. "If one of your own can take her on, we'll provide the house and the training. Everything else is up to you guys."

"Deal!" Shelly was quick to agree.

Carl supported her decision. He ordered every one of his team to try to initiate a response. She had been surprised. That was until he stated that the training acquired would be invaluable. MONOP wasn't a field office. It was unheard of for them to allow an agency member to work a task with them. They were quick to recruit from other Agencies, but they did not work joint tasks. This was an opportunity he wasn't going to miss.

Now, Shelly sat staring at the blank faced woman. She felt defeated, regretting her push in this direction. She doubted that it was going to work. Besides the MONOP Operatives, Keaton was the forth agent to try reaching her.

"This is pointless," Shelly walked to the chair, and touched the woman's head. "It's like I'm touching a warm, fuzzy covered ball, or something—not an actual person."

"Sometimes, people are just too gone," Keaton acknowledged with a frown.

Keaton studied Sarah Munshaw. All she was wearing was a light blue hospital gown. A sensor cap covered most of her head. Bands circled around her chest with sensors attached to wires. Sensors were attached to her fingers, legs, and feet. So far the graph only showed the steady rhythm of her heart and lungs, and the rhythm caused by her rocking. There had been no other movement since he'd walked into the room.

She was doll-like pretty. She had an oval face and fine features. He knew she wasn't wearing any makeup. Her face was pale. She had lush pink lips. She was too skinny, and her pale blue eyes looked too big for her face. She had long dark lashes and black arched eyebrows. Her hair had only started to grow back in, and was a dark brown. She looked little more than a child sitting in the chair, but he knew she was twenty-five. Keaton felt a tug of emotion. A tug he was quick to suppress.

His hand impulsively reached out to caress her cheek.

"There!" Shelly said excitedly. "Finally, a flash of emotion!"

"Really?" Keaton asked doubtfully. He hadn't even seen a flicker.

"She's right," they heard Damen's voice as he reviewed the spike on the graph. "It was only one spike, but it's significant considering there has never been one before."

Shelly had to give them credit. The Operatives at MONOP had tried every technique on Sarah, from gentle to crude, and up until now had elicited no response.

"I guess your training starts today," Shelly told Keaton.

"Lovely," he said sarcastically.

"It'll be fine," Shelly patted his arm and laughed.

His eyebrows rose. Shelly was the only one of their team who really understood what MONOP did. They'd tried to recruit her, but she liked working with various Agencies. Something, MONOP strongly discouraged.

"You'll see." Shelly was still laughing as she exited the room.

"Stay and chat with Sarah for awhile," Damen suggested through the ear piece. "Get to know one another."

Get to know one another? Keaton frowned at the camera. Just what was he supposed to say to someone who just gazed into space? If it wasn't for the Chief's insistence, he wouldn't even be there. He sighed and took her hand.

"I don't think I'm really cut out for this," he told her honestly. "I have no idea what to say to you. You're pretty—in a bald sort of way."

He waited. He didn't detect anything and shrugged. He knew that camera and voice were recording everything. Shelly had already warned him that there was absolutely no privacy where MONOP was concerned. He really didn't care much. He just wasn't a private type of person.

"I had a sister who died of cancer," he told her. "She lost her hair, too. I realize, it's not the same, but still, you shouldn't worry about it. It will grow back. They just had to shave it for the surgery. At least they shaved it all instead of leaving a patch to get into your eyes."

"He's a natural," DeSoul told Shelly as they watched him on the screen.

"You can't keep him you know," Shelly told her. "He's rare, but that's just the problem. He'll probably marry her. If not her then maybe the next one."

"I know," she laughed harshly. "That's why I agreed to this. The whole success of this organization is the ability to open up—to be vulnerable. People, like Sarah, respond to that. Unfortunately for us, those types of people can't close down again, or they get bitter. That doesn't work, either."

"So where are you going to stash them?" Shelly asked her.

DeSoul looked at her sharply. She _never_ discussed the Clients with anyone other than their MONOP Handlers and Operatives.

"You might as well tell me," Shelly stared at her. "You're going to need me anyway. That is unless you plan on keeping her wired up all the time. I'm the only one who can detect a break through, or an immanent break down."

"Why can't you just be one of us?" Leya asked irritably.

"Never! Your statistics are appalling," Shelly laughed at her. "Don't think I haven't seen your match making shenanigans! I am not putting myself into your hands! You just can't seem to help yourself!"

"You know what they say," Leya smiled serenely. "The harder they fight it—the harder they fall."

"Not gonna happen," Shelly glared at her, "besides, you know I don't play the game well."

"You know how to play," Leya's eyes narrowed. "You just don't want to."

"True," Shelly agreed, "but you were the one who taught me to be true to myself—to understand, and to own who I was. Most of the time that means holding myself away from people."

"Like you're holding yourself away from Keaton Stewart?" She asked mischievously.

"Keaton and I work well together," Shelly's eyes narrowed. "That's all there is."

"Uh-huh," Leya only smirked. "Shall we go in. I think he's running out of things to say."

"It's good," Damen nodded. "Spikes all over the place."

"I knew it," Shelly grinned at them.

When Shelly returned to the room, Keaton sighed with relief. After telling Sarah about his stint with the Secret Service, he couldn't think of anything else to say.

He'd laughed. Sarah was the only person he'd ever admitted to, that instead of guarding the President, and all that other macho stuff, he had actually spent most of his time guarding the President's aging aunt—Aunt Beatrice.

He grinned at Shelly as she came back to the room. The grin froze on his face, and his eyes grew enormous as he stared at the woman behind her.

"Agent Keaton Stewart, I'd like you to meet the Director of this Operation—Dominatrix Leya Noire DeSoul— _The Mistress_."

Keaton's mouth dropped open. He quickly shut it, and climbed to his feet. DeSoul looked up at him with sparkling brown eyes. Her hair was a wild mass of red curls and waves. It looked like she had just climbed out of bed.

Her figure was exquisite with lush curves and a tiny waist. Her lips were perfect, and begged to be kissed. Dangly garnets hung from delicate ears. She wore a simple black gown that hit to the middle of her thighs. A slit went up the side to reveal an alarming amount of naked leg that went clear up to her hip bone. He could see just a touch of black lace. A very thin strip of sheer black cloth outlined the bottom third of her breasts. He had no problem discerning the under cleavage.

He was instantly hard. He shifted uncomfortably. She smiled into his eyes, knowing exactly how he was responding to her. He glanced at Shelly, only to find her grinning at him. His eyes narrowed.

"Let's go to my office," Leya suggested.

"I'll leave you two to discuss things," Shelly laughed as she made her way out of the room.

"Vermont Avenue," Leya called out.

Shelly stopped to stare at her.

"Vermont?" Shelly asked.

Leya nodded, "tight, secluded, secure. Most of the neighbors are either retired Operatives, or our own vacationers. There aren't any _Clients_ there at the present time. I think it would be good to give her a neighborly feel."

"It's a little low class don't you think?" Shelly asked.

"It will give her something else to think about," Leya agreed.

Shelly shrugged. Leya knew her business.

"I think I'll transfer Bob over to manage Vermont," Leya added thoughtfully. "Not to live. Just to pop in now and then as landlords do."

"It sounds like a Bob job," Damen said dryly

"Ha," Leya grinned.

"I thought you weren't interested in playing this?" Shelly's eyes narrowed.

"Things change, dear," Leya told her boldly. "That's just part of life."

Shelly nodded as she walked from the room.

Keaton watched the exchange with interest. It was during the exchange, that he realized Leya DeSoul's appeal was carefully crafted. She was younger than he first thought. She was not as pretty. She was not as well endowed. He grinned at her. He had a handle on her now. She wouldn't surprise him again.

She grinned back, meeting his eyes with hidden messages. He swallowed nervously.

Damen watched them through the camera and laughed.

"We can hear you, you know?" Leya reminded him.

"Signing off," Damen told them.

Leya smiled into the camera. She knew him. He wasn't signing off. He'd be sitting there, as quiet as can be, while still watching them. She could picture his big frame and muscular body slouched down in his chair. His lips were unusually lush. His long, dark brown hair would be hiding his strange gray-green eyes as they kept tabs on everything. He didn't miss a thing. Behind his bold sexiness was a brilliant mind!

Damen Les Écrans was a Dominator of MONOP— _The Master_. His natural inclination was to protect those who were weak. This made him an excellent _Dom_ _Protector_. Leya had been surprised that he had not tried to influence Sarah Munshaw. He had no interest in Sarah as his submissive, or he as her Handler. For some reason, she just left him cold.

Leya saw him as a man of contradictions. When he seemed quiet and poised, he could be quite agitated. When his eyes sparkled and he seemed to be happy, he could be a step away from tearing someone's head off. He was sometimes unfathomable even for her, but she trusted him implicitly. She would not have anyone close to her who had not been _explored_ thoroughly. She grinned, remembering just how he had— _explored_ —her. He was very, very good. It was not beneath her to occasionally play the _Submissive_.

She was pleased to see that Keaton had not been fooled, either.

"Let me show you, _Park Place_ ," She grinned at Keaton, leading him from the room.

"Not _Board Walk_?" He asked surprised.

She laughed, but didn't answer. Her thoughts were totally hidden from him.

"This facility is called, _The Short Line_ ," she told him as they walked out of the medical buildings. "Sarah will be housed here until she is either placed in a home, or released from our care."

A slick black limo pulled up to the curb. Keaton studied the driver as he climbed out, and held the door open for them. He wore a charcoal gray suit. Keaton could see the communication device strapped to his ear. He was armed.

Operatives at _The Short Line_ were also armed, and had listening devices, but theirs were hidden. This man was armed, and wanted everyone to know it!

"Alfred," The Mistress introduced them, "Keaton."

Alfred nodded. The two men sized each other up as Keaton waited to climb into the car.

Alfred was a big chested, burly man, a strong man, with steely gray eyes and dark, brown hair. Keaton guessed him to be in his mid-thirties. He didn't smile or offer any other kind of facial reaction. Considering the amount of thigh and butt the Mistress was offering while climbing into the car, that was saying something. Keaton had felt his own pulse quicken as he watched her. The Mistress had a lot of leg, and a delightful cheek.

"Is Alfred his real name?" Keaton asked.

"Alfred has many names," Leya told him.

Keaton could feel her eyes rove over him as they made their way across town. Steadying himself, he met her eyes.

"Shelly is very fond of you," Leya's tone was a statement, but also a question.

"I am also _fond_ of her," Keaton answered.

Leya smiled. Keaton felt she had read more into his answer than what he had intended. He kept his mouth closed tight during the awkward pause. His eyes narrowed. Two could play at that game.

She laughed.

"I'll be showing you our headquarters," she told him.

Her tone changed. "Regardless of what Chief Armison believes, it is not definite that we will accept Sarah as a _Client_. If we do accept her, the FBI will have absolutely no say, on how or where we manage her. There is also no absolute that you will be acceptable as her Handler. If you are accepted into the membership—after you are tested—you will have to be trained according to _our_ parameters. I hope you realize that you are under no obligations? Do you understand all this?"

"Shelly explained about your operation," Keaton told her.

"Good," her eyes gleamed, "good."

They were quiet as they made their way into the hills by the city. They turned onto what looked like a narrow, rutted, dirt road. Keaton smiled. The road was smooth. The ruts were a clever distraction. An old wire fence lined the road. Beyond the fence, he couldn't see anything, but trees and thick foliage.

"Do you have problems with people on ATVs?" He asked her, "or possibly hunters?"

"Not once they get to the gate," was her cryptic reply.

The gate appeared a few minutes later. Keaton blinked. It was nine feet tall made of concrete construction. On one side was a tower with armed guards. Even though the guards would have recognized the car, they still stopped. A wide angle camera was pointed at the car. Only after they were verified was the gate electronically opened.

The grounds inside the gate were immaculate. A truly elegant park setting. There was even a pond with swans. Two people were sitting on a bench. They drove a little further up the drive. The car stopped.

They waited as the driver climbed out to open the door. Keaton laughed to himself. This time the driver opened the Mistress's side first. She gracefully stepped out, not showing even a touch of upper thigh or butt. He realized the display earlier had been purely for his perusal.

Keaton opened his own door, and climbed out as the driver stood holding the other door for the Mistress. They studied each other across the car.

"The office," Leya took his arm, leading him up the steps, "and my home."

The _office_ was a huge mansion! The kind he had only seen in TV documentaries of the prominent English manors. It was a bricked, three story structure, nearly a block long. It had a turret at each corner. He could only assume there were probably two more on the other side of the building. Once up the steps, he glanced back. The wall circled the property for as far as he could see.

"What do people do with all this space?" he murmured.

"It's a rather large family," Leya laughed, "there are Servants, Care Givers, Handlers, Operatives, and Guards. Sometimes, we have _Clients_ here as well. This is where a lot of us work, train, and live."

"Is that a barn?" Keaton asked surprised.

"The stables, yes," Leya assured him. "Come."

The big double doors opened before them.

"Welcome, Mistress," a butler addressed her, and then turned to him, "and you too, Sir."

"Thanks Lester," Leya smiled at him. "We'll be in the study. Please ask Molly for a snack to be brought."

"Yes, Mistress," Lester replied before walking away.

"He's armed," Keaton noticed.

"All entries are protected," Leya assured him.

Keaton didn't doubt it for a minute. Lester, although an older man, had a certain confidence—and even menace about him. Keaton would not like to cross him!

The foyer was large and elegantly furnished. Three tall windows were equally spaced across the side of the room. Marbled staircases led upstairs from each side of the room. Oil paintings were sparsely hung along the walls. Tall vases with bright flowers sat on each side of a carved wooden table. The floor was covered with cream colored tiles.

"Very nice," Keaton nodded.

"This way," Leya led him to a door just inside the foyer.

She ushered him into the study. The study was grand, with a large oak desk, book shelves, and plush chairs. A wet bar stood to the side of the room. A large window looked out into the courtyard. An ornamental rug grounded the desk. A lamp stood behind to light the work area. A flat-surfaced monitor could be swung from the side. The keypad and mouse slid out from the front.

Keaton knew instantly, that for all the room's grandeur, it wasn't a personal workspace. It was just for show.

"Would you like a drink?" The Mistress walked over to the bar, and mixed a drink into a tall glass.

"Seven-seven please," Keaton's eyes narrowed. He wondered if she had expected him to decline?

"Ah, a whiskey man," she mentioned as she added ice to a glass, and poured in the whiskey and seven-up.

"No," Keaton corrected, "It's just easy, and few people mess it up."

She laughed as she handed him the drink. He sipped it. It was perfect.

"You're right," she stared into his eyes, "a seven-seven is hard to mess up."

Keaton had the feeling, he could have ordered a very sophisticated drink, and it would have been perfect.

She sat in the tall leather seat behind the desk, and signaled for him to sit in one of the plush chairs. There was a knock at the door, and a maid carried in a silver tray.

Keaton sipped from his drink as he watched her unload the tray. She placed a plate in front of him, and another in front of the Mistress.

"Bon Appetit," Leya raised her glass.

He waited until after she started eating before starting on his own. He took a tentative bite of his sandwich, and was surprised by the flavor. He put it down to stare at her.

"Problem?" She asked him.

"It is exactly my favorite kind of roast beef sandwich," his eyes narrowed, "right down to the honey mustard."

"You may as well know upfront," she looked him straight in the eyes, "that by the time we are finished, there will be very little that we do not know about you. We scrutinize people very thoroughly. If that is a problem, you may leave right after you finish your sandwich."

"Finish my sandwich?" He asked surprised.

She nodded and grinned, "Molly went to a lot of trouble finding out your favorite sandwich, and how to make it!"

She laughed.

"You don't want to hurt her feelings now," she asked, "do you?"

"No," he took another bite, "it is extremely good. Probably one of the best I've ever eaten."

"Oh," Leya shrugged, "that's the appetite enhancement drugs she added."

He stopped chewing to stare at her. His eyes widened. He couldn't tell if she was serious or not. She gazed back at him.

He paused to study himself. He shook his head. If they had used drugs, he would have been ravenous. He was just hungry. He took another bite and spied her amusement. The Mistress liked her games.

"There are a bunch of rumors about Monopoly Corp." Leya told him. "Most, if not all of it—is bullshit."

She surprised him. Up until now, he had never heard her say a crass word. She was allowing him to see the real person, not _The Mistress_.

"We don't bother with rumor control," she went on. "It's pointless, and a waste of energy. MONOP is a U.S.A. based corporation that is affiliated with governmental agencies all over the world. I am one of five Executive Officers with in-depth knowledge of MONOP operations. I and Damen are the figureheads. The other officers are incognito partners. They don't even know who the other Officers are."

"For security reasons?" Keaton asked.

"Yes," Leya answered. "We operate the safest houses of the world. If we accept Sarah, the FBI will no longer have any part in what we do with her. They will not know what we are doing, or where she is. If we accept you as an Affiliate Handler, and once you are under our directive, you will not have any—absolutely any—communication with them without our expressed permission."

"Shelly?" Keaton asked her.

"Shelly is too unique for us to monopolize," Leya answered, and then admitted grudgingly. "Actually, she will not allow it! We have to bend for her, or she walks. There is no other person like Shelly!"

"Will you be able to get through to Sarah?" Keaton asked her.

Leya shrugged. "The FBI thinks that we guaranteed the use of interrogation techniques to achieve the end result. Some of which are not sanctioned by law. Although, some of that is true, it is not our Charter. The welfare of the _Client_ will always come first, before any governmental directive. Sarah may, or may not respond. We will not use methods that would harm her in order to get her to cooperate."

She studied Keaton. Some people walked at this stage. Sometimes, they were morally against ideas of interrogation, or against the fact that their agency would no longer be in control. Sometimes, MONOP just scared the crap out of them.

"Can you agree to these restrictions?" Leya asked, "And can you give yourself over to our training methodology?"

"I would be as professional and dedicated to MONOP as I am to the FBI," Keaton was unconcerned. "I believe I understand the concepts. I don't perceive any problems."

Leya's mouth quirked. "You would be trained, and asked to perform some irregular tasks. We sometimes use sex as a means to control a Client. It has always been inexplicable to me, why people get so upset over something that makes the world turn?"

"I'm rather open about sex," Keaton frowned.

Her eyes pierced into him. She knew that unless a person was a prostitute, or a John, they didn't have a clue as to what was really involved. They might think they did, but they didn't. Part of the training would be how to make the Handler into the best possible _Whore_ that person could be. Thus, why a Dominatrix had found success where others had failed. Most of the world was either ultra conservative, or depraved. Dominatrix Leya Noire DeSoul had found balance.

"A lot of research went into the question of why so many hostages express empathy, and even sympathy with their captors, Stockholm syndrome—or capture bonding." Leya was watching his reactions. "This agency has broken it down to a fine art. Sex is only one key element of many we use here."

"I've studied the concepts of captive bonding," Keaton met her eyes, "and I understand the need of these techniques for some situations."

"We shall see," she replied ominously, "but first comes the question of if you are in—or out? If you proceed past this point, and either you or I, find the situation _objectionable_ , we will use means at our disposal to remove your memory of what you have amassed from us."

She studied him.

"Be very careful with your answer," she told him. "We are very, very good at what we do. I will leave you to your lunch as you _ponder_."

Leya swept out of the room. Keaton frowned looking down at his empty plate. He laughed. She must know he would snoop as far as they would allow. He grinned at the camera. He wouldn't want to disappoint them.

"Clever," Leya smiled as she watched him from the monitor in the next room.

"He's good," Damen agreed.

"But can he handle it?" Leya speculated.

TOC
Chapter Three

"We are joined together in remembrance of Agent John Edwards Turner," F.B.I. Unit Chief Carl Armison read from his notes. "As we honor our fallen heroes, we are reminded of the risks the men and women of law enforcement face each and every day, and of the courage they must demonstrate in confronting those risks."

"We come together today because we have not forgotten the cost of freedom. We have not forgotten the sacrifices these men and women have made on our behalf, nor have we forgotten the sacrifices borne by the families and friends of those we have lost."

The flag was removed from the top of the casket and carefully folded. It was then handed to the widow, Mrs. Emily Turner.

It was a public funeral with a large following of mourners. The bagpipes had played their sorrowful song. The friends and family of John Turner had cried their tears. It was time to let him rest. He would not be forgotten by all he had helped—or saved!

The sound of the three-volley-solute echoed through the cemetery.

### ***

Carl Armison stared at the empty desk. He closed his eyes as he suppressed his rage. His agent shouldn't have been on that detail. He should not have died. John Turner was a profiler, not a body guard! He might have been trained in self defense, but he hadn't been trained on how to protect a witness. There was a distinct difference between watching your peer's back, and watching out for someone who didn't have a clue, how to protect themselves.

When the perp had been identified and caught, Turner should have been released from the detail. It had been the Director's call to have him stick with the assignment. And why? Because the witness was comfortable with him! Because the witness was ready to bail and run! Carl's problem was that this wasn't the first time the Director had made that call!

Carl had enough! He pulled out the mandatory forms to render his resignation. He would not be seeing any more of his agents die, because of some ignorant bureaucrat's call.

TOC
Chapter Four

"Sir," Rebecca announced as she entered Armison's office. "A witness placed Thomas Munshaw at the scene of a burial site near Lexington, Kentucky. The field office there insists that we send someone for verification. Word of a Serial Killer in their community has the locals freaked."

"Get Sam and Elliot on a flight," Carl ordered.

Rebecca hurried to her desk, and made the flight reservations. Sam and Elliot had only just arrived back from Mississippi that morning. They hadn't even had a chance to unpack. It was going to be a long day for them.

"Sam, Elliot, there's a grave site." Rebecca called out, "Armison says you're on. Your flight leaves in 25 minutes. I've sent the data to your inbox."

Agent Sam Hale nodded. She handed him the package. He turned to thank her, but she was already gone. He frowned, and then shrugged. She was obviously busy. He quickly checked the package. Inside were three sets of electronic flight tickets and data files.

"She's good," Sam mentioned as she headed towards the elevator.

"You wouldn't believe," Agent Elliot Dauss smiled.

"Huh," Sam grabbed one of his bags.

Sam had to pack his own bags. He kept two in the locker at all times. Most agents could get away with the size/sex generic bags, but he was too large. There weren't any 5X bags. He was Hawaiian. His father could have been a sumo wrestler. Big bones, big bodies ran in the family. He smiled. Rebecca had anticipated him going on this trip. She had booked him a double seat. How sweet was that?

"Car's waiting," Rebecca told them, handing them the cooler and thermos.

She whirled, and headed back to her office. She slammed the door behind her.

Elliot opened the cooler and smiled; breakfast burritos, orange juice, and even cream for Sam. He liked his coffee ultra creamy. That woman thinks of everything!

Back in her office, Rebecca leaned up against the door. Sweat beaded up on her forehead. She ran towards the bathroom attached to her office, and was sick again. On the counter was the pregnancy test. Double bars stared up at her!

"Well," she cringed. "How do I tell Elliot that I forgot to take my birth control pills?"

She had only missed two days. She'd really hoped enough chemical had been in her system to cover for it. She groaned. Elliot had been so sweet, and so very sexy! Even if she hadn't drunk the extra margarita, she'd still have gone to bed with him. Oh hell, she admitted. If she hadn't been sick all morning, she'd have given him a come hither look, and made plans for tonight. Of course, the reason of _why_ she was sick kind of changed everything!

Rebecca's lady bits clenched, thinking of how silky his long, blond hair had felt as it slid through her fingers. His broad shoulders, and lean frame had been so damn sexy as he posed himself above her—.

_Rebecca_! She yelled at herself, _Stop it!_

His eyes were so brown, so warm, and so aware. He didn't tower over her like most men. At five and two inches that was more often than not. By most standards, he would be considered short, but he fit her perfectly. His lips kissing the top of her head. She could make love to him without getting a face rash from stomach hair.

"Oh damn," she exclaimed. "Way to screw everything up!"

Interpersonal relationships weren't a taboo between agents, but it wasn't exactly encouraged. The agency tried to ban it, but someone higher up in their division realized it was stupid to ban something they couldn't enforce. So they ignored it unless it proved to be a problem. Then it was up to the Chief to enforce disciplinary actions.

The papers wouldn't say, Fucking on the job. They would say in effect; Dereliction of Duty, Insubordinate Behavior, or maybe even Inappropriate Apparel. Rebecca snorted. She'd actually seen that. The FBI took their uniform rules very seriously. They weren't impressed with half naked agents.

"Oh Crap!" She muttered.

### ***

Sam and Elliot arrived in Lexington two hours later. Agent Tillman met them at the airport in an unmarked, dark green Ford Taurus.

"It's at the Selmer Horse Farm. A farmhand came upon the site," Tillman caught them up as he drove to the crime scene. "It's still fresh. He identified Munshaw from a photo lineup as the person he chased off the property. They have problems now and then, with people bothering the horses. He didn't realize the seriousness of the problem until his dog found the grave. Agent Rogers assured us you were on route, so we didn't disturb the site. The coroner should have arrived by now. Someone leaked about a possible serial killer. The whole community is terrified!"

Sam and Elliot had to hike through the pasture to arrive at the site, dodging biscuits as they went. Sam was pretty sure the attendants and customers would not appreciate them stomping horse manure through the plane on the return trip.

Elliot sighed. He didn't even have to get any closer to know it wasn't one of theirs. The grave was just in front of a big oak tree. The scene picturesque. Sam looked at him and shrugged. They were there, they might as well assist. It was unlikely that the field office would have any profilers.

The coroner had just arrived. The site was being guarded by local law enforcement.

The grave had not been filled in. A shovel had been left lying beside the crudely dug hole. The person who dug the grave had just tossed the dirt aside as it was being dug. There were fresh foot prints of various sizes in the loose dirt.

The grave was only around three feet deep. The girl had long brown hair. She was staring upwards with vacant blue eyes. She was young. She was wearing blue jeans, and a pink T-shirt. There was a light dusting of dirt across the body.

Elliot studied the grave, and shook his head.

"This is not Munshaw's work," Elliot told them.

"How can you tell?" Tillman frowned at him. "You hardly even looked. She has brown hair and blue eyes. She's young and pretty."

"Our perpetrator chops his women up into pieces," Sam told him bluntly.

"That wasn't in the report," Tillman frowned at them.

"No," Sam agreed. "The case has just been handed over to us. We aren't ready to disclose the details. Especially to the public. You might as well get on with it. While the crime scene is _mostly_ intact."

Agent Tillman nodded. He figured every local cop had been at the site to take a look. Containment had become an issue.

"The person who did this shows remorse," Elliot told him. "Your perpetrator deliberately chose a beautiful setting for the burial. He wanted to bury her, but as soon as the dirt hit her face, he fell apart. You're looking at someone who loved her, or fixated on her. I suspect the death will be due to blunt force trauma. She might be pregnant."

"I'd look closely at the one who pointed the finger at Munshaw," Sam frowned. "I don't see any dog tracks."

"Can someone give us a ride back to the airport?" Elliot asked.

"Sorry for wasting your time," Agent Tillman's face was pink.

"Without the specific details," Sam told him, "you wouldn't have known. This guy works fast. We were dreading, but unfortunately, expecting a call like the one you placed. It could have been his."

Tillman nodded, "I'll drive you back."

Sam and Elliot had no trouble getting a flight straight back. They were back in DC by around fifteen hundred.

"I'm glad it was a bust," Rebecca told them. "I'm just not ready for this guy to be starting up again. I got to run. Adam and Tori need their flight instructions."

Elliot frowned as he watched her. She didn't say anything, but whenever he tried to get close, she just suddenly—absolutely—needed to be somewhere else. Usually, in a group of people so he couldn't _really_ talk to her. He considered that maybe he had taken things too far, went too fast for her. Maybe, she was embarrassed. He knew she was shy.

Oh hell, he admitted to himself. He might very well want more from her than she was willing to give. Maybe, she had her fun, and was simply ready to move on—and he was behaving like a fool!

She'd been dodging him since they had returned. At first, he thought it was because she was busy, which she had been, but the work had slowed down while they waited on the forensics, and he still couldn't seem to get a few minutes with her. She was definitely avoiding him.

Rebecca knew that Elliot was trying to get her alone. The thought terrified her. How was she going to tell him that their one night had resulted in her getting pregnant? How would he react? How would he feel about that? Hell, she didn't even know how she felt about it. She just didn't know, so for now, she just needed to stay away from him!

His eyes narrowed as he watched her walk to the vending machine. It was her third trip, and again, she returned with nothing in her hands. Something was wrong, and damn it, he was going to find out what. She was flushed and nervous. Her agitation bothered him.

When she picked up her purse, he knew she was about to leave the building. She passed him without looking at him. He silently followed her. When she got on the elevator, he was right behind her.

"What floor," he asked casually as the door closed.

"Oh," Rebecca said startled, "uh, garage."

She hadn't realized that he was leaving, too. He pressed the button. The elevator moved downward. Rebecca shifted nervously. They were alone in the elevator! He stood close to her—too close. She moved away.

Elliot shifted around to look at her, "Mind telling me what I've done to be so abhorrent to you suddenly?"

Her eyes widened as she stared into his brown eyes. They weren't warm. They were intense. He seemed angry, so she got angry.

"You have a lot of nerve bullying me in the elevator," Rebecca informed him. "If I don't want to talk to someone—then I don't have to!"

His eyes widened at the word bullying. He pushed the stop button, and turned to face her. He stepped closer. She took a step back. It was a small elevator. She had no where to go.

"What are you doing?" She asked him.

"Getting an answer," he planted a hand on each side of her head, and stared down at her.

She pressed herself back against the wall. His lips were only inches away. She licked her lips nervously. His eyes shifted to her lips. His expression changed, growing heated. He leaned in closer to her.

"I'm pregnant," she blurted out.

"What?" He asked startled.

"You heard me," she stared up at him defiantly.

He stared back. A flood of emotions washed through him. His world rocked around him. He looked into her eyes, and could see that she was scared. His heart melted. He leaned in closer and kissed her.

He might not have figured out how he felt about her news, but there was nothing tentative about his kiss. He would be there for her—and for his child.

His kiss overwhelmed her. Her fear and defiance slipped away. At that moment nothing else mattered. She was in his arms, and it felt right. His kiss turned hot and urgent. He pulled her against him. His mouth slipped along her jawline and down her neck. Her nipples peaked.

"They're going to want to know why the elevator stopped," Rebecca reminded him.

"Umn," he murmured. He reluctantly pulled away. "Maybe we should go somewhere, and _talk_ about this?"

"Talk?" She murmured, "You want to talk?"

He looked down at her. "No, what I really want to do is rip off your clothes, and go down on you!"

"My house is close," she said in a rush.

The palm of his hand was hot as it moved to her breast. His fingers rubbed the hard nipple. He pushed his hard cock against her.

"Elevator," she reminded him.

Sighing, he backed up enough to restart the elevator. He pressed his forehead against hers. He'd never met a woman who made him so hot—so quickly—as Rebecca.

"Your place," he told her, "definitely your place."

"You drive," she whispered against his lips.

The elevator door opened to the underground parking lot.

Elliot kissed the palm of her hand, and then tucked it against his arm. He hadn't been with her since that night. He smiled. He, ever the gentleman, had driven her home after she'd had a little too much to drink.

Oh yeah, he remembered where she lived. He hadn't realized just how amorous Rebecca could be. He hadn't realized just how turned on he would become. He'd always admired her, thought she was a cutie, but she hadn't seemed interested. That night, he'd spied the birth control pills in her bathroom. The thought of her naked, and in his arms, had made him damned hot—and hard.

His black Dodge truck was just ahead. She laughed when he not only opened the door for her, but lifted her up. Her laughter stopped when instead of placing her inside, he held her against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed her breasts tighter against him. He groaned and kissed her lips.

"At this rate," he growled, "we're never going to make it to your place."

"So, don't start something, you can't finish," she murmured back.

"I'll finish it!" He promised her.

He placed her up on the seat. His brown eyes were intense as he stared into hers.

"You remember where I live?" She asked him.

"Lady," he told her, "I remember everything!"

It wasn't the first time he'd driven with a hard-on. With her around, it wouldn't be the last!

Ten minutes later, they were pulling into the driveway. Rebecca lived in an urban area that had been redeveloped. She owned a white, two bedroom house on an average sized lot. The inside was comfortable, and ultra modern. She flipped on the light switch as they entered through the front door.

Elliot admired the cozy comfort of her furnishings. The clean lines suited her. She blushed awkwardly as she set her purse on the counter. She didn't do that—invite men over for sex.

"Want something to drink," she blurted.

"Isn't that how we got here to begin with?" Elliot asked.

"I meant a pop," she glared at him, "or maybe tea."

He laughed, and sat down on the couch.

"Or you could just sit here with me," he patted the cushion next to him.

She blushed again, and sat next to him. He jumped when a ginger cat landed on his lap, and glared at him.

"You," he told the cat, "are not who I had in mind to be sitting on my lap!"

"I'm sorry," Rebecca picked up the cat, and carried him to the other room. "He does tend to be a bit possessive."

"Oh," she jumped.

Elliot had followed her to the room.

"I don't want a pop," he growled into her ear, "or a cat—or for that matter food if you were about to ask. I came here for you!"

Rebecca felt his warm breath against her ear. Her body shivered with delight. Her nipples hardened. He turned her towards him, and tilted her head to look into her blue, sultry eyes. His lips descended towards hers. The touch of his lips on hers sent a sizzling thrill down her body. She rose up into him—wanting more of him.

Elliot felt the firmness of her breasts as she pressed herself against him. He'd been hard before he'd even kissed her. The heat and scent of her made him even harder—bigger. His hand slid to her butt, pulling her body into his hard cock. She gasped as he lifted her, carrying her into the bedroom, and lowering her down onto the large bed.

She watched as he lowered himself onto her. His lips again took hers, devouring her. His fingers traced along her jaw as he pressed his tongue into her mouth. Her tongue danced against his.

He unbuttoned her top, revealing the black, lacy bra. Reaching behind, he undid the hook, releasing her breasts. His hand slid to caress the side of her, then slid further to wrap against the firm shape of her breast. His fingers slid over her dark rosy nipple—gently tugging on it. It peaked between his fingers.

She groaned, and moved only far enough away to pull out of her top and bra. He growled as she wiggled beneath him. She laughed.

He slid to the side of her, and pulled at the snap of her jeans. She felt the zipper slid downward. He lifted her as he pulled her jeans away.

"Not fair," she told him.

She was naked except for her black, lacy panties. He was still fully clothed.

"You're right." Elliot slipped off the bed, and removed all his clothes. He stood before her naked, rigid, hot and hard. Her eyes widened as she stared at his hard cock. He was big—really big! She felt hungry as she watched him.

"I want you," she told him.

His eyes darkened with desire. He slid back onto the bed beside her, and removed her panties. Her fingers touched his hard chest and his small dark nipples. They moved down to his flat stomach, and then lower still. He stared down with hungry fascination as she fondled the tip of his cock with her fingertips. She lowered her mouth against it—her tongue tasting it.

He drew in a deep breath as she sucked his length deep into her hot mouth. She played her tongue against it even as she sucked. He groaned, and pulled her back, before he lost control. He pressed her down onto her back, and took her nipple into his mouth. His hand moved downward to rub into her hot, silken folds.

She clung to his back, and pulled on his thick, blond hair as he continued to rub her swollen clit. He kissed and sucked on her nipples—alternating from one to the other. Her body bucked when his teeth grazed against the very tips. She pulled his face up, and kissed him. Her hand rubbed against his cock—circling it—stroking it.

He pushed two fingers into her. She pressed against his hand, trying to draw his fingers in deeper. She was so hot—so moist—so eager. She could feel his thumb as he rubbed against her swollen clit.

"Please," she urged him, "I so want you! I want you to do me now!"

She writhed beneath him. He positioned his cock at her entrance, and eased into her. He laughed when she pressed upwards, trying to take him inside quicker. He pulled back a little.

"Beast," she muttered, again trying to take him deeper.

He shoved deeply into her. She moaned as she took in his large cock. She was hot and slick—ready for him. He withdrew, and then shoved up hard again, holding himself into the depths of her.

Her body jerked upwards, as he started pumping into her faster and harder. She panted from the intensity of it. She moaned with pleasure.

"Open your eyes," he asked her softly.

Her eyes flared open. They were aqua. A color he had never seen before.

Her hands clinching the bedding as he thrust into her. She moaned, and rolled her head to the side. She was so close—so close. He shifted slightly, banging against her clit. She cried out as her world exploded. The intensity of it sending spasms throughout her whole body. She felt him surge bigger as he came inside her. Her muscles clinched against him, drawing out every last drop. He looked into her eyes as he rocked deeply into her.

She laughed, and released the hold her feet had against his butt. He grinned down at her as he pulled out. He lowered himself to the mattress, and pulled her onto his chest. His hand caressed down her back.

"Wow!" she muttered as she cuddled into him.

"Yeah," he agreed.

Elliot held her as she fell asleep. It had been another one of those thirty hour days. He'd wanted to linger, but she'd been so intense. Wanted more time with her, but they were both so beat.

Sometimes, the job just never seemed to end. There wasn't a bell, when the line would stop, and everyone could just go home. What they did mattered. If they didn't give it their all, people suffered. People suffered anyway, but every deed they did, or didn't do, affected the lives of the people they swore to protect.

They hadn't talked about the baby. Hell, Elliot knew he wasn't ready to be in a serious relationship—or to become a father. He wondered if men ever were until it happened, and they were forced to pull it together.

It would be condescending of him to assume he knew how Rebecca felt about the baby. He'd seen the fear in her eyes. He couldn't imagine, suddenly being forced to face such a change, not only to life style, but to body and soul.

He did know that the thought of giving up the baby would never cross her mind. Her maternal instincts had always been on high alert. She always went the extra hundred miles to ensure the children they encountered never fell between the cracks. She made sure every means available was used to nurture and protect them.

Hell, she was the same way with the team. She took care of them on the road so they weren't distracted by everyday needs. She even packed their lunches for them if she knew they would forget. She was always going out of her way to make sure her people were taken care of.

Elliot had noticed Rebecca a long time ago. She was as relentless as the rest of the team—maybe even more so. When his day might be over, Rebecca would still be hunting, searching.

Most mornings when he got to work, Rebecca would already be there. She might be on her second cup of coffee. The work didn't end for her. There was always something else she would think of to search on. Something else that pushed her to stopping these perps.

As he looked down at Rebecca, he realized that she was as much a part of his job as stopping the bad guys. They were all in it together. They were all dedicated to protecting the people. People who lived every day, never realizing just how close they were to the Monsters, who wanted to steal away their lives.

He'd always thought Rebecca was sexy as hell. He'd fantasized about her—about doing her! He'd never chased her, because that was just something he didn't do. His life was too complicated to be chasing after women. If he had been the type, Rebecca would already have been tied up in his life—or at least tied up in his bed.

Elliot drifted off to sleep with Rebecca tightly wrapped up in his arms—and in his dreams.

Rebecca smiled drowsily as he shifted his weight. His face pressed into her neck as his leg moved to straddle hers. She started feeling amorous again. She stroked against his cock. He turned away, out of her reach.

She turned on her side feeling sad. She wasn't very experienced. Maybe, if she was he would be more inclined to take some time with her. Stupid! She told herself. They'd just had some really hot sex! He was tired! She was tired! Still—lonely thoughts lingered. Sometimes, she was still the lonely little girl with the brothers too old to want to hang around and play.

TOC
Chapter Five

Keaton laughed at himself. When he met the Mistress, his mind had gone into overdrive fantasizing about what all the training would entail. He'd been so, so wrong! Yes, some of it was down right dirty sex, but some of it was just plain strange! At the moment, he was bored out of his mind, reading whatever script _she_ placed in front of him.

"No, no," Amy sighed, "lower your voice. I don't want to hear _A_ notes. I want to hear _AU_ notes. Now, do it again."

He was currently reading a passage from, _The_ _Wizard of Oz_.

"Why?" He asked her.

Amy glared at him through narrowed eyes. He stared back. He wasn't into the whole submissive role playing thing. He was getting tired of the games. He was ready to bail. The only reason why he hadn't was because of Sarah.

He had to wonder just how sick that was. He must be a real loser to get off talking to a woman who never seemed to acknowledge his existence. He shook his head. He'd talked to her about everything. She'd become his therapy, and he hadn't even realized that he needed therapy.

The Mistress had encouraged his efforts. She seemed to know how weird that felt to him—how raw. Her only comment had been to say that everyone needed to talk sometimes. That he understood. This stuff—just felt stupid.

"Take a break, Amy," Leya called out.

"Fine," Amy glared at him.

Keaton stared down at his shoes. He and Amy just didn't get along. He needed to understand why he was doing things. She seemed to think that because she said so, it was good enough, that he had to obey her. It was becoming a problem. He knew that the Mistress knew about it. Hell, he'd even talked to Sarah about it.

She walked off in a huff. Amy was short, her manner abrupt. She was so the opposite of the Mistress that he couldn't help but wonder why she was part of the agency. She didn't have a face, or a figure. Her hair was a shaggy dirty-blond mess. Hell, she didn't even know how to dress. She always wore yellow sweats which clashed with her yellow hair, and made her look flat as a board. Even her eyes looked dull, being a gray blend.

He just couldn't see how she offered anything to a _Client_. He shrugged. Maybe, she did the laundry, and they were hard up for voice coaches. The thought made him smile. She did have a nice voice, he admitted. His smile dropped, and he glared down at his shoes.

"Please, walk with me," Leya held out her hand.

She smiled when he instantly obeyed. She tucked his hand into her arm, and led him out to the gardens. She took a chair under the trees, and motioned for him to sit. He sat.

"I know, I know. Amy is churlish and impatient," Leya told him. "I know that you have a problem with authority from someone you don't respect."

He considered silently. He knew she was correct. It had always been a problem for him.

"It's more than that," he told her. "I'm just sitting around not doing anything. My team is out there hunting down a mad-man, and I'm reading from, _The_ _Wizard of Oz_?"

"I can see that was probably not the best of reading materials," Leya's lips twitched, "but there is a reason for it."

"Waiting," was his reply.

"I can't always be here to explain things to people," she eyed him. "I need them to trust that we know what we're doing."

He just looked at her. She sighed. It was always harder with those they actually _wanted_ to recruit. They did tend to have a mind of their own.

"In this case you are learning to modify your voice," she told him. "You will be having the stupidest or strangest conversations with people. You are learning to ignore the words, and are practicing with the timber of your voice."

"I've done that before," he assured her.

"Everyone has somewhat," she acknowledged, "but _everything_ we teach here is to render into an instinctual habit. It's no different than practicing to reach for the gun in your sock."

"It's holstered," he frowned at her.

"Do you get what I'm saying?" She asked him.

"Yeah," he frowned at her, "I get it. I'm just too irritated to appreciate that right now."

"You should talk with Damen," she told him. "Now, there's a man who nearly screamed when I made him hold still for _ten_ minutes. He accused me of treating him like a child. All that raw energy just seething to explode. Those ten minutes probably saved his life. Definitely talk to him. It's good to talk to Sarah, but maybe you should start talking to someone who can actually talk back?"

"Why Amy?" He asked with a frown. "Why is she my teacher?"

She studied him.

"If I tell you," she finally told him, "it would ruin the effect. If you figure it out for yourself, you will have earned the right to know."

With that she rose and left the garden. He didn't immediately follow her inside. He frowned at the clouds above wondering for the hundredth time, if he really wanted to do this. He could walk. That had always been clear to him. No one, not even Carl, would blame him. Then his thoughts strayed to Sarah, and he knew he wouldn't. With a big sigh, he rose to his feet, and made his way inside.

Amy waited for him. She grinned cruelly. In her hand was the book, _Cinderella_. He groaned.

### ***

Amy knew what Keaton thought. It didn't matter that he was wrong. He was one of those men who couldn't see the beauty of a woman without her artifice. She dismissed Sarah. Sarah had won his sympathy. Amy sighed.

She had a generic face. A face which could become anyone with a few simple strokes of makeup. Decked out, she'd had men, fall all over themselves, just the way they did with Leya. She grinned. Keaton would have been shocked if he ever saw Leya without her embellishments. Chances were pretty good—he never would.

Amy laughed. Female anatomy was next. Keaton only thought he knew and understood the female body! He had no idea. She normally instructed on the male anatomy as well, but Leya was having Damen teach those aspects. Leya only did that when the Client showed homophobic attitudes. She sighed. The macho types were always the worst. She was rather glad she wasn't teaching those sessions. He'd turn them on her, and once she lost control, they were done.

Some people fell apart at that stage in their training. Some could only progress enough to be Handlers for one sex. It was the really talented ones who could control both sexes. Despite what Keaton believed—that was what she was hoping for.

She knew he didn't get it. If a person had an extroverted personality, like Keaton, it was easy for them to charm someone to do what they wanted. It was all the harder if the person being charmed wasn't attractive to them. That was the point. Keaton was learning how to be a Handler. Who the _Client_ was could not matter. A good Handler could charm—and so manipulate—anyone!

TOC
Chapter Six

Agent Theresa Sanders stood away trying to see a pattern. She frowned shaking her head. Except for his preferences, so far she just wasn't getting it.

Adam and Tori had the tables littered with copies of the FBI case files. Every single paper had been meticulously sorted and labeled. There were seven victims. The last victim's file had been set aside. She had been found in the basement. He had not yet finished his business. She might provide them with the best clues since he didn't have time to _clean_. It was on her body that forensics found the male DNA that connected the case to Jacob Hutton, and his six other kills.

Tori was a tall woman, reaching right at six feet. She carried her weight well, neither thin nor hefty. She had short blond hair and blue eyes. She had high cheekbones and a wide mouth. She had just enough of a feminine softness in her face to stop her from being rather goonterish. She was a runner, participating in marathons whenever time permitted, which wasn't as often as she would have liked.

She was one of their top profilers. She understood the complexities of the human psyche. She had a way of getting inside the heads of killers. Her specialty was strategizing their next moves. To her, life was a complicated chess board. She could usually predict the moves according to what the perp had already committed to doing.

They were there to go through every piece of evidence collected, and put together a list of details with associated conclusions. At the current stage in the process, there weren't any absolute right or wrong conjectures. All thoughts would be laid out and recorded. They might have need of some fragment of thought later as the case progressed.

"Ready?" Adam asked her.

She nodded.

"System on," Tori called out. Video and voice would record everything.

"He preys on small women," Adam murmured, "with long, dark brown hair and blue eyes. Hair long enough to at least reach their butts. The brown is natural not died."

Suddenly, Tori snapped her fingers. She quickly rearranged the pictures.

"They are always, always two years older than he is at the time he kills them." Tori pointed at the correlating birth dates, "not to the month, but to the year."

"You're right," Adam picked up a picture. "He was first noticed by the police ten years ago. This one, but I don't think it was his first."

"No," Tori agreed, "too clean. No hesitation. I will admit that I don't understand this case."

"Me, either," Adam agreed. "It would be easier if I could fathom it. Why does he dissect them while they are still alive? The coroner's reports don't say anything about cannibalism. He doesn't take body trophies. He doesn't separate the bodies for disposal. He places all the pieces in the burial site."

"He always buries them in dirt, just four feet deep," Tori continued looking at the photos. "Farmland, forest, even one in a schoolyard. He doesn't display them."

"It wasn't a school when he buried his victim there," Adam pointed out. "It was farmland, re-zoned later."

"The coroner confirmed that he doesn't dissect them in any particular order," Tori looked between the reports. "In fact, it appears very random. I don't see a pattern at all."

"Maybe, it gave him pleasure to individualize the victims," Adam suggested "There wasn't any evidence of sexual activity anywhere on the bodies. Was he incapable, or not into it?"

"Not interested," Tori frowned. "There weren't any sexual biologicals anywhere in the basement—male or female."

"We're missing the room where they were stashed," he reminded her.

She shrugged.

"He felt remorse," Tori looked between the pictures. "He is careful with the way he lays the bodies in the graves."

"He doesn't just dump them in a hole," Adam agreed. "He lays them vertically, and facing upwards as if they were still joined together. The one site where they found foot prints suggests that he places the head so it is turned away from him. All the victim's heads were turned towards the right side of their bodies."

"He sure goes to a lot of trouble for the burial," Tori muttered. "Always the same as if he is on a mission. As if there are rules."

Adam stared at her. "I think you just hit it! He is on a mission."

"And he is fanatical about it," Tori frowned.

Adam continued. "There aren't any defensive injuries. They didn't put up a fight. Why?"

"If there was a drug," Tori frowned, "it is either undetectable, or had already left their system before he killed them. There were signs of dehydration. He kept them alive—somewhere."

"There were ligature marks on their necks, their wrists, and their ankles," Adam noted. "They were bound down hard."

"Maybe, he watched them for awhile," Tori frowned. "There wasn't any evidence of sexual activity, but that doesn't mean he didn't watch. That he didn't demand for them to do things."

"He had them for a while," Adam reminded her. "He could have raped them early on in their captivity."

"Probably not," Tori shrugged. "I've never heard of a rapist who only wanted to do it once."

"True," Adam agreed.

"Sarah was a virgin before getting married." Tori considered. "The others weren't. I wonder if that was why he didn't kill her? That's quite a change. He doesn't kill her, so he marries her?" She shook her head, "that doesn't make sense."

"He's insane," Adam commented distractedly, "it will make sense to him."

"Yeah," Tori nodded.

"There are gaps in the timeline," Adam said thoughtfully, "there are more victims out there."

"Agreed," Tori looked at the dates. "These types of killers don't slow down—they speed up."

"Okay," Adam looked around. "We are seeing what we have. Let's try to see something relevant that we don't have."

"Clothes," Tori wrote it down on a white board. "Jewelry."

"Victim four had complicated piercings without studs," Adam considered, "She would not have taken them out."

"He either removed them, or made her remove them," Tori agreed.

"None of the victims followed any religious sects. They didn't claim atheism, just generic indifference." Adam noted.

"They were popular in school, but didn't do sports," Tori shrugged as she wrote.

"None of these girls lived with biological fathers," Adam mentioned.

"None of them had strong male role models," Tori paused. "They were all raised by single mothers, foster parents, or indifferent step fathers. They didn't even have close uncles or grandfathers."

"Some of them had brothers," Adam reminded her.

"I don't think that mattered to the perp," Tori shrugged. "He might not have seen a brother as significant."

Adam frowned. "He'd have to stalk them to know that. Is he intimidated by other males, or does he hunt women who are rejected by males?"

"We need to return to his house," Tori said as she wrote. "Even though the house was clean, there could still be behavioral clues that were missed. It's rather glaring now that we are thinking along the lines of what is missing."

Startled, Adam looked up and around the room. "We're missing the biggest piece of all."

"What's that?" Tori frowned.

"No pictures, no data anywhere at the site." Adam shook his head, "If he was stalking them, there would be pictures."

"You're right," Tori looked around, "where's the paper trail?"

"It's still too ambiguous," Adam frowned. "I don't know how he finds them. What do you think?"

Tori rubbed her eyes, "We know what he wants, and a shadow image of his physical self—but not what he is. Not enough to find him. Not enough to catch him. Just enough to scare the crap out of every fatherless, blue eyed, long haired brunet woman who doesn't want to go to church. I don't think cutting or dying their hair would save their lives. He's not stupid. He'd assume they did it to avoid him. We would just be enlarging his victim pool. I'm not ready to make this public."

"I'm not, either." Adam agreed, "Let's go tell Armison what we have."

### ***

The mug shots of Thomas Munshaw and Jacob Hutton were up on the wall. Under them were all the renderings Nathan had created as possible disguises. There were a lot of them, and they were all feasible. Munshaw had one of those generic types of faces that could change easily with very little effort. Munshaw was so very non-descript.

"It would be easier if he had a cleft chin," Rebecca murmured.

Nathan looked at her and sighed. The next image he produced was of Munshaw with a cleft chin.

"Really?" Rebecca looked at him with exasperation.

"It's easy to do," he murmured. "Just a little shading."

He demonstrated by taking one of the mug shots, putting a smudge in the center of the chin, and then taking a pencil, and marking it with a vertical line. Rebecca looked at what he had done. Just that easily, they had a cleft-chinned killer.

Growling, Rebecca took the newest rendering, and scanned it into the computer. She watched Nathan covertly as he worked on the pictures. Shelly didn't say anything, but Rebecca had noticed her studying Nathan when no one was watching. She seemed to be fascinated by him.

Nathan had a way of analyzing people that made Rebecca nervous. It was as if he could discern their secrets and private thoughts. His blue eyes were just a little too _aware_. She was invisible to most people, even the profilers, but Nathan always seemed to see her.

Nathan looked up and smiled at her. _Yeah_ , she thought, _just like that_!

He laughed. She blushed.

"It would have been easier if the computer they found had actually been his." Rebecca said irritably.

"Let it go," Nathan told her. "There are a lot of things dealing with this case that got fouled up. That was just one of the small things."

Rebecca nodded. She knew he was right, but it irked her. She'd been so disappointed. She'd stayed up, way late into the night, to get her hands on that thing. Once she had it, she realized it belonged to Sarah. It had been listed with the contents belonging to the basement room!

"Maybe, it was in the room," Nathan stared at her as he considered, "Maybe, he hid it from her. I wonder why he allowed her to even have it?"

"Oh," Rebecca looked at him surprised. "I hadn't thought of that. There were graphic programs on it. Tori said she dabbled in art. Maybe, he took it away when he realized she had learned how to access the net."

"He sure as hell wouldn't want that!" He nodded approvingly. "That could very well be what had happened!"

Rebecca felt flushed by his genuine acknowledgement. She focused on the face renderings of the killer. Nathan was quite adept at modifying the mug shots. There weren't any pictures of Sarah or her husband inside the house. Not surprising—considering.

They had four computers running just for the task. Each rendering was being ran through the computers with face recognition software against the hospital video of the third floor where Sarah had been kidnapped. So far, the faces that flagged were dismissed as valid people working at the hospital. The process was not without false positives.

Tori and Adam were in route to Sarah's house. None of them trusted the evidence gathered. They might find some photos yet. If so, they would bring them back after they were finished. It was a three hour one-way car ride. It was going to take time. Rebecca felt that everything was taking too much time. No telling what the perp was doing during all these delays!

### ***

He knew they were looking for him. They didn't understand. He had a job to do just like they did. His priority though was to find Sarah. She was his responsibility. It was his task to help the others when they came to him, but he had married Sarah—made promises to her. He had hurt her. He had to make it right.

It was frustrating that they had discovered his workrooms. He'd taken a lot of time and money to perfect them. If he needed to, he could return to the old neighborhood, but that didn't sit well with him—too many memories. Besides, it was too far away from Sarah. They'd moved her again, and this time he hadn't been able to find her. He would though, it was just a matter of time.

His best option was to just keep an eye on their home. There was still crime scene tape up. The FBI hadn't finished yet. If he could find them there, he could follow them back to Sarah. He knew they meant well by her, but they didn't understand her needs. Only he knew what was best for her. He was her husband!

He had set up video surveillance a long time ago on both houses. He could just sample the feeds now and then while he looked for a new location.

Maybe, set up in a warehouse. He'd never done that before. He could work during the night. There were empty warehouses down by the docks. He might get lucky and find an abandoned one. Then, he wouldn't even have to access the accounts for a while.

He shook his head. He couldn't keep running back and forth this way, interrupting his work. He needed to focus. Make up his mind, and stick with a plan. He decided his best interest would be to look for a new workspace.

He wanted to retrieve Sarah, but knew she wasn't truly Anna. He'd tried, but she just wasn't getting it. If he couldn't find Sarah, he would have to start looking more seriously for Anna.

No one noticed the Satellite TV van as it pulled out from half a block away.

TOC
Chapter Seven

Tori stretched as far as she could stretch. They'd been driving for three hours.

"I bet this neighborhood is damn tired of seeing black SUV's," Adam commented seeing the flicker of curtains. "Notice, no one is coming out to greet us."

"Serial killers make big news," Tori scowled. "I bet a lot of people came in just to stare at the house."

Tori looked up at the house. It was a plain white, two story house. It probably had three bedrooms. There was an attached garage. Black numbers, 3617, were vertically nailed to the porch post beside the cement stairs.

The crime scene tape was still in place. The tape appeared to still be secure across the door, but it would not be the first time a scene had been compromised, and the tape still secure. It was still officially a crime scene so they didn't need a search warrant, and they didn't need to announce themselves.

They both drew their guns before entering. Both, assumed the scene was not secure. They moved from room to room through the house making sure no one was within. They nodded to each other and holstered their guns. They were the first of their team to arrive. It had been a different FBI team, who had collected the original evidence and data.

Tori didn't need to look at any of the pictures to know the layout of the house. The images were burned into her brain.

"Do you want to search together, or go separately?" Adam asked.

"Separately is fine for up here," Tori answered, "but I'd like us to stick together when we go down below. I'd like to see his workspace first. I'd like a feel for his mind set, before looking for the smaller clues up here."

"Works," Adam agreed.

The house had power, but Tori still carried a powerful flashlight. She didn't want to be down below without light if the power were to fail. Their data said the sliding wall was in a storage room at the back of the garage.

Gun out, Tori pushed through the door at the back of the garage. It was a dark room without any windows. Adam flipped on the light. A bare-bulbed light fixture lit up the small space. Stored on shelves around the room were common items that might be stored in any Attic across America; old lamps, boxes of books, old kitchen appliances, and a box of blankets. An old couch was pushed up on its end against the wall.

"Just common stuff," Tori frowned, "I really doubt there will be anything hidden in here. Obviously, the other team agreed."

Disturbed dust showed that the boxes had been shifted around. Tori walked to the farthest box which held blankets, and dumped them out on the floor. As expected, they were just blankets.

"According to the report, the entry is at the back of a closet," Adam mentioned as he holstered his gun. "Cover me."

Tori nodded, gun in hand.

Adam pulled open the two accordion doors. Inside, the rack was packed with old dusty clothes.

"Clever," Adam muttered.

Adam could just barely discern the hinges allowing the bar to swing. He reached to pull it towards him, but Tori stayed his hand.

"Let me," Tori said, "I want to see how hard it is to pull."

Adam nodded and moved aside. Tori's fingers circled the bar by the wall and pulled. There was some resistance, but then she felt a click, and the bar moved effortlessly, allowing them access to the back wall. A simple oval indentation showed Tori how to open the pocket door. Adam covered her as she pulled the indentation to the right. The whole back wall of the closet slid into the wall.

"Large access," Adam noted.

Tori turned on her light. Steep stairs headed straight down. She pulled her gun and cautiously made her way down the stairs. Adam right behind her. He could hear the click as she switched on the room lights. She gasped.

Adam lifted her to the side as he made his way into the room.

"It's not all blood," Adam's voice was grim.

"You're right," Tori's face was white. "The bastard painted it this color. He knew there was no way he could clean up this mess!"

Floor, ceiling, and walls had been painted the color of dried blood. Tori turned on the black light. Patterning illuminated the room.

"Not much better," Tori murmured.

They did a quick check for intruders and returned to the surgery.

A metal autopsy table with thick leather straps sat in the center of the room. Kitchen counters and table tops had been installed on three walls. A rolling tray stood at the left side of the table.

"He's left handed," Tori studied the knife on the tray. "The serrated edge of the blade is designed for a left handed person. There's dried blood on the blade. This isn't in the report. How could they have been this sloppy!"

"If the team wasn't willing to take the time and process this room thoroughly, they should have packed the whole damn thing up, and brought it in." Adam said with disgust.

"We would have," Tori agreed, "even if we thought we were being thorough."

Another room was to the left. There wasn't a door. They walked through. There was a shower and toilet. A washer/dryer unit with a clothing rack in one section. Another area held a vanity and mirror. A different clothes rack stood beside it. Tori made her way to that section while Adam looked over the _bathroom_.

The clothing rack had an assortment of work uniforms. There was even a police uniform.

"He created opportunities," Tori called to Adam. "Work uniforms, even cops."

"Figures," Adam looked inside the washer/dryer and removed clothing. He sorted through them on the table beside the unit. They had been through the cleaner and were dry. They were mostly surgical scrubs. He scowled at the blood stains. Even bleach could not clean that much blood. Nothing was in the pockets.

The top of the vanity was bare. Tori opened the first drawer to find it full of makeup. The second drawer held wigs. Tori opened the third and studied the contents.

"I don't know what these are?" Tori called to Adam

Adam walked over to look over her shoulder. "He used those to change the shape of his face. He inserted them into his cheeks or lips."

"Oh," Tori nodded. "It would distort his face the way some guy's faces get messed up when they chew."

"Crude, but accurate," Adam agreed. "Nathan and Rebecca are going to love those!"

Adam lifted the lid off the toilet tank. He watched the components as he flushed it. Nothing was hidden inside.

"I don't get it," Tori frowned examining the washer/dryer.

"What?" Adam looked over her shoulder. "Oh, that style is pretty common in Europe. Americans are too impatient, and tend to hoard a lot of clothes. We need two units."

"Huh," Tori shrugged. "He only uses bleach, no detergent."

"No softener, either," Adam noticed, "but then, most men don't."

"That's rather sexist," Tori commented.

"No, just truth," Adam snorted.

"I'm done," Tori announced.

"Me, too," Adam nodded.

"So where's the tunnel?" Her tone was dry. "I just can't wait to get a peek at that."

"Over there," Adam pointed at the square piece of painted plywood. "He had no reason to hide it."

It had a crude handle on one side, and standard hinges on the other. Tori pulled on the handle. Inside was the start of a three foot, PVC, piped tunnel. It was totally black inside. She turned on her light. The passage just went straight back.

"Can you crawl inside that thing?" Tori asked.

"I could," Adam frowned, "but it would be extremely hard to drag or carry someone along with me. The witness said he cradled her. It's not just the width that would be a problem, but the curvature of the bottom. That could be why the police got here before he did her more damage."

"I wonder why he took her upstairs?" Tori asked.

"It's where she lived?" Adam shrugged.

"I'm not going in there," Tori declared as she closed the door. "In fact, I've seen enough."

"I'm calling in _our_ forensic team." Adam flipped open his phone. "No signal."

"The room is double walled," Tori reminded him.

He nodded and walked to where the FBI team had cut, and removed a square of the wall.

He frowned, and reached inside the square. His fingers were coated with a fine dust.

"It's coated with something," he mentioned.

Tori nodded, "They didn't finish the analysis of _anything_. As soon as they realized they had a serial killer, they just packed what they had, and sent it our way."

"That could work in our favor," Adam mentioned. "Our forensic labs are higher tech, our technicians better educated."

Tori agreed. Their labs had survived the budget cuts.

"I didn't see this outline in the pictures," Adam pointed out that each tool had a faint outline where it was to be stored.

"Me, either," Tori frowned. "Pictures just can't replace the human eye."

Under the table, a shower drainage plate had been removed leaving a gapping hole. It had been removed for processing. It was here, that the other two types of DNA were found.

"He went to great lengths designing all this." Adam studied the room. "I don't think this is his first _surgery_. It's like a _dream_ surgery."

"I agree," Tori rubbed the goosebumps from her arms. "Most people have dream homes. He has this!"

Adam's eyes were drawn to the far corner of the room.

"What?" Tori asked him.

"The cabinets don't line up right," he walked over to study them.

He stood staring at them thoughtfully.

Tori remained quiet as she watched him.

"Here," he nodded. "There is more wear on this knob."

He pulled the drawer. It held unopened boxes of gloves. He reached in and frowned.

"I need you to do this," he turned to her. "My hand is too large."

"Too large?" She asked.

"I can't move my hand upwards without moving the boxes," he explained. "It's too tight."

"Okay," Tori so did not want to stick her hand in there—or anywhere else in that room.

Taking a deep breath, she reached into the drawer, and felt along the upper portion. Surprised, she felt a lever. She pulled it towards her. The counter top clicked. She removed her hand as Adam nodded.

Adam tried to pull the counters towards him, but they didn't move.

"Push them," Tori suggested, "there aren't any wear marks on the floor to suggest they pivot outwards."

"Yes," Adam agreed.

He pushed the counters, and was surprised by how easily they moved. A gap was created on the left large enough for a person to walk through. Tori turned on her light, and pulled out her gun.

"Let me," Adam held her back.

Light in one hand, gun in the other, Adam looked at her to see if she was ready. She nodded.

Adam silently slipped through the opening. She followed closely behind. It was a bare room with one twin bed and a toilet. The bed had leather straps for hands, feet, and neck. The walls were a flat, dingy white.

"Here's where he kept them," Tori whispered.

He nodded towards the closet with an accordion door.

The bar was the same as that in the garage room. Adam swung the bar towards them revealing another pocked wall. Tori had her gun aimed at the door as Adam pulled the wall to the side.

He flipped on the light. A king sized bed with an oak frame was the focal point of the room. An elegant chandelier flooded light from up above. The walls were painted a light shade of blue. A large matching mirrored dresser was pushed up to the wall. An oak armoire stood in the corner. The other corner held a large oak desk. It was a work desk, and littered with papers.

"No money spared in here," Tori muttered.

Adam was studying the photos on the wall behind the desk. Tori joined him. They were mostly of Sarah, but intermingled were other victims. Way more than who they already knew about.

"Crap!" Tori muttered.

Tori turned to see what Adam was reading. It was from a tablet. It looked like gibberish to her.

"What is that?" She asked him.

"Brain storming," he answered. "It's like a manic description of all the things he needs to do concerning his next victim."

Tori studied a different tablet, "This tablet is very well organized. There is a listing of names and ailments. He calls them— _patients_. He thinks he's saving them. Oh my god! I sure had that one wrong!"

"Listen to this," Adam frowned as he read out loud.

"She came to me at Sundown, her lovely blue eyes were so sad. I knew she was in pain. She didn't say anything, but I knew I had to help her. I watched her to make sure she was truly heaven sent. I'm glad I did. She had deceived me. Her eyes weren't truly blue, but something closer to silver. I'd found the colored lenses while she slept. I was angry at first, but then realized who was I to judge. She was in pain. I was tempted to take her anyway, but knew in my heart that I couldn't treat her. She would have to endure the best she could. There were others who I was called to help."

"Wow," Tori's lip curled.

"He came close to grabbing her," Adam rubbed his stubbled chin, "that means it might be easy for him to widen his victimology."

"Maybe," Tori wasn't convinced, "maybe not. Heaven sent suggests he thinks he gets instruction from a higher order. He might be afraid to violate that directive."

"If he ever does though," Adam's eyes were intense as they looked at her, "even by accident. He will then continue to do so."

"I agree with that," Tori nodded. "If he had taken this woman, and gotten away without harm to himself, he would have felt justified."

"Sundown starts with a capital letter," Adam considered, "I think it's a place. Not a time."

Tori nodded.

"The Sundown is a hotel by the jetty," she cringed, "Rebecca tried to get us rooms there, but they were booked up. It has a decent bar. That's how he's meeting them. It's just too damn easy."

"Once he has his query sited," Adam read through more notes. "He stalks them until he knows how to approach them. He studies them, figuring out their weaknesses, and what they like. This note says that Carla's mother has Alzheimer's."

Tori picked up a different note, "This one mentions that Patty visits the grave of her sister. It also says she likes daisies."

"I wonder what pain he found in Sarah's eyes?" Adam murmured.

"And why he didn't kill her," Tori added as she looked at the hundreds of photos of her on the wall. "That could be Rebecca up there." She shivered.

"They do look a lot alike," Adam agreed. "More so, than some of his other victims."

"I'm glad Armison keeps her on site!" Tori's face was tense.

"Ha," Adam shrugged, "have you ever worked out with her?"

"No," Tori admitted.

"She'd rip this guy a new asshole," Adam smiled. "She is not a victim."

"She can be feisty," Tori agreed.

"She's an effective fighter," Adam told her.

"Then why isn't she allowed at the crime scenes?" Tori asked confused.

"Too many gallant, dumb-heads about," Adam answered distractedly, "out to save the world. Armison doesn't want them getting their fool heads blown off trying to save the damsel."

"Oh," Tori said surprised.

She hadn't thought of it like that. She wondered if all the men thought that way about the females they worked with. The thought was disconcerting. She frowned and shrugged. Point of fact, she would watch the men's backs, too. The difference was, she wouldn't be jumping out there without a real reason. She could see some of the more macho types jumping before thinking—taking unnecessary risks. Especially, if it was to protect someone as little and pretty as Rebecca.

Adam watched her subtly. He would definitely take a bullet for Tori. He would think before he leaped, but he would definitely leap. Not that he would ever tell her! That would only piss her off.

Tori reached up to remove one of the pictures. Her fingers slid over the slick surface.

"They're pasted flat against the wall like wallpaper," Tori pulled her hand back. "Anymore surprises?"

She frowned as she studied the room.

"God, I hope not!" Adam muttered.

She looked at the ceiling. For some reason people never looked up. The chandelier caught her attention. The ceiling was really high. She hadn't realized just how far down they had gone. It was too high for her to reach from the bed.

"If you stood on the bed, could you reach the chandelier?" Tori asked Adam.

"I believe so," Adam studied the light.

He climbed up on the bed. Adam could reach the lamps, but not the base. They looked around for something easy to move that would give him more height. There wasn't anything.

"I'll ask the forensic team to give it some attention," Adam said as he studied the base. "The base is big enough for something to be hidden inside, and we know how this guy loves his little hiding places."

They searched the room for any more hidden openings.

"I don't think there are anymore," Adam sighed as he studied the room. "This is standard furniture which can be moved around. I don't see anything that shows wear marks, or would be easily accessible."

"I agree," Tori nodded. "This room is his masterpiece."

"Yeah," Adam agreed. "Neat."

Adam pulled out the Nikon digital camera from his pocket. It wasn't very big, and it had a slow shutter speed, but it had high resolution. He started taking pictures. He was careful to take enough pictures of the wall to recreate it later.

"Can you take pictures of the bed?" Tori asked. "I want to pull it apart."

Without comment, Adam flashed pictures of the bed. He put the camera back in his pocket, and started helping Tori pull it apart.

"The sheets are pristine," Tori commented. "Smells like lavender."

They pulled the top mattress off, and laid it against the wall. Tori searched it, but didn't find anything torn or resewn. They pulled up the two box mattresses. In one of them, they found a light wooden box. Opening it, they found jewelry.

"Souvenirs," Tori identified.

"But not the victims," Adam glanced through it. "These are old."

"You're right." Tori agreed, "The style suggests they belonged to one person. I'm betting it was someone he knew well."

A card was at the bottom of the box. Tori carefully lifted it out. It was a sympathy card with purple flowers and angel wings. On the envelope the name Anna Marie Benton was neatly printed.

The card read...

To Hear The Angels Whisper,

You Must Listen With Your Heart.

At the bottom, it was signed.

My beloved granddaughter, You gave me sunshine. You may rest now. It is time for your pain to end. I will dry my tears and let you go.

Always your Grand-momma, in Heaven and on Earth.

Tori handed the card to Adam.

He read it, and put it back inside the box.

"We'll take this, and the notes with us," Adam gathered the papers.

"We still don't know the trigger," Tori sighed looking around, "but we found the heart."

"I want to take the drawers out of the dresser," Adam eyes narrowed. "He's crafty."

"Definitely," Tori agreed. "There could also be false bottoms."

Adam pulled up a chair, and climbed to look on top of the armoire. He pulled down a slender box, and handed it down to Tori.

"More surprises," Tori muttered.

Inside was a diamond and sapphire necklace.

"Oh my god!" Tori drew in a breath. "That cost a damn pretty penny."

Tori pulled it from the box. There wasn't a name on the box. There wasn't a note within the box. She carefully set it back inside.

"It is of course going with us, too." Tori placed it with the wooden box.

Adam started pulling drawers out of the dresser. A box was taped across the button of the lowest drawer. Inside were 5" floppies.

"Rebecca's going to love those," Tori grimaced.

Tori stared at the jewelry box sitting on top of the dresser.

"It can't be that easy," she muttered.

Opening the box, she found the souvenirs. He liked pierced body rings.

"That easy," Adam commented looking over her shoulder, "he would want them where he could easily get to them."

"He liked to fondle them," she cringed.

Tori searched the desk, and found two flash drives. They were printed with a 3TB. She didn't recognize the brand. She shrugged, and placed them with the other things going with them.

Adam stared at them.

"What?" Tori asked.

"Those are 3TB flash drives!" Adam frowned as he picked one up, "How the hell did he get his hands on them? These are prototypes!"

"TB?" Tori asked.

"Terabytes," Adam told her. "These are super high density, solid state drive, memory sticks. This little stick can probably hold in memory an equivalence of 3 of our laptops."

"And he has two of them?" Tori looked at the little drive in awe. She placed them in a special box.

"I think we're done here," Adam stated, looking around.

"I am," Tori nodded. "Let's take apart the twin bed in the other room, and call it."

"I agree," Adam told her. "I think we've go it all. The forensic techs can do the rest."

They walked into the confinement room. Adam took pictures before they pulled the bed apart. Nothing new surprised them. It was just a bed. Adam took pictures of the stains.

"I'm ready," he told her.

"Me, too," she felt sick, "so, so ready!"

As soon as they were outside, Adam called requesting a forensic team. Tori took big breaths. She could hear him giving their report to Armison. Tori listed the items collected, and stored them inside the lock box of the SUV.

She sat on the steps waiting. She looked up. She could just see the glimmer of the moon through the branches of the large oak tree. She was tired, but she knew what their next order was going to be. They'd have to keep the site secure until the team got there.

"Containment?" She asked Adam when he got off the phone.

"You got it," Adam agreed.

"I'm hungry," Tori mentioned as she sat on the porch steps. "I need pizza."

"We can go inside," he suggested, "there's going to be a phone book."

Tori frowned. He was right of course. It was silly to remain on the porch. She nodded.

"I never did study the inside," she murmured.

Tori stood up too fast and swayed. Adam turned to catch her, and she felt her breasts bump into his hard chest. His warm hands reached out to steady her. She looked up surprised. His grey eyes stared intently into hers.

"I'm fine," she shoved away and went inside the house.

He shook his head. There for a moment, he thought he was going to kiss her. The feel of her breasts pressed into his chest lingered.

Finding the phone book, Tori ordered pizza. She'd always thought Adam was hot—too hot. She so did not want to go there! While she waited, she looked around.

Sarah and her husband lived a simple life. She was surprised after seeing the grandeur of the basement room. A lot of the furniture in the house was the kind bought in a kit and assemble by the owner. Their bed was a queen with an old style metal frame. There was one sparsely furnished extra bedroom, and another room that looked like Sarah's craft room.

Tori stood looking at one of the oil paintings that Sarah had finished. It was of an old farm house. A woman and a child were on the porch. She was still studying it when Adam found her.

"Sarah had talent," Tori frowned looking around. "She has a number of unfinished works. It's as if she just lost interest in them."

"Maybe, he discouraged her interest," Adam suggested. "She's too good."

"Yes," Tori agreed. "He didn't want her painting pictures of their life."

"That one might be significant," Adam pointed out.

"It's coming with us, too," Tori laughed, "at this rate, we might as well pack up the whole, damn house."

Adam pulled it off the nail, and turned to set it on the floor.

"Wait," Tori stopped him. "Something is attached to the back."

A small envelop was held in place by the wooden frame. Tori pulled on new gloves. Inside were four photographs. Each one had a date, and the first name of the people in them.

"Jack pot!" Tori called out.

Tori jumped when the bell chimed.

"Pizza guy," Adam told her as he looked out the window.

"Oh yeah," Tori ran downstairs to pay the man.

She took the pizza and pop to the kitchen table. She ate distractedly. Her eyes wandering around.

"Eat," Adam told her. "We can tear the place apart after you get some food in you. I don't want you fainting in my arms."

"Oh, right," Tori grinned at him, "we wouldn't want that—would we?"

"Huh," Adam grabbed another piece.

As soon as they were finished, they methodically tore the place apart. They started in the kitchen. It was simple—and too clean. There was not one dirty dish, or one crumb on a counter top. The stove was spotless. There weren't even any half-eaten food, or open drinks in the fridge. It looked like someone had been planning to take a trip, and didn't want to come home to a gross refrigerator.

They took everything out of the cupboards, fridge, and freezer, and placed them on the floor. As they continued, Tori's stomach tightened into a knot.

"This is wrong," Tori finally announced.

Adam nodded, "The diet is wrong for two people."

The only seasonings were salt, pepper, and garlic. There was lean ground beef, four, 6 oz. sirloin steaks, pees, and tater tots in the freezer. The only bread was wheat. The cupboard had canned tuna and tomato sauce. There were dried spaghetti noodles up in a cupboard. There were eggs. Of the condiments, there was only mayonnaise. The single item list, grew.

"I'm calling Shelly," Tori clicked open her phone and called.

A sleepy voice answered the phone on the fifth ring. Tori put the phone on speaker. Adam listened as Tori described the kitchen. There was a pause before Shelly commented.

"You have a male Dom—a Dominator." Shelly told them, "and a mean one by the sounds of it. Food is power. A good Dominator will figure out what the Sub likes, and have it around to please her. When you go through her personal affects, you will probably only find things to his taste; his favorite colors, scents, and styles. She—Sarah—doesn't exist anymore. Only _his_ wife exists. I'd like his and her clothes brought in—wait—actually, I want pretty much the whole house brought in. We're going to need it to recondition her."

"Recondition?" Tori asked.

"Basically, she's been brainwashed," Shelly answered. "We will need her things to bring her back from wherever her mind ran away to. We may need his clothes to reconnect with her long enough to buy time to break the bonds. We suspected some of this, but he took her further than I have seen anyone taken before. He stole who she was, and made her into someone else."

"At least he didn't kill her," Tori muttered.

"Didn't he?" Shelly asked.

Tori shivered.

"Okay," Adam's voice interrupted the pause, "we'll get you what you need."

"Roger that," Shelly yawned. "Can I go back to bed now?"

"I guess," Tori glared at the phone, "I guess someone ought to get some sleep."

Click.

"Okay," Adam yawned, "which bedroom do you want?"

Tori blinked as she stared at him. He laughed.

"To sort out," he told her.

"I knew that," her face turned red, "her workroom."

Tori started analyzing Sarah's workroom, Adam the bedroom.

"Anything?" Tori asked.

"Shelly was spot on about the clothing," Adam said with disgust. "Sarah has a total of two drawers, and was only allowed one-third of the closet. Everything in here is blue or black. Someone was also anal about organizing. I'm about to tear apart the bed, and then the dresser. You?"

"Nothing but spiders," Tori quivered, still feeling them crawling on her. "She didn't spend much time in here."

Adam didn't find anything of interest in the master bedroom. The other bedroom looked like it was used mainly for sorting out papers. There was a pile of newspapers, a pile of magazines, and a pile of advertisements. None of it was very old. An old sofa was pushed against the wall. Adam opened the closet. There were out of season men's clothes, coats, and boats. Nothing of Sarah's.

He put in a call to the movers, and left a voicemail for what they wanted.

The forensic team arrived while they were hunting in the garage. Tori let Adam lead the forensic team to the basement. She'd had quite enough of it!

They'd ignored the storage room at the back of the garage. If they needed to, they could return, but it made sense that Thomas wouldn't want Sarah in there. It was a facade.

The garage was tall. The windows up above suggested that it might have, at one time, had a _mother-in-law_ room, but the second level floor had been torn out. There were a lot of shelves climbing up the walls, but they were mostly empty. The lower shelves held cheap camping equipment.

On a high shelf, she spied a box pushed to the back. She grabbed the ladder, and climbed up to get a better look. She looked down, and realized she was up higher than she had thought. Blanking her mind to the height, she looked inside the box.

At first, she thought it was just more camping equipment. Feeling disappointed, she pushed the thermal blanket aside. Then she spied the duct tape. Without touching it further, she slowly made her way back down the ladder. She'd let Adam fish it down. She waited in the kitchen for him, drinking down the rest of her cold coffee.

"There's a suspicious box on the high shelf in the garage," Tori told Adam as soon as he came back up.

"Suspicious how?" He asked.

"Oh, you know," Tori's eyes gleamed, "duct tape, rope, gloves, a knife or two, survival blanket. You know—suspicious."

"Let's just go get that suspicious box then," Adam made his way out to the garage.

She nodded at the ladder.

Without a qualm, Adam climbed the ladder, grabbed the box, and made his way back down.

"We'll just take it with us," Adam mimicked her.

"Actually," Tori teased, "I was going to suggest handing it over to the forensic team."

"Of course," Adam laughed.

TOC
Chapter Eight

Rebecca been having a hard time finding a dwelling the perp might have been using before he moved Sarah into the newer house. The apartment he had been renting when he met Sarah was a small, two bedroom, in a complex. He couldn't have been using it for his _work_.

She gotten lucky when she searched on the property tax records for Jacob A. Hutton. Finally! A hit!

She rushed to Carl's office with papers in hand.

"Sir," Rebecca interrupted his phone call. "We found another house."

Carl hung up the phone.

"It is Hutton's grandmother's house. It's in Wisconsin. It has a cellar." Rebecca said excitedly. "Belonged to Olivia Geraldine Benton. The title was never transferred."

"Get Sam and Elliot on it," Carl told her.

"Yes, sir," Rebecca called out as she left his office.

She stopped by the desks. Sam and Elliot were the only ones in the office. Elliot was frowning as he studied something on his computer. Sam was shuffling through some files. The office was abnormally quiet.

"We've found a new house," Rebecca told them. "Armison wants you guys on it. I'm getting the flight itinerary together now."

Elliot nodded, and hurried to the locker room. Sam put the files inside a briefcase. He would be taking them with him.

Rebecca hurried to her computer. She needed the first flight out for three seats, hotel reservations, and food from the deli on the first floor. In fifteen minutes she had all three.

She was disappointed that Elliot was flying out again. There was no way of knowing how long this trip was going to take. She still didn't know where she stood with him. They hadn't talked about the baby. In fact, they hadn't talked about much of anything. She had to make plans, and figure things out. The baby wasn't going to wait, and neither would she!

She felt confused. He ran so hot and cold. She frowned as she considered. She knew what it was! She knew he liked having sex with her, but with him, it was out of sight—out of mind. He simply didn't think about her when she wasn't right in front of him. Unfortunately, that was not the case with her. She tended to fixate on him no matter where he was.

She realized that women were just too easy for him. He didn't have to work at it. It was time for her to revisit her own needs and priorities. She never was one to chase the guys. Why start now?

Rebecca handed over the data, the tickets, the food, and wished them a safe trip. Elliot nodded, and talked about needing to pick up some toothpaste at the airport. At the elevator, he gave her a distracted kiss on the forehead.

"Wow!" She thought, "All that!"

Elliot and Sam bordered the plane and settled in for the next two and a half hours. Unlike TV shows, they wouldn't be met at the airport with a fleet of black SUV's. They'd have to make do with whatever Rebecca had managed to rent for them.

"Good," Sam checked his phone, "she got us a room at the Comfort Inn by the Airport. Easy!"

Elliot nodded. Alarms were ringing in his head. He frowned, glancing at the data file. Rebecca had circled an area with a big red marker.

"That's the motel where he had his wife stashed," Elliot looked at the map. "It's only an hour from the house. I wonder why he felt the need to get a room?"

He flipped open his phone just as the warning signs lit for all devices to be turned off. He ignored the sign.

"Sir," a flight attendant approached them.

Before she could even finish the sentence, Sam pulled out his badge. She just nodded, and walked away.

"Rebecca?" Elliot spoke quickly. "Can you correlate flight customers around the time Sarah was stashed at the hotel with the names on the deed of the house we're about to search? Maybe, we'll get lucky."

"The data will be on your phone," she hung up.

"Huh," Elliot stared down at his phone. Even for Rebecca, that had sounded rather abrupt.

"Problem?" Sam asked.

"No," Elliot frowned, "probably just busy."

"Wow," Sam's eyebrows rose as he examined the cooler, "a woman after my own heart."

"Mine, too," Elliot muttered.

Their seats were just behind the wings. Sometimes, due to their hurried departures, they would be forced to sit up in first class. No such luck today. Elliot growled the third time his seat got jarred. Suspecting children, he turned to scold, but his eyes grew big. The passenger behind them was a woman. A very pregnant woman.

"Are you okay?" Elliot asked her with concern.

"Oh, sorry," she blushed. "It's okay—I'm okay. I'm not as far along as I look. Twins. I just can't seem to get comfortable."

She had the aisle seat. Beside her was an old man, who was pointedly, trying to ignoring them.

"You're alone?" He asked her.

Her eyes narrowed.

"I'm Elliot. I was just concerned," he told her quickly. "Would you like me to talk to the attendant about getting you a better seat?"

"Lucy," she frowned. "You can do that?"

"Maybe not First Class," he told her with a smile, "but maybe something even better."

"Better than First?" She said surprised. "What is better than First Class?"

"Ha," with a wink, Elliot rose from his seat.

At the back, just in front of the serving station was the emergency exit. Like most planes, this one had only one row of seats with around five feet of unoccupied space in front of them. The seats were occupied by only one man.

"Excuse me," Elliot interrupted his sleep. "Are these other seats taken?"

The man scowled at him, "no," he grumbled irritably.

Elliot grinned, and turned towards the attendant getting ready to serve the snacks. She was the same attendant Sam had flashed earlier.

"Excuse me," Elliot spoke out.

"Yes?" She looked at him curiously.

"There's a woman in the seat behind me," Elliot began.

"I saw her!" Her eyes were big. "She's not going into labor is she?"

"No, no," Elliot laughed, "she says it's twins. I guess she's not as far along as she looks."

The attendant sighed with relief.

"Anyway," Elliot continued, "is it possible for her to have one of these seats?"

The attendant frowned.

"Is there a problem?" He asked.

"Well," she hesitated, "those seats are reserved for people who can help out in case of an emergency. You know, to help people get off the plane. I really can't see her doing that—can you?"

"Would I do?" He asked her.

"Yeah," she nodded with a smile, "that would work. What about him?"

They turned to look at the man sleeping sideways with his feet propped up on the seats.

"Please, don't flash your badge," she whispered. "That could frighten the other passengers."

"I'll just ask," Elliot assured her.

"Uh-huh," she looked doubtful.

Elliot walked over to the man. "Could I ask you to exchange your seat for a very pregnant lady up in coach."

"Screw you," the man muttered.

Elliot pulled his legs off the seat.

"Okay," Elliot glared at him. "See the big Sumo wrestler by the wings?"

"Yah," concern had risen in the man's voice.

"I'll just sit here," Elliot took the aisle seat, "and in a minute, my friend there will join us taking the other. Did I mention that he usually takes two seats? I'm not sure he showered today. We've been kind of on the run. Or, you could politely ask the pregnant lady, if she would like to switch places with you."

His eyes got big as he looked towards Sam. Sam was watching them with cold, black eyes. He jumped to his feet. Elliot watched in satisfaction as he made his way to Lucy. She stood, and turned towards him. A big smile lit her face.

"Good choice," Elliot muttered.

Lucy carefully walked to her new seat. The man followed, carrying her over-head bag. He glanced at Elliot as he carefully placed it above the seats.

"This is just perfect," Lucy exclaimed, "right by the bathroom, the emergency exit, and by the snacks!"

"Not to mention the pillows," the attendant smiled, and braced her feet up on pillows."

"Oh," Lucy said with surprise, "thank you very much!"

The attendant laughed, "You can thank all of us by keeping those right where they are." She nodded towards her big belly.

Lucy smiled, "you betcha!"

Elliot watched as she settled in, and then promptly fell asleep. The rest of the flight was uneventful. She woke when the chimes sounded to fasten seat belts. Startled, she sat up, and then looked to where she had been sleeping. She met the warm brown eyes of a stranger. Elliot grinned at her while she blushed to a bright pink. She'd spent most of the flight cuddle up on his shoulder.

"I'll have Earl get your bag after we land," the attendant told Lucy.

"Oh," Lucy was startled, "thank you."

They buckled up, and prepared to land. Lucy cleared her throat. He looked at her questioningly.

"Can I have your number," she blurted.

His eyes widened.

"Never mind," she sighed. She looked sad.

"You can have it," Elliot fished for a card, "but as you can see, I'm not very available."

He handed her his card.

F.B.I. Agent Elliot Dauss

000 Pennsylvania Avenue,

NW Washington DC 20535

(202) 000-0000

"Oh," her mouth dropped open. Without a word, she tucked it inside her purse.

Elliot felt the tires bump down. The seat belt sign went off. People began to gather their baggage. He stood and sighed. It was nearly seven. Their night had only just begun.

"Thanks again," Lucy smiled at him.

"You are very welcome," Elliot smiled back at her.

His phone chimed as he made his way up to his own carry on. It was Rebecca with the correlation's he'd requested. She'd summarized. Two passengers by the name of Benton were scheduled to fly out the day after Sarah had been recovered. The flight was to take them to San Francisco. She had the computers filtering properties against possible aliases. There were a lot of Benton's and Hutton's, not so many Munshaw's. It was going to take a while. Sam was reading the same message.

"Did you enjoy the flight?" Sam asked, putting away his phone. There was a twinkle in his eye as he pulled down his case.

"It was interesting," Elliot shrugged, grabbing his case.

"I'll bet," Sam giggled.

Elliot laughed, listening to the big Hawaiian giggle.

Both their phones rang a text. Looking down Elliot frowned. It was from Rebecca, and only contained one word. That one word sounded rather ominous.

Sorry

"Crap," Elliot muttered.

"That does not bode well," Sam agreed.

They made their way to the car rental, and picked up the keys. Elliot's eyes sparkled, looking at the Mercedes-Benz key fob with the number 07.

"Good oh lucky number, zero seven!" Sam grinned.

"She did us good!" Elliot grinned back as they made their way to the rental lot.

"Holy Crap!" Sam stopped, staring around in disbelief.

"Oh No! Oh God No!" Elliot groaned, also looking around. Hoping he was wrong.

Sitting in space number 07 was a brand new, Smart Fortwo Electric Drive Coupe.

"Well," Sam sighed, "it's black."

"How the hell are we going to manage this?" Elliot exclaimed.

"Dibs on driving!" Sam tried his key in the door, actually hoping it wouldn't fit. He sighed as it turned in the lock. It was not a mistake.

"Fine," Elliot sighed.

They both squeezed into the car, and looked at each other. Neither man could move. Sam had the seat clear back, and couldn't turn the key. He could span the little steering wheel with one hand. Unfortunately, he couldn't turn that, either.

"This isn't going to work," Elliot mentioned.

"No, no" Sam agreed.

Sam squirmed out of the car, landing on the pavement as he got tangled up in the seat belt.

"Thing's a death trap," he muttered.

"Maybe, if I drive," Elliot suggested.

"Try it," Sam said doubtfully.

Elliot climbed in the car as Sam watched. He fit perfectly. Sam shrugged, and opened passenger side. He squeezed into the little car.

"You have to shut the door," Elliot mentioned.

"I'll just get a taxi," Sam squirmed out again.

### ***

Shelly and Rebecca watched them through Rebecca's monitor. They were laughing so hard tears were steaming from their eyes.

"Oh no, Oh no," Shelly screamed as Sam stumbled onto the pavement. "You are so cruel girl. Where did you learn such things?"

"Oh my God!" Rebecca roared. "Look how serious they are?"

"I think they've given up," Shelly wiped tears from her eyes. "Should you call them now?"

"Awe," Rebecca laughed, "but it was so good."

"You are such a bad girl," Shelly laughed.

Rebecca text, and then quickly loaded the video.

Sam and Elliot were looking around baffled when they received the text.

Ha Ha

They looked at each other frowning.

A black Chevy SUV pulled up along side them.

"Can I give you guys a hand?" The valet grinned at them as he hoped out, leaving the door open.

Laughing at his own joke, the valet removed the keys from one flabbergasted agent's fingers, and threw the SUV keys to the other. He climbed into the Smart car, and drove away. Playing over and over on the video monitor was their failed attempt to drive away in the Smart car.

Elliot quickly found the camera up on the pole. He shook his head. He didn't know whether to laugh, or flip them off.

### ***

"Having fun?" Carl surprised Rebecca and Shelly.

They both jumped guiltily. Their eyes were huge. They were so busted!

"The SUV wouldn't be available," Shelly began.

"Not when they landed," Rebecca added.

"Not for another half hour," Shelly inserted.

"So?" Carl asked.

"Well, I could have just kept them in the Smart car," Rebecca said defensively. "It was there at the right time."

"So instead," Carl looked at them sharply. "You decided to amuse yourselves?"

"Yes sir," Rebecca admitted anxiously.

"It was funny though," Shelly snorted.

"Send me a copy of that," Carl ordered, and walked into his office.

Shelly and Rebecca collapsed in their chairs.

"Did we really just get away with that?" Rebecca asked.

"I believe we did," Shelly laughed.

"Or at least until they return," Rebecca snickered.

### ***

"It was good," Sam told him climbing into the driver's seat.

"It was," Elliot admitted with a flash of humor.

"She got us out of it," Sam added.

"A-huh," Elliot's eyes narrowed as he thought of spanking Rebecca's butt.

"The SUV probably wasn't available," Sam went on. "She absolutely, would never have jeopardized a case."

"I know that," Elliot's eyes gleamed. "She's still gonna pay for that one!"

Sam giggled. Elliot shook his head laughing.

"Let's go to the house first," Elliot suggested. "Hopefully, while we still have enough light to search."

They reached the house after an hour's drive. It looked like it hadn't been lived in for a very long time. The roof was missing shingles. Gray paint was pealing away from the siding. The porch looked like it would break through with even the lightest step. Weeds grew between the rocks in what should have been a grassy front yard.

"Could be why he didn't stash her here," Elliot looked around. "It looks pretty run down."

"Neighbors would notice if the house was suddenly being used," Sam added.

Elliot looked around. Sure enough, he could see window blinds wiggling at two separate houses.

"Shall we?" Sam walked up the walkway. His hand lightly pressed against the gun in his holster.

Elliot followed, his eyes scanning in every direction. His thoughts shifted to Shelly. She'd know absolutely, if anyone was lurking within. A person could get too used to that kind of certainty.

They both skirted the broken parts of the porch.

Sam rapped on the door. They waited. They drew their guns.

Sam rapped again.

"FBI" Elliot shouted. "If anyone is in there, open up!"

Nothing. Elliot nodded to Sam. Sam gave the door a stout kick sending it flying inward.

"Smell that," Sam asked.

"Yeah," Elliot scowled. "It's old, but there's no mistaking it."

Decomposition!

"House has probably been shut up since he last used it." Sam's eyes narrowed.

"Move ahead, or call it in?" Elliot asked him.

"Move ahead," Sam's eyes glittered darkly.

Elliot nodded. He pulled the flashlight from his pocket. It wasn't big, but it blazed a huge path.

They both proceeded cautiously into the house. The house was a two story, and around a hundred years old. Probably, three to four bedrooms. Silently, they moved from room to room, searching for intruders. They saved the cellar for last. Like a lot of old houses, the cellar was accessed through the pantry in the kitchen.

As soon as they opened the door to the stairway. They knew they had found the source of the smell. Elliot cringed. The stench wafted upwards. They retreated. It was too strong to continue. Sam pulled out his phone.

"We need a forensic team here," he reported to Carl.

"Bodies?" Carl asked.

"Unconfirmed," Sam told him. "Decomp is too thick to enter the lower parameter of the house."

"Understood," Carl's lips pursed, "containment."

"Confirmed," Sam answered.

"Do you want local forensic, or ours?" Sam asked.

"Ours," Carl answered without hesitation.

Leaving the house open, Sam and Elliot withdrew. Elliot climbed into the SUV, and deliberately drove it onto the yard, creating a barrier between the road, and the front door. He would guard the front access while Sam guarded the back.

Sam's phone rang. It was Rebecca.

"The team's not going to get there until late tomorrow morning," Rebecca's voice was flat. "The powers that be—do not think this warrants prompt attention. After all, it is a cold case right? No matter how many bodies are buried there!"

"Yah, right," Sam's voice was filled with disgust. "But it's our fault that this crazy, Son-of-a-Bitch might at this very moment be chopping and sawing another victim!"

"I know," Rebecca stated quietly. "Don't want anyone to lose sleep over this! Carl's figuring out who to send out. He wants the scene secured while forensics is working it."

"Right," Sam nodded.

It was going to be a very long night.

Near midnight, Adam and Shelly pulled up in a little, black, Smart car. A smile tugged at Elliot's lips. His eyes twinkled.

"Shut up," Shelly snarled as she unfolded herself from the driver's side of the car. Without another word, she grabbed the equipment bags from behind the seats, and marched into the house.

"I see Karma is alive and well," Elliot let slip with a straight face.

"Speak for yourself," Adam grunted as he untangled himself from the seatbelt straps.

"If the room is aired enough," Elliot explained. "Carl wants us to proceed. We're to take it in shifts; two inside—two outside. Do you want in or out?"

"Out," Adam's lips quirked, "four hours of Shelly's bitch'n was quite enough."

"Ha," Elliot snorted as he followed the irate agent into the house.

Adam stood at the entrance of the walk. His eyes shifted up and down the block.

Forty minutes later, Adam watched as a small, white Chevy Aveo pulled up. The male driver fidgeted as he looked towards the house. Adam approached the car.

"Can I help you?" Adam asked coldly.

Nervous blue eyes stared up at him, "I'm from Charlene's. You ordered food?"

"Charlene's?" Adam frowned.

"The all night diner?" He frowned and looked at the ticket, "um, ordered by F.B.I. Special Agent Rogers. Ten lunch specials to be delivered here." He swallowed nervously. "Wally thought it was a joke and hung up. People do that you know—call in phony orders. She called back, and ripped him a new one. He's a bit thick, and hung up again. She called back, and asked for the boss. She gave a good credit card—and well, here I am."

Adam nodded. The driver looked to be around eighteen. He had red hair. He was wearing a red t-shirt with the slogan, Charlene's, Best food, Best Time. Taylor was printed across a cheap name pin.

"I'll just get that, then," Taylor climbed out, and opened the rear door. He grabbed a large box, and handed it to Adam.

"Why are you so nervous?" Adam's eyes were narrowed.

"Ah hell," Taylor ran a hand through his hair. "This is the Dare House. You know, every town has one. The house the kids dare other kids to go into. We used to make those dares. They say it's haunted. The last guy who went in, didn't come out alive. No one even dare's about this house anymore."

"How did he die?" Adam asked.

"They said it was a heart attack," Taylor mumbled, "We didn't even know he had a bad heart. He was only fifteen."

"Tell me about the hauntings?" Adam sat the box on the ground, and invited Taylor to sit on the curb.

"I really gotta go," Taylor swallowed convulsively.

"No," Adam's chilly gray eyes told him differently, "you really don't—sit!"

Taylor sat. Adam sat beside him, and waited.

"It's been empty for a long time," Taylor finally told him. "They say that the screaming from inside the house goes way back, at least fifty years or so—maybe even longer."

"Go on," Adam stared at him.

"Terry heard it," Taylor nodded towards the house on the left. "She's called the police before. The police never heard anything, so they didn't have cause to enter. The old lady who lived here was deaf. She died like ten years ago. Someone suggested it could have been her singing. I guess, she was an awful singer. Well anyway, unless the neighbors wanted to make a complaint about disturbing the peace or something, there wasn't anything the cops could do. No neighbor was going to file a report because of someone singing. No matter how bad it was."

"The hauntings?" Adam asked.

"It started after the old lady died," Taylor swallowed. "No one saw anyone going in or out, but there were lights flickering at the windows, and strange sounds in the night. Sometimes moaning. A group of guys peeked in the front window one night. They swear they heard creaking, and what sounded like footsteps. The house is old. Old houses creak. I don't know."

"Tell me about the boy who died?" Adam asked.

Taylor's phone rang.

"Yah," he frowned, and started to stand.

Adam took the phone, "This is Agent Sheldon. He's busy right now."

He heard a click, and handed the phone back to Taylor.

"The boy who died?" Adam asked.

Taylor swallowed convulsively.

"We were drinking beer," Taylor admitted, "we emptied our pockets, and put all the money in a bag. The one who went in got the bag. It came out to fifty-six dollars. Chris laughed, and carried the bag into the house. We waited and waited." Taylor's face was white, "we finally just went home. That was a stupid thing to do. He never went home. His mother called the cops. We admitted to our stupid stunt. They found him just inside door."

Tears gleamed in his eyes.

"He was still clutching that damn bag." He swallowed. "The money was still in it."

"Names and numbers," Adam handed him a notepad and pen.

"What?" Taylor asked.

"For you, Chris, and your friends," Adam tapped the notepad.

"But, but," Taylor looked sick. "We already paid for all that."

Adam studied him. "There was screaming in that house. We are looking for the one who caused it. Now write. You and anyone else who might have information about those screams."

Taylor's eyes got big. He began to write. "Everybody knew the rumors about the screaming," he frowned, "Gerri Balton might know something more. She always was a screwy type of girl."

"Gerri?" Adam asked.

Taylor nodded, "The daughter of the old lady's step-granddaughter. Story is her uncle got drunk, and drove them into the lake. It was icy cold. He died, but the rest lived." He shrugged. "People get drunk, and do stupid things all the time."

"And you?" Adam asked.

"I don't do that shit anymore," Taylor handed him the notepad, "can I go now? Barbie's going to be pretty pissed."

"You can go," Adam answered.

Taylor hopped up, and sprinted to the car. The tires barked as he sped away.

Adam looked down at the five names. He focused on the last one. He pulled out his phone.

"I need to talk to F.B.I. Special Agent Rogers," Adam requested.

"Sometimes," a voice answered, "you just gotta bully-up the right kind of respect to get anything done. What do you need?"

"I got five names to run," Adam told her, "the last might be significant."

"Shoot," Rebecca waited.

"All local," Adam read off the names, "Andy Chain, Tom Suthers, Bob Rosewood, Taylor Johnson, and Gerri Balton. That's it for now."

"On it," Rebecca replied, hanging up.

Adam called Sam, "Anything?"

"Moths," Sam answered irritably. "Elliot has the porch light on."

"We have food," Adam told him.

"Shelly and Elliot are right inside the kitchen. I'll let them know." Sam hung up the phone.

Adam carried the box to the porch. Cartons carrying large cups of coffee were wedged beside marked containers. He pulled out a container marked roast beef. He smiled appreciatively as he spotted the sub sandwich and chips. Rebecca did know how to take care of them!

He nodded at Sam as he came around the corner. Sam pulled out a cup of coffee and a couple of cartons.

Adam's phone rang. It was Tori.

"We have a problem," her tone did not bode well.

"Yes?" Adam frowned.

"The Jacob Hutton who _was_ the grandson to Olivia Geraldine Benton died while in-action at the age of twenty-four," Rebecca informed him. "He was a shadow fighter. His team's helicopter went down during a special operation—no survivors. _Our_ Jacob Hutton surfaced a year later."

"Son of a Bitch!" Adam swore. "So who the hell is this guy? He was set up here before Sarah. It makes sense that he knew the family, but we can't rule out that he found the letter here, and _collected_ it."

Tori shrugged. "We're going to need DNA from personal items still in the house; hair brushes, tooth brushes—you know."

"We might get lucky," Adam said doubtfully.

"I know," Tori agreed. "Keep an eye out for group photos, too. It could have been a friend stealing his identity. I'll request school pictures."

"Some friend," Adam snorted. "Did Rebecca say anything about the kid who died inside?" Tori asked.

"She has to wait until morning," Tori Answered. "The case was sealed, because juveniles were involved. I'm heading for bed, I figure, I can probably get a whole two hours in."

"Lucky," he grunted.

He heard her chuckle right before hanging up.

Shelly pulled off the respirator as she came out the door.

She glanced at the box of food. Her face was pale. Adam pulled out a carton that had a turkey sub, and handed it to her. He knew it was her favorite.

"Eat," he told her.

"I reek," she told him.

He walked her to the porch steps, and sat with her.

"Eat anyway," he opened the container, and handed her half of the sandwich. He placed a coffee beside her.

She nodded. Even though her stomach was sick, she could feel the symptoms of low blood sugar. She wouldn't be worth much of anything if she didn't get some food inside her. She nibbled at the sandwich.

"This is really good!" She said surprised. "They grilled the bun!"

"Leave it to Rebecca to find the best food in town!" He smiled. "I don't know how she does that."

"It's called an internet," Shelly laughed at him.

Shelly polished off the sandwich, and munched the chips. She sipped her coffee, already feeling better.

"There are three bodies down there," Shelly told him, "women. He didn't bury them. They are inside what used to be cardboard boxes. The decomposition attracted mold. The whole cellar is coated with the stuff. It's just a guess, but my gut tells me it happened four or five years ago. Forensics will know."

"There might have been a witness," Adam mentioned.

Shelly looked at him sharply.

"Kid had a heart attack inside four years ago," Adam told her.

"I can see how the shock and terror of witnessing that could kill a person," Shelly nodded. "Obviously, the place wasn't searched. They would have found— _them_."

"Kid died right inside the entry door," Adam sipped his coffee. "No reason to search."

"This killer's got some kind of luck!" Shelly said grimly. "It makes me sick!"

"Me, too." Adam glared at the ground.

TOC
Chapter Nine

His voice was that of an angel; smooth, strong, vibrant. It seemed he talked to her about everything. Everything except what she wanted to hear—needed to hear. That the Monster who chased her in her dreams was dead.

Still, from time-to-time, she surfaced just to hear his voice. She laughed inside listening to him telling her about Amy.

"And then she wanted me to rub her slit," Keaton complained, "and when I do, she complains that I'm not rubbing it hard enough, or soft enough, or even fast enough. I tell you. She makes me want to scream and run! Or maybe run screaming! She let it slip that I have to go through the same thing with Damen! Oh My God! How am I going to manage that?"

Keaton had seen several women around the Park, who he found very engaging, and he was stuck with Amy again. This time for his sexual training! Ah hell! He'd lost his virginity at the age of thirteen with his sister's babysitter, Alison. Now there was a girl who knew what she liked and wanted. Keaton had been very happy to figure out _her_ needs.

Amy?

He groaned.

Keaton was holding Sarah's hand. He wasn't sure, but it seemed like it quivered. He massaged both hands as he continued.

"The guys at the FBI think I'm getting all kinds of erotic sensual training. I didn't have the guts to tell them exactly what goes on here. Shelly knows of course, but she doesn't talk about it."

He reached up to touch her face, her scalp.

"Your hair is growing," he continued. "Every time I come here, it's that much longer. Pretty soon, you're going to need a trim.

He picked her up, and laid her on the bed. He untied her gown to see her beautiful little body. He gently massaged from her hips up to her neck, and back down again.

"I know this seems rather forward," he told her, "but I've been assured it will strengthen your muscles. Don't want you to come around, and find that your boobs have dropped to your knees."

He closed his eyes as his fingers softly touched the dark rosy aurora of her nipples. Her nipples peaked.

"Liked that did you?" He smiled.

He gently pinched them. They peaked harder. As he swirled a nipple, the other hand drifted down to her stomach, and then on downward to her nub, gently rolling it with his fingers. His fingers strolled down into her slit, rubbing gently. She was warm and moist.

He studied her vacant eyes.

"Please come around Sarah," he whispered sadly as he removed his fingers. "The world needs gentle souls like yours."

He carefully tied her gown closed, and left the room.

She immediately missed the warmth of his hands. She missed his soothing touch. She wanted desperately to call him back, but the words would not come.

The Operative watching the camera noted the lone tear making its way down her cheek. He wrote the data into the log.

TOC
Chapter Ten

"She's close," Shelly told them. "She wants to come back, but every time she's close, fear drives her back. Not just fear—terror."

"How do we get past that?" Keaton asked her.

"Patience," Shelly told him. "We don't know just how much she saw before she ran. We don't know what he did to her after he carried her back to the house."

Keaton pulled at his hair. Between his desire for Sarah, and his aversion to touching Amy, he was going nuts!

Shelly studied him. She could feel the swing of emotions—very strong emotions. He was teetering on the edge. This just wasn't like him, not like Keaton at all! Keaton was a rock. Warning bells rang in her head. He was definitely off his game.

Usually, Leya had a strong feel for just how much someone could take, but she had been wrong before. Shelly was concerned that she might be wrong again. Some people—most people—just weren't cut out for what was needed to bring people to the point of surrender.

She could feel that he thought he was falling in love with Sarah. He was feeling guilt for the tasks presented during sessions. He was losing focus, losing his objectivity. She knew that he had never been repressed about sex before. Making a decision, she looked into the camera.

"Keaton and I are taking off," she told them. She looked at Keaton, "this way."

Thinking he was in for yet another dominated scolding session, he resisted. She caressed his arm.

"We need to talk," she whispered to him, "please."

Nodding, he followed her out to the car. She drove up the coast. Just drove. They didn't speak. Finally, after driving a few hours he seemed to come back to himself.

"Where are we going?" He asked with a frown.

"It doesn't matter," Shelly answered, "just away."

"Sarah will be needing her massage," Keaton frowned.

"There are others who can perform it," Shelly reminded him. "You are not yet her Handler. Your training has not been completed."

He scowled angrily.

"Take me back," he told her. "Now!"

She nodded, and turned the car around.

"I need to eat first," she told him.

"Fine," he pressed his eyes closed.

Changing her mind, she turned down a graveled road leading down towards the beach. It was a cold day, and the beach was deserted. She stopped, put on her jacket, and walked towards the surf.

"Shelly!" Keaton growled at her. He pulled on his own jacket, and followed her.

She ignored him as she looked out over the ocean.

"Shelly," Keaton complained, "we have to get back!"

When he was close enough, Shelly pivoted to face him. She was furious. Without warning, she swung and slapped him in the face as hard as she could!

"Why are you wasting yourself on a half-dead woman?" Shelly screamed at him. "You don't even know her! You've no idea of who she is, or what she's like! Gentle soul, My Ass! You don't even know that!"

"Damn it, Shelly!" Keaton faced her, his face stinging. "That was private!"

"Nothing is private in that place!" Shelly yelled at him. "You want to find love? Fine, go ahead and find it, but don't sit around, and wait for it to wake the freak up!"

"It's none of your business!" He yelled back.

Shelly swung on him again, only this time with her fist. He caught it before it struck him.

"I know, it's none of my business!" She shouted at him. "That doesn't mean that you aren't being a big Fucking Idiot!"

She tried to hit him again. When he caught that arm, too, she kneed him in the nuts. Angry, and in pain, he flipped her to the ground. She continued to thrash, trying to kick, or hit him. She really wanted to pummel him! At one point his shoulder got too close to her mouth, and she bit him—hard!

"Ouch!" He pulled her arms over her head, and used his hips to grind her into the sand. "Stop it!" He shouted into her face!

His hard body pressed her into the sand. She couldn't move. Tears filled her eyes. She was so angry! There weren't that many good guys. Keaton shouldn't be wasting himself on her! She was so frustrated with him! She started to cry. For all she knew, that little twit might never wake up. Even if she did, there was no guarantee that she was even a decent person. There might have been a reason, that Monster had captured her in the first place!

It made her sick to see Keaton creating, and believing in this love fantasy. She hated seeing him lose weight, lose himself as he cared for Sarah. He was a strong man. She didn't understand what was happening to him. It hurt. She loved him as a brother-in-arms. It hurt a lot. She turned her head to the side, tears continued to flow.

Surprised, he turned her loose. She sat up and turned away. She sobbed.

"Stop okay," Keaton pulled at his hair, "just stop!"

"I can't," she gasped.

Without words, he pulled her around, and cradled her into his chest. Her tears caused his heart to hurt. He knew she didn't love him—not as in-love. He didn't understand her tears, but he did care. Shelly had been a friend for years. They'd been through some extreme situations. She'd saved his life a time or two—he'd saved hers.

He held her tight as the tears fell. Time seemed to stand still as she sobbed. He kissed the top of her head, and sighed. Her sobbing slowed, and then stopped.

"I'm a mess," she moaned.

He hugged her tighter.

"You always were a hot mess," he informed her.

"A hot mess?" She scoffed at him, turning her face to look at him.

"Yah," he paused, and then lowered his lips to hers.

The kiss was firm, warm and tender. He lifted his face away, and looked into her eyes, her soulful blue-green eyes. She'd always had the most beautiful eyes.

He lowered his head for another kiss. This time she rose up to meet him, pressing her lips into the fullness of his. Passion flared. Surprised, he pulled away.

She reached to pull him back. With a groan. He took her lips again. Her tongue teased him. Opening, he pushed her tongue aside, and thrust his own tongue deep into her mouth.

He pressed her back into the sand as he kissed her, covering her body with his own. He could feel the soft press of her breasts against his chest. He pulled her arms up, making her breasts lift more into him. He touched her breast, molding it into his hand. He could feel her hard nipples against his palm. She felt so good, so hot!

"Is that a gun," she murmured with a laugh, "or are you really, really glad to see me?"

"Both," he lightly bit her chin.

"No one is around," Shelly wiggled her hips against him. "I'd know."

"Yes, you would," he agreed.

She reached down, and released the holster at her ankle. He undid the belt at his waist, and pulled it away.

"Being a cop is so damn awkward," he murmured against her lips before stroking inside with his tongue.

He unsnapped her pants, and pulled the zipper down. She felt his hand slid inside, move across her stomach, and then move downward. She felt hot. She gasped as his fingers circled and pressed against her clit. She moaned as she pulled away. He watched as she kicked off her shoes, and finished pulling away her pants.

Her heart thudded as she heard another snap and zip. She helped him off with his pants. His hard cock snapped into her face. She laughed playfully, and licked at it.

"I'll give you all day to stop that!" he murmured, his blue eyes burning into her.

Unable to resist, she pulled it into her mouth. He stood as she continued to suck and tease his cock. One leg was still caught in his pants. He didn't care. It felt so, so good. She continued to lick and torment him. Sometimes, lightly biting him. She sucked him deeply into her mouth. He could feel the tip of her tongue as it continued to tease him while she sucked up hard.

He groaned and pushed into her, causing her to take him deeper.

She stopped and kissed the tip of him. He looked at her surprised.

"I don't usually like sand in my twat," she told him with a crooked smile, "but I'd go there for you!"

"What?" He laughed at her expression.

She was frowning at the sand lodged in the hair of his legs.

"Let's get a room," he kissed her, and pulled her up to her feet. "I don't care to have sand competing inside you, either."

They pulled on their pants, grabbed their guns, and headed back towards the hotel they had passed earlier on the road. Keaton kept glancing at Shelly as he drove them back.

"What?" She asked him.

"I never suspected such a fierce personality in that cute little body of yours," he smiled. "I think, I'm getting a shiner. I don't quite remember you hitting me there."

"Probably at the same time I kneed you," she told him.

"That hurt," he complained.

"Want me to kiss it, and make it all better?" She teased.

"Yes please," he grinned at her.

Before they could make it to the hotel, both their phones began to ring. Both to the same number. It was Leya.

"Damn!" Shelly exclaimed as she answered. "Yah what?"

He laughed, hearing her talk to the Mistress that way. It was only at that moment, Keaton realized, he had totally forgotten Sarah. He expected to feel a pang of guilt. He blinked with surprise. There was none. He studied Shelly. She was on the phone listening intently.

"We'll be there in a couple of hours," Shelly was saying, "yah, yah."

She hung up.

"What's up?" He asked.

"Sarah's awake," Shelly frowned.

Keaton drove in silence. Shelly left him to his thoughts. She was ready when his thoughts swung back to her.

"You had the same training as I'm getting?" He asked her.

"More," she answered.

He was silent for a while. She could feel the low ebb of his emotions. He was confused.

"Was that—," he started.

"No," she interrupted, and stared at him. "I can't play those games. The training saved my life—my sanity—but I'm not built that way. I can't _feel_ people, and then play with them. I can truly help them, but I can't manipulate them."

Her face was white. Her lips tight.

"Okay," he pressed her fingers. "I get it."

"Very few do," she relaxed, "people don't see _me_. They just want to use me, like I'm a mindless tool."

"I've always seen you," Keaton frowned.

"I know that," she smiled.

He looked at her lips hungrily.

"Watch the road," she told him softly.

"I'm multitasking," he replied with a sexy grin. His eyes sparkled.

Two hours later, their phones rang again. Same number. Shelly answered.

"What now?" She asked.

Keaton shook his head.

"Fine," she said and hung up. "Sarah went to sleep again. I'm hungry—and gritty."

He smirked at her.

"Shut up," she glared at him.

"You always get so cranky when your blood sugar is low," he complained.

"Town up ahead," she informed him. "Why the hell did you make me drive so damn far?"

"Me?" He laughed at her. "You're the one, who in a jealous rage, practically kidnapped me away, and forced me to make crazy love to you!"

"Shut-up, and turn here," she ordered him.

"I'm really getting tired of all these dominating women," he muttered.

"Yeah right," she sneered as he turned into the drive. "I've seen the way you pant after Leya. You would just love to have a piece of that!"

"The thought has crossed my mind?" He admitted.

She looked at him appalled.

"What?" He challenged her.

"Then why the hell didn't you!" She asked.

"Are you crazy?" He laughed. "I'm not sure what shape I'd be in after she took me apart, and then stuck me back together again. I'm not even sure I'd still be human."

"You'd be human," she stated as they got from the car.

His mouth gapped open.

She marched into the diner.

"Booth for two," she told the cashier, before being asked.

"Low blood sugar," Keaton told her.

"Oh yah," the cashier rolled her eyes. "I see it all the time."

She placed them in a booth towards the back.

"What?" Shelly asked as Keaton continued to stare at her.

"You've had her," Keaton stated.

"Or maybe, she had me?" Shelly challenged.

Keaton shrugged.

Shelly ordered cheese burgers and fries for both of them.

"No pickles on his," she added.

"Drinks?" The waitress asked.

"Coffee," they both answered.

"With cream," Shelly said quickly as the waitress hurried away.

"Spill!" Keaton demanded.

"Spill?" Shelly looked around, "Where?"

He just eyed her.

"Do you have any idea how raw a person would feel who is always feeling everybody's emotions?" Shelly frowned at him. "I was twelve when it all started."

"An accident right?" He asked.

"Yes," she said surprised.

"Go on," he pushed.

"I don't think I should be telling you this," Shelly touched his hand. "It's more Leya's story than mine. I can't really tell mine without telling hers. Do you understand?"

He caressed her fingers, "Leya was a prostitute."

Shelly's eyes widened. She pulled her hand away.

"You don't seriously think I would be at the Park without getting facts first?" He asked surprised.

"No," Shelly shook her head, "no. It just surprised me. I haven't thought of her as that in a very long time."

"She's not," he agreed.

He pulled at his bottom lip with his teeth. Shelly knew he did that when he was perplexed.

"What?" She asked him.

"Sarah," he shrugged, "all this. I don't think I'm cut out for this. How do they do it?"

"You really should talk to Damen," Shelly murmured looking down.

He touched her hands, "I'm talking to you."

"Okay," she searched his eyes. "I can only tell you what I've seen. It takes a person who is very uninhibited. Most of the time, these people think about people the way most people think about their pets."

"What?" He asked surprised.

She wrinkled her nose, "Handlers care, Leya doesn't allow anyone in who will not care about their Clients, but they take control of people as if they always know what is best for them. They do what they need to—to get what they want. If you want a dog to sit, you teach it with treats until it learns it will get a treat by doing the right thing. Only with them—they use sex, drugs, fatigue, pain, even food. They are relentless. There's not much, they won't use, to get the results they want."

"This is what I'm learning to become?" He asked appalled.

She looked away.

"What?" He demanded.

"Well," she cringed as she glanced at him. "Leya is so going to be so pissed at me."

Her comment was met by silence as he stared at her.

"Right now," she cleared her throat. "Oh look, food!"

They waited as the waitress placed their food. Shelly put sugar and cream into her coffee. She reached for the burger, but Keaton pulled it away.

"Talk," his eyes were narrowed.

"I need to eat," Shelly growled.

"Talk," he repeated.

"You're the _Client_ ," she murmured pulling the plate towards her.

He was so startled that he let go of her plate.

He was totally dumbfounded. He ate without tasting a thing. He was aware of her glances. He could now see the pattern.

"Why were you so angry today?" He asked softly.

"It doesn't matter what the Agencies are doing," Shelly frowned. "The FBI always manipulates their agents, telling them what and how. Yes sir, no sir—whatever. Maybe, this is bolder, but it's all the same. Agents burn out, or they turn. I didn't want that for you. You are my friend. I care about you—damn it!"

She looked up at him. Her eyes were sad. "I don't really know what Leya's thinking, but you were losing yourself. I don't know what conditioning was being used on you. I don't know the tools. I only know, I was afraid I was losing you—who you are. I didn't understand your fascination towards a woman who is such a dud. There is nothing there to know—to love!"

He considered, "Do you think drugs were used?"

"I don't know," she told him. "Maybe, just Sarah's own pheromones? I hate to think that Leya used drugs on you. I think there is a way though to enhance a person's pheromones. If there is, they wouldn't hesitate to use it. I just really don't know."

He pulled away to think. He didn't understand how in-thrall he had become. It wasn't like him. His expression was pained as he thought about it.

"Leya and Damen are the masters of manipulation," Shelly told him. "No one has ever beaten them at their own game."

She thought about the games the two liked to play.

"Actually, that's not true," Shelly looked into her eyes. "The only way to beat her is to walk away. You can still do that."

"Would you like pie?" The waitress interrupted them.

"No," Keaton answered, "just the check."

She laid it on the table. Without a word, Keaton placed the tip on the table, and paid at the cashier.

Shelly drove the rest of the way back. She was silent as Keaton pondered.

"You will know when Sarah wakes if you truly love her," Shelly told him. "It is only then that you could possibly know."

He heard her, but didn't respond. Shelly was right. He didn't even know the woman. He frowned. Why the heck had he thought she was his world? He studied Shelly; lovely, spirited, warm—alive!

"Thank you," he told her.

"For what?" Shelly asked.

"For slapping the shit out of me," he answered.

"Oh that," she laughed huskily, "any time, sweetness! Just don't return the favor."

He smiled. He had every intention of returning something!

Leya met them at the door. Without a word, Keaton pushed past her, and made his way into the building. Shelly shrugged at Leya, and followed him inside.

Leya looked up at the camera, and smirked. Damen groaned. He was going to owe her another twenty bucks. At this rate, he wasn't going to see a paycheck. He shook his head. He knew better than to place bets with her, but he just couldn't seem to stop himself. He smiled.

Keaton tossed and turned through the night. He was pissed. He was tempted to seek Shelly out, and finish what they had started. He knew it would be a low move. He'd be taking her out of sexual frustration, not affection. Besides, it wasn't Shelly's business. It wasn't her fault, and it for sure, was not her decision. He got himself into this mess. Only he could dig his way out.

He finally snoozed off with only a couple of hours before the alarm. He woke up feeling edgy. He hadn't felt that way since the High School prom, wondering if Katie would go out with him. He felt stupid. Which made him angry all over again.

Frustrated, he showered, dressed, and got the hell out of there.

"Okay," Leya said to Damen, "I didn't see that coming."

"I did," he frowned. "It's fifty-fifty if he comes back."

"I know," Leya murmured. "That was not in the plan."

"Sometimes, you go too far," Damen informed her.

"Sometimes," she had to agree.

Keaton didn't really have a plan. He just wanted out! If he came back, it would be under his terms, and one thing was clear. He was done being a _Client_. This wasn't the job he wanted to do. This was not the person he wanted to become. He just hoped he could stay sane long enough to finish the job.

He grinned as he passed the dealership. Now, that would help! He turned around, and drove back to the display of Harleys. Climbing out of the truck, he headed for the Iron 883. He was met by a bald, little dude.

"Looking for a bike?" He was asked.

"Could be," he said with a nod.

"Endorsement?"

"Got it and a card," Keaton showed his license, and pulled out the American Express Black Card.

"I think we can do business," the man nodded. "Did you see this one over here?"

Over there, sat an all black, Harley-Davidson FXS Softail. Keaton felt himself grinning. In fact, the grin just wouldn't leave his face. After all—it wasn't his little black card!

The little dude grinned back.

Keaton took the bike out for a spin. He grinned so big, he was sure to have collected some bugs in his teeth. He rode back.

"Put it on the card," he laughed.

Wait until the Park got the bill! They wanted to fuck with people? Well fuck them! He picked up two helmets. One for himself, and one for Shelly. While he was at it, he also purchased a couple of leather coats, gloves, chaps, and one pair of boots. He was laughing all the way to the bank!

"Meet me out front," he called Shelly, "wear jeans."

"Okay," she answered.

He waived as he left the dealership. The MONOP truck sat in the parking lot. Keaton laughed, let someone else come and pick it up.

Shelly eyed the bike, and laughed. She slid into the coat, pulled on the helmet, and they were gone.

"Didn't see that one coming," Damen sighed.

"I did," Leya laughed. "It's not only women who go shopping when they're depressed!"

"Just be glad his taste didn't run to race cars or yachts," Damen grinned back at her.

Keaton found the freedom with the wind in his face. The farther they rode, the less he cared. Shelly finally tapped his shoulder.

"I gotta pee," she yelled into his ear.

He nodded as he cruised into the motel parking lot. She grinned as she made her way to the lobby.

"We need a room," she told them.

They quickly exchanged cash for keys.

Shelly ran to the room. She left the front door open, and slammed into the bathroom. He grinned after her, shutting the door. Laying the helmets on the table, he pulled the bedding away to expose the sheets. He nodded.

When she was done, they exchanged places. He came out to find her lying naked on the bed. Her legs were spread, and he could see the gentle folds of her pussy. Her dusky pink nipples were hard and peaked.

"Too forward?" she asked huskily.

"Not at all," his blue eyes devoured her. His cock rose full and ridged.

His clothes came off on the way to the bed. Pushing her backwards, he laid his hard body on top of her taking her lips in a passionate kiss. She gripped his curly dark hair, pulling him closer. His hand caressed her breast playing and pulling on the nipple. She groaned.

He slipped his tongue deep inside her mouth. She pushed her pelvic against his cock. He pulled away, and looked into her passion filled eyes.

"No more play," she told him huskily, "I want you now!"

"You're going to get me woman!" He growled at her, "all of me!"

Being pressed up hard against him for hours with a bike vibbing her body had been driving her freak'n nuts!

He rose up and rubbed his cock against her entrance. She was hot and slick. She sucked in her breath as she felt him enter her—filling her. She groaned as she pressed him deeper. She lifted her feet to cling around his neck. He laughed and struck deep. He took her hard and fast lifting her up off the bed.

She was so close, so close. It felt so good. The orgasm was just a little bit away. She pulled into his hair as she strained. He reached between them, and rubbed her nub. Her back arched upwards as she came. Her world cracked open, centering on the sensations quaking through her body. It was so intense, she couldn't scream. Gasping, she felt tears flood her eyes as the sensations continued. He could feel her pussy as it clenched and unclenched his hard, hot cock. He continued to hammer into her, until he finally buried himself deep into her and rocked. Throwing back his head, he shot deep inside her. He held her tight until every last drop had been wrung from him. He dropped down beside her breathing heavily.

"Oh my God!" She exclaimed, "That was insane!"

"Yeah," he said, still breathing hard.

He rolled her over, bringing her up on top of him. He liked the feel of her breath tickling the hairs of his chest. He felt her hand lightly stroking him. He was getting hard again.

"Keep that up, sweetie," he murmured with a groan.

"Planning on it," she whispered. "You've been a very bad boy. It's time to take your punishment!"

TOC
Chapter Eleven

They finally slept, intertwined around each other's body. Keaton woke with his head pressed into her neck. He savored her sweet scent as he nibbled her throat. He smiled when she groaned, and pressed into him. She did not wake, so he settled in, to let her sleep.

He drifted off to sleep as he held her. He woke suddenly, and fully as she slid herself down on him. Harder than he'd ever woke before, he pushed up into her, and took her hard and fast.

"That's right," she cried, "Make me a dirty girl. Make me, make me—oh yeah."

She threw her head back and screamed. Startled, Keaton almost laughed. Might have, if she had not at that moment pinched his nipple—hard. The intenseness of it threw him over. He pounded her hard, pushing her up off the bed. He surged into her.

"That's my baby," she told him, wiggling to-and-fro, to force every drop.

"So much for waking _you_ with slow and easy," Keaton laughed.

"Mmmm," breathing deeply, she luxuriated in the aftermath of her orgasm.

Keaton rocked her, enjoying the feel of her on top of him. She laughed as she rolled off, to settle beside him. He held her feeling contented.

She sighed staring up at the ceiling. Her breathing settled. She knew they had to get back, but she savored the moment.

Shelly felt his mood shift, but didn't let it wash over her.

"Amy?" She asked, when she mentally came back to herself.

She'd felt his irritation and rebellion.

"Yeah," he rolled over and sat up.

"You have to do what is right for you," she told him "what is healthy—what makes you happy!"

"You're not going to convince me?" He asked, surprised.

"Hell no," she pulled herself over to look at him. "Handling is not for most people. Hell, it's not even for me. I'm not one of the Handlers. I sometimes offer my services as an empath to safeguard a _Client_. I never handle them!"

"What happens to Sarah if I quite?" He asked Shelly.

"You can't base your decision on Sarah," Shelly snarled.

"Humor me," he insisted.

Shelly sighed. "She will be lost. Her shot was taken. You were the only one at the time who could illicit a response." Shelly looked straight at him. "She will not be given another chance. She will never be anything more than what she is today—a rocker. That was why I suggested the program."

"You suggested this?" Keaton asked surprised. "I thought it came from Armison."

"He wasn't amiss to it," Shelly growled, "but only because he thought it would give him a pathway into MONOP. He's fascinated with them—obsessed actually."

"And the Mistress?" Keaton asked.

"I convinced Leya to give it a go," Shelly admitted. "She thought it was a waste of time and resource without any gain."

He sighed as he rubbed his face. There was only one answer for him.

"I'll do it," he scowled, "but only for this one case. After that I'm done."

"And the training?" Shelly asked, "Amy?"

"How hard could it be?" He sighed. "It's just sex."

Shelly blinked with surprise, and burst out laughing.

"What?" He frowned at her.

"Oh nothing," she murmured, "I'm hungry. Are we ready to clean up, and get food?" She lowered her voice, "or are you ready for _just_ some sex?"

He was suddenly hard. His eyes widened. He heard the tones, through Shelly, that Amy had been trying to shove into his head. He'd not really thought about the fact that Shelly had all the same training. In fact, she had admitted to having more.

Shelly laughed, and ran for the shower. Keaton ran right after her.

### ***

Keaton cringed as he headed for the training room. Amy had instructed him to bring back the books he'd been reading from. She expected him to have the sounds down perfect. Hell, he hadn't even read them. He figured, he could remember, _Peter Pan_ and _Charlotte's Web_. He shrugged. Part of being able to fool people was to fake it. Well, he'd just fake it! After all, Amy hadn't told him to memorize them.

Keaton's head was down as he walked into the room. He heard a loud crack, and looked up startled. His mouth gapped open. He dropped the books on the floor.

"I hear you've been a very, very bad boy," a voice spoke above the cracking of the riding crop. "You will now address me as Mistress Amalia."

All Keaton could do was stare.

Before him, stood Dominatrix Amalia Vixen—and she was not happy!

Amy, was gone. Gone was the stocky, blond-headed mess who tried to teach him voice. In her place stood the Siren Amalia.

Mistress Amalia stared at him with sultry, dark shadowy eyes. Her lips were ruby red. Her legs were long, accented by the sheer black stockings, and the tiny black skirt. Her five inch, slender heels pushed her butt out and her breasts forward. Her scarlet blouse was deeply cut. A sapphire necklace teased inside the deep cleavage. Keaton guessed her to have at least double-D's. Her hair was gold with shimmering highlights. It was mounted high on her head, and allowed to sweep down in a cascade to the center of her back.

She stepped across the floor towards him. Each step was solid and controlled. Her expression told him—he was in trouble. Hell, he knew he was in trouble. As she came closer, he could detect the faint scent of woman. Just like that—he was hard. Although his mind screamed for him to run—he stood stubbornly before her! Determined to not let her know just how much she affected him. She smirked at him. He groaned. He was lost.

Behind the monitor Leya and Shelly watched.

"I, so wanted to see this!" Shelly laughed. "Just sex—"

"Oh," Leya snorted, "you are such a bad, bad, girl!"

"When are you moving us?" Shelly asked.

"Two days," Leya answered.

Shelly's brows went up in surprised.

"Keaton can finish his education at the Mediterranean. He can do it as part of his cover for the nine-to-five job. I was waiting for his commitment to the job—not to Sarah. This," Leya tapped the monitor, "is a good thing. I want Sarah moved to her home before she starts realizing her reality. Thomas Munshaw is a Predatorial Dom—and he's a natural. Sarah's been well programmed. I don't know if her problem with _waking up_ is from the terror of what she witnessed, or the betrayal of being hurt so badly by her Dom."

"I'm not sure she knows who she is anymore," Shelly shrugged. "There might not be anyone to come back to."

"Then we will help her find a new her," Leya pursed her lips. "If Sarah rouses before she is placed, we will lose the advantage to break the conditioning."

Shelly flipped a switch on the panel to show Sarah's room. "She might already realize the situation."

"I know," Leya agreed. "That's why the deception is so vital. That's why Keaton has to learn quickly—and be convincing. There's no time."

TOC
Chapter Twelve

The woman staring into the mirror didn't recognize herself. She knew that she was twenty-five. She had a master's degree in linguistics with a minor in art. The two didn't correlate. She assumed the art was just for fun? She got married right out of college. She'd worked at a pizza parlor. She was told that she had been brought up in the foster care system. Her parents had died in a car accident. She'd slowly become aware of life around her. Her mind was blank. No, not blank, she corrected herself—stilted. Sometimes, she would start to understand things, and then her mind would just shut down. Her husband Keaton said that she had been mugged. She touched her head. She could feel the impression where her skull had been cracked.

"How's my lady today?" Keaton called from the hallway.

"Are you sure this dress works?" Sarah called back.

"Let me see," Keaton walked into the room.

Sarah's face flushed. She still felt nervous around Keaton. He might remember her, but she only sort of remembered him. She mainly remembered his voice. She definitely remembered his sexy voice.

"It's okay," he told her gently. "It's only a dress."

She stared at him in the mirror.

"I don't remember _us_ ," she murmured. "Shouldn't I remember _us_?"

"Your hair used to be a lot longer," he told her. "You used to pull it back like this."

He picked up a hair clip from the dresser, and pulled her hair away from her face. He set the clip.

She turned and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes grew enormous.

"Code Yellow," Shelly's voice carried through his earpiece.

He had just enough time to catch Sarah as she collapsed.

"That went well," he sighed as he carried her to the bed.

"You might want to leave the dress on her," Shelly suggested. "She can study it in her own time."

"Roger that," he muttered.

Keaton pressed his eyes closed, and shook his head. He was not a patient man. He was not used to nervous women. Sarah's timid behavior irritated him. He had never been good with victims. Living with one was driving him nuts!

"Hey Beard, you watch her for a while will you. I need some air."

"Will do," a voice agreed.

Keaton walked out of the house. He made his way over to the unit where the guys worked on trucks.

"Hard day?" Joe asked.

"Like most of the rest," Keaton answered. "This is _The_ hardest assignment, I've ever taken on."

"Oh, come on," Joe laughed. "At least you have a missus to play house with. Martin and I only get to play with trucks."

"Not much of a missus," Keaton muttered, "we tried the blue dress today. Thought if we put her own dress on her, it might flag her memory.

"Didn't work?" Joe asked.

"Keeled over," Keaton sighed. "It was the same as with Romper. We thought she would respond well to a dog like the one she used to have."

"I remember that, that's tough man," Joe agreed.

He reached into the cooler and handed Keaton a beer, before grabbing one for himself.

"She came over and yelled at Martin yesterday." He laughed, "funniest thing you ever did see. Martin's still quaking over the whole deal. I guess we were too noisy again."

He revved the engine.

"Don't know why she would think that," Keaton yelled over the noise.

"Women, huh?" Joe laughed.

"Where's Martin?" Keaton asked him.

"To much last night," Joe mimicked drinking. "Hell of a hang over today. He's a real Son-of-a-Bitch when he gets like that."

Keaton nodded. Most MONOP Operatives had their demons. It came with being ex-whatever. At least working for MONOP, they were earning a living and contributing something again.

"I'm out of here," Keaton placed the empty can by the cooler.

"Better get back soon," Joe told him. "I think she's eyeing Beard over there."

"Oh God," Keaton held his chest, "be still my beating heart!"

Keaton eyed the woman over at 4510 Vermont Avenue.

"Hey Shelly," he called, "want to ride?"

"Can't," she sighed, "some Dope in 4504, by the name of Keaton, knocked the bride out again. I have to monitor her transition."

Keaton laughed as he hopped onto his Harley. He knew the ride would set him free.

Shelly begrudged him his freedom.

"Hey baby," Joe mocked her, "want a ride?"

"Shut-up, Moron," she snarled.

"Oh ouch," he laughed.

Shelly growled as she went back inside. She really shouldn't take her temper out on Joe. He was a good guy. Burned out of the FBI, but good enough to keep an eye on the block. At least he was easy on the eyes. Blond, blue-eyed, and pretty. Walter on the other hand was a homely dude with his bald head and gray mustache. He looked so frail that a fart could blow him over. His looks were deceptive though. He was a strong, vicious little shit when pushed.

She was bored! Vermont Avenue wasn't in walking distance to any types of entertainment; no stores, restaurants, not even a bar. There were two churches that offered Bible Study. She could always go in, and shock the parishioners. That might be fun. Naw, she shook her head, too easy.

They were just barely inside the city limits of Swiss Weed. A little piss-ant town in the middle of Oregon. It nestled up against some hills. About a half mile away from the house, bobcats had been spotted. The area was also rumored to have bear activity. All Shelly had seen so far were raccoons, mice, and rats.

She stared down the block. She and _Beard_ , her husband, lived in the center triplex at the end of the block. They had a command view of all the units. Along each side of the street were triplexes. Nine units lined around Vermont Avenue. Vermont Avenue was in the middle of even more blocks of triplexes. Mostly all the same except for color and condition.

The MONOP Handlers and Operatives were Joe and Martin, the guys with the trucks, Beard, herself, and Keaton. Sometimes Bob, their _landlord,_ showed up to maintain the property. Shelly didn't know the other _families_. She saw them around, but they were blacked out. Meaning, that what they did wasn't any of her business. She did not focus her attention on them. Unless they came calling, they were left alone. Two of the units were empty.

Joe and Martin, really did live on the block. They were the first unit by the street. Their job was general support, and to intervene against intruders. Beard really did live at the command center. He was the Operative in control of the Avenue.

Shelly and Keaton had been dropped. Once dropped, they weren't allowed to contact anyone from their real life—not even Armison. MONOP controlled all personnel allowed to enter the premises. Her boss didn't even know where they were.

Each unit had the front room facing the street, a narrow kitchen that could hold a small table, two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a single car garage. Some units had a shed in the back yard.

Built in 1970, some Dumb-Nut had put the heat in the ceiling. In the fall and winter, all the heat went into the attic, and then found its freedom to the great outdoors. If she turned the heat up high enough to feel comfortable while sitting down, she was nearly knocked senseless by the heat radiating down on her head when she stood. She was just glad she didn't have to pay the heating bill.

The backyard was a joke, and the front yard an even bigger joke.

Parking was a problem with only one parking spot for each unit. There was parking on the main street, but rather than park out there, neighbors parked in the grass, or bitched at each other for parking where they weren't supposed to. Parking was the focal bitch factor of the neighborhood. That and trash day. Each unit had one garbage and one recycle ben. That was eighteen bens. Every week there was a mad rush to get their bens to the street curb for pickup. It was a mess!

The problems in the neighborhood were like many other neighborhoods of the area. The units were too close and people, even their own people, became intolerant and irritated with each other.

There was, _The_ _Screamer_ , as the neighbors liked to call her. She played her music at all hours of the night. Really awful stuff that she would screech to. Then there was the guy in Unit 4502. It was in black out, but that didn't stop the fool from wandering down the street drunk, loud, and naked. Beard would have to intervene, and force him back inside. Everyone, except Sarah, knew that local law enforcement was not an option for neighborhood problems. It was Beard's responsibility to control the block.

There was one defining factor about their block that was different from all the other blocks of triplexes. There was an underground tunnel system, and a command center. The command center was located in Beard's unit. The garage door was a facade. Inside the room was a very sophisticated spy network. Monitors lined the walls. The control panel was embedded in a counter top. It looked complicated with dials, toggles, and lights. A satellite cell phone sat on each side with spare headphones hanging above. Two adjustable office chairs sat in front of the panel.

All the units and grounds were bugged with cameras and mics. All the units could be accessed via the underground tunnel. It wasn't elaborate by any means, but the tunnel and command center distinguished MONOP.

Shelly felt as if she was going freak'n nuts! One of the hardest things for both Keaton and herself was giving up their involvement on the case. They were flying blind. The only connection was Sarah. If they could just get her to break through, they could leave, and get on with things—like life!

"She's on the move," Beard called out.

Just like that, all the playful bantering stopped. Everyone went about there business as if they actually had lives. Beard came out and gave her a hug, with a lingering kiss.

"Asshole," she muttered against his lips.

"Admit it," he told her, "you needed that."

Her cover story was that she and Beard had been married for five years, but didn't have any kids, because Shelly was barren. To keep her company, she had a dog named Romper. She was a good dog, Shelly admitted. A smiling blond lab. Even she was retired from the FBI. Shelly was a stay-at-home, site builder, computer geek. She had nothing better to do than to cater to her adoring husband.

Shelly's lip curled. She'd never been housed by MONOP before. Having access to the spyware through the block was just too obscene even for her. She really didn't need to be seeing Walter pissing in a can, because he was too drunk to hit the toilet.

"Joe thinks Sarah's sweet on you," Shelly told Beard. "You gonna take her away from Keaton?"

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" Beard growled at her.

She didn't even know Beard's real name. He was a big man with brown eyes and brown hair. He had the ugliest beard and mustache she'd ever seen. Its brown and gray mess hung down to the middle of his chest. She could hardly see his lips. She gave it a yank and laughed.

"Hey!" he yelled at her, "behave!"

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" She mimicked him.

"Go inside and make me some food, woman," he pushed her towards the door.

She gave him the middle fingered response. He roared with laughter. His large frame shaking as he brayed. She sighed and went inside the house. It was her turn to watch the screens. She didn't need to watch the screens to know what was going on, but it gave Beard a break.

As if on queue, Sarah came storming out of the house to yell at Joe. This time she threatened to call the cops if he didn't stop that racket. He frowned at her and gunned the engine.

"What?" He yelled at her, "What?" VRMMM—VRRMM, "I can't hear you!"

She yelled something else at him, and stomped away.

Grinning, Shelly prepared to intercept the call. She loved playing _blond_ dispatcher.

"911, what is your emergency?" She said in a twangy voice.

"The jerk next door is revving his truck again," Sarah complained.

"What is your name and number ma'am ?" Shelly asked.

"I live at 4504 Vermont Avenue, Sweet We—." Sarah recited.

"Ma'am," Shelly interrupted her. "I need your name—and your number."

"I'm Sarah," she answered.

"Give me your last name," Shelly sighed, "and then your phone number."

"I'm not supposed to give out my number," Sarah hesitated.

"Ma'am, you called us, if you want to report an emergency I need your name and your phone number."

"Can't it just be anonymous?" Sarah asked.

"Very well," Shelly paused. "Now what is your address?"

Sarah sighed.

"Ma'am," Shelly asked sternly, "are you giving me attitude? Because, you can get into a lot of trouble giving the 911 Emergency Dispatch Operator attitude."

"No Ma'am," Sarah said, startled. "I live at 4504 Vermont Avenue, Sweet Weed, Oregon."

"Now, what is your emergency?"

"The guy across from me is working on his truck again, revving his motor. I'm pretty sure that's not legal."

"What is your emergency ma'am," Shelly grinned. "Is he hitting on you?"

"No," Sarah said, "he's not hitting on me."

"Is he yelling at you, or threatening you in anyway?" She asked.

"No," Sarah started.

"Does he have a large dog?" Shelly asked.

"Large what?" Sarah asked, "I couldn't hear you."

"Oh," Shelly paused, "there is a special phone number for those with hearing disabilities."

"I can hear you just fine." Sarah yelled, "They are just being loud."

"Ma'am," Shelly grinned, "You don't need to yell—I can hear you just fine. Please call the appropriate phone listing for the hearing disabled."

"I don't need another number," Sarah told her. "I just want to report that the neighbor is being too loud with his truck!"

"Being loud is not an emergency ma'am," she told Sarah. "Please only use this number for true emergencies. At all other times, please use the business numbers."

"Okay," Sarah squeaked. "What's their number?"

"I don't know ma'am," Shelly sighed really loud, "you've reached the 911 Emergency Dispatch System. We are not the local directory."

"Bitch," Sarah hung up.

Shelly grinned and called her back.

"This is the 911 Emergency Dispatch Operator," Shelly told her. "You are being fined $100. $20 for improper use of the line, and $80 for imitating a concerned citizen. A bill will be mailed to your residence."

"You're just mean!" Sarah yelled at her, and hung up.

Shelly's shoulders shook from laughter.

"You're just mean!" Beard mimicked from behind her.

"How would you have handled it?" Shelly asked curiously.

"I'd have probably called Johnson to put on his blue suit," Beard laughed.

"Oh, be careful," Shelly teased, "she might go for a man in blue."

"Wouldn't that be delightful," Beard said dryly.

"I guess Leya isn't going to get her quota this time," Shelly muttered.

"What do you mean by that?" He asked her.

"She's always match making with the Clients," Shelly told him, "and then she complains when they drag her Handlers and Operatives away."

"I didn't know that," his eyes narrowed. "I guess we shouldn't be so hard on the girl. She did get her head smashed after all. Maybe that changed her."

Shelly shrugged, and let Beard keep his illusions. She, who could feel people, had never met anyone whose basic nature changed due to tragedy, especially personal tragedy. It just didn't bring out the best in people.

She considered Sarah to be an immature, selfish, twat. She need not have worried over Keaton. As soon as the brat woke up, Keaton started rolling his eyes. Never of course to her face. To her, he was the considerate, loving husband. No sex though. Sarah just wasn't into that. She believed that sex was only for making babies; no babies, no sex. Keaton told her he was not ready for babies, so no sex. Keaton was devastated.

Shelly grinned—her loss. Keaton was an awesome lover!

Sarah thought Keaton's income came from the robotics he played with in the garage. He worked mainly from the house, but his job occasioned a trip out of town. The trip was usually to the Mediterranean where his education continued.

The Mediterranean was THE training center for MONOP employees. It looked like a hooker haven. It was rough. It was crude. It was a major stomping ground for employees craving a more exotic vacation than what most resorts could offer. Shelly smiled. Keaton always came back either very relaxed, or walking a bit stiff. It depended on if he'd been very good—or very bad!

Shelly had tried to get him to be a sex-phone worker instead of the robotics' guy, but he wouldn't have anything to do with the idea. She sighed. With that sexy voice—he'd make a ton of money. She'd call him all night long! Still, the robotics were fun—and oh—so manly. She rolled her eyes.

"You want the screens again?" She asked Beard.

"It's funner when we do it together," he told her.

"Sorry," Shelly told him, "it's you or me. I have a garden to plow."

"Huh?" he frowned at her.

"Yah," she rolled her eyes, "Bob gave me _permission_ to plant bulbs. Oh, how fun is that?"

"Why?" he asked her.

"I guess that's what normal people do," Shelly shrugged. "What does Bob know? I told him we had silverfish, and he asked me if that was a type of trout."

"That's funny!" Beard told her with a laugh.

"Funny," Shelly scowled. She hated the things. They were fast and slick. They looked slimy.

"Big, bad, FBI Agent scared of a little bug," Beard teased her.

"I'm a consultant," she reminded him sweetly.

"Still scared of a little, itsy, bitsy bug," Beard laughed.

"Yeah," Shelly glared at him, "well screw you!"

"I've been trying," he told her.

"Agh!" She pulled his hair, causing his head to tilt sideways.

He ignored her.

"Look, she's pouting," Beard laughed at the screen.

"I'm glad someone finds her amusing," Shelly said dryly as she left the room. She should have hopped on the Harley.

Beard watched her go. He hated to admit it to Shelly, she'd laugh her fool head off, but he kind of had a thing for little Sarah. If she did look his way, he would take her! Like that was going to happen. He sighed, watching her on the screen.

Shelly laughed as she walked out to the shed. Beard seemed to forget that she was an empath—or maybe he didn't believe. A lot of people didn't. She was pretty sure she would feel his longing from blocks away. She just hoped the little dear was worth it. Beard was falling for her fast and hard. Maybe, Leya would get her quota.

She grabbed the dreaded gardening tools, and headed to the front yard where the weed filled, flower bed sat. She hated gardening. Groaning, she got down on her knees, and started digging in the dirt.

"Oh yeah baby!" a voice whispered in her ear. "You get them big, bad weeds! A little lower down there on the edge! Dig into it, baby!"

"Shut up!" Shelly muttered.

He laughed.

She had dug a nice little row when she realized she hadn't brought out the bulbs. Irritated, she went back into the shed to retrieve the tulips. She returned just in time to see the neighbor's cat burying a fresh little package in the dirt she had just dug.

"Get out of here you mangy piece of crap!" She yelled at the stripper.

It, like all cats, just stood and watched her, before calmly sauntering away. Shelly threw the bulbs at the dirt, and walked away.

"Do you really think they're going to grow like that?" An amused voice asked.

She was tempted to flip him off, but knew it would look pretty damn stupid.

"It's planted," she said scathingly as she stomped into the house. "God! Give me something interesting, or fun to do!"

"You could come over here, and sit on my face," the voice answered.

This time, she made sure to look into one of the hidden cameras, and gave him the bird.

"Temper, temper," the voice mocked.

"What's she doing?" Shelly asked.

"Need you ask?"

"Not really," Shelly sighed, "she's reading. Probably another one of those steamy romance novels."

"Got it,"

Shelly rolled her eyes. The woman had the biggest Hottie of the block, living inside her house, and she was reading, what she could be living.

Romper carried her leash over to Shelly.

"Very good idea," Shelly scratched her head. "Let's find a nice spot over at Cynthia's place."

"Don't," the voice warned her.

Shelly sighed and shook her head.

"You should see why she screams so much," the voice suggested. "It would be the neighborly thing to do."

Shelly snorted, then burst out laughing.

"Seriously?" Shelly stated, "You don't know?"

"She's blacked out," He informed her, "I don't spy on people blacked."

"She's doing herself," Shelly told him with a laugh.

There was a defined pause.

_Wait for it,_ Shelly told herself, and then right on queue.

"She sounds like she's in pain,"

"I am not a therapist," Shelly scoffed, "but one person's pain could be another's pleasure. Maybe, you should go over there, and introduce something more interesting than a vibrator."

"Wouldn't you like that?" He sounded smug.

"I wouldn't give a rat's ass!" Shelly shouted, "in case you've forgotten! We aren't really married! And by the way, if you want to attract Sarah, shave off your face. It freaks her out."

"I can't,"

Shelly stomped into the command room. The only area of the block not bugged.

"And why is that?" She asked Beard.

"I don't have a chin," he answered.

She gapped at him. That was not what she expected!

"Seriously?" Shelly came over to look at his face.

Brown eyes stared up at her defiantly.

"Do you mind," she lifted her hand.

He shrugged.

Her fingers slipped into his beard where his chin should have been. That part of his jawline was missing.

"How?" She asked.

"Land mine," he told her. "My buddy stepped on it."

Shelly nodded. She didn't need to ask to know his buddy hadn't survived the blast.

"Do you trust me?" She asked mischievously.

"With my life," he grinned up at her.

She went into the bathroom for tools. While he watched the screen, Shelly began shaping his facial hair, including his unibrow.

"Ouch," he glared at her.

"What's wrong," she teased, "big, bad army guy can't take a little sting?"

"Screw you," he mimicked, and then laughed.

"When Joe asks you why," Shelly grinned, "you can tell him the little missus insisted. She was tired of your ratty old face."

His lips quirked.

When she was done, she stood back to look at her work. She was astounded. Beard was a really good looking man. She'd shaped his beard to hide the fact that his chin didn't exist. Warm brown eyes looked deeply into hers. She'd trimmed his mustache a little away from his lips. They were truly magnificent lips!

"Wow," she faltered.

She touched his face, leaned into him, and kissed him firmly on the lips. He stared at her shocked.

She went into the bathroom for a hand mirror, and handed it to him.

He took it hesitantly, and then glanced at his reflection. His brows rose as he turned to study his image.

"How did you do that?" He asked quietly, "I look like me again."

"Why didn't you have someone shape it before?" She asked.

She felt his emotional flush, survivor guilt.

"Never mind," she kissed his forehead. "Scars run deep. So what's your name anyway. I'm not sure I can keep calling you _Beard_."

They looked at all the hair on the floor.

"Looks like a rat," Shelly muttered.

He chuckled, "Steve, Steve Lambert—Marine, Special Forces. You can still call me Beard. I've gotten kind-of used to it."

"Nice to meet you Steve Lambert," Shelly touched his hand. "Aka, Beard.

"Umm," he hesitated, looking downward. "Was the kiss—."

Shelly laughed, "I'd have kissed you a while back, but was afraid of what might crawl out of that thing!"

She put her hands on his shoulders, and looked into his eyes.

"Any woman worth having would see the beauty of you." She said, and then hugged into him.

"Thanks," Steve blinked feeling vulnerable.

Movement from the screen caught their eyes. Three women and a man hesitated at the entrance of the block.

"Bogey at entrance," Steve announced into the mic, "appear to be door-to-door Evangelists."

"How can you tell?" Joe asked.

"They're carrying bibles," Steve answered dryly.

Shelly cringed. She could hear the resounding sighs and swear words. For some reason, Sarah loved to talk with them. She liked listening to them as they spread the word.

"Will intercept," Joe announced wearily.

Shelly grabbed Romper's leash, and led her outside. Joe as natural as could be, sauntered towards them heading to the mail boxes. His tools clanging on his tool belt as he walked. One of those tools was programed to detect trace amounts of chemicals, an audible alarm would sound if triggered. He nodded as he passed them. They paused, but he did not give them a chance to talk.

"Clear," he muttered.

He continued to the mailbox where he retracted a white envelop.

Shelly led Romper to them.

"Pretty day isn't it," Shelly let Romper sniff them, "Oh, I'm sorry. She's such a pill. Sit."

Romper grinned and sat. If there had been anything wrong, Romper would have responded. She just sat, and wagged her tail.

"Such a pretty dog," an older lady scratched Romper's head, "as the Lord made all his creatures."

Shelly's jaw ached from holding her smile.

"I gotta go," she told them, and led Romper down the street.

Their stares followed her. It didn't matter if she was standing there or not. Everyone was going to hear the sermon. Shelly growled.

"Was that the dog?" Steve asked sharply. He was ready to spring into action.

"No," she admitted. "It was me."

She heard him laugh.

"Maybe, if you gas Sarah," Joe muttered, "we can all be spared."

They knocked at her door.

"Now you know we can't be doing that," Steve scolded him.

There was a collected sigh across the airway. Shelly laughed at the absurdity of it. She made her way back to the porch. She sat and waited. She would sense any threats. Her job was to intervene if Sarah was at risk. She sighed. She'd rather be pulling her gun on them!

They bowed their heads and folded their hands.

"Oh God!" Joe groaned, "They're gonna pray."

"Father, we ask that your blessing be on...."

"You think you have it bad," Shelly muttered, "I'm hearing it in stereo."

"in her hour of need..."

"Joe," Shelly begged, "don't you need to check your engine timing?"

"I believe I do," Joe chuckled.

"Ah," Shelly sighed as she heard the engine's roar. "Sweetness to my ears."

"Sarah's looking daggers at you," Steve laughed. "If looks could kill, you my friend, would be toast right now."

VRRRRRM, VRRRRM,

They prayed louder

"Grant her prayers at this...

VRRRRRRMMM, VRRRRMMMMM, VRRRMM

After three minutes, the Evangelists left the block.

"We owe you!" Shelly announced.

"Okay," Joe squeaked, "now come over and save me!"

Sarah was heading over. Shelly rushed into the house.

"You're up," She told Steve, pulling him from the chair. "I think he's out of beer."

"Yes, yes, out of beer," they could hear Joe's anxious mutter, "Hurry!"

"Wuss," Shelly chuckled.

Steve grinned and stroked his Beard. He pulled a six pack from the fridge, and headed over.

Shelly felt his flush of pride as he strutted to Joe's. He just made it over as Sarah was starting to land into Joe. She stopped in mid sentence. Her finger still pointing in Joe's face. She stared at Beard with shock. She blinked, spun around, and headed back to her house. Beard and Joe did a high five!

"Didn't know it was you at first," Joe told him. "Thought Shelly was cheating again."

"Be nice," Shelly scoffed, "or I'll go get those nice little ladies, and ask them to pray with you."

"Not," Joe shook his head. "I could practically see the tears of pain in your eyes when they started up."

"You're right," Shelly admitted. "Sarah's reading the bible."

She didn't tell them that she was also crying. Shelly's heart hurt for her. She was such a scared little girl. No wonder Steve had a soft spot if this was what he was seeing all the time. Just as she was starting to feel really bad, and thinking she should learn to be more generous, Sarah threw the bible against the wall, and then proceeded to toss a lamp.

"Now, that's my girl," Shelly muttered.

"What's she doing?" Steve asked with concern.

"Throwing things," Shelly answered.

"Oh," Steve shrugged, "she'll straighten it up before Keaton rides in."

As if on queue, the black Harley glided into the block. Sarah ran to pick up the broken lamp. In a panic, she tried the switch. It didn't work.

"Stall," Shelly suggested to Keaton. "She needs time."

He nodded. He walked to the back, and fiddled with the valve stem of the tire. Sarah ran as she switched lamps with the one in the spare bedroom.

"Clear," Shelly called.

Keaton pulled the garage door open. Sarah made her way out to the garage. As soon as he had the coat off, she hugged into him. Shelly gritted her teeth, fighting her need to strangle the girl. She jumped when Steve rubbed his hand across her back, pressing out the knot.

"Life is so hard sometimes," she muttered.

"Yeah," he nodded.

Both watched as the person they desired, cuddled with each other.

Shelly laughed.

"We're a pair," she sat glumly in her chair.

"You can still sit on my face," he teased her.

"Asshole," she muttered.

It was evening. As usual, Sarah cooked Keaton dinner—spaghetti again—with pees.

"Doesn't she know how to cook anything else?" Steve cringed. "Maybe you should show her how to make that cheese and sour cream enchilada stuff you do?"

"Shut up," Keaton muttered.

"What?" Sarah asked with a frown.

"Rest up?" He asked with a smile.

"Actually no," Sarah glared, "your friend over there..."

Keaton's eyes grew glassy. His mouth ached from the smile he was holding as Sarah went on about her day. He was going to kill Steve! The spaghetti sauce was canned, and the pees dry. Who the hell puts pees in Spaghetti. He should make Steve eat the crap! He wanted to groan. Shelly's enchiladas were to die for! For that matter, so was Shelly!

"and then Shelly's husband came over with beer. Did you know he shaved his beard? Now, I see what Shelly sees in him! Wow, what a difference."

"Act a little jealous," Shelly suggested.

He shut his eyes. He didn't know what was worse, listening to Sarah, or the team coaching him on how to behave. This time, he was ignoring them. He did not want to fight with Sarah. He gave his head a slight shake.

"What's wrong?" Sarah's eyes were narrowed.

He sighed, she wanted a fight.

"Headache," he told her.

"It's that damn, black machine," she started.

He abruptly got up, and headed for the garage. She knew not to intrude while he was working. So far, she had respected that space—so far.

"Where are you going now?" She asked him.

He ignored her. Inside the garage, he tinkered with the robotics. The _job_ was a good fit. He had an engineering degree in electronics. Robotics was an easy adaption for him. Maybe, he could create a robot to gag people!

Shelly noticed that Sarah didn't seem to remember passing out although she was still wearing the dress, and still had the clips in her hair. She was no longer concerned with them. She was mainly bored, and annoyed by the lack of attention.

"Join the party," Shelly muttered.

Night found them sitting in front of the TV, watching reruns of _Law and Order_.

They went to bed. Sarah in her full length flannel. Keaton in pajama bottoms and top. The first time Keaton came to bed without a shirt, Sarah went ballistic.

Shelly flinched as Sarah cuddled up on his chest.

Steve actually groaned. Shelly turned to look at him.

"Stomach ache," he complained. "Must have been the beans."

"Beans," Shelly scoffed, "sure."

"I think we're safe to turn on the sensors" Steve changed the subject.

"Yup," Shelly agreed, "all quiet in the neighborhood."

The sensors would detect any movement bigger than a cat, and would trigger an audio alarm. It could also trigger lights, but Steve was a light sleeper. The extra alarms weren't necessary.

TOC
Chapter Thirteen

"Look at us?" She turned to Steve with a grin. "We are so Junior High!"

"What does that mean?" Steve asked her.

"Oh, you know," Shelly shook her head. "She's into him, he's into me, and you're into her. It's so like being in Junior High all over again."

Her expression changed, became thoughtful. He watched her curiously.

"This is wrong," she frowned. "It's not normal behavior."

Shelly's eyes narrowed as she stared at the monitor. Sarah wore a peaceful expression while she cuddled in Keaton's arms. Keaton stared broodingly up at the ceiling.

"What are you thinking?" Steve asked her.

"Seriously now—no jokes," Shelly turned to him. "If your wife had been injured, but was physically better. Would you be cuddling her, as calm as can be, when she continually refused to have sex with you?"

"I might," he hedged.

"Keaton wouldn't," Shelly was sure. "It's not in his nature. He'd storm out angry. The only reason why he's there right now is because he's playing the game."

"You're right," Steve agreed.

"She's developed a dependency on him," Shelly maintained, "and he's enabling her. It's not healthy, and it's not going to get her open. He's going to have to shake her foundation to make her more assertive."

"You want to give him the news?" Steve asked, "Or do you want me to."

"You do it," she sighed, "if it comes from me, he will automatically think I'm just jealous."

"And are you?" Steve asked.

"Hell yeah," Shelly didn't hesitate, "but it's all about the job. We all know that."

Steve flipped the switch to speak to Keaton.

"Hey good buddy," Steve murmured, "want some good news?"

"That'd be just grand," Keaton muttered staring at the camera.

"I've a jealous woman here who thinks you should mix it up," Steve told him.

Keaton grinned when he heard Shelly call Steve an Asshole.

"This is wrong and unnatural," Shelly took over. "She's become dependent on you. You need to knock her out of her comfort zone."

"Thank God!" Keaton dumped Sarah to her side of the bed.

"What—" Sarah blinked sleepily at him. "What, what's wrong?"

"I'm getting a condom," he told her, "and we are going to have sex."

"No! We are not!" Sarah sat up, shocked. "We talked about this. You don't want kids!"

"That's what the condom is for," Keaton reached for the drawer beside the bed. He pulled out the package, and ripped it open.

"I don't do casual sex," Sarah stared at the condom with disgust.

"Casual sex!" Keaton glared at her. "Casual sex is for affairs and one night stands! I'm your husband. I have rights!"

"No," Sarah pouted.

"Fine," Keaton tossed the condom at her, "I guess you know what to do with that!"

He got up, changed to jeans and a shirt, and left the room. She trailed after him.

"Where are you going?" She cried out.

"To Steve's," he told her.

"Just who is Steve?" Sarah asked angrily.

"I believe when you fantasize about him," Keaton glared at her, "you call him Beard. I am going to Beard and Shelly's house!"

"Fantasize!" Her mouth gapped open. "Me," she screamed, "you're the one wanting a piece of his _wife's_ ass!"

"At least she has an ass I can get a piece of?" He sneered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She glared at him.

"You figure it out!" Keaton stormed out of the house.

"Subtle," Steve shook his head. He flipped the lock as Keaton reached the door.

"She's angry," Shelly focused in on her, "but she's taking it."

Keaton pulled up a chair to watch the screen. Shelly handed him a beer. He sighed taking a long drink. He hated to admit it, but that had felt really good. He'd wanted to scream, while laying there holding her!

"Oh no," Shelly groaned, "She's not! She is."

"What" Keaton asked, frowning at her.

Shelly just closed her eyes. She so didn't want to see what was coming next.

Steve and Keaton watched in shock as Sarah went into the kitchen and chose a cucumber—the largest one she could find.

"No," Steve murmured.

She carried it into the bedroom where she put the condom on it—and then used it.

"Yes," Shelly flinched.

Steve clicked off the speaker.

Shelly glanced at Keaton. He shook his head in shock as he watched the woman pleasure herself.

"I didn't see that one coming," Keaton shook his head at Shelly, "absolutely no pun!"

"That's a first," Steve told them, "I guess we are getting somewhere."

"Huh," Keaton rubbed his chin in bewilderment, "okay, but where do we go from here?"

"Whatever feels right," Shelly winked and sauntered into her bedroom.

Keaton switched on the speaker.

"Oh Steve, you beast," Sarah was saying. Her eyes were closed. "You're so big."

"Thought she didn't know your name?" Keaton grinned at him.

"I guess, I'm going court'n in the morning," Steve laughed. "Don't cry when I take her away from you, and don't punch me, either."

"I just hope you're better than that cucumber," Keaton laughed, "or she's going to be mighty disappointed."

"Bigger at least," Steve murmured as he watched the screen.

Keaton left the command room to find _Beard's_ sexy little wife. He grinned. Okay, playing house could be rewarding!

Shelly was in her bedroom waiting for him. She was so hot. It had been so frustrating watching Keaton cuddling with that ditz! She'd wanted to run over there, yank her out of the bed, and then pounce Keaton right then and there.

"Jealous were you?" Keaton grinned at her.

"Yes!" Shelly looked up at him. Her eyes were aqua, filled with passion.

His grin dropped. His eyes turned serious.

"You don't hide how you feel do you?" He asked her.

"I own my emotions," she answered him. "I may not admit them to anyone, but they are mine, and a part of me. By not realizing my own emotions, I'm vulnerable to everyone else's."

"How do you mean?" He sat close to her, and ran his hand along her cheek. He touched the red highlights in her dark brown hair.

She closed her eyes.

"It's too easy to get confused with what someone else is feeling," she murmured, "like right now." She opened her eyes to look at him. "Am I as horny as hell, or is that you?"

"Oh that's easy," he drew her lips to his, "that would be me—definitely me!"

She sighed against his lips as he kissed her.

The kiss was long and slow. He'd been waiting for her. He didn't want to rush things this time. He wanted to savor these moments. His tongue teased. She opened her mouth, and her tongue teased him back. He pushed her back on the bed, and straddled her body. He raised himself up so his chest just touched her breasts. Impatiently, she pressed herself up on him. He chuckled.

He rolled her over so she was sitting on top of him.

"We don't need this," he pulled her t-shirt over her head.

She rolled him back over.

"We don't need these, either," she unsnapped and unzipped his pants.

### ***

Keaton decided not to return home the next day. He wanted to leave the field clear for Steve, and wanted Sarah unsettled. Shelly was right. He'd been going about it wrong. He'd tried to be supportive of her. All that did was leave her in a comfort zone.

He was relieved to be trying out a new role. He had never been so frustrated in his life as when he was trying to be Sarah's husband! Shelly had been spot on that day she'd slapped the crap out of him. Sarah was nothing like his fantasies had conjured. It was probable that he had been drugged. MONOP was very versed in using drugs for mind manipulation. Why, they would do that between him and Sarah—he hadn't a clue.

"Tell her I was too drunk to come home," Keaton told Steve.

"Good," Shelly agreed, "You can sleep it off in my room," wink, wink.

Steve laughed.

"She's moving," Shelly pointed at the monitor.

"I'll just be on the couch near unconsciousness," Keaton left the room.

"I'll take the helm," Shelly told Steve.

Steve nodded. He left the room. Shelly laughed as he snagged a blanket, and carefully tucked Keaton in at the sofa.

"Oh darling," Keaton murmured in his sleep, "Oh Steve. Are you really that big? I've wasted another cucumber waiting for you to notice me."

"Shit-head," Steve slapped him in the head.

Keaton laughed.

Sarah was at the door, she raised her hand to knock, and then lowered it again. They waited. Shelly sighed. People did the strangest things when they thought they were alone. She thought of the cucumber. A snort slipped. She thought of Steve's reaction to it, and had to stifle her laughter.

Knock, knock, knock.

Steve opened the door.

"What's up?" He asked in a deep, sleep-filled voice.

"Um," Sarah hesitated. Sarah looked into his warm brown eyes, and forgot her practiced speech.

Steve waited, looking down at her.

"Um," she cleared her voice, "Keaton didn't come home last night."

"He's sleeping on the couch," Steve whispered, "come in."

"Oh," she faltered, "I don't want to intrude."

"It's okay," he stepped to the side, "come in. Shelly's still asleep."

Sarah came in. Keaton was asleep, snoring on the couch. She gave him a light touch to his shoulder.

Steve bent close to her ear and whispered, "He kind-of had too much whiskey last night."

Sarah jumped, and then shivered. He was so close, she could feel the warmth of him. She frowned. He straightened and moved a step away.

Keaton groaned and turned, facing into the couch. His light snoring continued.

"Why don't you collect him later," Steve suggested, "him and I kind-of stayed up a little late last night." He laughed, "I don't think he's going to be good for much today."

"Did he tell you about our fight?" Sarah asked.

"Yeah," Steve shrugged, "but it was the whiskey talking. He loves you very much."

She wasn't so sure.

"Um," Sarah paused, "I'll just wait for him at home."

With that, Sarah backed away. She glanced up at Steve as she walked past him to the door. His brown eyes were intense. He looked—she blinked—he looked like he'd like to ravish her. And there for a moment, she thought maybe, she'd like him to.

Shelly watched as Sarah walked back to her house. For the first time since being placed in the home, Sarah made her way to the workroom, and started stretching and stapling a canvas. Shelly smiled, she'd felt the spike of desire from both of them. Steve obviously knew what he wanted. Sarah was confused. Right now, she was feeling conflicted—after all—she was a married woman.

Steve and Keaton came to stand behind Shelly's chair.

"Good!" Keaton nodded, "I'd wondered when she would finally start painting."

"Hopefully, she'll create something that will trigger her memory," Shelly said, getting up from the chair.

They had duplicated Sarah's workroom down to the drawers, and orientated her things with the door. Her original workroom was smaller, but they spread things out evenly to mask the discrepancy. They hadn't time to relocate the closet. It just had to stand. Shelly thought maybe that was as well. She'd seen Sarah staring at it—in fact—she stared at Keaton in the same way. As if something just didn't quite add up.

TOC
Chapter Fourteen

"Got it!" Rebecca snarled. "He's good with script. He didn't just code them. The bastard wrote complicated segregated programs against invasion. Damn! Where the hell did he get a 3TB flash? Military contract maybe?"

As soon as Rebecca gained access, she copied the whole disk onto an independent computer. This computer had internet access, but wasn't wired to their servers. If there was something destructive on the disk, it would only ruin the one computer.

"Good luck finding who!" Nathan said distractedly.

There had been two flash drives collected at the scene. One had been coded. That was the one Rebecca was working on. Nathan was working on the other. His contained the electronic copies of all the photos, and also the spread sheets of the data about the crimes and victims. Munshaw had been anal about his documentation.

They were hoping Rebecca's would have the money trail.

"We'd had it wrong," he muttered.

"You'd think someone would be missing them," Rebecca frowned at him.

"What?" he asked her.

"Someone should be screaming about losing their 3TB drives," she repeated.

"They wouldn't admit it," Nathan told her, "they'd send out an independent Operative to find them, but they couldn't admit to losing them, or they might lose their contract. They've been compromised."

"Maybe our killer is the Operative?" Rebecca muttered.

Nathan looked at her with surprise. It was a strong possibility.

"The whole disk is open now?" He asked her.

"Yeah," Rebecca frowned as she opened one of the folders. "This folder is filled with text documents."

She opened one of the documents. She sighed. It looked like rambling. It was probably what Adam had described as _brainstorming_.

"This is going to take a while," Rebecca scowled impatiently. "My priority is to find his money. He's got to have a stash somewhere! This would be better for Adam to go through, what I see is the pointless ramblings of a madman."

"Search on the word _pennies_ ," Nathan suggested. "Adam saw some correlation with banking transactions when he was looking through the notebooks. They weren't in details. He just thought they were memory flags."

Rebecca nodded. She searched on the word pennies. The file came back with a zero, so she tried the next. She had tried five different files before one flagged.

"Bingo," she called out.

The document had 7 account numbers without routing numbers. Each account had a notation in pennies. She wondered just how many _pennies_ were in those accounts. It was possible there was another file with the routing numbers. She decided to use a different program to run the numbers against bank logistics. Not her favorite software, but it was faster. It was running as she continued to look through the files on the stick.

Now, that she had some sort of idea how he labeled things, she read through the data sheets more carefully, looking for things that seemed to be out of context. She started highlighting words. If it didn't make sense, it was probably code for something else. The words _stop_ and _watcher_ kept randomly coming up.

The words felt ominous.

Nathan looked over to see her slouched in the chair, head back, and eyes closed. She appeared to be sleeping, but he knew she was making a visualization of the data in front of her. He'd seen her do it before. It was how she sorted things out.

Suddenly, her eyes popped open, and she started typing like mad.

"It's a live feed!" She muttered.

Rebecca glanced at Nathan's monitor. Her mouth dropped open. Nathan's eyes narrowed as she continued to study his screen. He knew exactly what she was seeing. It was basically a picture of herself. He was the one who had printed the pictures taken of the wall. Rebecca had been doing other tasks. This was the first time she was seeing the victims.

"It's me," she muttered.

"No," Nathan turned in his chair to stare at her. "Look closer. Look at the expressions. I've never seen that look on your face, and I can't imagine ever seeing it. These women are subdued—defeated. This is the picture of a victim. This is what the killer is looking for. That is his mission. You are not a victim! You would fight. He wouldn't want that."

"Damn straight, I'd fight!" Rebecca's blue eyes sparkled.

"It's the eyes," Nathan suddenly whipped around, and started opening folders. The mouse moved furiously as he sorted pictures into folders.

"What are you doing?" Rebecca asked.

"Wait," he frowned.

He compared the identities of the pictures to the new folders that held them. He stopped to stare at them. He quickly correlated the pictures against a spread sheet.

"What is it?" Rebecca asked.

"He did not victimize every woman he stalked." Nathan was reaching for his phone. "I've got something."

He listened and nodded.

"Meeting room," he told Rebecca as he hung up.

She glanced at the computers running various programs. They were safe enough. She grabbed her coffee, and followed him out.

Most of the crew were hurrying towards the conference room. Nathan connected his computer to the projection terminal, and called up the files.

"What do you have," Armison asked as he sat down.

"We were wrong in assuming every woman he stalked, he victimized." He opened the files, "these are from one of the flash drives gathered at the scene. There were five women he stalked, but did not contact."

He opened the five pictures, and placed them side by side on the screen. On a different portion of the screen, he placed five pictures of the women Munshaw had stalked and killed.

"There are more victims, but this sampling shows the pattern," he told them.

"They all look the same to me," Elliot admitted.

"No, no," Tori stood and walked closer. "It's the eyes."

"Exactly," Nathan nodded.

"The faces all have the same basic characteristics," Tori pointed out, "but the victims look sad or in pain. Their eyes are a duller shade of blue. The others look angry or determined. There is life to their eyes."

"Okay?" Elliot frowned, "how does that help us?"

"All the murdered victims were under a doctor's care," Nathan summarized. "He dissembled them according to their ailments."

"What?" Rebecca asked appalled.

"Tina Weber," he pointed at her picture, "he started with her by cutting off her fingers. She had rheumatoid arthritis. Her hands were the worst. He followed with her knees, and then elbows. He just kept cutting."

"God!" Rebecca jerked, feeling sick.

"Jennifer Neilson," Nathan pointed at a different victim, "she had migraines. Have you ever heard someone with migraines say something like... _If I could only take my head off for a while, and put it on a shelf until it behaved itself.._."

"He cut off her head," Tori said grimly.

"Carla Johnson," he pointed at her, "kidney disease. Becky Anderson, had cancer in her gallbladder. Jackie McCracken, binge eating. He removed her stomach."

"Why is he doing all this?" Rebecca asked them.

"I have the answer to that," Adam passed around pictures. "This is Anna Marie Benton, Jacob Hutton's stepsister, Olivia Benton's granddaughter."

The pictures were older, taken with an analog camera. The clothing style suggested late nineties.

"She looks like the others," Nathan agreed.

"She was two years younger than Hutton," Adam continued, "She lived and died at her grandmother's house in Wisconsin. She had brain cancer. She was brought home to die. The medical records indicated that Mrs. Benton, who had custody, refused to have her lobotomized. That was what the neighbors heard all those years ago. Her screaming in pain until the day she died. She died at the age of seventeen."

"The perp loved her," Tori muttered. "We know he took over Hutton's identity. He must have been around during Anna's confinement. He and Hutton might have also joined the service together, and worked within the same unit. He might have been on the chopper, and survived the crash."

"That would make sense to the timeline," Adam nodded. "The new Hutton showed up a year after the crash. That could fit with reconstruction and rehabilitation."

"It would also explain the trigger," Tori added, "screaming and pain. He's still trying to save Anna."

"Why Sarah?" Rebecca asked.

"He recreated Anna through Sarah," Adam explained. "His mind is segregated, splintered into different realities. He knows Anna is dead. He knows the women he's—helping—is not Anna, but he can't stop."

"One part of him knows he is killing these women," Tori added, "the other still thinks he is helping them."

"Thus the remorse at the burial." Adam nodded.

"Why did he stop pursuing these women?" Rebecca pointed at the other screen.

"They either recovered," Nathan answered, "they were fighters, or they found God."

"Found God?" Adam asked.

"Reborn," Nathan answered.

"Where are we on getting the Military files open?" Carl asked Nathan.

"Not," he shook his head. "Until now, we didn't have enough evidence to pressure them. The team crashed during a covert operation."

"I'll see to it," Carl's eyes narrowed. "We have to know who this is!"

"Sir," Tori frowned, "he might not know himself. He might actually think he is Hutton. Especially if he went through reconstructive surgeries. He might not recognize his own face."

"That's a high probability," Adam agreed.

"None the less," Carl told them, "I will get answers. It would be highly embarrassing for word to get out that one of their own had turned to butchering innocent women."

"That it would," Tori agreed.

"How is he finding them?" Carl scowled, "and how the hell do we stop him! Between those he kills, and those he _just_ stalks, that's a lot of victims!"

Carl could feel the burn in his chest. He was popping an antacid into his mouth when his phone rang. Ideas were circling the table, but it was all just speculation, and conjecture.

"What?" Carl's posture turned rigid as he listened. "Send the details to Rebecca."

Silence descended as they watched and waited.

"Grab your bags," Carl announced as he hung up. "We're taking the jet. Two bodies have been found. Rebecca, contact the forensic team, and make accommodations."

"Yes, sir," Rebecca's phone buzzed with a text, "South Carolina?"

"He's never worked there before," Tori frowned.

"I knew it was too damn quiet," Adam grumbled as he hurried to the lockers.

Rebecca quickly sent a text to the forensics' supervisor, detailing the murders. Carl was calling in the whole team, with the exception of herself, Shelly and Keaton, She sat at her computer, and made arrangements for lodging as well as flight reservations for Elliot and Sam.

Elliot and Sam were in Wisconsin following up on some leads concerning the boy who had died in the house. Rebecca ignored all else, and focused on travel and lodging.

She picked up the phone, "Hi Sweetness."

"Hi Darling," Sam giggled.

Rebecca's face turned beet red. "Where's Elliot?"

"Ahh," Sam hedged.

"Yes?" Rebecca waited.

"I need a new phone, and am borrowing Elliot's." Sam mumbled.

"Again?" Rebecca sighed, "Where this time, shower?"

"Close," Sam admitted.

"I've changed your airline tickets to South Carolina," Rebecca told him. "There have been two more bodies found."

All humor left Sam's tone. "When's the flight?"

"Bumper flight," Rebecca told him. "They've agreed to bump someone off when you two arrive. You'll be put on the next plane. It's a three and a half hour flight."

"Roger that," Sam hung up.

Rebecca sighed, and called in a phone to go out with the jet. This was his fifth one this year. She suppressed her disappointment of not getting to hear Elliot's voice.

Winter was coming. Thankfully it was the off season. It was easy to take over a large portion of the Holiday Inn for both teams. It was always a pain, when lodging had to be spread, through out a city. She arrange for two SUVs. Forensics would have to deal with their own. She texted out the information.

Rebecca looked around at the empty room. It was quiet. It was always like that when the whole team was called away. Sometimes, Rebecca liked the sudden serenity. Sometimes, like today, it was unnerving. She shivered. She'd seen too many damn victim's faces with her likeness. She didn't feel like being alone.

She went to the breakroom, grabbed some coffee, and returned to her desk.

"Let's find that money!" She needed to find it. This guy had to be shut down!

### ***

Carter was furious that they had found his private stash. He should have kept it with him. Kept it in the van with his systems. He felt violated. That room was his only link with home! Now, it was gone!

He smirked. What they didn't know, was that the very drive they'd stolen, was their own defeat. If they were smart enough to get it open, his script, the _watcher_ , would automatically run. If the computer was linked to their servers, he'd have automatic access to _everything_. He should have done that deliberately!

He knew the team was in route to South Carolina. He'd decided to place the bodies where they could be found. After consideration, he realized that it was only right that they receive a proper burial. He'd watched them process the other scenes. He liked the respect the police gave the Ladies. It was not their fault that they had been too far gone to be saved.

A signal appeared on his screen. He rubbed the moisture from his hands. Someone had activated the sequence.

He laughed in glee.

"Well, let's just see who you are," he muttered.

He entered a simple command, and took control of their webcam. He sat back in shock! It was Anna! There was no denying the intensity of those blue eyes. No one—no one had eyes like Anna.

He watched as Anna's brows lifted while she typed. Elated beyond words, he just watched.

Rebecca glanced up at the clock. It was only then she noticed that the webcam's light was on. She hadn't turned it on. Fear gripped her—and then she got angry! She typed in the commands to start recording. She typed a command to allow her to see the other person. She stared defiantly into the camera as she hit the enter key.

She was face-to-face with a killer. A face she'd seen on a hundred composites, but not knowing which one was really him. They stared at each other.

"Hello Anna," he smiled at her.

"I am not Anna," she informed him.

He frowned. She didn't sound like his Anna. His frown smoothed. Anna had only been seventeen when she'd been taken. Of course her voice would sound more mature now.

"Of course you are," he told her, "you just don't remember."

"So tell me," she frowned at him. "What is it that I don't remember?"

Rebecca deliberately set out to keep him engaged. She was an FBI Agent. She was trained to deal with perpetrators. She pushed her fear aside. She would do her job!

"The pain," he told her, "do you remember the pain?"

"I understand pain," she told him.

"But do you remember crying out for it to end?" He asked, his eyes were intent.

"No," she told him. "I don't remember that. I don't remember you. Who are you? Did we date? Did you take me to the prom?"

"We didn't date," he told her, "you were too sick. You are probably still sick."

"No," she told him, "I'm not. I know I'm not. I've never felt better. Are you a friend of Jacob's?"

"Of course," he frowned at her, "you know that."

"Should I know you?" She asked him. "I don't think I know you."

"It's me, Carter," he sounded sad. "I know, I look different now. I was in an accident."

"Tell me about it?" She asked him. "What happened to you? What happened to Jacob?"

"Jacob!" he snarled at her. "It always comes back to him, doesn't it? You always did love him more! He was your brother! That's just sick!"

The webcam's light extinguished.

She copied the video onto a disk. She then cycled the power button, and unplugged the computer. A tech with more savvy than her, would have to go through it. She probably stopped the script, but she didn't know how to remove it. She started to call the IT guys, but reconsidered. The computer script was the only contact they had with the perp. They might need that.

She moved to her own computer, and sent the video to Armison. Reluctantly, she also sent a copy to Elliot. He was going to be so pissed. She knew he would forget the fact that she was as much an FBI Agent as he was.

### ***

Carter instantly regretted his outburst. He knew that Anna was Jacob's stepsister. They weren't blood. There wasn't anything sick in it, but he'd always been envious of their closeness. Jacob was gone now. He didn't want Anna asking about him

He tried to reconnect with her, but couldn't. Anna had always been smart. She must have unplugged the computer. He brooded. He hadn't been ready to leave the area yet, but Anna was in DC. He'd just have to close up, and make the trip over. All the others would just have to wait. He'd been looking a long time for Anna. The real Anna. He couldn't believe it! He'd finally found her. She was perfect!

Carter realized what he had to do. He still had the responsibility of helping the women in his care. He printed out a personalized instruction sheet for each one of them, and put the instructions in envelopes.

### ***

They were already on the plane when Carl received the video from Rebecca. His heart thudded as he watched it. He was at first furious with her, but looking around at the other agents, he knew every last one of them would also have tried to engage the perp—Carter. She was just doing her job. He sometimes had to remind himself that she wasn't an admin. She was a fully trained agent. He had been relieved that she seemed satisfied with his placement of her, but suddenly wondered if he was making a mistake by delegating her to the role of a clerk. It was very sexist of him, and a waste of a good agent.

He dialed in Elliot's number. "Change of plan," he told him, "get to DC."

The plane leaving Wisconsin was already taxing down the runway when Elliot received the call. Elliot rose quickly, and approached the cockpit.

"Sir, Sir," the flight attendant called out to him.

He flashed his badge. "We need off the plane right now!"

The attendant quickly walked to the cockpit, knocked, and went in. A minute later they were returning to the terminal.

"What's up?" Sam asked Elliot.

"Not sure," Elliot answered. "Armison's ordered us back to DC."

His phone chirped a text as he was grabbing his bag. It was from Rebecca. It would have to wait. Once off the plane, they made their way back to the ticket counter. With a smile, Elliot checked the text as he walked. He stopped in the middle of the walkway. Customers cussed at him as they tried to walk around. Sam pulled him aside.

Rebecca's video was playing on his phone.

"Son of a Bitch!" Elliot yelled, handing the phone to Sam.

He hurried up to the counter, cutting off other people. The ticket agent started to complain about the intrusion, when Sam glared at him, and pulled out his badge.

"We want two tickets non-stop from here to the Washington DC airport." Sam handed him a credit card, "and we want it now!"

"Yes sir," the agent hurried through the process. "A flight leaves in half an hour, Gate E61."

Elliot snatched up the tickets. The flight took two hours. It was a long two hours.

### ***

"Listen up," Carl called out.

He used the remote to turn on the large, flat screened TV. He plugged his phone into the USB port.

"While Rebecca was pulling up data off the flash drive, the perp turned on her webcam. She recorded their _chat_."

He pushed play. She had recorded the webcam conversation from her point of view. For the first time, they got a good look at the perp. They could hear the sound of his voice.

"Wow," Tori's eyes were big.

"Did you see the background?" Adam asked them, "He was inside a van. Damn! No wonder we couldn't find his shop!"

"She was spot on," Nathan admired. "It's too bad she couldn't have gotten more, but she stayed cool, and said all the right things."

"Carter," Adam frowned, "why is that name familiar?"

"High School football," Tori reminded him.

"Bring it up," Carl ordered Tori. "Let's have a look."

Tori pulled up the file on the students. She double clicked on a picture.

"Jacob Hutton, number 16, was a Wide Receiver. Monty Carter, number 11 was the quarterback." Tori read.

She zoomed up on Carter's face. She messed with the video, and then pulled up a frame. Carter had been a nice looking boy with curly blond hair, and sparkly blue eyes. He had high cheekbones and a prominent chin. He would have been popular with the girls. The perp's face was rather flat and undefined.

"He doesn't look much like that anymore," Tori was disappointed.

"We suspected that the perp was on the chopper," Adam reminded her.

Carl dialed in Rebecca's number. "We have a name—Monty Carter. Get everything you can on him. Also, send out an APB. I want him to know we're coming for him." He paused, "Good job!"

"Thanks," Rebecca hung up.

Rebecca stared at the phone. She shrugged off Armison's begrudged admission. Like she gave a crap!

"This will be quick," Carl announced. "We will spend one night. We will confirm and collect, and then it's back to DC. Monty Carter is going to try to collect _Anna_."

The team landed in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. They were met at the airport by Sergeant Leonard, South Carolina State Police. His face was pale.

"As soon as we realized what we were seeing—we called you." He told them. "I've seen a lot of bad shit before, but nothing like this. Do you need a command room. We have one available if you need it."

"I don't think so," Carl answered, "If this is what we think. We know what we'll find. I'd lay money on the fact that the perp is headed back to DC. We have a forensic team, who should arrive shortly, to take care of the bodies. For now, just show us the way."

They were led to a sandy beach just under the pier. Each body was carefully placed in an uncovered hole.

"Did anyone disturb these?" Carl asked the Sergeant.

"Not any of us," his face turned white. "A man and his dog found them. I can't say about them."

"He's changed his burial," Tori frowned. "The body is stacked upright, and he didn't bury them."

"It looks like the cutting is the same though," Adam noted.

Tori took some gloves from her pocket, and put them on. She picked up a piece of flat drift wood, and turned it over. There was writing. She read.

Tony Gladstone

Margaret Winston

They deserve a proper burial

"Interesting," Tori frowned. "He's using us to bury his kills."

### ***

Late that night, he gassed the women. He really should have used a warehouse sooner. It made things a lot easier.

When they were unconscious, he dressed them, and pinned the envelopes onto the front of their shirts. He drove to an abandoned house where he set them on the porch. He then called for an ambulance to come and get them.

He watched as the two women were picked up. Satisfied, he climbed in his van, and began his eight hour drive to DC for Anna. He didn't know why she was working for the feds, but that was fine. She might have sounded confused, but he knew she would be as excited to see him, as he was to see her.

### ***

Two women were picked up by a private ambulance service, and taken to the Memorial Hospital. They were unconscious, and showed signs of bruising at their wrists, ankles, and necks. They had been dosed with nitrous oxide. They didn't have any identification with them. The hospital staff immediately called in the State Police.

Sergeant Leonard took one look at them, and called F.B.I. Unit Chief Carl Armison.

Carl sent Tori and Nathan to interview the women. They had to wait for the women to become coherent.

"Carla Stanfield," Tori reported back to Carl, "had been taken from her home in Atlanta, Georgia nine days ago. She has all the physical parameters of Carter's searches. She has cirrhosis of the liver. There are markings around her liver where he had intended to start his cuts."

"Susan Lindsey," Nathan took the phone, "was taken from the Midnight, a club catering to vampire fetishes in Savanna, Georgia. She was taken four days ago. She too fits the victimology. She has COPD – Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease. She has been marked with a straight line from throat to navel."

"Return back," Carl told them, "Forensics is here. They will be sending a specialist over to process the victims. We are taking the jet back as soon as you arrive. Adam calculates it to be around an eight hour drive from here to DC."

"Unless he takes a flight out," Nathan reminded him. "He's not averse to flying."

"Let's hope to God he doesn't," Carl growled. "He is methodical and unhurried. We're going back ASAP, but I don't think he will attack Rebecca without stalking her first. Elliot and Sam are assigned to her immediate protection."

He hung up.

"Rebecca inadvertently saved these women's lives," Tori stated darkly.

"I know," Nathan stared at her. "Rebecca—does a lot of things well!"

Tori frowned at him. She'd never said Rebecca didn't. She was always spot on getting their travel itineraries together. She didn't make mistakes.

### ***

During the flight home, Elliot kept oscillating between wanting to strangle Rebecca and admiring her. He finally decided the safest course would be to take the middle ground, and not offer up an opinion at all. That's what most women wanted anyway—wasn't it?

TOC
Chapter Fifteen

Steve watched as Sarah painted. She'd been doing that a lot lately while Keaton was gone, and Keaton had been gone a lot. She didn't seem to have a goal in mind. Just flittered from one project to the next, and then back again. She was using oils, which meant they took time to dry, before she could return to paint some more.

The box sat on the living room floor. It was addressed to Keaton. It held electronic parts. The plan was Steve would use the box as an excuse to stop by and talk to Sarah. He didn't want to admit it, but he was nervous about courting her.

The original plan of Keaton gaining her trust, her retaining her memories, and then finding the bad guy wasn't working. Shelly said that Sarah was just getting more confused, and more anxious.

Shelly could feel the situation escalating. Something had gone wrong, but she didn't know what it was. Sarah wasn't responding as predicted. She was becoming more withdrawn. She wasn't afraid of Keaton, but she didn't trust him, either.

Keaton had played his part well. The only thing Shelly could think of was that Sarah had remembered, but was keeping it to herself. That's why Steve's next role was so important. Sarah had to learn to trust him. She needed someone to confide in. Shelly was concerned that the whole thing was going to be a bust.

"Ready for me to take over?" Shelly asked.

"Not really," Steve replied.

He shrugged. He knew as well as she, if the situation didn't change, they might as well send Sarah home. That didn't sit well with him at all! He sighed as he bent over to pick up the box. He was as ready as he was going to be.

Shelly watched as he walked over and knocked on Sarah's door. She ignored the first knock. He knocked again. Irritably, she threw her paint brush into the jar of acetone.

Sarah opened the door, and stood staring at him. A frown formed on her brow.

"I have a package for Keaton," Steve told her. "It came to my house by mistake."

She reached to grab it, but Steve pulled it back.

"It's pretty heavy," Steve told her, "just show me where you want it."

"Garage," she muttered.

She left the door open, and walked back to her workroom. Steve placed the box in the garage. He walked back through the house, stopping just at the door of Sarah's workroom. He was intrigued by one of the paintings on an easel. It had faced away from the camera. He hadn't seen it before. Without thought, he crossed over to stare at it.

"I don't like people seeing my work," Sarah snapped.

"Oh," Steve blushed, "I'm sorry. I was just amazed. I've never seen a painted portrait before—just photos."

He quickly moved towards the door.

"No," Sarah stopped him, "I'm sorry. I've been edgy. I shouldn't have snapped at you. Please stay—if you have time."

"I have time," Steve assured her.

### ***

"Just like that!" Shelly muttered. "Sorry Keaton sweetie, but I think Steve has just stolen your wife."

### ***

Through the next week, Steve found himself going over more often to Sarah's house. He was getting more emotionally tied up with her. It was alarming, and he couldn't see a happy ending. It seemed, they were all on a train destined to crash—crash spectacularly. He couldn't see a way out of it.

She told him about the mugging. How she felt so disconnected, alone, and afraid all the time.

"What about therapy?" He asked her.

"I tried some," she frowned at him. "We just sat for an hour staring at each other. I had nothing to talk about since I couldn't remember anything. The games he suggested didn't do anything. How could I have forgotten everything important?"

"What do you remember?" Steve asked. "What are the simple things?"

"I don't know," she hedged. "I don't know what is real, and what isn't. I remember having a yellow dog similar to yours, but I can't remember what happened to it. I think I like red, but all my clothes are blue. I hate the smell of lavender, but I seem to keep buying lavender bath soap. I'm a mess!"

"Why don't you try buying a different smelling soap?" Steve asked her.

Sarah suddenly felt terror.

"I'm afraid," she confided in him. "I don't know why!"

"What about Keaton?" Steve asked her. "Get a few beers in him, and he talks constantly about you. He really seems to care about how you're feeling.."

"I don't think Keaton is my husband?" Sarah whispered.

"What?" Steve asked alarmed.

"I know, I know," Sarah frowned, "it doesn't make sense. He treats me very well. I want to show you something."

Sarah pulled out the pictures wedged in the frame of a painting.

"These are mine," she handed them to him. "I hid them for some reason."

Steve shuffled through the four pictures. He'd seen them before. They all had. They hadn't meant anything to him then. They didn't mean anything to him now. They were photos of her standing on a sidewalk with three other people. Trees lined the street. He couldn't even see where they were.

"Who are they?" He asked her.

"These are my wedding pictures," she surprised him by saying. "I'm pretty sure we eloped to Reno. So why isn't the man in the picture Keaton? Why can't I remember this man?"

He frowned as he studied them closer. Sarah was standing next to a man. Her hand was lying on his forearm. He was tall and thin. He was blond and wore glasses. They had not been able to identify him.

"Who's the other couple?" He asked her.

"Witnesses," she answered, "strangers. We were their witnesses—they were ours."

"We're coming over," Shelly announced into his earpiece. "The game is up. Tell her who you are."

Steve looked down into Sarah's anxious eyes. He felt sad. This was going to be very hard for her—maybe even devastating.

"What?" Sarah asked, feeling a flush of fear.

He took her hand, and led her to the sofa. He sat beside her without releasing her hand. He chewed his lip anxiously.

"You're right," he began, "Keaton is not your husband."

"What?" She tried to pull her hand away.

"Listen!" he gripped it tighter.

She sat quietly as she stared at him.

"I'm an Operative," he told her. "I've been one of a few assigned to protect you. We've been waiting for your memories to return. We set this up to help you to remember, trying not to traumatize you further."

"What are you saying?" she asked breathlessly.

"You weren't mugged," Shelly said from the doorway. Keaton stood beside her.

Sarah's face turned white. Steve wrapped his arms around her, holding her securely against himself.

"Someone tried to kill you," Shelly continued as she walked into the room. "We thought it was your husband. Now, I don't think he was your husband at all. I think he—took over your husband's life. Which included you. You fit the profile of his other victims."

"I don't understand," Sarah frowned.

"It's complicated," Shelly looked at Keaton, "more complicated than we thought. We only have a partial understanding. You know the missing parts."

"I don't know what you're talking about at all!" Sarah's anxiety mounted.

"I need you to calm yourself," Shelly told her sternly. "Take deep breaths. This is important."

Sarah breathed deeply. The room stopped spinning. She looked into Steve's anxious eyes.

"Who is he then?" Sarah pointed at Keaton.

"FBI Agent Keaton Stewart," Shelly answered. "He was the only one who could reach you in the state you were in."

"Maybe, we should just show her," Keaton suggested.

Shelly studied Sarah and nodded. It was the only way she would believe.

Sarah watched as Keaton turned on the TV. He typed something into the computer. A video ran. She watched and listened as Keaton talked to the woman with brown stubble instead of hair. She had vacant blue eyes, and rocked back and forth. It took a minute to realize the woman was herself. Keaton talked randomly to her about nothing and everything.

Keaton queued up another video. In this one her hair was a little longer. Her eyes shifted around looking at things, but she didn't say anything.

"A man was posing as your husband," Shelly told her. "You witnessed him slaying a woman. You ran. He caught up with you in the park, and hit you on the head with a hammer. He carried you back to the house. Neighbors called, and the police rescued you, but he got away. They did not know he was a serial killer."

"Let me see him," Sarah demanded.

"Are you sure?" Steve asked her.

She pulled her hand away, and stared at him.

Keaton placed his picture on the screen. Sarah took a big gulp of air. She stared at the picture in shock. Tears started pouring down her white face.

"He killed my Thomas!" Sarah gulped in air. "Killed him right in front of me. Told me if I didn't do everything— _everything_ —he told me to do. He would kill my sister, my friends, and anyone else I loved. He even killed my dog."

She ran to the bedroom and started packing a bag. Shelly walked in and shut the door.

"Where are you going?" Shelly asked.

"I don't care," Sarah told her, "Anywhere! Just away from you freaks!"

Shelly knew she felt abused and betrayed. She didn't even trust Steve at that moment.

"You can do that," Shelly sat on the bed, and watched her pack. "We will not stop you, but you are in the safest place you could be. That man is still looking for you! The FBI are hunting him down, but he's slippery. They can't guarantee they will capture him before he finds you—if you leave here. There is so much evidence against him that we don't even need your testimony."

Sarah sat on the bed, and stared at her.

"Then why the heck all this?" She asked angrily

"To save you," Shelly's eyes narrowed, "and to hunt him down."

"Save me?" Sarah scoffed, "please!"

"Did you not see the woman on the screen?" Shelly asked her. "That Was You! The only person you responded to was Keaton. I have it on very good authority, if it wasn't for Keaton, you would never—never have regained yourself. You would have been a rocking, drooling woman until the day you died."

Sarah stared at her.

"Who are you?" Sarah asked, "Obviously not just Steve's wife!"

Shelly laughed.

"I'm not Steve's wife at all," Shelly told her, "I'm a consultant for the FBI. I also work for the folks who run these Safe Houses. This whole block belongs to them. Every unit in the neighborhood not empty, has at least one Protector."

"Who is Steve," Sarah whispered.

"I will let you ask him yourself," Shelly told her. "I had never met him before this assignment."

"But you pretended to be his _Wife!_ " Sarah said appalled.

"I pretend to be a lot of things," Shelly told her. "It was important to surround you with Protectors and Operatives in as natural a setting as we could provide. My _house_ , over there, is the command center for the block. Steve and I are no more married than you and Keaton."

"He tried to have sex with me!" She yelled at Shelly.

"Did he," Shelly was unconcerned, "did he really?"

Sarah frowned. Keaton had always acted the gentleman. Actually, something that had at times set her teeth on edge.

"You are both consenting adults," Shelly reminded her. "If you had _consummated_ the marriage?" Shelly shrugged.

She stood and left the room. Sarah sat staring at her bag. The clothes she'd been packing were all blue. Screaming, she threw them off the bed. Her head hurt! She visualized the warm, brown eyes, and felt her heart crack. It was all a lie.

"Will she be okay?" Steve asked Shelly.

"I don't know," Shelly admitted, "People break all the time. Sometimes, we can pick up the pieces, and glue ourselves back together again. Sometimes, we can't. I just don't know right now."

He nodded, and went back inside. He sat quietly on the sofa. He could hear her crying in the next room. He would wait for her.

Shelly and Keaton watched from the command center.

"That's not what I expected," Keaton sighed.

"Me, either," Shelly said gloomily. "It never crossed my mind that the perp would resort to eliminating a rival. Armison will need to know right away."

"But?" Keaton could sense her hesitation.

"He will be ready to pull the plug on Sarah," Shelly frowned, "and Leya might agree. It's just too early."

"She's fragile," Keaton commented.

"Yes," Shelly admitted, "but it's more than that. There are too many missing pieces. The team's profile has been off from day one. I don't want Sarah set free before he's caught. I just don't trust that he won't capture her again. There has to be a reason why he killed the husband. I want her kept protected."

"How do we work with Sarah now?" Keaton asked.

For the first time Shelly grinned, "What makes you happy when life hits the shit pile?"

"Plastic," Keaton laughed. "Let's move her into unit 4516, and take out the black card!"

"Man after my own heart!" Shelly kissed him on the head.

She walked to her room, and started tossing clothes on the bed.

"What are you doing?" Keaton asked from the doorway.

"She can't be going shopping in blue," Shelly admonished, "it would ruin the mood. Other than a slight height difference. She and I are similar in build."

Keaton eyed her rounded butt as she bent over the bed.

"I think Walter might have a pair of jeans she can borrow," Keaton walked out of the room.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Shelly called after him. She could hear him laughing. "Okay, maybe a red t-shift then."

She pulled a red T-shirt from the drawer. She added red socks. She was loading up a makeup kit when Keaton returned carrying an FBI bag. Her brows rose.

"It belongs to Elliot," Keaton told her. "He left it in the SUV."

"Well open it up, Son," Shelly joked, "let's see what the boy is hiding."

Keaton dumped the bag out on the bed. Shelly held up the pair of jeans. She shrugged, and added them to the pile. Keaton was right. Sarah was tiny. She just gathered it all back up.

"I'm heading over there," Shelly told him. "She can figure out what will work best. We're going to be awhile."

Shelly knocked on the door. Steve answered. His eyes were sad. He stepped outside.

"What's up?" He asked.

"We're moving her to 16," Shelly answered, "and us girls are going shopping."

"Not without me you aren't," Steve glared at her.

"Down _Rover_ ," Shelly laughed, "I didn't say you couldn't come, too. Besides, we need you and Keaton to carry the heavy things."

"Crap," he cursed as he realized he'd just been enlisted to go—shopping!

Shelly brushed him aside as she marched into the house. She knocked on the bedroom door. Sarah was inside, but ignoring her.

Shelly opened the door, and stepped in. Sarah glared at her. Shelly just laughed.

"I'm glad someone finds me amusing," Sarah snapped at her.

"Not so much at the moment," Shelly tossed her the bag, "but maybe later after we go shopping."

"Shopping?" Sarah asked surprised.

"Well considering that none of this is yours," Shelly wrinkled her nose, "don't you think it's time to pick something out for yourself? Besides, we're moving you to the middle unit. It's a bit bare. You might want to use this, and buy some stuff."

Shelly held out the Black card.

"I can do that?" Sarah asked surprised.

"Sure," Shelly laughed. "It's not my card! It belongs to the holder of these houses. Steve and Keaton are taking us."

Sarah looked inside the bag and hesitated.

"What?" Shelly frowned.

"Do you have any soap that's not lavender?" Sarah asked.

"I can do that," Shelly assured her. "Tell Steve, who's been hovering outside, to show you to your new place. I'll be back with some things. We couldn't find much in clothes, but I figured you wouldn't want to wear those."

Shelly nodded towards the clothes on the floor.

"Can you see everything in here?" Sarah's eyes narrowed as she looked around the room. "Cameras?"

"Yes," Shelly admitted.

"Everything?" Sarah asked again.

_"Everything_ ," Shelly answered.

Sarah's face turned beet red.

"Now that you're truly awake," Shelly's eyes held compassion, "you need to meet Leya."

"Leya?" Sarah asked.

"Yeah, my boss," Shelly smiled. "The one who manages these safe houses—Dominatrix Leya Noire DeSoul— _The Mistress_. Then you'll realize a cucumber isn't any big thing at all."

Shelly laughed thinking of Steve.

"What?" Sarah dreaded her answer.

"Steve assures us he has a bigger one," Shelly snorted and then laughed.

Sarah face flushed bright red.

Shelly walked outside.

"What have you been telling her?" Steve's eyes were suspicious.

"Truth," Shelly snorted. "Can you show her the other unit. I need to get her some things. I'll meet you there."

Steve nodded, and went in to find her. She blushed bright red as he came into the room. She quickly looked down at her feet.

"Shelly asked me to show you to 4516," Steve's eyes narrowed, noticing her flushed cheeks. "You might want to make a list of things you will want."

Sarah picked up the bag. She looked around. She didn't want any of her _things_.

"Ready," she told him.

Steve led her straight across the avenue. Sarah laughed at the irony of it as he opened the door. He looked up surprised. He'd never heard her laugh before.

"Your real name is Steve?" Sarah asked him.

He flipped on the lights.

"We try to use our real names as much as makes sense," Steve told her. "We only use an alias if we are protecting someone whose name would put them at risk. They were thinking of naming you Ivy."

"Ivy?" She said surprised, "that's pretty. Better than Sarah."

"Sarah's a good name," Steve said surprised.

She rolled her eyes.

"It's earthy," Steve told her, "grounded."

"So is dirt," Sarah's voice was dry, "but I don't want that name, either."

"That's funny!" Steve laughed, his brown eyes sparkled.

She blinked up at him surprised, and then glanced around the room.

"Saying this is bare is an understatement," Sarah snorted.

There wasn't much to see. There was a sofa in the living room. A table and two chairs in the kitchen, and one lamp. The bedrooms were empty.

"How was mine furnished?" She asked him.

"They brought in things from your house," Steve told her.

"That wasn't my house," she snapped. "Sorry, I seem to be on edge. It's not your fault."

"It's okay," Steve assured her. "A lot's been happening. You are bound to be nervous. They didn't know it wasn't your house. They thought if you were surrounded by familiar things, you would start to remember. They thought you'd be comfortable. Shelly was trying to bring you back without shocking you."

"Tell me about Shelly?" Sarah asked.

"You will have to ask her," Steve walked her into the kitchen.

"Funny," Sarah watched him, "that's what she said about you."

"You were asking about me?" His eyes warmed.

"I wanted to know about you," she admitted, "but of course, I though I was married to Keaton, and you were married to Shelly."

"And what about now?" He asked her softly.

"I don't know," she murmured. Her eyes were confused.

"I'm the same man I was," he told her, "only more so now that you get to know all of me."

He touched her hair. It was soft and silky.

"Keaton won't care what you buy," Steve told her. "He can set up his own bedroom, but the rest of the house you can do with what you want."

"Keaton?" She frowned at him. "He isn't moving over here!"

Steve stopped to stare at her. Her face was flushed and angry.

"He is your personal protector," Steve frowned at her, "you may have remembered some things, but you are still under his protection. He said to move you over here. That does not mean you live here without a guard."

"I can still leave!" She said stubbornly.

"Why are you mad a Keaton?" He asked her. "He was just trying to do his best by you, and I think he did a pretty good job. You'll want to buy some food," he turned away. "I never did understand why you put pees in the spaghetti. It drove Keaton absolutely nuts!"

_"He_ insisted," Sarah frowned.

Steve nodded, "You should make a list of all his oddities."

"Why?" She glared at him.

He looked at her as if she had three heads. "To stop him of course. You are not his only victim. He is still out there. He is still killing people."

She stared at him, "I'm sorry," she told him, "I didn't know that."

"No," he sighed, "of course not."

"I can't remember what made me run," she frowned. "Do you think I ever will?"

God, he hoped not.

"Probably not," he told her. "He hit you in the head, and cracked your skull. People don't usually remember the circumstances of an injury like that."

She sat down and started making a list of everything she could think of about the man.

"I don't know if any of this means anything," she looked at him. "Like the fact that he pours used coffee grounds back by the garage. He only allowed me to use bleach for the wash; no soap, no softener."

"I don't know, either," Steve touched her fingers, "but the profilers might find something useful in it. It might be the key to catching him."

She blinked. Her fingers tingled from his touch. She looked up startled.

"You have pretty eyes," she blurted and then blushed.

"Why, thank you," he grinned at her. "Yours are pretty, too."

She flushed even brighter.

He frowned and hesitated.

"What?" Sarah asked fearfully.

"I need you to tell me the details of how he killed your husband?" Steve stared solemnly at her.

"Code Yellow," Shelly said into his ear.

Sarah's face turned white as a sheet. The room started spinning. Steve caught her, and lowered her to the floor. He bent her knees.

"Lower your head," Steve murmured. "Try and stay with me. I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't so damned important. He's the first male victim we've heard about. Stay with me, sweetheart."

The blackness receded. The room stopped spinning. His face loomed close to hers. He smelled like peppermint. She frowned. He was asking her something? What was he asking her?

"She can't," Shelly told him. "She can barely think on it. She can't picture it enough to answer you."

"It's okay," he told her, "I wanted to know what color of curtains you are going to buy."

"Good save," Shelly whispered.

"What?" Sarah frowned, "colors?"

"Yah," Steve grinned at her, "I don't mind you know, but Shelly might not want to see you running around in the nude."

"There are cameras in here, too?" Sarah pulled away.

"Of course," he told her. "The whole block is bugged. That's why it's called a Safe House."

He pulled her to her feet. She looked at him confused. She didn't remember sitting on the floor. Steve just gazed back at her as if nothing untoward had happened. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't say anything.

She looked around. She'd never designed a house before. It seemed a strange thing to do.

"Hey?" Shelly called out from the open door.

"In the kitchen," Steve answered.

"Yikes!" Shelly said as she walked through the house. "Okay, maybe we can just buy clothes today, and furniture tomorrow."

"I'm not going back over there," Sarah told her.

"Okay," Shelly laughed as she handed her a bag, "we add a sleeping bag."

"I have an extra one," Steve told them, "and a pillow."

Sarah glanced inside the bag and smiled, "I hope the bath is better than the kitchen."

Sarah grabbed up the other bag, and made her way into the bathroom. She slammed the door closed.

"She's going to be in there a long time," Shelly warned Steve.

"I can wait for her," he told her.

A minute later they heard singing. They looked at each other with surprise. Sarah had never sung before.

"She's not half bad," Shelly smiled.

TOC
Chapter Sixteen

"Now, that she's aware," Shelly whispered into Keaton's ear. "I can sense her feeling, and thinking about everything."

They were sitting on a tabletop in the food court. Steve and Sarah were in line waiting for tacos. The mall was only moderately busy. Shelly was enjoying the light airy feel. She was enjoying watching people without being bumped around, or feeling _pressed_.

"Is it too much for her?" Keaton asked.

"No, definitely not," Shelly answered. "I can feel her depression lifting."

"Steve's good for her," Keaton said wishfully.

"Don't," Shelly gazed into his lovely blue eyes. "If you hadn't touched her heart while she was barely there, she would not exist today. She's falling in love with Steve—yes, but it was a different kind of love and care that brought her out."

"I feel like I failed her," Keaton shook his head. "Failed in my job."

"You're not getting it," Shelly sighed.

Keaton faced her, "Then explain it to me."

"MONOP doesn't set out with the goal that one person will work miracles. That one person will bring out the end result." Shelly told him. "It's made up of a bunch of small things, small touches, unnoticeable influences. If it was just one person barging in, and forcing change, it would result in chaos and damage. Unlike what the FBI thinks, MONOP doesn't work like that. That's more the FBI's style."

Shelly's phone rang. It was Leya.

"Good," she muttered. "Finally."

"What's up?" Leya's voice was silky. Shelly could hear the sound of a whip cracking in the background.

"Hey," Shelly paused, "I wouldn't have called, but it's important. Did you get the email concerning the real Thomas Munshaw? Sarah's real husband."

"Got it," Leya sounded breathless. Crack! Whirl! Crack!

"We assumed only the women were at risk." Shelly continued, "This guy killed a rival. That gives a different profile. They need to know."

Crack!

"I sent it to Armison," Crack! Groan. "What are you doing now?"

"Shopping," Shelly admitted.

"Keep her safe," Crack! Whirl! Crack! "Bye."

Click.

"She's whipping someone," Shelly laughed.

"Have I been _your_ Client?" Keaton blurted out.

"You are Amy's Client. I don't take Clients," Shelly frowned at him, "You know that!"

Keaton waited. He knew there was more to it.

"I am your _Mentor_ ," Shelly looked into his eyes, "your support system as you learn new ideas and skills. I help keep you in balance. A lot of what we do goes against every moral fiber some people have. Some people start to crack, and actually lose themselves. If I feel someone splintering—I shut it down. Not everyone gets a mentor."

"So—I'm a project to you?" Keaton frowned as he stared into the crowd.

"Do you really think it's as simple as that?" Shelly asked him angrily.

"I want to be more," Keaton whispered, "more to you—more for you."

"What do you mean?" Shelly asked him.

"Whatever you get from MONOP." he mumbled. "I want to give that to you."

"I _love_ you," Shelly glared at him and stood. "Isn't that enough?"

Shelly walked into the crowd. Keaton stared after her, feeling confused by her acceptance and rejection. He'd overwhelmed her. He'd tried to push her into something she just wasn't ready for—might never be ready for. He had to learn to accept what she was capable of giving! He was being stupid.

Keaton looked over at Sarah and Steve. Food in hand, they were nearly to the table.

"Go," Steve told him, "Sarah and I will wait here."

Keaton nodded, and followed after Shelly. He found her staring at a beautiful pale blue dress in a window display. There were tears in her eyes. He felt his heart crushing.

She told him softly, "Like all girls, I dreamed of the white dress, the perfect husband, the kids, the dog," she laughed, "and yes the fence. Only my fence was ten feet tall to keep everyone out. People say one thing, and feel another. People are flawed—weak. They make mistakes."

She paused, gathering herself.

"That's fine," she went on, "I get that. But, I know when someone is lying to me. I know when someone is cheating. There is no cushion to block the pain once the trust is broken. There is no way to stay in ignorance. It's raw. I'm raw."

A tear slipped down her cheek.

"That's what I get from MONOP," she told him, "an acceptance of companionship without emotional bindings. Freedom. I will not give up the caring that comes without the strings. I will not live, controlled by the emotions of another. I'm not like _anyone_ else. I can't block out someone who is always there. Pretty soon, I can't tell where I end, and they begin! I lose myself! I can't handle what you want! You want the house, the kids, and the white fence. I just cannot do that! Do you understand?"

Another tear fell.

"I get it," he told her softly.

He did crave the comfort of a real home, but he wanted that home to be with Shelly. Her words tore him, because he knew they were true. She was different. That was part of what made her so special.

"I don't want to love you," her words tore into his heart.

He gently turned her to face him. He pulled her into him, so her head rested against his chest.

"I don't want to love you, either," he laughed at the irony, "It's a pain in the butt to know someone always knows what I feel. Sometimes—a lot of times—I don't even know how I feel. I don't even know how long I've loved you. I realized it the day you beat the crap out of me on the beach."

"I did not beat the crap out of you," Shelly denied.

He laughed.

"It shocked me," Keaton admitted, "woke me up. I suddenly saw all your fire and passion. You were so energized and alive! I forgot all about Sarah. I just knew how much I wanted you in my life!"

"Love is complicated," Shelly told him. "It's not an emotion. It's a way of being. I can't detect it as an emotional fact. If someone does not tell me they love me, I won't know. I can sense lust, hunger, and even fondness, but I can't define those emotions as love."

He tilted her head to look into her eyes.

"I Love You," he told her slowly.

"I can't promise you a lifetime," she warned him. "I don't want a lifetime."

"How about a day?" He asked her.

"That," she told him softly, "I can manage."

He lowered his head to kiss her. There lips met in a gentle caress. He let his feelings surface, but did not push them. He longed for her. He delighted in her. He lusted for her.

His lips were warm and firm. She could feel his emotions as they blended with the kiss. Her eyes drifted shut as she savored him. She opened her mouth to him when she felt his tongue nudged against her lips. He pulled her closer.

"Okay, you guys," Steve told them, "get a room."

"Thought you said, you'd be waiting at the table?" Keaton asked, not taking his eyes off Shelly.

"Yah, sure," Steve laughed, "but some of us have needs, too."

"Oh," Shelly pulled away to look at Sarah, "I'm sorry."

Keaton looked confused, and then understood the pained look on Sarah's face.

"The bathrooms are just around the corner," Shelly stepped out of Keaton's arms and led the way.

"I'm sorry," Sarah's face flushed.

"No big deal," Shelly told her. "I'm sorry. I should have been paying more attention. I kind of get lost when Keaton is around."

"How the hell did I miss that?" Sarah asked her.

"You didn't," Shelly laughed, "you just couldn't figure out why you weren't feeling jealous. You wanted to be, but it just wasn't there."

"Do you always know what I'm thinking?" Sarah frowned at her.

"Thinking?" Shelly's eyebrow rose, "Absolutely not! Feeling—always."

"Feeling?" Sarah looked at her.

"I'm an empath," Shelly told her, "and here's the bathroom."

Shelly waited by the sinks as Sarah used the stall. She had surprised herself. She did not tell people about her gift. She wasn't sure why she just had. She shrugged. They still had a job to do. It would be easier if she didn't have to pretend a reason for everything she knew Sarah was feeling. That could be so tiring!

_"Maybe,_ " a little voice spoke into the back of her mind, " _you wanted a friend?_ "

"I kind of need to visit a lingerie shop first," Sarah told her.

"Okay," Shelly agreed.

"No questions?" Sarah asked surprised.

"You left your underwear behind," Shelly told her.

Silence.

"Yeah," Sarah admitted. "I didn't really think that one through."

"No biggie." Shelly laughed. "You'd be amazed, or maybe frightened if you knew all the things FBI agents leave behind."

"So Keaton is FBI, but you aren't?" Sarah asked.

"I work for them," Shelly frowned, "but only as a consultant. That means they can't order me around—and nobody has _rights_ to me."

Sarah finished her business, and walked out to the sinks. She washed her hands as she considered.

"How does it work?" Sarah asked, "being an empath. Do you feel for people? No that's empathy."

"I can sense what other people are feeling," Shelly told her. "I used to feel what they were feeling, but I've learned to block them out. Now, I only get a hint of the emotion."

"I don't think I would like that," Sarah frowned at her. "I don't even like what I'm feeling most of the time."

"You get it," Shelly was impressed, "not many people do. They just think it would be a great tool. They think I am a great tool."

"We are all tools to someone," Sarah muttered.

Shelly was surprised by her insightfulness.

There was an awkward pause. Shelly could sense conflict and embarrassment.

"What is it?" Shelly asked, "Just spill it."

"Keaton," Sarah sighed. "I don't want him sleeping in the house with me. Steve thinks I'm unreasonable, that he was just doing his job, but it's just wrong."

"You have to have a protector," Shelly told her, "Steve can't. He has the responsibility of the block. What is worse? Having Keaton around, or leaving you vulnerable to the killer."

"You said I was safe there!" Sarah jerked around to stare at her.

"As it is set up, yes," Shelly told her adamantly, "but we don't change the rules! You need to have this conversation with Keaton. He has the power with regards to your safely!"

Sarah stared at her hands as she thought about her situation. Keaton had not hurt her, in fact he had been very comforting.

"Ready?" Shelly asked. "We passed a great little boutique to get here. It looked expensive. Let's get Steve to pick out something. He knows your size."

Sarah burned bright red.

"Maybe, I should just go ask him to do it," Shelly teased. "We can stay here and wait while he shops."

"Stop it," Sarah smacked her.

Shelly laughed as she dragged her from the restroom.

"I can't go in there," Sarah stepped back.

"Yes, you can," Shelly pulled her through the door. "What's your favorite color?"

"Red," Sarah admitted.

Colorful, delicate lacy things were dangling through the shop.

"We'll just be outside," Steve told them.

"Nonsense," Shelly glared at him.

"Fine," Steve walked inside, and slumped in one of the two chairs. Keaton took the other.

"Obviously, set there for that reason," Sarah snickered.

"Oh, look at this?" Shelly held up a lacy red negligée.

"I was thinking more along the lines of panties and bras," Sarah rolled her eyes. "Besides, it's too expensive."

Shelly looked at the price tag. It was seventy-five dollars.

"No, it's not," Shelly frowned at her. "Not for a place like this."

"Put it back," Sarah scolded her.

Shelly carried it up to the blond sale's assistant. "We're going to be buying a lot of stuff. Can we start a pile somewhere?"

"I can put it behind the counter," the assistant smiled.

Shelly handed her the negligée.

"Not those," Shelly called out from across the room.

"Why not?" Sarah asked. "They won't show lines."

She was holding up a pair of white high waist panties.

"That's because they're diapers," Shelly snatched them away from her, and returned them to the ben.

"If you don't want lines, go with a thong," Shelly told her.

"I can not wear a thong!" Sarah snapped at her.

"Okay," Shelly rolled her eyes, "bikini then. You aren't just dressing for yourself, you know?"

"Shut up," Sarah growled, looking towards the men.

"Don't worry about them," Shelly told her. "They are in protect mode."

"What does that mean?" Sarah asked.

"It means they are mentally going through a million scenarios of how to rescue, or save us." Shelly laughed looking over at them. " _Anything_ other than sitting in a dress shop."

Sarah looked over at the vacant-eyed men, and had to agree. She snickered.

"Focus," Shelly called her back. "Lacy bikini and bras. Should I ask Steve what size you wear?"

"32C," he answered from across the floor.

Sarah's face flamed. Shelly laughed.

"And bikinis?" Shelly asked.

Steve studied Sarah, "I think a small, but comfort's important."

"Knock it off you guys!" Sarah grabbed up a 32B bra, and carried it into the dressing room.

Steve's brown eyes sparkled.

Shelly walked over to Keaton, "So what kinds of assailants are attacking us?"

"A little old granny," Keaton answered without a pause. "She's a good Christian lady, and she thinks buying little red panties is going to send Sarah straight to hell. She's ready to take on the devil himself to save her soul!"

"You are so full of it!" Shelly laughed.

"Well, come out," Steve called out to Sarah.

"It's too small," Sarah complained.

Steve picked up a 32C lacy red underwire bra, and handed it over. "Shake um into it."

She muttered something, and snatched it from his fingers.

"I think she just said, screw you," Shelly was shaking with laughter.

"You know my answer to that," Steve reminded Shelly.

"Shut up!" Sarah yelled out. "I can hear you, you know. Oh, that works!"

Keaton snorted.

"Let's see then," Steve called out.

"In your dreams!" Sarah snapped.

Steve just smiled.

"Can I wear this now?" Sarah asked.

"Get the tag off first," Shelly suggested.

"I can't break it," she held the bra over the door. "Can you do it?"

"Sure," Steve told her taking the bra.

"I was talking to Shelly!" Sarah growled at him.

"But, I'm right here," he smiled.

"Well, you shouldn't be," Sarah muttered. "Why aren't you over by the window?"

"Cuzz this is more fun," Steve laughed snapping the plastic.

"Come on already," Sarah yelled at him. "Oh."

Sarah came out of the little room. She glared at him, and pushed him aside. She snatched up every color of the style, and handed them to the assistant.

She boldly walked over, and started selecting panties. Shelly noticed she selected mostly bikini with a smattering of thong. Steve grinned. Shelly poked him.

"One more thing," Sarah told them.

She walked over to a long, shimmery, black negligée with a scooped neck that floated to the floor. Shelly nodded approvingly. She'd eyed the gown earlier herself.

"Pay the lady," Shelly told Steve.

Sarah snatched up one pair of panties, and snapped off the price tag. She rushed into the dressing room. Steve's eyes grew wider as he realized why she was doing that. Shelly giggled at his expression.

"Where are we now?" Shelly asked Keaton.

"Shop lifter," Keaton told her, "wanted all the little, red panties and bras. Had a fight with Sarah over them. Steve had to break them up."

"Gee, thanks, buddy," Steve said dryly.

"Ready," Sarah walked up to them. "What's next?"

"You tell us?" Shelly asked, "jeans, shirts, makeup?"

"Macy's?" Sarah suggested. "You can buy pretty much everything there."

Steve shook his head, "too big, too crowded."

"It's harder to watch over you," Shelly told her. "Too many people who might find a reason to notice us."

"Jeans Galore?" Keaton suggested.

"Sounds good," Steve commented, and started walking in that direction.

"Hey!" Sarah pulled on his arm, "maybe I don't want stuff from there?"

He looked down at the hand on his arm and smiled, "Don't you?"

"I don't care," Sarah admitted

"Good then," Steve pressed her hand into the crook of his arm, and pulled her along.

Sarah gave Shelly a panicked look. Shelly shrugged and grabbed Keaton's hand. He smiled at her, lifted it up, and kissed it. Shelly felt a flush of envy from both Steve and Sarah. She laughed.

TOC
Chapter Seventeen

Rebecca eyed Elliot suspiciously. He and Sam got in an hour ago. He'd been polite and professional. At first, she'd thought he was just acting that way because of Sam. But after Sam left for the night, Elliot continued to treat her like a stranger—it hurt.

"I'm going home," she informed him.

"Okay," he grabbed his coat.

"You are leaving, too?" She challenged him.

"Armison's orders," he told her, "where you go, Sam or I will be, too."

"Fine," she grabbed her purse.

They took one of the company cars. Also, Armison's orders. Rebecca spent the short ride looking out the window. Elliot remained silent.

"Stay here," Elliot demanded.

"Really?" Rebecca glared as Elliot got out of the SUV to wander up to the porch.

Rebecca, knowing the drill from other protective details, remained in the car waiting for Elliot's all clear signal. It was stupid! She knew her neighborhood. She would know if there was an unusual car about, or strangers lurking about the yards.

She rolled her eyes when he checked the door mat for a spare key. Rebecca didn't leave spare keys lying about. He wiggled the door knob. Irritable and impatient Rebecca climbed out of the SUV. Elliot glared at her, and signaled for her to get back inside the car.

Rebecca ignored him, and climbed up the stairs. She fit her key in the lock, and pushed through the door. Elliot angrily followed.

"You were to wait for the all clear!" Elliot yelled at her.

Rebecca turned to face him.

"Look you!" She poked her finger into his chest. "Just who the hell do you think you are! I'm fully capable of figuring out if my own house is safe. Better in fact than you. I know these streets! You," poke, "do," poke, "not!" Poke, poke.

"Ouch," Elliot tried to grab her finger, "stop that!"

"What's the matter?" Rebecca glared at him, "big, bad FBI Agent afraid of a little poke!" Poke, poke, poke.

Elliot picked her up, and stared into her face.

"I'm just trying to protect you," he snarled. "You crazy woman!"

She planted her feet against his chest, and shoved. She went upwards in a backward flip. He went sprawling across the floor to land on his butt. She stood over him, feet planted, eyes blazing.

Elliot stared up at her in shock. They stared at each other for several seconds.

"Truce," Elliot finally called out.

She reached out her hand to help him up. Blinking, he accepted it.

"Now," she told him, "will you treat me like an equal? Or do I have to really start hurting you? I am a qualified, fully trained, FBI Agent! If there was a bad guy about, he could have killed us both while you were farting around!"

"Does Armison know you can fight like that?" Elliot asked.

"No," Rebecca said sarcastically, "he's a dolt. Of course he knows that! He just also knows you he-men type are Idiots."

"Hey!" Elliot complained.

"All that bluster," Rebecca went on, "and we both know Carter couldn't have made it to DC yet! It was just stupid. And—we both know, it was because _you_ were pissed that I engaged the perp."

"Damn straight," he ran a hand through his hair. "That's not your job!"

"Just what is my—job?" Her voice was low.

"You know," he sighed with exasperation, "computer stuff, running records, stuff like that!"

"Making hotel reservations?" She asked.

"Well yeah," he frowned at her, "that's part of it."

"Getting the team coffee, maybe?" She asked sweetly.

There was absolute silence as they stared at each other.

Her eyes narrowed, _Don't you the heck go there!_

"Well, sometimes." He finally agreed.

He went there!

She pivoted around him, and marched into the kitchen. He knew he was being stupid, but he just couldn't get the image of those butchered women out of his head. Those women with the eerie-assed faces which so resembled Rebecca's.

Sighing, he marched into the kitchen. Startled, he looked around. She wasn't there! He ran to the back door. It was bolted shut. He frowned. The only other door was to the pantry.

He dreaded opening the door. He so, did not want to find her in the pantry crying. Steeling his heart, he pulled the door open. He blinked with surprise. Rebecca wasn't there. He turned on the light. The walls were lined with shelves holding canned goods, cleaning supplies, and extra pots and pans.

He spied a trap door on the floor. He grabbed the ring and pulled. The door did not move. He flipped open his phone and dialed Rebecca's number. She picked up on the third ring.

"What?" she asked.

"Oh, come on, Rebecca," he pleaded softly.

"You guys are such Pricks!" She told him and hung up.

Elliot sat on the floor, staring at the door. It was just a square patch of wood with a metal ring. He blinked with surprise. That was right. It was just a square patch of wood. It was a decoy! Rebecca was clever. He studied the pantry. The opening wouldn't be obvious.

Rebecca sat in the chair below watching him in the screen. He was such an Ass! She flipped off the monitor, and went into the dojo. She shed her clothes, and started stretching.

Elliot brooded for a good hour. He wondered what the hell she could be doing in the cellar. He flipped open his phone, and called Sam.

"Rebecca's locked herself in the cellar," Elliot admitted.

Sam giggled, and then giggled some more.

"You aren't helping things," Elliot glared at the wall.

"Give it up man," Sam laughed and hung up.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Elliot frowned.

Sam laughed as he switched off the TV. He'd worked out with Rebecca in her personal dojo. He was a huge man, but she could—and had—wiped the floor with him. Elliot didn't stand a chance. He giggled. Elliot must have played the he-man card with her.

Rebecca spent the night in the comfort of her safe room. She just couldn't deal with Elliot. It hurt that he thought so little of her. She'd been lonely sleeping down below, knowing he was up above. That was not how she had planned his return!

She showered and changed to her official FBI clothing. She'd been too informal, and let her peers undermine her position. She checked the monitor and snorted. Elliot was asleep, pressed into the loveseat.

She walked up to the kitchen and put on coffee.

Elliot heard her in the kitchen. He groaned as he stretched out his aching muscles. She was fully dressed. His eyes grew enormous. He'd never seen her in a suit. Ignoring him, she poured herself a cup of coffee and snagged up an energy bar. She stood looking out the window sipping coffee and chewing.

It was only then that Elliot realized, he'd forgotten to stop by his place last night to grab some clean clothes. He'd been so pissed and distracted. When she was finished, she waited for him at the door.

He picked up his wrinkled jacket.

The drive into work was silent. The ride up the elevator was silent. Rebecca went her way—he went his.

Tori took one look at him and snorted. Glaring, he went to the locker room, showered, and put on fresh clothes. He walked to his desk and sat down. It was too quiet. He looked up suspiciously. Everyone had their eyes glued to the tasks at their desks. He would occasionally hear a snicker, or a snort.

Nathan looked over at him, and shook his head.

"We have a problem—again," Carl broke the silence. "I've been talking with the Pentagon. Jacob Hutton, Monty Carter, and all the other soldiers were declared dead at the scene. Their bodies were recovered, and identified. Our perp is neither Jacob Hutton, nor Monty Carter."

A collective groan echoed across the room.

"Elliot, Rebecca," Carl called out, "in my office now!"

Rebecca and Elliot stood in front of his desk. He stared at them grimly.

"Take a seat," he told them.

They sat in silence. He stared at them as he considered. He knew the two had recently been seeing each other, but he also knew the problem between them was bigger than that.

"Is there anything you two would like to confide?" Carl asked.

Silence met his question. Both agents were grim faced and angry.

"This is my fault," he grumbled.

They looked at him with surprise.

"I've allowed the team to under value _Agent_ Rogers," His jaw clenched, "I took the easy road."

"Sir?" Rebecca said surprised, "I preferred the work."

"Since when do I allow my agents to dictate to me what they will, and will not work on?" He snapped at her. "You are foremost an Agent—not a damn clerk! Get yourself a desk with the rest of the _Agents_. You will use the computer room for tasks like any other _Agent_."

"Yes, sir," she frowned at him.

Armison stared at Elliot. His fingers tapped on the desk.

"Our agents are getting a little slack, I think," Armison criticized, "too many case interruptions. We can't have our agents getting physically sloppy! It will make them mentally stupid. I've seen it before!"

He turned to Rebecca.

"This afternoon," he glared at her, "at fifteen hundred hours, you will begin a physical regiment for every one of our agents. It will become a part of the daily tasks of this office!"

Rebecca grinned, Elliot swallowed.

"Would you like to announce it?" Rebecca asked, "Or shall I."

"I will order it," He glared at her, "and _Agent_ Rogers—hire a clerk."

"Yes, sir," Rebecca nodded.

"Yes," Carl considered something else, but shook his head. "I think that will do it—dismissed."

Rebecca continued to distance herself from Elliot. She knew that until he learned to respect her as an equal, they couldn't be a couple. They had no future together. It hurt. Some men were incapable of realizing that women could be their partners in every sense of the word. That was what she wanted—a full partnership. She felt sad and disappointed. She'd thought Elliot was better than that.

Rebecca sat in her office—her former office. She'd liked her privacy, her own bathroom, and her own work detail. She'd been good at it. Maybe too good, she acknowledged.

In the Chief's office, she could hear his raised voice. She listened to the one-way conversation without qualm. She would also miss that. She grew alarmed as she listened. Armison was defending his decision to allow two of his agents to go offline. He was defending his positon of having the team focus on this one perp when they were back-logged with cases. He was defending his team for not wrapping it up. Rebecca wondered if that could be why he'd placed her with the rest of the agents. He couldn't afford to have her as a _clerk_. She considered the conversation as she gathered her things.

Elliot watched as Rebecca took the only empty desk. It used to belong to Agent Turner. The other agents watched curiously as Rebecca arranged her stuff. She didn't need an IT person to set up her computer. She set it up herself. Her pride and joy—Tiller.

Elliot knew he'd messed up! He'd been stupid. He knew he'd lost her trust. He just hoped he hadn't lost her heart.

"So where do we go from here?" Tori asked.

"Back to the High School pictures," Rebecca reminded her. "The perp is still someone who knew Anna, Jacob, and Monty."

"Right," Tori agreed.

"I'm going to list out the owners of the Munshaw house," Rebecca announced. "The modifications had to be at the time of the building permit. They were too extensive. The neighbors would not only have noticed, but would have complained about all the noise. It's not like a person can hollow out the underground of a house, and no one was going to notice."

"The permit was dated two years before Sarah Munshaw lived there," Tori frowned.

"We have the timeline wrong," Adam sighed. "My God this bastard is slippery! He had to be living in the house _before_ he had acquired Sarah."

"That's not right," Tori disagreed. "Sarah and Thomas Munshaw married right after Sarah graduated."

"Correct," Adam turned to look at her.

"Oh God!" Tori grew pale. "What happened to Thomas?"

"The perp probably killed him," Adam stated.

"While that might be true," Nathan reminded them, "you guys are getting ahead of yourselves, again. We can't assume with this guy. He keeps slipping through the cracks."

"We have to—," Tori frowned.

"He's right," Rebecca interrupted, "that's been the whole problem with this case from the very, very beginning. People keep assuming things. First, he's a wife beater, then a cop killer, then a sadistic patterned serial killer, then hints of him being a crusader, and then a savior. He's now what? An identity thief who kills the dominant, and steals the household?"

They stared at each other in silence.

"We have been all over the place," Tori stated dryly.

"Okay," Elliot walked to the white board. "Without profiling, let's just write the facts of what he's done."

"I hate going to the beginning," Tori groaned, "but I agree."

"Let's get it from a time sequence," Sam suggested, "not as we discovered it."

"Okay," Tori agreed. "He hit Sarah in the head."

"No," Rebecca frowned, "first—he knew Anna."

"Right," Nathan agreed. "She was sick and in pain."

"We need to know Anna's friends," Elliot suggested, "We've been too focused on the perp."

"Back to the pictures and yearbooks," Rebecca mentioned again.

"Let's study those," Nathan agreed, "or at least some of us."

"If we divide them out, we can get through them faster." Adam stated.

"I think most boys start fixating on girls in junior high," Tori looked at the guys, "does that sound right?"

"This perp is not _common_ ," Rebecca said dryly. "I have four brothers who started teasing each other about girls when my oldest was twelve. The others thought it was funny."

"I don't mean it to sound like I'm saying to take the easy road," Nathan put in, "but we have the High School yearbooks. We should see if something flags there, and then go back further if we need to."

"Hand me a book," Adam frowned.

"Someone can take notes," Tori suggested, looking pointedly at Rebecca.

Rebecca ignored her, and selected the freshman year.

"I'll take notes," Nathan informed her.

Tori shrugged.

Nathan's eyes narrowed as he studied Tori. Rebecca brought more than just coffee to the table! She should have realized that. He opened a document, and typed in what they had already discussed.

"This book is marked," Tori frowned at the book, "where did it come from?"

"The old house," Elliot answered. "They belonged to Anna."

The room was quiet as they studied the books and took notes. Lunch came and went. Tori looked at Rebecca with surprise. She frowned, but didn't say anything. Once in a while, not very often, but once in a while Rebecca would forget. She went to get a cup of coffee, only to find the coffee pot was dry. She frowned as she made coffee.

Rebecca watched Tori discreetly as she went to get a cup of coffee. She smirked. Glancing up, she caught Nathan watching her. She was surprised to see him wink at her, and then grin. He went back to typing.

Rebecca frowned. Nathan saw too much—knew too much. Excellent traits for an agent. So why did she feel so uneasy around him? Shelly didn't say anything, but Rebecca knew she liked him. Liked him a lot! For that reason alone, she should learnt to trust him.

She'd already reserved the room for this afternoon's workout. She was so going to run them! Rebecca glanced up to find Nathan staring at her again. He seemed amused. She glared at him. He laughed. We'll just see about that too, buddy!

Elliot watched nervously as Rebecca left her desk at two thirty. He was in good shape, that wasn't what concerned him. What concerned him was her whipping his ass all over the place in front of a room full of people. He was also concerned about them touching each other. He didn't want to get aroused.

Elliot need not have worried. Rebecca was a professional. She knew how to respect the dojo.

"Today, you start a physical regiment," Carl interrupted their work. "Gear up, and meet in G4."

He left the room.

"Someone should tell Rebecca," Tori mentioned. "If she's going to be going out into the field—she's going to have to participate in all the curriculum."

Sam giggled. Adam shrugged.

"What?" Tori asked.

Elliot glanced around. It seemed that only he and Tori had been unaware of Rebecca's expertise. Nathan looked at him and laughed.

"I don't get the joke," Tori complained as she grabbed her bag.

"You will," Elliot muttered.

G4 was the old mini-gym at the garage level. It didn't get used much since the new one had been assembled up on the top floor. One corner had been retrofitted a long time ago for practicing one-on-one combat.

Instead of a cement floor, it had a floating floor covered with a thin layer of carpet. Mats were stacked to the side, along with various punching bags and dummies. One dummy had electronic sensors, and recorded the force of the hits.

Rebecca sat, waiting for them. She was wearing a plain black martial arts uniform. The coat was tied to the side. She did not wear a belt.

"Please sit at the edge of the dojo," Rebecca asked them.

Tori's eyebrow went up in disbelief. Adam felt his lips quiver. He was so going to enjoy this. Sam was the only one who seemed to know the proper respect to the dojo. He bowed quickly before stepping inside.

Rebecca was pleased when the Chief also joined them. Carl gave her a wry smile as he bowed before entering the dojo. Rebecca watched as Tori nodded. Now, it was starting to make sense to her.

Tori's _sense_ was about to be immediately challenged. For it was Rebecca who started the class, not Armison.

"I can tell by your entry that most of you do not know how to enter a dojo," Rebecca began. "You bow before entering the square. This is the proper respect to the work you will be doing, to the space where it is to be done, and to each other."

"In this space," she went on, "I am the only—the only—authority."

Tori stared at her in disbelief. Elliot was looking around. Sam, Adam, and Carl were listening to every word she was saying. Nathan was seriously analyzing her. She wondered if he saw her as some sort of weird bug?

"I know you have all had single handed training, knife removal, gun solute, whatever else," Rebecca shrugged and waived her hand. "This is different. It isn't about self defense. It's about a way of life. A daily thought pattern. We will also go over techniques to save or rescue a person. It could someday save a witness under your charge."

"Rank doesn't matter in here," she told them, "for that matter it doesn't matter out on the street, either. No matter how bad you are, there is someone badder. If they aren't badder than you, they will have a knife or a gun."

"I don't think badder is a word," Tori snickered.

Her joke was met with silence. She swallowed nervously as Rebecca stared at her.

"Tori stand," Rebecca ordered, "and move to the center of the square."

Tori looked at the others. There was no help for her there. She stood and moved to the center of the dojo.

Rebecca stood facing her.

"Hit me," Rebecca ordered her.

Tori felt like a hulk facing Rebecca. She was ten inches taller, and was a hell of a lot heavier. Rebecca looked like the wind could blow her over. Tori always thought Rebecca looked like a doll—cute enough to put in her pocket.

"I said to hit me," Rebecca repeated, "or is the big, bad FBI girl afraid of me?"

"I am not going to hit you," Tori informed her.

"Very noble," Rebecca told her.

Rebecca moved towards her. As she came up to Tori's side, she bent Tori's arm, and used her hip to fling her across the floor. Tori landed hard. The wind was knocked out of her.

"The next time I tell someone to do something," Rebecca looked at all of them. "It might be best to comply. Tori, again—hit me."

Tori, feeling shaken, stood up and walked towards Rebecca. She swung her fist towards Rebecca's head. Rebecca stepped to the side. She caught Tori's arm in an arm lock and twisted, sending Tori down to the floor. She had used Tori's own momentum against her.

"Then again," Rebecca stared at Tori, "maybe fate is just against you today, and you are bound to land on your rump."

"You might as well all know, Armison has decided to bring me out of the shadows. This class is his fault—and mine I guess for becoming too complacent. Maybe, that's what's wrong with our work. We've become too bound up in what we know, instead of looking for something that may be new. Anyway, it doesn't matter. When you are in here. This is where I want you to be. If I think you are visiting a case in your head, be sure you will end up on your ass."

She looked at Tori, who had managed to walk back, and sit in a spot beside the others.

"Did that hurt?" Rebecca asked her.

"Well, yah!" Tori frowned at her.

"Point," Rebecca told the others. "Don't forget who the enemy is. No one in this room is your enemy. Don't lose your temper. I've seen people become permanently injured, or disabled in classes just like this. It's not a joke."

"We will always warm up and then stretch first." Rebecca told them. "Do your own thing now, and when you're ready for the fun stuff, we'll get started."

Rebecca watched them as she did her own stretches. They were not beginners. They knew how to prepare their bodies for workouts and hand-to-hand techniques. What martial arts would give them were discipline, a continued physical workout, and technique. One of the problems with not having a dedicated training session was it was too easy to be too busy.

She watched in fascination as Nathan stretched. He was incredibly strong, holding himself in amazing positions. He didn't seem to have a limit as to how far he could bend over, split, or move. He wasn't being challenged.

Rebecca squatted down by him. "Would you like me to help you stretch?" She asked him. "You don't seem to have a point of resistance."

Amusement lit his eyes.

"What would you like to do?" He asked her curiously.

She frowned as she considered.

"Can you find a time to work out with me?" Rebecca found herself asking instead. "I can't imagine being able to put a bind on you, or being able to use leverage, or thrust to throw you."

"I don't think you can," Nathan told her, "but I'd be willing to let you try."

She smiled. Martial arts was a passion for her. Finding new opponents with unusual skills thrilled her. She loved a challenge.

"I'm sure, I'll figure something out," she told him with a grin. "I'm here every morning at seven.

He laughed. She didn't stand a chance, but it could get interesting!

Elliot's eyes narrowed as he watched them talk. He didn't know what they were talking about, but he didn't much like it, either.

She waited as the class finished their stretches. Tomorrow, they would start stretching harder—farther. It would protect them from injuries due to over extending.

"We are going to start with the basics. Those of you who advance quickly will work with those who don't. Technique is key, then speed, and finally strength. Now, let's study the good old fashioned hay-maker swing that Tori was using."

"There is not a person here who can land a punch like that on me," Rebecca told them. "It's slow, it telegraphs, and it's awkward. It forces the person to work against their own balance. Anyone want to challenge me on that?"

No one answered.

"Ah," Rebecca shook her head. "You guys just aren't any fun today. Here is the punch I want you to practice. Fist clenched, palm side up, elbow bent. It starts at the hip. Come straight in and up, twisting the forearm as you move. This gives you unbelievable torque—and is fast. Your opponent will not see it coming."

"To get even more power, you can keyup," Rebecca told them. "It controls your breath, and forces energy onto your focus. IAH! It might feel stupid, but who cares. It's all about doing damage!"

Rebecca pulled the dummy with the sensors forward. Standing in front of it, she simply hit it with the technique she had just shown them. The strike was okay. She did it again yelling, "IAH!" as she struck it. The strike was impressive.

"Now watch my feet and stance." Rebecca told them. "I'm going to walk along the path of the dummy. My stride will carry me past it. I do not want to hit it. I want to hit through it."

Rebecca walked along the side of it. She yelled, "IAH!" as she delivered the punch. Her stride took her past the dummy. It swayed. The power sensor tripled.

"The first strike with the Keyup was strong enough to break a single bone like an ulna or radius," Rebecca told them. "The walk through punch can break any bone in the human body. Grab the square punching bags and pair up. One person will hold while the other strikes, and then switch. Start with single punches, and then when you have a feel for that, do a walk through punch. An important key to this is to not hit the surface of the pad. Focus beyond it. You don't want to hit someone's face. You want to hit through their head. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sam answered.

"Answer up when I ask you something," Rebecca told them. "That way I know you aren't dazing off somewhere. Have you got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," they resounded.

"Begin," Rebecca told them.

Rebeca watched them. She occasionally repositioned arm, leg or fist. Nathan confounded her. He was working against Sam. Sam was having a hard time holding the bag. Rebecca couldn't see just how he was getting so much force out. His lips twitched when he saw her studying him. She just rolled her eyes. He laughed.

They worked out for an hour. Doing nothing more than hitting. Rebecca wanted them to get into the feel of the art. They would advance more quickly tomorrow.

"Tomorrow, we will pay more attention to stances and kicks." Rebecca told them. "Later we will practice actual scenarios."

Her statement was met by silence. Her eyes narrowed.

"Problem?" She asked.

"We do have a case to solve," Tori commented dryly.

"We do," Rebecca agreed, "and part of that case is going to come after me, and try to either saw off my digits while I'm writhing and screaming in pain, or make a quivering slave of me to perform to his every perverted demand. At this moment, who do you think has a better chance at surviving, you—or me?"

"You," Tori acknowledged.

"Thank you for that," Rebecca looked at all of them. "You place yourself in harms way every single day. I think it's time to give yourselves the best odds possible to keep whole and living. Don't you? I'm here every morning at seven if you want extra pain."

"We will be doing this," Armison told them all. "If I have to pull you here at midnight—you will be doing this! By God, I'm not losing another agent when it could possibly have been prevented! We'll be meeting down here every morning at nine. You better have a damn good reason if you are late!"

"Class is over," Rebecca called out, "please bow to the dojo as you exit."

Rebecca pulled the dummy back into place. She looked around to make sure the room was back as she found it. She ignored Elliot as she picked up her bag.

His face was thoughtful as he took the bag from her. They walked in silence as they entered the elevator. The class had not been as much of a shock as Elliot had expected. Sure, he'd been surprised by how easily Rebecca could kick ass, but it was still Rebecca.

She'd been calm and in control. She was confident. Although, she threw Tori around a bit, she'd actually been gentle about it. She was nurturing. She was sincere, and wanted only the best for her peers. All that—was Rebecca. She'd just traded up the cup of coffee for a little tough love.

"I'm sorry," Elliot told her on the elevator. "I was being overprotective and stupid."

Rebecca studied him through her lashes. At the moment they were just words. He'd hurt her. Before she laid her heart open again, she had to know he meant what he was saying. Could he curve that overprotective instinct? He'd treated her with less regard and respect than she did her cat.

Rebecca shrugged and walked from the elevator. He watched her grimly. It had taken a lot of nerve to apologize. She'd shrugged him off. Not exactly the response he had anticipated. He frowned as he set her bag on the desk.

TOC
Chapter Eighteen

"I've got him," Tori announced. "It's so stupid I'm kicking myself. It was staring at us all the time. I just didn't see it—see him."

"What did you find?" Nathan looked up from Anna's eighth grade yearbook.

"Douglas Carter," Tori answered. "Monty Carter's younger brother. He's the towel kid in the picture. He's two years behind Monty and Anna. He signed his name in her Junior yearbook. She made a comment; _Funny little kid, nothing like Monty. He's determined to follow his big brother around everywhere. He even came to the hospital with him for a visit. That must have been fun_ — _not! Looking at my pink, bald head!_ "

"I don't think it was Monty he was following around," Sam stated.

"No," Rebecca agreed, "I don't think so, either."

"She made notations in her sophomore book, too," Elliot mentioned. "She'd already been diagnosed with cancer by then. I think she was trying to make sure she remembered everyone. Her comments became a lot more thoughtful."

Rebecca put the football photograph up on the large screen, and zoomed in to the small boy at the side.

"Wow!" Tori walked up to the screen. "That is definitely him!"

"He hasn't changed," Nathan studied the picture. "His features never became strong, never developed into a man's. That's why he seems so undefined. That's why so many disguises work for him."

"He's unfinished," Rebecca commented.

"Low testosterone," Tori guessed.

"He's still strong enough to carry off a woman before anyone could catch him," Adam reminded her.

"A small woman," Tori reminded him.

"He can get away with disguising himself as a woman," Nathan mentioned.

Rebecca met Nathan's gaze and groaned. They hadn't made any composites of Carter as a woman. Nathan's lips twitched as he stared at her.

"We'll just add fuller hair, " he told her, "remove facial hair, and put him in a girly shirt."

"There was DNA collected from Anna's house that was reported as being too degraded for a positive ID," Tori mentioned. "That was because they were trying to match it against Jacob Hutton and Monty Carter. It came back as unconfirmed."

"Tears," Rebecca said, remembering the note. "There were tears on a sheet. I remember thinking how sad that was."

Armison had finally been able to get the DNA profiles of Hutton and Carter from the military. Neither matched the perp. They knew that by then. It was suggested that the perp was a distant cousin. In a small community, that wasn't significant.

They stared at the picture of Douglas Carter.

"That would mean Douglas Carter is not really Monty Carter's brother," Adam muttered. "This case just keeps wrenching about!"

Nathan pulled up both DNA profiles, and ran it through the program.

"They're second cousins," Rebecca stated. "Is that important?"

"It only explains why there wasn't a flag when Monty Carter's DNA was compared with the perp," Nathan commented. "If the perp had been Monty's brother, the system would have flagged with a 50% match. We would have known to look for a sibling."

Rebecca frowned. "There's nothing in the records about an adoption."

"Might not be," Elliot commented, "if the girl didn't want the community to know she got pregnant. She would disappear for a while."

"And suddenly, a different branch of the family was having a baby." Tori nodded, "no fuss."

Rebecca glanced at Elliot. He was staring at his fingers. She couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking. She had not yet announced that she and Elliot were pregnant.

If Elliot wanted to, he could force her to work out of the office, all he would have to do is tell Armison she was pregnant. She'd quite before she'd allow someone to bully her like that!

Elliot glanced at Rebecca. She was frowning at the screen. She looked angry.

"Okay," Sam interjected, "I'm satisfied, really satisfied this time, that we've identified the perp. Now, how do we catch him?"

Everyone looked at Rebecca. Elliot bit his tongue.

"I let him contact me with his own script," Rebecca answered. "It will at least stop him from hunting other women."

"He's already done that," Tori stared at her.

Rebecca walked to her old office, and carried out the computer Carter had used to spy on her.

"Here," Elliot cleared off a spot by the coffee machine. "This way we can all keep an eye on it."

Rebecca just nodded and set it up.

"So now, we put together a plan," Nathan announced.

"We treat Rebecca just like any other witness we are protecting," Elliot's eyes narrowed.

"But I'm not just any other witness, now am I?" Her eyes narrowed, she put her hands on her hips. "I will not be treated like I'm stupid!"

Elliot just glared at her.

"Everyone needs to be familiar with your lair," Sam told her. "We'll be using it."

"Fine," Rebecca said, resigned to her lack of privacy.

"Her lair?" Tori asked.

Rebecca typed furiously. An image came up on the main screen. It showed the safe rooms in her cellar. It was a studio apartment with a dojo.

"How hard would it be to hack that feed?" Nathan asked her.

"Pretty damn hard," Rebecca answered. "It's tied directly to the FBI server. It is not part of the internet system. It has the same security and firewalls as all the FBI data."

"How do you get down there?" Elliot couldn't help but to ask.

She grinned at him. She'd watched as he tried to figure out how to get to her. "It's coded by a keypad hidden in the sidewall of the third shelf. The one where I keep the Fruit Loops."

"How did you do all this?" Tori asked amazed.

"Professionally built," Rebecca answered, "by all of my brothers. The same ones who taught me to never allow myself to be bullied."

She stared at Elliot. He frowned at her. He hadn't been trying to bully her. He just cared.

"I'd like to meet your brothers some day," Tori mentioned.

Carl walked into the room. He handed a hand written list to Tori.

"Shelly and Keaton are on their way back." he looked at Rebecca. "I want Shelly with you at all times. When this Son-of-a-Bitch starts stalking you, she will feel him."

Rebecca just nodded.

"This is a list of everything Sarah could remember about Carter. He was not her husband. She was his victim. As you suspected, Carter killed Thomas Munshaw."

TOC
Chapter Nineteen

Sarah was in the dressing room stall, trying on her third dress when Shelly saw a familiar face came into the shop. Surprised, she met him at the door. She listened intently, her face grew pale. He handed her a package

"We have to go now," Shelly told Keaton, handing him the packet. "I have to talk to Sarah."

Damen took a seat beside Steve. Keaton watched as they whispered back and forth. Whatever Damen was saying, Steve adamantly disagreed. Shelly walked to the dressing room door. She quickly knocked and entered.

Keaton glanced at the packet, keys and flight tickets.

Sarah could tell by her expression that something was really, really wrong. Her heart began beating so hard it was hard for her to hear. Shelly shook her. Surprised, Sarah's pulse returned back to normal.

"Keaton and I have to return to the agency," Shelly told her. "Damen is outside. He and Steve will keep you safe."

"What's wrong?" Sarah whispered. "Did he find me?"

"No," Shelly shook her head, "and he won't! Something else has come up. We are just needed is all. This isn't good-bye. I will be seeing you later. I just don't know when."

Shelly gave her a heartfelt hug, and left the room.

A SUV was waiting for them at the curb. Ironically, a parking ticket was stashed under the driver's side window wiper. Shelly snatched it off.

Keaton started the car and headed for the airport.

"Okay," he frowned, "what is going on?"

"The perp is stalking Rebecca," she answered grimly. "Armison wants everyone on deck. This guy is practically invisible. They think I'm the only one who can detect him in time to stop him."

"Crap!" Keaton growled. "How the hell did he find out about Rebecca?"

"I have no idea," Shelly answered.

Sarah hurried to put on her own clothes. Steve was waiting for her just outside the door. A stranger sat in the chair facing her. She stared at him feeling flushed. The man was big, lean and muscular. He had long, dark brown hair. His eyes seemed unusually bright. She couldn't make out the color. He oozed sensuality. He reminded her of a cat. He made her nervous.

"This is Damen," Steven told her. "He will be sharing the house while Keaton is gone."

Sarah blushed.

"Okay," she blurted, "I guess, I can get dressed under the bed."

Her comment surprised a laugh from Damen. He noticed that Steve was not amused. His lips quirked.

The sound of his husky laugh made Sarah shiver. She looked at him startled.

"Is there somewhere we are supposed to be?" Sarah turned to ask Steve.

"No," he answered.

"Good!" Sarah marched back into the stall.

She needed dresses. She'd discovered that jeans just didn't work for her. She just wasn't used to clothes which didn't flex with her movements. This was her second attempt at shopping for clothes. She found that decorating the house had been a lot easier than decorating herself.

She studied the dress in the mirror. She just didn't like it! Blushing, wishing Shelly was there, she came out of the stall.

"I don't like it!" She told them defensively. "I don't like any of them. I can't seem to figure it out. I wish Shelly was here!"

Her deep blue eyes were big and vulnerable.

"I'll find you something," Damen heard himself saying.

"Fine," she walked back into the stall to wait.

Steve's eyes narrowed.

Damen went to look through the racks.

Sarah had surprised Damen yet again. She was so open, and so vulnerable. She could become a very powerful submissive. No wonder Shelly had been so against them sending Sarah back! If she was to survive, she was going to need supervision and training. Life would destroy her if she was left as she was. He hoped Steve understood that.

A predator had damaged her. She needed to be reconditioned to learn who she was. Otherwise, she would just transfer her dependence to another dominant male. She needed to find herself. She would need a female Domme to train her. A male would overwhelm her. He wondered if Shelly would be interested. Sarah was already comfortable with her.

Damen was only satisfied with one dress in the whole shop. Sarah was very petite. It was hard to find a dress that would not make her look squatty. It was no wonder, she wasn't satisfied with any of them. He chose a tight knit, soft purple dress. It was too bad she was so adverse to blue. Blue would enhance her eyes to a sultry, smoky blue.

"I could only find one," he told her as he handed it over the wall. "I know of another place we can try, but it's across town."

"Oh!" Sarah smiled with delight. "This is beautiful, and so soft! It's a keeper."

She came out carrying the dress.

"You didn't want us to see it on you?" Damen asked curiously.

"I just didn't think you would want to bother," Sarah looked confused.

"We would love to see you in it," Steve assured her, "It's no bother."

"Please," Damen asked softly, "please show it to us."

She frowned, but walked back into the stall. A minute later, she came back out wearing the dress. It was lovely on her. It clung to all her curves, and put color into her cheeks.

"That is really pretty!" Steve grinned at her.

"It's a keeper," Damen told her with a smile.

She smiled at both of them. Her walk had a happy bounce as she walked back into the stall.

This time when she came out, she was smiling.

"So, what do you want to do now?" Steve asked her, taking the dress from her.

"I'd really rather go home," she said shyly. "I'm tired."

"Then that's what we will do," Steve's eyes challenged Damen.

Damen just shrugged. He really didn't care one way or the other.

Steve unlocked the doors of the red mini-van. He opened the front passenger side for Sarah. He let Damen help himself into the back. Damen's lips twitched. He had not been afforded such disrespect in a very long time. Steve had it bad.

It was quiet as they drove back to the block—too quiet. Steve was anxious about Damen invading his territory—he was clearly territorial over Sarah. Sarah was intimidated by the masculine attention. Damen found the situation awkward. The dynamics were strained. It was clear that Shelly and Keaton had offered a balance.

What was coming up next was going to make matters worse. They had to have information from Sarah. The kid gloves were coming off. Steve was not going to like it.

"I'm going to need to talk with Steve for a while when we get back," Damen told them. "MONOP business."

Steve nodded. Damen was his superior—second only to Leya. He might not agree with what was coming down, might even feel angry, but it was what it was. Sarah did not belong to him. At the moment—she belonged to MONOP.

Sarah nodded. She knew things had heated up. She felt tense. She could tell by the way Steve acted that this Damen person was a high Operative. She just hoped Steve wasn't going to be taken away, too. She didn't know if she could stand that!

Without comment, Sarah made her way into her new residence. It wasn't a home yet, but at least it felt more—her. Shelly and Keaton had totally supported her with everything she wanted to do with its design. In fact, Shelly had been supportive with every personal decision she had made. She hadn't felt that kind of freedom in very long time.

She hadn't needed to worry about Keaton sharing the house. He had been the perfect gentleman. She frowned. The new guy was a different matter. He made her very uncomfortable. Not like he would hurt her, just that he was so—intense. He was also incredibly gorgeous, she finally admitted to herself.

Steve took a chair in the command center, and switched on the monitors to Sarah's rooms. He waited.

"Leya's decided to use hypnosis," Damen told him.

"Isn't that rather abrupt?" Steve frowned. "She only came into her memories a week ago."

"I know," Damen sat in the other chair. "They've identified the killer, but he turned the tables on them, and is now stalking Rebecca."

"Who is Rebecca?" Steve frowned.

Damen typed into the keyboard, and brought up Rebecca's picture.

"Oh God!" Steve ran his hands through his hair.

The woman on the screen looked like a confident Sarah. Her eyes were bluer, more intense, but the two women could have been twins.

"Rebecca is a FBI Agent," Damen told him. "They had recovered a flash drive. While deciphering it, a script ran allowing the perp—Carter—to take control of the webcam. He saw her, and now he's coming for her. Shelly can sense if he's stalking her."

"How does Sarah come into this?" Steve asked. "She's already handed over all the guys fetishes."

"We need to know how he killed her husband, and her dog," Damen told him. "We need to know why he changed his victimization for her. The FBI Chief is concerned he will target the male agents to get to Rebecca. I agree with him. We need to know what he's done, and we need to know now."

Steve nodded, "What do you want me to do?"

"Talk to Sarah," Damen told him, "Try to get her cooperation. You know what's at stake. You know MONOP will do what needs to be done, with or without her permission."

"When?" Steve asked.

"Tomorrow morning," Damen answered.

Steve nodded, and walked out of the room. Damen turned up the volume. He was only marginally familiar with Steve. He smiled, wondering which female got him to cut off that God ugly beard? His bet would be on Shelly.

Steve knocked on Sarah's door. She answered it immediately. She wasn't stupid. She knew something was coming down.

"What's up?" She waived him to a chair.

"We need information your mind and emotions aren't capable of processing" Steve said bluntly. "They want to hypnotize you."

"Okay," Sarah agreed nervously. She was gripping the chair with her finger tips.

Steve looked at her surprised.

"You're okay with this?" Steve asked her.

"No," she was afraid, "but you wouldn't ask if it wasn't crucial. Shelly wouldn't have taken off if she hadn't needed to."

She stood and paced.

"I'm having flashes of such horrifying things," she admitted. "I don't know if they are real. Will I remember what I say to you?"

"Do you want to?" Steve asked her.

"I don't know that, either," Sarah's eyes teared up. "When do we do this?"

"Tomorrow," Steve answered.

"Will you be there while it's done?" Sarah asked.

"If you want me to," Steve answered.

"Yes," her voice trembled, "I feel so alone and scared. Will you stay with me tonight? Just hold me?"

"I would like that," Steve answered softly.

"Are the cameras necessary?" Sarah asked as she blushed.

"I'm sorry, but yes," Steve told her. "There has to be a very good reason to turn them off."

"And personal preference would never be acceptable." Sarah laughed shakily. "If that was the case, your cameras would never roll."

"Oh," Steve smiled at her, "you might be surprised."

"Good job," Damen whispered into his ear.

Damen's lips quirked when Steve waived at his ear. The gesture meant to bugger off already. Steve did not need or want Damen's approval.

Steve and Sarah sat eating popcorn and watching movies.

"Will you stay with me now that Keaton is away?" Sarah asked him.

"I can't," Steve told her. "As much as I would like to. It's my job to watch the block."

"I thought maybe Damen could do that," Sarah murmured.

Steve laughed.

"What?" Sarah frowned at him.

"Damen is my boss," Steve told her, "I don't think I'm up to asking him to run around doing my errands."

"Oh," Sarah paused, "I didn't know that."

"No," Steve looked at her, "how could you? So what movie do you want to see now?"

"You pick one," Sarah answered.

Steve frowned. She hadn't picked one movie yet.

"No," Steve looked at her, "you pick one—any one."

"How about _Red_?" She suggested.

"You want to watch Red?" Steve asked, "Or you think I want to watch it?"

"Whatever," Sarah told him, "it's fine."

Damen watched their interaction with a frown. Sarah wouldn't choose anything. She was totally subservient. It was nauseating, and unhealthy.

"Choose a movie that most women detest," Damen directed.

Steve choose the _A-Team_ and popped it in. Without a word, he settled on the couch with Sarah, and they watched the movie. Damen watched as her eyes glazed over.

"Keep doing that until she suggests one," Damen told him.

Steve stared moodily at the TV. Not the night he had been expecting!

Damen felt sympathetic to Steve's plight. A plight he would soon be forced to face. He sighed. He really wasn't looking forward to covering for Keaton. He wasn't in the mood to deal with such an insipid woman. Romper came over with her leash.

"You're Romper right?" Damen asked the dog. She dropped the leash and barked at him.

"It's that time is it?" Damen grinned as he scratched her head. "Joe will be here at ten. Can you hold for fifteen minutes? I have to do this, and then we can go out."

He laughed as the dog left, and brought him back a ball. She dropped it at his feet, and barked at him. She panted and smiled. He grinned, getting an idea which would suit all of them.

Joe came in to relieve Damen. Taking Romper's leash. He hooked her up.

"I'm bringing Romper over," Damen told Steve through the earpiece. "Let's see if she will choose the dog over me?"

He laughed at the irony of a dog being chosen over him. He'd watched Sarah's reaction to the dog when they'd first moved in. It would be a step forward if she would accept its companionship. He knocked.

"Search," Damen muttered to Romper as soon as the door opened.

Romper ran inside the house. She quickly nosed into everything. She barked and sniffed at Sarah. Sarah took a step back, but did not seem afraid. Damen and Steve watched her carefully.

"Romper heel," Damen commanded.

Romper sat and smiled at Sarah. Sarah frowned.

"Don't mind me," Damen made his way into Keaton's room. "I'll just be getting set up."

"I don't want you here," Sarah blurted out as she stared at him.

Her face was flushed. She was breathing rapidly.

Damen stared at her surprised. He had not yet seen her be so assertive to a male. His eyes narrowed.

"What?" He asked her.

Sarah stared at the handsome, dynamic stranger. His green eyes stared into her. She felt lost. Even the scent of him was sexy. She couldn't! She just couldn't have him there.

Her eyes were big and vulnerable as they stared into him. He had hoped her comment was because she was being feisty. She wasn't. She was terrified of the thought of him staying there.

"It's me," he told her calmly, "or the dog."

He held out the leash. She quickly snatched the leash from him.

"This means you have to take care of all her needs," he told her. "Can you do that?"

"Yes," she whispered.

He nodded.

"I'll be in Shelly's room," Damen told Steve. "Any problems, give me a call. Joe will be monitoring until five. You will need to take over then. Okay?"

"That works," Steve nodded, "Walter can start taking Shelly's shift."

Steve smiled as he looked at Sarah, "Keep the boys from all that racket."

"That's good," Sarah told him, "I'll get Romper set up. That is her name right?"

"Yes," Damen answered.

"She hasn't had her nightly run yet," Steve told her. "We'll move her food and bed over here, and then walk her together."

"Alright," Sarah answered.

Damen left Steve to get Sarah situated. He frowned. Her reaction confirmed his thoughts earlier that she would need a female trainer. A male would overwhelm her. Either, leaving her too scared to function, or too dominated and controlled. Neither situation was healthy. Neither situation would get her independent of MONOP. Amy, he knew, would be too abrupt.

Damen watched as Steve and Sarah walked and played with Romper. He was satisfied. Sarah had taken to her. Romper might be old, but she would protect Sarah.

Sarah finally fell asleep. She was cuddled up against Steve. Romper was lying at her feet. Steve lifted her up, and carried her into the bedroom. He gently lowered her onto the bed, and climbed in beside her. He held her the rest of the night.

### ***

Shelly's phone rang. She frowned, it was Damen's number. It was just after midnight. They'd only just gotten into town.

"What's up?" She asked him.

"Are you interested in training Sarah?" He asked her.

Keaton was driving her home.

"I thought you would want to do that?" Shelly frowned.

Training was not one of her specialties. It was time consuming, and she really didn't have the patience for it.

"She is too conditioned. She responds too readily to a Dom," Damen frowned. "I would if I was ready to accept her as my Sub," he laughed, "but I think Steve would have a problem with that."

"I think you're right," Shelly laughed.

Shelly frowned as she thought it over. She'd gotten to know Sarah the last few days. Had gotten to like her. She appreciated her humor and rather abrupt responsiveness. She knew she wouldn't have any problem training her. She also knew Damen was right. Sarah needed to find herself. That wouldn't happen if she fixated on a male. She would always be a slave.

"Yes," Shelly agreed, "I'll do it, but it can't be until this is over. The training is going to take a lot of time."

"Agreed," Damen paused.

"What?" Shelly asked.

"I'm going to use serum," Damen answered. "Do you have any suggestions?"

By suggestions, Shelly knew he meant conditioning during the hypnosis. She had one, but Steve was not going to like it.

"Yes," Shelly answered. "I would like her to accept Steve's friendship, but not allow herself to fall for him until after her training is finished. Use the phrase— _Released from servitude_."

"You are wise," Damen agreed.

She hung up.

"What's the deal with Steve?" Keaton asked, "I thought you liked him."

"I do," Shelly agreed, "very much in fact. But, I've agreed to train Sarah. She is conditioned to accept male domination without thought. She might rebel against it, but the conditioning will win out. I will be breaking that cycle. It will be hard to do, if she keeps swinging back to Steve."

"I thought all the MONOP guys were trained?" Keaton asked. "Shouldn't he know better?"

"Well, yes," Shelly studied him, "all personnel are trained, but only as far as the person is capable, or willing to go. Steve has not been trained to be a Master. He is a _Submissive Protector_."

"I don't know what that means," Keaton frowned at her. "It sounds like a contradiction."

"A powerful submissive can rule their partner," Shelly frowned.

"Manipulation," Keaton's lip curled.

"Not always," Shelly was surprised by his disgust. "Don't you want to please your lover? If your lover submits to your every desire, caters to your every need, don't you want to reward that. Don't you want to protect and love your partner. Manipulation is deliberate selfishness. Giving back to your partner, because of appreciation, fondness, or love is unselfish giving. It goes both ways."

"A Submissive Protector is a naturally submissive personality who is also very territorial and protective. They will submit to their lover's needs, but would fight, or even die, to protect them."

"Oh," Keaton's brows rose, "the wife who allows her husband to beat on her, but then about kills the cop who was trying to stop the beating."

"Crude," Shelly frowned, "but correct."

"And here we are," Keaton pulled up in front of Shelly's condo.

"Sleep fast, sweetie," Shelly leaned over and kissed him. "It's going to be a long day."

"Too long," Keaton muttered as he watched her enter the building.

### ***

Damen woke to his alarm at 7 am. He didn't like using the serum on Clients, but planned to for Sarah. Her trauma was too immediate—too intense. It would knock her out of the session. With time, he could have brought her around, but their time was up.

TOC
Chapter Twenty

"Where is everyone?" Shelly asked, looking around at all the empty desks. "It's like we've entered the freak'n Twilight Zone."

Shelly wandered into Rebecca's office. All her personal things had been removed. A stranger was sitting at her desk. He was a small man with thinning gray hair. He wore thick glasses. He was leaning towards the monitor as he typed on the keyboard. A temporary nameplate sat in front of the computer. The name, Glen Walters, was scrawled on it with a felt-tip pen.

"Where's the team?" Shelly asked the man.

"Downstairs," he answered in dismissal as he continued to type.

"Excuse me?" Shelly hit his desk with the flat of her hand. "I don't have time to mess with you. When I ask you a question, I want a full answer. Now—where is the team?"

Startled, he looked up into her furious eyes. He swallowed nervously.

"They are in G4 taking a training class," he answered.

"Now, was that so hard?" Shelly asked him with a frown.

"No ma'am," his eyes were big.

He glanced at Keaton. Keaton's eyes were narrowed as they stared into him. He shivered.

In silence, they made their way down to the garage. Keaton pushed the door open. They paused right inside the door. Rebecca, cute little Rebecca, was throwing Sam across the room.

"No Sam," she scolded. "Don't just charge at me. Think about the balance on your feet, and the stride of your approach. If you have to grab and run with a witness, you will only get one shot at it. It has to work flawlessly!"

"Yes, ma'am," Sam sighed as he got back to his feet. "It's less painful being the victim," he grumbled.

The others snickered.

They watched as Rebecca pretended to tie her shoe. This time when Sam came running in, he successfully lifted her up, and carried her away.

"Could you still have gotten away?" Tori asked her.

"Yes," Rebecca tapped Sam's shoulder, "you can put me down now. But a normal person would not. I'm trying to pretend to be normal."

"Can we see the _abnormal_ person?" Adam asked.

Sam sighed.

"Sure," Rebecca smiled, "why don't _you_ try to run away with me? You've been quite good at taking a normal person."

"Sure," Adam smiled, "I can do that."

Sam giggled.

Adam positioned himself outside the dojo. Even with the distance between them, he towered over Rebecca.

"Are you ready?" Adam asked her.

"Are you?" She asked sweetly.

Shelly groaned. Keaton looked at her surprised.

"Watch," she whispered.

Rebecca again acted like she was tying her shoe. Adam ran at her. Rebecca looked up, and acted scared. Suddenly, she pressed herself flat against the ground. Adam stumbled over her. She twisted around, and was on top of him in a flash. Her fingers were locked into his hair, pulling his neck backwards. They could see the cords of his neck straining. Her elbow was pressed into the base at the back of his neck. He quickly tapped out.

She climbed off, and allowed him to roll over. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I don't advise doing that," Rebecca told the class. "The assailant can stomp on you, which hurts, or you might inadvertently paralyze him. The brain stem is right where my elbow was lodged. We won't be practicing that move with each other, but if you get an opportunity on a perp, I'd say, go for it."

They all laughed.

"Wow!" Keaton muttered. His eyes were big.

"The Submissive Protector," Shelly whispered.

Keaton nodded. Now, he understood!

"I'd ask you to join us," Rebecca addressed Shelly and Keaton, "but we'd get your clothes all dirty. You can still come close and watch though."

"Thanks," Shelly grinned at her, and sat just behind the students.

Keaton joined her.

All their team was present, including Armison. There were also a couple of people Shelly recognized from the narcotic's team.

Shelly's eyes narrowed as she watched Rebecca. There was something different about her. It wasn't her assertiveness, Rebecca was always assertive, even if the others did not recognize it as such. It was something else. Shelly watched the way she moved, and realized what it was. Although not obvious, she was protecting her abdomen. With surprise, Shelly realized that Rebecca was pregnant.

She glanced over at Elliot. He was hanging out in the shadow of Rebecca's limelight. He felt sad—reserved. He grimaced when Tori threw her down. He knew, and he was forced to just watch. He was forced to not intervene. It was obvious that he and Rebecca had a falling out. Shelly felt sad for them.

Armison was inside the dojo. Shelly smiled as she recognized the moves they were practicing. Some of which she had taught Rebecca. From time to time, they had spared down in Rebecca's domain. Each teaching the other moves. Shelly was delighted to see her taking charge.

Keaton studied everything the class did. Rebecca astounded him. He'd had no idea! He could feel himself getting antsy siting there. He craved to join in. That surprised him. He'd taken martial arts classes before, but he'd never been particularly keen on participating.

He realized it was because of Rebecca's teaching style. She was non-threatening, but very effective. She let someone know when they were being stupid without ridiculing them. She was showing them things they hadn't seen before—hadn't thought about. They learned!

"That's it for today," Rebecca announced, "Tomorrow, I want you stretching harder, fuller. Good class everyone!"

Armison groaned. Rebecca just grinned at him.

"I'm beginning to feel sorry for anyone taking on that little Imp," Tori muttered.

Rebecca heard her and chuckled.

Keaton's eyes sparkled as he watched Elliot, "I guess Elliot's having problems dealing with the little woman's ambitions."

"She's pregnant," Shelly whispered.

Keaton pulled back, looking shocked. No wonder Elliot was looking so torn down. Keaton couldn't imagine allowing Shelly to teach that class if she was pregnant. He snorted, as if he would have a choice in the matter. Elliot had his sympathies.

Shelly turned to walk Armison down the corridor, "and I quote, _I'd never let that little thing out on the street. I'll not have my agents dying trying to be the gallant!_ "

He laughed, "Ah hell, they'd be more incline now to sit back with that silly grin saying— _This is going to be good!_ They won't be just jumping in to take a bullet for her now."

"True," Shelly agreed.

"Did you enjoy your time off?" Armison asked her.

She frowned at him.

"Sure," she said sarcastically. "I love living in the burbs, shopping, and planting bulbs. It's so much fun!"

"And Keaton?" He asked.

Shelly laughed, "He made them buy him a Harley Davidson."

"How's that?" He asked surprised.

"Used that little piece of plastic they gave him." Shelly smiled. "They didn't have the heart to take it away. Too bad, he couldn't bring it back with him on the plane!"

Carl snorted.

"Mrs. Munshaw?" Carl stared at her.

"Going through hypnosis this morning," she told him. "They might be done by now."

"About time," Carl muttered.

"Only if you don't care if it strips out her mind," Shelly stated angrily.

"I've never heard of that before," Carl glared at her.

"You've never seen someone forced before," Shelly frowned at him, "or are you just referring to what you've seen on TV?"

"Hey," he scowled, "I resent that."

"It's true though," Shelly stared back, "isn't it?"

"Fine," he sighed, "It's good to see you back—sort of."

Shelly snorted.

Rebecca bounced to Shelly, and gave her a hug. Shelly laughed, and hugged her back.

"Good to see you looking—so fit," Shelly told her.

Rebecca's eyes widened, "Does it show?" She whispered.

"Oh my God, Yes!" Shelly teased. "Is it twins? It sure looks like it's twins."

"Shut up!" Rebecca hissed, "I haven't announced it yet."

Shelly shrugged, "The important people seem to know already."

"I can't tell you anything!" Rebecca complained.

Shelly just laughed, "The team's treating you better."

Rebecca looked unhappy.

"What?" Shelly asked.

She shrugged, "I just miss doing what I used to do."

"So do it," Shelly stared at her. "You've always done Agent work whether the others recognized it or not. So what if you are also a nurturer? Do what makes you happy, not what the others are expecting of you. You don't expect Tori to give up her fetish for shoes, or for Sam to stop giggling—which is so not FBI."

"You're right," Rebecca frowned. "I can make coffee if I want to!"

"Damn straight!" Shelly laughed.

Shelly's phone rang. It was Damen. Her smile dropped.

"What?" She asked.

"I'm sending you the vid," Damen hesitated. "It's not something I can summarize."

"Gotcha," Shelly hung up.

"Problem?" Rebecca asked.

"They hypnotized Sarah today," Shelly told her, "I guess it's bad. Damen is sending a video."

"Do you want to view it alone?" Rebecca asked, "Or should I set up the screen."

"Set up the screen," Shelly's face was grim. "We all need to know what that Monster did to her."

"Will do," Rebecca hurried ahead.

Shelly turned to see Keaton talking with Elliot. She could just imagine what those two were talking about—Women!

By the time Shelly got back to the office, Rebecca had the screen set up. All she had to do was access her inbox.

"This was recorded earlier today," Shelly told the others. "I haven't seen it yet. Sarah was hypnotized using a serum that would force her to stay under. This is not a normal procedure, so don't think this is the way it's normally done."

"Why was it done this way then?" Adam asked.

"She wasn't ready," Shelly explained, "we ran out of time. It sometimes takes years for hypnosis to be effective on a person."

She pressed play.

Damen looked straight at the camera, said the date and time, and the identification number of the case.

Sarah was sitting in a wide plush seat. Steve was sitting behind her—holding her. In a low, seductive voice, Damen started taking Sarah through the stages of hypnotic relaxation.

"Who's the hottie talking?" Tori murmured.

"That is Dominator-Protector Damen Les Écrans," Shelly answered looking straight at her. "Yes, he is hot. He is so hot he would blister those wet panties right off of you. I don't think you're ready for him—do you?"

Tori's eyes were huge.

Shelly knew she shouldn't have been so abrupt with her, but sometimes Tori's inappropriateness irritated her.

"Watch closely," Shelly turned back to the screen.

"You will feel a slight prick," Damen told her as he gave her the serum.

"Take Steve's hand," Damen commanded her.

Sarah sought out both of Steve's hands. He held hers securely.

"When you are scared," Damen commanded her, "you will not wake. You will feel Steve's hand, and know you are safe. If you are anxious you can squeeze his hand. If you become afraid, it will be as if you are talking about someone else. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Sarah answered.

"Tell me about your wedding day?" Damen asked her, "Tell me about marrying Thomas?"

Sarah smiled, "We hadn't planned on getting married so soon, but Thomas was starting his new job as soon as I graduated. Ginger had moved to California. We just packed some bags, and went for it. We met another couple, Jan and Luck, who were waiting at the chapel. We didn't realize that we needed witnesses. They didn't, either. It was funny. All of us gathered at the chapel like that. So, we witnessed for each other."

"Where did you live after you got married?" Damen asked.

"Just his place," Sarah told them, "It was small, but that was okay. It would just be for a couple of weeks. It was just until we moved to California. I wanted to be closer to Ginger."

"When did you move to California?" Damen's eyes narrowed as he watched for her response.

There was silence.

"Sarah?" Damen said softly, "answer me. When did you move to California?"

"We didn't," Sarah told him.

"Why?" Damen asked.

"He was just there," she said in a strained voice.

"Who was Sarah?" Damen asked. "Who was just there."

"The man," she answered.

"Tell me what happened?" He asked.

"I can't," Sarah whispered.

"Yes, you can," Damen told her, "Steve is with you. Can you feel him? Can you feel his hand in yours? He cares about you. We all care about you. Tell me what happened?"

Her eyes filled with tears. She looked like she was in pain. She was squeezing Steve's hand hard.

Steve grimaced, but did not let go.

Sarah continued in a low voice, "He was in the apartment when we came home. The man just shot him. There wasn't time for anything. There wasn't any kind of warning. He was just suddenly lying there bleeding from his head."

"Who was bleeding Sarah?" Damen asked.

"It was Thomas," Sarah was frowning.

"Then what Sarah?" Damen asked quietly.

"He pointed the gun at my head," Sarah continued, "and told me to go into the bedroom. I didn't understand, because Thomas was still bleeding. That meant he was still alive right? I tried to go to him."

She started crying and rocking.

Shelly was reminded of her actions when she wasn't responding to anything. She rocked then, too. The rocking had always bothered her.

"Sarah," Damen called to her. "Sarah! You are safe, now. That happened a long time ago. I want you to remember it as if someone was telling you a story a long time ago. It is clear to you, but it is someone else's story. Can you do that?"

"It was a long time ago," she repeated, "to someone else."

Her rocking stopped.

"He shot Thomas," Damen told her. "What happened next, Sarah?"

"He stepped between her and Thomas," Sarah blinked, remembering. "He said he knew Ginger. He said that she had to be Anna now. Or he would kill Ginger. He said he would kill Carol, too."

She took a big gulp of air. She started to hyperventilate.

"Sarah," Damen called to her. He rubbed her arms. "Sarah?"

"Yes,"

"What do you see?" Damen asked. "Remember it was a long time ago. You are safe now. Tell me what you see?"

"Heidi," Sarah's eyes were big.

"Who is Heidi?" Damen asked.

"She was her dog," Sarah whispered.

"What is wrong with Heidi?" Damen asked her.

Rebecca shivered. It was eerie-assed to be seeing a person so like herself telling this story. She didn't even mind when Elliot pulled up a chair and took her hand in his.

"What's wrong with Heidi?" He asked her.

"She's in pieces," Sarah blinked trying to see. "I don't understand how she can be in pieces. She is in the other room in pieces. There is red everywhere."

"What then?" Damen asked.

Sarah frowned, "I don't know."

"What do you remember next?" Damen rubbed her arms. "Sarah, what do you remember next?"

"We aren't there anymore," Sarah sighed with relief.

"Where are you?" Damen asked.

"We are at his house," Sarah frowned, "but now he says it is my house, and that I'm Anna. He made me repeat it over and over that I was Anna. I did that. I was afraid."

"What does his house look like?" Damen asked.

"Boring," Sarah answered. "There's nothing interesting inside, nothing pretty."

"Look out the window?" Damen instructed. "What do you see?"

"A very big tree," Sarah told him. "I think it's oak. Its leaves have already fallen. They litter the porch. There are stairs going down to the yard."

"Picture yourself down in the yard," Damen told her.

"Yes," Sarah waited.

"Look back to the house," He instructed, "What do you see?"

"A white, two story house," Sarah told him, "The windows have shades. There aren't any curtains."

"Does the house have an address somewhere on it?" Damen asked.

"I see the letters 3617 on the post." Sarah told him. "I don't see a street address. I don't know where we are."

"The house," Adam muttered.

"She's lost time," Shelly added. "The wedding pictures had green leaves."

"How did he treat you?" He asked.

"Mostly, like I didn't exist," Sarah answered. "I liked it that way."

"Why?" Damen asked her.

"I didn't want him thinking of Anna," she whispered.

"What happened when he thought of Anna?" Damen asked.

Her eyes were big. She took a deep breath. They could see the strained expression on Steve's face as she squeezed his hand.

"He had sex with me," she told him.

"Tell me about it?" He asked her.

"He tied me onto the bed," Sarah answered.

"How?" Damen frowned.

"On my stomach to the metal frame," she told him.

"What did he use to tie you with?" He asked.

"I don't know," she told him. "I wasn't to look."

"Did the ties hurt?" Damen frowned.

"Yes," she answered, "I still have the burn marks."

"Show them to me," Damen commanded her.

Sarah held out her hands. Damen took them gently, and turned her wrists so he could examine them.

"Sarah," he told her gently, "the marks are gone. I want you to remember that the marks are gone. Do you understand?"

"But, I can still see them," she frowned at him.

"No Sarah," Damen told her firmly. "They healed up a long time ago without leaving marks. You will remember this now, and see only nice, clean, healthy skin. Look at your wrists and tell me what you see?"

Sarah studied her wrists. She frowned. "They are small and pretty."

"Yes," he agreed. "They are pretty."

"What would happen after he tied you up?" Damen asked.

"Sometimes, he just went to sleep," she told him.

"What happened when he didn't fall asleep?" Damen asked.

"He hurt me," she whimpered.

"This is now you talking about someone else." Damen commanded her. "Tell me what he did to her?"

"Sometimes, he just pulled her to him and they had sex," Sarah told him

"Did he kiss her, or play with her?" He asked her.

She frowned, "he just pulled her back and they had sex," she repeated, "unless he was angry."

"What happened if he was angry?" Damen asked.

"He might start normal, but then would switch to the other entry," Sarah breathed rapidly.

"Sarah," Damen reminded her, "this was a long time ago, to a different person. What other entry?"

"The butt," she told him.

"It hurt her?" Damen asked her.

"Always," Sarah answered.

"I'm going to change the subject now, Sarah," Damen told her.

She sighed with relief.

"What happened to Heidi after you saw her?" Damen asked.

"I can't," she cried, "I can't."

"Yes, you can," Damen told her. "You aren't alone. I am here, and Steve is here. Someone else is dealing with Heidi. What happened next?"

"She had to pick up the pieces, and clean up the blood," Sarah answered in dull voice.

"What happened to Thomas?" Damen asked.

"I don't know," Sarah answered. "She had to move Heidi. When she was done—he made her take pills—took her away. She did not see Thomas again."

Damen closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. He opened his eyes to stare at Sarah.

"I want you to remember the last time you were in that house," Damen told her.

Steve strained as Sarah squeezed his hand.

"I want you to remember her the last time she was in the house," Damen corrected. "Tell me about that day?"

Steve relaxed.

"He was angry, because she didn't want pees in the spaghetti," she told him. "She was scared, but it was okay, because he went out."

"Did he go out a lot?" Damen asked.

"Yes," Sarah answered. "She was happy when he left."

"Why didn't she leave, too?" He asked.

"He had shown her a video of Ginger's daughter," she cried. "She looks a lot like her when she was that age. He said he would go get her. He said he would wait so long as she did what he said, but if she left, he would have to go get her."

"That day he left, and she was alone in the house," Damen reminded her, "what happened to her that day?"

"She heard strange thumping noises from down below," Sarah frowned. "She started going down the stairs when she heard screaming. She couldn't help herself. She kept going down the stairs. There was a room she hadn't seen before."

"What next Sarah," Damen asked. "What did she see?"

"He was sawing off her legs!" Sarah cried out. Her eyes were big. "I need to stop. I can't be seeing this again. Please, please stop!"

Steve had to release her hands. He circled her body with his arms, and pulled her tightly against himself.

"Steve is holding you Sarah," Damen told her gently. "We are almost done. We need to know what she saw? What the other woman saw? Can you tell us what she told you she saw?"

"She saw that the girl's hand had been removed, and was lying on the table. He was sawing her right leg off with a hand saw. She was screaming and crying, begging him to stop. He was saying he was sorry, but she had to be awake to tell him when the rot was gone. He kept sawing and sawing."

"What next Sarah?" Damen asked.

"She made a noise, and he saw her," Sarah's breathing increased. "She ran. She ran as fast as she could, but he caught her again. He hurt her head, and that was all she knew."

"Do you remember Shelly?" Damen asked her.

"I like Shelly," Sarah told him, "she's funny."

"Shelly is going to help you later," Damen told her. "She will show you how to not be so worried."

"I'm glad," Sarah sighed with relief.

"You've answered all my questions Sarah," he told her. "I'm very proud of you. Steve is very proud of you. Shelly will be very proud of you. When you wake you will feel as if a great weight has been lifted away. There is no reason to remember this until you are ready. You will know when that is. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Sarah blinked as she answered.

"Shelly will be training you on how to take better care of yourself."

The video clicked off.

There was silence as they processed what they heard.

***

Damen turned off the video recording for the FBI. They did not need to witness the rest of Sarah's programing. It wasn't their concern.

"You like Shelly, and you trust her." Damen told her softly. "You will do your best to please her."

"I like Shelly," Sarah told him.

"Do you like Steve?" He asked Sarah.

"I like Steve a lot," Sarah admitted.

"That's good. Steve is a good guy," Damen told her, "you can trust him, too."

"I will trust him," Sarah told them.

Steve sighed, and nodded to Damen. Her answer said it all. She was too conditioned. She would accept, without thought, the next male person who tried to control her. He had to be very careful. He had to make sure it wasn't just his own desires driving their relationship.

"There is something you must do next," Damen's tone changed, became authoritative, "You must begin and finish your training with Shelly," Damen ordered her, "nothing else is as important as for you to do that. You will know your training is complete when your teacher says to you these words— _Released from servitude_. Until you hear the words— _Released from servitude_ , you will not leave the house without permission. You will not allow anyone to persuade you to do something Shelly would not want you to do, no matter who they are. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Sarah answered.

"Tell me the words that will release you from your training?" Damen ordered her.

"Released from servitude," she answered.

"You will allow Steve to take you home to bed. You will allow for him to touch you. You will understand that it is not rape. He is teaching you about love and loving. You will not allow yourself to be subservient to him. You will not allow him to dominate you. Is that clear?"

"I don't understand," she frowned.

"Until your training is complete, you will not allow another to be forceful to you. Only Shelly may order you to do things. When she orders you—you must obey. Do you understand"

"Shelly will tell me what to do," she told him.

Damen studied her. That was not quite what he wanted, but he suspected that was all she could grasp at this time. She was relaxed, and had accepted the suggestion. She was ready to be brought out of her hypnotic state.

"I'm going to count backwards from ten," Damen told her. "When I'm at five, you will wake, but as I keep counting you will drift into a natural sleep. You will sleep until you are refreshed. Ten—nine—eight—seven—six—five"

She woke and frowned at Damen.

"four—three"

Her eyes fluttered.

"two—one."

She was sleeping soundly. Damen nodded to Steve.

Steve climbed out from behind her. He stretched out his stiff muscles, and then gently carried her through the tunnels to her bedroom. He laid her in the bed. He considered. Making a decision, he pulled his clothes off, and laid beside her. He held her through the night.

### ***

"Oh God!" Rebecca ran from the room. Elliot followed her.

Rebecca spent the next twenty minutes in the bathroom throwing up. She was shaky as she staggered out. Elliot reached for her, and pulled her into his arms. He held her tight.

"I don't know if I can do this," Rebecca laid her head on Elliot's chest.

"I don't see that there is a choice," Elliot told her gently. "Do you?"

"It's different then I thought," she murmured into his shirt. "I thought, no big deal. He shows his dirt-bag face. We kick his dirt-bag butt, and haul him in."

"Okay," Elliot spoke gently, "so he shows his face, his dirt-bag face, we kick his ass—his dirt-bag ass—and then we hall him in to face death by lethal injection. Almost the same thing as what you said."

"It's not funny!" She snapped.

"No," Elliot shook his head. "It is not at all funny! But we stop him. We do it so he can't keep doing this to other women!"

"Is she okay?" Tori asked him.

"No," Rebecca turned to face her. "I'm not okay. You may talk to me! I am perfectly capable of answering for myself! I'm pregnant, and I just saw a woman who looks almost exactly like me—describe in detail—what that Prick wants to do to me! So, No! I'm not the Fuck okay!"

Tori stared at her in shock!

"She's okay," Elliot told her as he walked Rebecca away.

Shelly was on the phone as Elliot led Rebecca back to the room. She was waiting for her answer concerning Ginger's retrieval. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed Armison and Nathan. Nathan nodded. He gave her a peculiar look as he walked away.

"We got them," a voice answered her question. "They should be delivered to Vermont in about eight hours."

Shelly hung up.

"Let's get back to things," Carl called out.

Shelly smiled as Rebecca and Elliot carried in a large pot of coffee with a stack of mugs. Rebecca winked at her.

"I'd like to open this discussion with questions about Thomas," Carl announced. "He was an inconvenience. Disposed of like a turd on the bottom of a shoe. We have to assume Carter will kill anyone who keeps him from Anna—Rebecca."

"And will kill without hesitation or thought," Nathan added, "a quick head shot is hard to defend against."

"Was he assassinated, then?" Shelly asked Nathan.

Nathan considered. "I really don't know," he admitted, "Usually someone is assassinated by the order of someone else. The lack of hesitation bothers me."

"Well, he obviously planned it," Tori mentioned, "he was in the house, before they got home. He'd already done the dog."

"That doesn't make any sense to me, either," Shelly stated.

"Was the dog trained to protect?" Adam asked. "If so, he could have gotten rid of the dog, and used it to scare Sarah into compliance."

"The dog was a golden lab," Shelly told them, "It was a pet."

"I think we are reading too much into it," Elliot frowned, "I think the guy just gets off on hurting and killing."

"It's a mute point," Rebecca called out, "we don't have a dog. The point is how do we protect each other, and how do we catch this guy?"

Shelly suddenly understood what the conversation was between Armison and Nathan. Carl had no intention of catching Carter, and Nathan had the bullet. She glanced at Nathan. He was watching her. She frowned. There were two different strategies at play. She was concerned that one would interfere with the other.

"We need to get Ginger and her daughter to somewhere safe," Tori announced.

"It's been taken care of by MONOP," Shelly answered distractedly.

"What else are they doing?" Carl asked her.

"Ask Leya," Shelly shrugged. "Besides breaking Sarah's conditioning, I don't know. Excuse me."

TOC
Chapter Twenty-One

Shelly walked out of the room. She was having trouble concentrating. She was having trouble blocking out everyone's anxiety. That particular emotion had always been a problem for her. She took her time in the bathroom trying to pull herself back together.

"Problem?" Nathan asked as she stepped out.

"Too intense is all," Shelly answered.

She made to walk passed him, but he turned, taking her arm. She frowned as she looked at his hand. It was large. The muscles in his forearms were well defined.

She stared at him. His blue eyes seemed unusually intense. His breathing was rapid. He was slight of build, but had the body of a warrior. She liked warrior bodies, much better than the bulky, he-man types. She reached up to touch his blond hair. It was silky. She wondered what his lips would feel like. She touched them lightly with her finger tips. They were firm, and strong. She liked strong, manly lips.

He reached up to pull her fingers away. He stared at the fingers he was holding. He looked confused as he let her go. He seemed to be as distracted as she was. Shelly couldn't read Nathan. Never had been able to. He was shielded too tightly. She'd never told him that, so he wouldn't know. She suspected that he was uneasy about what she might have sensed earlier, most people were nervous about her knowing things. She thought he might be concerned about her knowing what he and Armison had been talking about.

"I can't get a read on you," he surprised her by saying, "most people give away their thoughts if you know how to look."

Shelly paused. It was important that they trust one another. They had to watch each other's back. She and Nathan were strangers. Shrugging, she realized they needed a starting point. He didn't resist when she pulled him into an empty room.

She spoke quietly, "I've never told anyone this before," Shelly studied him, "probably, because it's never happened to me before, but I can't read you, either. Your shield is very dense. I observed the communication between you and Armison. I suspect I know what it means. My concern is not with the deed, but that with two groups making separate plans, I'm afraid something will go wrong and end badly. We keep messing up with this guy. He's too slippery. I'm afraid if we mess up again, one of us is going to die."

He studied her. He suddenly realized what it was about her that threw him off his game. He was overly suspicious. He was astounded at the realization. He couldn't get a read on her, because there was nothing suspicious to read! Everyone hid something. People always presented something that was not entirely true. She might not show what she was thinking, but she didn't throw up facades, either.

He trusted her. That surprised him. He never allowed complete trust between himself and another person. The fact that he was now, said a lot.

"I understand your concern. I've only been given one directive. There is no plan that will conflict with the team's decisions."

Shelly waited.

He studied her.

"If I see a shot," he told her, "I'm to take it."

Shelly nodded. She'd suspected something like that.

"I happen to agree with that directive," Shelly told him. "It might not be justice, but it is expedient. I don't want this guy getting away. I don't like it that he's coming after Rebecca."

She frowned. Her head buzzed. Her vision waivered. She started to slip towards the floor. He caught her up against himself. The intensity of his blue gaze startled her as he caught and held her.

"Something is wrong," she blinked trying not to lose consciousness. "Too much, too intense. People—doing—pain—shouting," she was babbling.

Shelly suddenly felt herself lifted up, and pulled against him. He ran with her back to the team room. He sat her at the table, and positioned her arms to protect her head. He stood behind her. Only Keaton had noticed their return. He was standing across the room with clenched hands—watching them.

Nathan felt a rush of anger. He had done nothing wrong! Keaton didn't own Shelly. They had not declared a monogamist relationship to each other. He was as free to court her as anyone else! He found himself taking a step towards Keaton, and stopped. Frowning, he looked around.

Rebecca and Elliot were yelling at each other in the corner of the room. Carl was brooding as he glared into his coffee cup. Tori, he was surprised to see, was fondling her breast as she watched Adam. Sam was scowling as he looked out the window. Adam was reading a report. He seemed oblivious to all the drama.

Nathan studied his own state. He'd been anxious as to what Shelly might have sensed. Confused and amorous when she'd touched his lips. He'd definitely been feeling horny as he carried her back to the room. Tender when he placed her at the table. Furious with Keaton. Territorial over Shelly. He frowned—now anxious again. A kaleidoscope of emotions.

Shelly was shuddering with psychic pain. He knew that feel!

"Stop it!" he yelled into the room.

Adam looked up from his report to stare at Nathan. Startled, he looked around him. His eyebrows rose.

Nathan realized that Adam was the only one in the room not drinking coffee. A can of pop sat beside the report.

Nathan picked up a chair, and crashed it against the wall.

"I said to STOP!" Nathan yelled at them.

Everyone stopped to stare at him.

"Now that I have your attention," Nathan told them. "The coffee's been tampered with. Shelly is in a state of collapse, and you are ALL effected, over emotional—except Adam."

"In water," Shelly said weakly, "everyone—all over."

Rebecca ran to the computer, and pulled up the building surveillance cameras. People were in the hallways yelling and fighting with each other. There was a fender bender in the parking garage with a woman actually hitting her purse on a man. In one room, a meeting had erupted into chaos. In another, a man had a woman pinned up against the wall, screwing her.

"I think, I know her," Tori growled. She stopped, startled.

"Too, much," Shelly stumbled out of the chair.

"Where are you going?" Keaton grabbed her arm.

She growled at him and twisted away. She stumbled towards the door.

"Oh, God!" Rebecca caught their attention.

Shelly leaned against the frame, and slid down to the floor.

There was a man in the lobby with a canister. People were running out of the building. Rebecca turned on the sound.

"—planted four of these in the building." he was shouting. "You will give me what I want, or help me God! The first one will go off in thirty minutes. After that, one every ten minutes!"

"No," Shelly muttered. "Not him—a nut. Agitated. He's looking for Anna. Chaos—confusion. He's in the building. I can't focus—where."

"Shelly! Focus on my voice. Block everything else out." Keaton stepped towards her. She raised her hand to ward him off. Her eyes begged for him to stop.

"Can't Keaton," she was in pain.

She turned to Nathan. Her eyes wouldn't focus. Her head was pounding. "2BL."

He nodded. "I'm taking her to 2BL East. Do not follow us."

"Why you?" Keaton challenged him.

"I'm the only one she can't sense," Nathan answered, challenging him.

Shelly instinctively drew away when Keaton tried to help her up.

"Sohry," she murmured.

"I'm stronger than I look," Nathan stared at Keaton.

Keaton backed away to allow him access to Shelly.

Nathan reached down, and pulled her to her feet. He half lead, half carried her to the elevator. By then most of the people had fled the floor. The few remaining took one look at them, and went the other way. It was rumored that the canisters were filled with Anthrax.

"Get out," Nathan growled at the people in the elevator.

They hurried to comply. Nathan pressed 3BL. Shelly wasn't in a state to notice.

3BL was three floors beneath the parking structure. As the elevator went down, Shelly started to rouse. She found herself pressed against the elevator wall by Nathan's body.

"Not how I imagined my day," she murmured into his chest.

He laughed.

"Can you stand if I move away," Nathan asked.

"I feel drunk," Shelly frowned. "This has never happened before."

"Overwhelmed?" He asked.

"That, too," she nodded.

The door opened. It was dark except for the emergency lighting. The floor was deserted.

"Can you sense anyone around?" Nathan asked her.

"No one," she sighed with relief. "I think, I can walk now."

He took a step back. She started to slip downward. He caught her.

"Damn," Shelly was confused. "I can't seem to get it together. I don't understand."

"Okay," Nathan muttered. "This is going to get fresh."

Nathan faced her and picked her up, cradling her butt. He forced her to straddle his body with her legs. He walked with her out of the elevator.

"I would have done this earlier, but was afraid Keaton would deck me." He carried her down to the far end of the corridor. Shelly giggled. Her eyes widened as she pressed her hand tight against her mouth. He stared down at her. She had a wild urge to kiss him. Her eyes dilated. She felt her nipples peak.

He set her on the sofa in a small room. A table and two chairs sat in one corner. A cabinet sat in the other. The floor had the same brown-green square carpet pieces as the rest of the building. She frowned. It looked brighter. She watched as he climbed up on the chair, and ripped the hidden camera out of the ceiling.

"It had no business being in here," he said irritably.

He walked over and locked the door. She was surprised. Most rooms didn't have locks on the inside.

"Where are we?" Shelly frowned as she looked around. "This isn't 2 lower."

"We're in 3 lower," Nathan answered.

"Strange room," Shelly frowned. "Why so small?"

"It's a woman's pumping room," Nathan explained, "for breast feeding. This area of the floor is unused—budget cuts. Are you okay now?"

Nathan's phone rang.

Shelly just shrugged.

"Stay with her," it was Adam. "Don't come up, either of you, until I call back," He hung up.

Nathan stared at Shelly. Adam had taken over the team. He had to assume the drug was intensifying with time. Armison was the biggest coffee drinker. He considered, followed by Keaton. He was glad this room locked. He just didn't need that right then.

Her eyes opened wide.

"I can feel you," Shelly said surprised. "You're really frustrated."

Nathan pressed his eyes closed.

"It's gone!" Shelly struggled to sit up. She managed, but it was harder than it should have been.

"We were both drinking coffee," he reminded her. "He must have put in an un-inhibiter into the water."

"I also had water from the fridge," Shelly added.

"I've no idea how long the water's been tainted," Nathan frowned.

"A work crew was down in the street when Keaton and I arrived," Shelly shook her head.

She couldn't do the math. Her brain was still buzzed.

"He must have broken the waterline," Nathan began to pace, "and then spiked it. Clever. I can't think of a better way of getting inside the building. He probably also incited that guy to come in here claiming to have a bomb. The timing is too well played."

"Stop pacing," Shelly snapped at him.

Nathan's jaw clenched. Shelly didn't have any warning before he dived towards her, grabbed her up, and kissed her. He took her roughly—aggressively. He pressed his tongue deep inside her mouth. Her nipples tingled.

"I pace," he growled against her lips, "or I screw you. Your choice!"

He held her tightly against himself, waiting for an answer. His cock was big enough to split out his pants. He felt hungrier than he'd ever felt before!

In answer, she pulled his hair to pull his lips back down to hers. She pressed her breasts tight against him. She kissed him feverishly, needing the feel of him. He took over the kiss, and plunged deeply into her mouth. His tongue felt hot and large as he tormented the inside of her mouth.

Gone, was the analytical computer expert. Nathan was primal. He pulled her down flat on the sofa, and rolled on top of her. He held her face between his hands as he forcefully took her lips. He groaned as he rubbed against her.

"I've wanted to do this since the day I met you," he growled.

"Shut-up!" Shelly told him.

He rolled off, and pulled off his clothes. His shoulders were broad and powerful. He was lean, his muscles ridged and strong. His stomach was flat. He had dark tight nipples and hard pecs. She eyed his abnormally large, thick cock. She found herself fumbling with her buttons.

He watched intently as she worked her own clothes off. She was lush with curves. Her skin was cream and silk.

She couldn't get the damn bra unhooked. He slid up behind her and undid it for her. She felt him bite the back of her neck as he pulled the bra away. Her breasts filled his hands. Her nipples were dusty pink and peaked up hard. He pressed them up tight against her as he rolled the mounds in his palms. She gasped as he pinched her nipples. Her pussy clinched with heat. Her clit roused excitedly.

"Nero-stimulator," she murmured.

"Shut-up," he laughed, pulling her down to the floor.

His body was hot as he covered her. He was hungry as he took her lips. She could feel his cock as he slid it against her. It was big and hard. She was wet. Her clit swollen with need. She wiggled against him desperately wanting him to fill her. Her nipples were almost painful, craving his touch.

His fingers separated her folds, and he thrust hard inside her, filling her to the fullest. She gasped as her pussy clenched around him, gripping him as he pulled away. He bent her knees, and thrust into her again.

He started pounded into her. She could feel his balls banging against her butt. She met each thrust aggressively—wanting more!

Nathan grasped her hands and raised them above her head. He held them as he raised himself above her. He wanted to watch her. Wanted to see her passion as he mounted her—as he pounded deep inside her. His thrusts hit deep, and she whimpered from the intensity of it. She snarled at him as she raised her feet to clinch against his shoulders, taking him deeper still. He pounded her harder—faster.

She was right on the edge. She moaned wanting more. He bent down and bit her nipple, bit it hard, and sucked it up deep into his mouth. She gasped at the sensations of his tongue as it tortured the very tip. He moved to the other breast. She waited in anticipation. He didn't disappoint. He bit the very tip of her nipple. She could feel his teeth as he held it, pulling it upwards, biting it harder.

Spasms racked through her body. She cried out with the intensity he was provoking with his thrusts. Her pussy clenched and unclenched against his cock. He pressed himself deep inside her, rocking against her clit.

The intensity, thrashing through her body, started to abate just as he started stroking inside her again. She whimpered, feeling his hard cock deep inside her tight clenching pussy. He pounded her faster and harder. She was wet—so wet. He rolled with her, putting her up on top. He pulled her legs wide to the side. He was so deep within her that she wasn't sure she could move. He didn't give her a choice as he thrust deeply up into her, lifting them both off the floor.

Holding her thighs, he pulled her legs downward as he again lifted her up off the floor. He bounced her on his cock. She stared down at him. His eyes were a shocking, electric blue as he stared into hers.

For a splinter of an instant, she felt him, felt his need, his hunger—his passion. She screamed with her climax as it took her over. Every muscle in her body spasmed and shuddered. She felt his cock get bigger. She was lifted up off her knees as he sent his cum shooting into her. He growled and jerked with the release of it. He kept his back arched, his pelvic pivoted high as she again released on him.

Breathing deeply, he lowered them back to the floor. He was still inside her as she lowered her face to his chest breathing hard. She could hear the beating of his heart. His arms reached around her as he held her tight.

For the first time ever, she relaxed into the bliss of her own thoughts—her own emotions. She could relax against a partner without being thrashed around by his emotions. Her heart beat slowed to a normal pace. She shuddered as she felt him slip out of her. They laid together for quite a while.

"Getting cold," she murmured.

She felt Nathan laugh. She realized that she could have simply gotten up, and sat on the sofa. She sighed not wanting to move. She gasped with surprise when Nathan suddenly stood with her, and sat her on the sofa. He gathered up their clothes, and tossed her a pair of pants and a shirt.

"What about my underwear?" She asked him.

"Fine," he growled as he tossed her the rest.

Laughing, she got dressed, leaving the underwear on the table. Nathan stared at them as he pulled on his pants. His eyes were hungry as he stared into her.

"Again," her eyes got big, "already."

He shrugged and looked away.

"Not much in this room for warmth," he told her.

He opened the cabinet, and pulled out the light weight covers. She frowned wondering why they were there. Then she remembered the function of the room.

He settled next to her, and covered her as best he could. She cuddled up against him. Appreciating his heat. The room was cold.

"Why do you know about this room?" Shelly asked him. "Is it why you are Michele Jansen?"

"Maybe, I just like to wear a silky dress now and then," Nathan answered.

Shelly didn't smile. She didn't need to be an empath to know something about this room bothered him. She heard him sigh.

"Five years ago," Nathan started quietly, "Agent Tina Moore committed suicide in this room."

Shelly shivered. He held her tighter.

"I started the Arsenal," he told her. "It was directed to the needs of women agents. Tina suffered from postpartum depression. No one realized it at the time. She felt isolated and cut off. Instead of this room being a sanctuary, it became a cage, and a joke to the other agents—male agents.

"I liked Tina, but I wasn't a friend—a confidant. I was as shocked as everyone else when she died. There weren't any other women agents in our division. There were clerks and admins, but she couldn't talk to them. They wouldn't understand what she dealt with. As you know, this stuff gets pretty damn ugly. If you don't see it—you really don't get it."

"You feel guilty?" She was surprised to have to ask that of anyone.

"More sad than guilt," he told her. "She was pretty and clever. She had a talent for saying the driest things in the heart of stress which would make everyone laugh. Her death was a waste. She was needed by us, by her family, by her baby daughter. Sometimes, I just get mad!"

"The Arsenal?" Shelly asked.

"I started the thing more as a vent than because I thought it was useful," he smiled, "once the thing was released, it seemed to have a mind and heart of its own."

"I like it," Shelly told him, "no topic is taboo. I like that it's only for the FBI women—except for Michele of course."

"There are a few other men registered, too," he admitted. "Logins are required with real names, and are compared against the personnel database, but usernames can be anything. I, of course, have access to all of it."

Shelly was pleased to hear that men were involved, but had not been allowed to take it over.

"I'm, Mood Sifter," Shelly told him.

"I know," he told her. "They call you Moodie."

She blushed. She'd been into some pretty heated arguments in the forum. It was unnerving that Nathan had read them.

"I wish I could sew these damn things together," Shelly complained as another blanket fell onto the floor. "What stupid little things. Like it would matter in here." She frowned, "and just why the Fuck was there a camera in here anyway?"

"Bureaucracy," he answered dryly.

Silence stretched between them.

She watched with surprise as he unzipped his pants, and pulled out his big cock. She didn't say a word as he pulled her onto his lap to face him.

"It would be easier without your pants on," he stared into her eyes as he whispered against her lips. "We might be here all night."

"God, I hope so," she murmured as she kissed him.

TOC
Chapter Twenty-Two

Only a minimal amount of FBI staff were able to function the next day. The Director of the FBI called an emergency meeting of staff to discuss the incident. They realized that the perpetrator could have killed almost every person in the building had he used a different contaminant. There was one reported fatality. A senior agent, Special Agent Timothy Dover, who had a heart attack.

Instructions were immediately drawn up, and put into place. All facility work that would affect the FBI building, whether it be by air, by water, or even by soil, not performed by a FBI licensed contractor, would be supervised by agents before the project was initiated, and until the work was finished. Any and all work within a ten block radius would be suspect and investigated.

The drug had been fast acting. The chemists calculated it took only ten minutes before a person was impaired with a lack coordination and judgement. It was described as a mix of a un-inhibitor and a stimulant.

Major fights had broken out. Long time grudges came to a head. Sexual tension, aggression, and attraction were expressed. It wasn't just the incident that had to be considered, but how to proceed from the ramifications.

Of the team, Adam was the only one who had not been infused with the drug. To say that he'd been unaffected was incorrect. He'd been the only one capable of making decisions.

Elliot and Rebecca kept oscillating between anger and amorous swings. Now of course, everyone knew Rebecca was pregnant, and that Elliot was the father.

Armison and Keaton had to be physically restrained. Medics had been called in to sedate both of them.

Adam had to continuously dodge Tori's amorous attention. Which resulted in her either being embarrassed, angry, or crying.

Sam had kept it together pretty well. He'd mostly glared, or giggled.

The new guy Rebecca had hired, ran for the hills. It was doubtful, they would ever see him again.

And Shelly and Nathan? Adam had forgotten about them. By the time he'd called them, a sleepy Nathan answered the phone, said they were fine and hung up. He could hear Shelly laughing in the background. Adam didn't even want to know!

With the exception of Armison and the new guy, the team managed to drag themselves in to work the next day.

"I don't think his plan worked very well," Shelly told them.

"What?" Elliot could barely open his eye. Rebecca had given him a good smack.

"Douglas Carter," she paused as she studied them, "I think he probably got more than he bargained for."

"How would you know?" Keaton asked her. "You were locked away in a room with him all night."

He glared at Nathan.

Shelly stared down at him, "Do you really want to air our business right here, right now? Because, I have no problem doing so. In fact, if we all air out our grievances we might get back to the matter at hand. Catching a serial killer who likes to chop up women. I think that's more pressing than your ego!"

Keaton sulked.

"Fine!" She growled at him. "I'll even go first. Yes, you and I had a sexual relationship. I did tell you up front that I would never be monogamous. That being an empath in that kind of a relationship was too enslaving. I told you that I enjoyed the kink of MONOP, and would not give it up. Yes, I screwed Nathan. Yes, he was very, very good! What all that means to the future? I don't have a clue! And yes, I'm very angry with you right now!"

Everyone's eyes were huge. Tori had to consciously shut her mouth. Keaton's face was red and angry.

Shelly stood and glared at them. This was why she was a part of MONOP. Those people were forced by the nature of the business to be true to themselves first, and above all else.

"I can't and will not work like this!" She told them. "Imagine being stung by all you damn, big, bees all the time. It hurts, damn it! If you'd been honest with yourselves, and each other, you wouldn't be in this state!"

She walked out of the room, out of the building, and to the airport. She took a flight straight out to Park Place.

"Way to go you guys!" Tori glared between Keaton and Nathan.

"You're one to talk," Rebecca scolded. "Acting like the cat in heat. Chasing all the men around."

"To be fair," Adam intervened, "she only chased me. Elliot was quit safe from her."

"Yeah?" Tori stood and yelled at her. "Well, you and Elliot were practically screwing in the corner! How do you think that makes a person feel who hasn't gotten any in a while!"

They all stared at her. She flushed, and left the room. Nathan stood to follow her out.

"Where are you going?" Keaton asked.

For answer, Nathan stared at Rebecca, "Do you remember, Agent Tina Moore?"

"Of course," Rebecca frowned at him.

"That's where Shelly and I were all night," he told her, "It was the only place I could think of that was deep enough away from all the drama."

"Oh God!" Rebecca paled.

Nathan left the room.

"What did he mean?" Keaton wanted to know.

"Tina suicided in that room." Rebecca's face was white. "It was the women's breast pumping room in the 3L."

Silence met her explanation.

"No one knew to help her," Rebecca murmured.

Adam stood, and went in search of Tori. He found her sobbing on Nathan's shoulder.

"I got this," Adam told him.

Nathan studied him.

Adam squatted down to talk to Tori, "Tori, I'm sorry. I am a dolt."

Nathan nodded and moved away. Tori turned to Adam. He pulled her into his arms.

Adam had not meant to put Tori at risk. He knew that she was vulnerable. Shelly and Nathan had shamed him—shamed them all. They had behaved callously of each other's feelings.

He wasn't in love with Tori, but he did love her. He'd been an idiot treating her so coldly—so professionally. He did like and admire her. It would be a sad and lonely place without her.

Nathan returned to the room to find the team talking quietly. He went to stare out the window. He knew when Keaton was beside him, but didn't look at him.

"I have no right to be possessive of her," Keaton murmured looking out the window. "She was very clear. She promised me one day. I've been fortunate to spend more than that with her. I got greedy. It was stupid."

"Don't you think you should be telling her that?" Nathan turned to look at him.

"Yeah," Keaton nodded, "I just wanted to clear the air. Amy is so going to whip my ass for upsetting Shelly! Especially, since I was being territorial."

Keaton laughed.

"Who's Amy?" Nathan asked.

Keaton pulled out his wallet. He pulled out a picture.

"Dominatrix Amalia Vixen," Keaton handed him the picture. "My trainer, and now my butt buster."

"This is a real person?" Nathan's eyes dilated.

"Oh, she's real all right," Keaton sighed.

Keaton had just handed him a picture of one of the most sexually stimulating women he'd ever seen. He could think of a million things he'd like to do with her. If she wanted to smack his ass, he'd be happy for the smacking.

Mistress Amalia stared back at him with sultry dark eyes, ruby red lips, and a scarlet blouse cut so low he could almost see to her nipples. He could see all the cleavage of her double-D's. Her hair was gold. It danced around her shoulders as if she'd just climbed out of bed. She looked tossable—except for the whip she was holding. She held it as if she knew how to use it.

He stared at Keaton. And Keaton was making stupid about Shelly? He did have it bad. He almost felt sorry for the guy—almost.

TOC
Chapter Twenty-Three

Shelly cried herself out, and was better for it. MONOP was her home. She'd tried to explain that to Keaton. She sighed. She'd thought he'd got it!

"I am so going to whip his ass," Amy promised Shelly.

Shelly laughed.

"Let him out of my sight for one week, and he backslides into a total Ass!" Amy ranted. "He's no innocent babe. He had no problem sticking his dick in here and there. Who the hell does he think he is?"

"Can I watch?" Shelly asked.

"Oh course," Amy smiled wickedly.

Shelly grinned, then her smile changed.

"I shouldn't have ran out," she told Amy. "This perp made a mess of the FBI. He just keeps doing the unexpected. He's so damn bold. He doesn't have any boundaries. He's so sadistic it makes me sick."

"We can protect Rebecca here," Amy reminded her.

"Rebecca wouldn't stand for it," Shelly grinned. "She should be one of us! Tori called her an Imp, because she was beating everyone's ass! You would like her. On second thought, never mind. The two of you together? Oh My God!"

Shelly shuddered. Amy just laughed.

"So tell me about Nathan?" Amy asked.

"My God! His stamina!" Shelly's eyes were big. "I don't know if it was the drug or him? He didn't act like it was any big deal, so I have to assume it was all him—and he's not proportional! He's slight, and only a few inches taller than I am, but he's got longer arms, and a much longer cock! He's got a longer tongue, too—now that I think about it."

"Obviously, _all_ fully functional?" Amy asked.

"Obviously," Shelly laughed. "I couldn't believe the way he could bend. At one point I'm on top, and then suddenly he's bending around to wedge me against himself."

Shelly looked straight at the camera and grinned, "I bet he could give Damen and Leya a run for their money!"

"Can he take on both of us?" Amy's eyes glowed.

"You're salivating dear," Shelly laughed.

"Sounds like a good person to recruit," Amy mentioned.

Shelly frowned.

"What is it?" Amy asked.

"I can't sense his emotions," Shelly mentioned, "not usually. It's like he's always shielded. His shields are really tight. It's a relief, but I think there is something dark there.

"Not evil," Amy told her, "you don't need to sense evil."

"No, not evil," Shelly agreed. "In fact, he cares deeply about things. No, more like damaged. Like soldiers get when they have to kill on command. Kill when they don't approve."

"He wouldn't be the first," Amy reminded her. "Most of our Operatives are damaged."

"I'm just not used to not knowing _everything_ about how a person feels," Shelly admitted. "It's a relief, but it also makes me feel vulnerable."

"Welcome to the rest of the world, honey!" Amy frowned at her.

"I know, I know," Shelly smiled. "Yeah, he could take us both on. I can just imagine it!"

Shelly would never admit it to _anyone_ , but she was feeling a little tender. Delightfully so, but unusually so. She'd never had one man who could keep up with her like that. She hoped he wasn't going to burn out. She'd never met anyone like him before. He had no equal in her book, and she couldn't even begin to count how many men she'd had—Doms and Subs.

### ***

"Contortionist with the extra vertebrae?" Leya asked.

"Maybe we should invite him to the Park," Damen laughed. "The girls seem to want him here!"

"What about the men?" Leya eyed Damen.

"I'd make bet on it," Damen's eyes twinkled.

She smirked.

### ***

Keaton called. He admitted that he was an idiot, and that Amy was going to beat him silly.

"Oh yeah," Shelly assured him. "She's buffing up the crop and the whip."

Keaton cringed.

"I am really sorry and stupid," Keaton told her. "Nathan and I seem to be okay."

"Did you beat the shit out of each other?" Shelly asked.

"Of course not," she could hear his frown.

"I thought that was how you guys worked," she told him. "You beat each other up, and then you become beer buddies for life."

"Close," Keaton admitted.

Next she received a text from Nathan. She showed it to Amy. They both laughed.

"Keaton showed me your girlfriend," he texted, "can I come and play. I promise to be really bad to both of you."

She texted back.

"Amy is salivating,"

He texted, ROTFLMAO!

"What does that mean?" Amy asked.

"God," Shelly glared at her. "You really need to broaden your mind to other things than just sex. It means—Rolling On The Floor Laughing My Ass Off!"

"I can think of better things to do on the floor." Amy grumbled.

Shelly grinned and text him Amy's reply.

"Why isn't he phoning you?" Amy asked. "I'd like to hear his voice."

"Probably covert somewhere," Shelly answered. "Probably not even supposed to be texting."

"Ooww," Amy growled, "and a deviant."

"Down girl," Shelly rolled her eyes.

"Are you going back?" Amy asked her.

Shelly paused.

"I have to," she answered, "for Rebecca. It would destroy me if the Monster got her, and I did nothing to stop it. Even by being away right now, I've put her at risk."

"You had to get your shit back together," Amy glared at her, "otherwise you put everyone at risk. You also had to let them sort themselves out. Otherwise, they would have made you go freak'n nuts.

"Yeah," Shelly had to agree.

Amy had been there when she was first brought in to MONOP. She'd seen the mess she was before she'd learned to shield. The Park, was where she'd learned it all.

Shelly stayed one night, bouncing around between rooms and partners, before flying back. She felt refreshed, and ready to face FBI reality once again. She was seriously considering giving up her consultant role. They needed her more than she needed them! Sometimes, she wondered why she let them talk her into these cases. There were always Monsters. That fact never seemed to change.

Shelly arrived back late the next afternoon. As Amy predicted, everyone had sorted themselves out. They were once again focused on finding Douglas Carter. The computer where he'd taken over the webcam was back in Rebecca's office. She was back in her office.

"Where's Armison?" Shelly asked Rebecca.

"Adam says he's still with the Director's staff," Rebecca shrugged.

Keaton wasn't there, either. He'd been sent for by Amy. Until he was removed from MONOP's contract, he belonged to them. That meant to Amy. Shelly grinned.

Adam asked her and Nathan to do a walk about to see if she sensed anything. Nathan stared at her. She frowned at him. She wondered what had gone wrong while she was away. She needn't have worried. As soon as they were in the elevator, Nathan hit the stop button. He pushed her against the wall, and kissed her deeply, passionately. She could feel the bulge in his pants. Just as quickly he let her go, and started the elevator.

"Amy wants us both to do you at the same time," Shelly told him.

She laughed softly when his cock jerked.

"You are really, really bad," he glared at her.

She smiled.

Nathan's phone rang, "I want you guys back here!" Adam told him, "He's using the cam from a cafe. I've sent Elliot to find him."

"Right," Nathan agreed and hung up.

"Carter's spying on Rebecca," Nathan told her, "he's at a cafe. He sent Elliot out."

Shelly frowned. It didn't feel right. She didn't talk about it, but she had other minor gifts. One of them was flagging. She hit the stop button. She needed to trance.

Nathan watched her. He'd been suspicious that she was more gifted than she wanted others to know about. He could see the flutter of emotions as they traveled across her face.

He was already calling Elliot.

"Get out of there now!" Nathan told Elliot.

"It's a trap!" Shelly's face was white and strained, "he's using Elliot as bait to draw her out. He saw them. He knows she will run to him."

All Nathan could hear was the sound of Elliot's phone as it skidded across the floor. He hung up and dialed Adam.

"It was a trap," he told him. "Elliot's down. I don't know how bad."

"Get up here, I want you and Shelly with Rebecca." Adam yelling for the team. "Sam with me! Tori follow as soon as Nathan and Shelly are here!"

Adam hung up. Shelly had already resumed the elevator. It felt like forever before they could change its direction, and head back up.

"Carter's not in the building," Shelly kept reminding herself.

Nathan grabbed her, and turned her to face him. His eyes burned into hers. She was suddenly calm. She blinked with surprise.

"The FBI collects a lot of freaks," he told her.

"I like your kind of freakie," she told him, rubbing his pants.

"I never thought I'd be doing this," he grabbed her hand, and stared into her eyes, "stopping you from touching me."

"I'm thinking about leaving," she told him as he held her hand, "going MONOP full time."

"Maybe you should," he told her.

"Maybe you should join us," she suggested.

His face registered surprise—and then all expression was gone.

The elevator opened. They hurried out. Adam and Sam had already left. Tori was with Rebecca. Both women had their guns unholstered. As soon as Tori saw them, she holstered her gun, and was running for the door.

"I've never been a field agent," Rebecca growled, "but for the first time, I resent being left at the office!"

"Try to make contact," Nathan suggested.

"How?" Rebecca asked.

"Just sit at the computer with the webcam on," Nathan answered. "He's either watching, or he's not. Just do whatever seems natural."

Rebecca nodded and sat at the computer.

"I never did figure out where he gets the money to be doing all this shit!" Rebecca started typing like mad.

Shelly nodded approvingly.

Nathan gave her an inquisitive glance. She shook her head and shrugged. He nodded. That was why she didn't tell other people about her other gifts. They would not accept the fact that the gifts weren't as readily available, or as controlled as her empathy.

The empathy never left her. It was the same to her as sight and sound. She didn't know why she sometimes knew things, but when she did, she knew them as fact.

She knew Elliot had been shot. She didn't know how bad! The waiting was tearing her up inside.

Shelly looked up when Rebecca gasped. Rebecca rose suddenly and turned to run. Nathan had to tackle her down to the floor. Shelly had never seen Rebecca so frenzied.

"Stop it, Rebecca!" Nathan was barely able to restrain her.

"Let me go!" Rebecca was screaming, "Let me go!"

"Rebecca!" Shelly was screaming at her. "Rebecca!" Shelly was pounding on the floor with the flat of her hand trying to get her attention.

She thrashed Nathan about violently trying to get free! He hung on with dogged determination, doing his best to bind her down without hurting her!

"Let her hit me," she told Nathan.

He blinked with surprise, but he understood.

Shelly got close enough to take a punch from Rebecca. She flew across the room. Rebecca reeled in shock as she stared at Shelly lying on the floor. It was enough of a pause for Nathan to handcuff her to a table.

"Let me go!" Rebecca shouted at him.

Ignoring her, he turned to Shelly. She wasn't moving. His heart pounded in his throat. He bent down to her. She was breathing. Her pulse was strong. A bruise was forming on her temple. He lightly touched the spot. Her scull did not seem to be cracked.

"Shelly!" he called to her.

"Oh God!" Rebecca turned to the side, and was sick.

Rebecca fished into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She called for an ambulance.

"I'm so sorry," she kept repeating, "I'm so sorry."

Tears were streaming down her face.

Nathan moved over to crouch down beside Rebecca. He pulled her face around to look at her.

"She let you hit her," Nathan told her. "She knew it was the only way to shock you back to reason. She didn't plan on getting hit so hard, but this is not your fault. It's his!"

Nathan pointed at the computer. Carter's face was in the monitor. He was frowning. They were out of range of the webcam. All Carter could see was an empty chair. He smiled.

"He's using a laptop," Rebecca whispered, "with a disconnected cam. That's how he's changing the view. He made me watch as Elliot was down and bleeding!"

Nathan called Adam, "He's in the street watching you. He's carrying a laptop. He's deliberately trying to lure Rebecca down there. Where are you guys?"

"Cafe by D Street," Adam answered. "I can see the FBI building. He must be here waiting for her. Elliot will survive. Tell her. He meant it to be messy, not deadly."

Adam hung up.

Rebecca was one-handedly punching in code to use the street cameras.

"D Street." Nathan told her. "Elliot's shot, but will make it. The bastard meant for it to look bad."

Nathan sat near Shelly. He wanted to cradle her, but was afraid of damaging her. The paramedics soon arrived.

"We can't move her out yet," Nathan told them. "I can't leave either woman unprotected, and they can't both go out."

"Yes, sir," the paramedic replied puzzled, "I'll take her vitals, and arrange transport."

"He's wondering why I'm handcuffed," Rebecca glared at Nathan, "so am I?"

Nathan watched them as they worked on Shelly.

Shelly groaned.

"Good girl," he muttered, seeing her come to.

"In case you go off on me again," Nathan told her bluntly as he stared into her eyes. "I might not be able to bring you down again."

"I won't," Rebecca frowned at him.

"Even if that nut puts a gun to Elliot's head?" Nathan asked her.

Silence.

"Vitals are good," he was told, "probably a concussion."

"I've had worse," Shelly muttered.

"Ready to get off the floor?" Nathan asked her.

"But, I like it on the floor," she whispered lightly.

Despite himself, he smiled at her words.

"But it's cold on the floor," he whispered back. "Let's get you a bed."

He nodded for them to lift her to the gurney.

"Damn!" Rebecca watched as gun fire erupted.

"Hey! That's D Street," one of the paramedic's said with surprise.

"Yes," Nathan answered the unspoken question.

They watched tensely as activity went on down the street.

"No, no, no!" Rebecca screamed at the screen. "That's him! He's slipping away!"

"He's by the side of the bank," Nathan said into the phone.

Carter looked straight into the camera and fired a shot. Their view died.

"Damn it! He took out our camera," he told Adam.

"I'm trying for the east camera," Rebecca told him.

It was pink!

"Some Asshole put gum on it," Rebecca shouted. "I can try for another camera, but unless he moves in that direction, it'll be useless."

They were looking through a camera without any significant view. They could see the FBI building.

"Whoopi," Rebecca said with disgust.

"He's gone," Adam told them, "slipped down a sewer hole."

"Rat went to ground," Nathan scowled.

"Damn," Rebecca stared at the screen. "Now, take this damn thing off me!"

"Not until Adam gives the all clear," Nathan glared at her.

"Are you on speaker?" Adam asked.

"Affirmative," Nathan replied.

"Take it to ear."

Rebecca glared, but Nathan complied without hesitation.

"I'm having Elliot flown out," Adam told him. "I don't want Rebecca to know where he's going."

"Agreed," Nathan told him. "Shelly's down, possible concussion. Clear to take her to the hospital?"

"Is she awake?" Adam asked.

"Yes," Nathan answered.

"Give me fifteen minutes," Adam told him.

They waited.

"All clear," Adam told them.

"Elliot's being flown out," Nathan told Rebecca. "It won't do you any good to go running out there."

"Bastard," Rebecca glared at him as he undid the handcuff.

Nathan regarded her coldly.

Nathan turned to Shelly, "I have to stay."

"I know," Shelly nodded as she turned to Rebecca. "We just saved you from a fate worse then death. I don't think Elliot will mind—do you?"

Rebecca looked away. There were tears in her eyes.

"You can move her out now," Nathan told the paramedics.

Shelly spent the next few hours in the hospital being poked, and prodded. She had a concussion—big surprise. Her head felt as if it was going to explode. She just wanted to go home! Nathan came in to pick her up. She sighed with relief.

She didn't feel as if she could take much more. Everyone was crowding in on her. She wanted to throw up.

"Get me out of here—now!" she pleaded with Nathan.

Nathan nodded. He started wheeling her out. The nursing staff started running after them, yelling. Shelly would have laughed if her head hadn't hurt so much.

Nathan kept an eye on Shelly as he drove. He knew where she lived. He knew where all his team lived. It had always been important for him to know as much as possible about his peers.

He was stopped at the gate of the parking garage. He showed his badge, and was allowed to enter. Shelly was somewhat dazed as he led her to the elevator. They'd given her Tylenol at the hospital, but it wasn't helping her pain much. Like before, he carried her with his hands under her butt, and her legs straddling him. Her cheek was pressed against his heart.

"Code?" He whispered into her ear.

"93164," she murmured.

Shelly's apartment was on the top floor of the Elgin Tower. For an Empath, it was either up or down. Up to the clouds, or down to live in the basements. Shelly had taken the more expensive high road. Her apartment was plush and expensive. He was not surprised.

Nathan frowned when he saw the waterbed. He was afraid that in her current condition, the bed would make her sick. He went into the second bedroom, and sighed with relief. It held a Queen pillow-top.

"Can you sit in the chair as I get the bed ready?" He asked her.

"Yes," she answered without opening her eyes.

He pulled the window shades down, cutting out most of the light. He pulled down the comforter and sheet. He gently carried her over, and placed her in the bed. Being careful of her head, he gently stripped her naked, and pulled the blankets up.

Once, he had her situated, he went into the living room—and paced. He paced to relieve himself of his sexual tension. He paced to distract himself from the naked woman in the other room. He paced to think.

Carter was not being passive about going after Rebecca. He seemed passive in his pursuits of the women unless there was a male involved. Then he turned the aggressor. He had surprised them again by setting up Elliot as bait to lure Rebecca out. They had not anticipated that. They knew he was capable of killing a male without hesitation, but had not considered him _using_ the male.

Rebecca had been spot-on in class when she mentioned that they weren't looking for new possibilities, but going back to what they thought they already understood. Carter had the training, the surveillance, the flash drives, and the special compound he'd used in the water. He could vanish and reappear. He was methodical. He could live in the small confinement of a van.

It was not by mistake that he had escaped down the sewer. He had done reconnaissance. The sewage system had been his emergency backup plan. Carter was a governmental operative!

His van should still be somewhere in the vicinity of D Street. Somewhere between the Cafe, and the FBI building. He would have needed it to abduct Rebecca.

Nathan started to call Adam, and then hesitated. His gut told him something wasn't right. Where was Armison? The story Adam gave the team wasn't supported. The Director and staff were done with deliberations, but Armison had not returned. The perp had turned the tables, and was now stalking the team. His plan had almost worked. It had gotten at least two people injured. One almost killed.

He flipped open his phone and made a call. The call was not to Special Agent Adam Sheldon—former CIA.

He glanced around the living room as he waited for the answer to his query. His pacing had brought him to the edge of the kitchen. He looked up, surprised.

"Yes," he listened. He hung up.

Nathan pivoted around in a circle. He grinned. Shelly was clever. She and Rebecca were close friends. He laughed. There was a safe room inside her condo! He hadn't thought about anything except getting Shelly situated. Now, it was glaringly obvious to him. There wasn't a master suite. The layout of her condo should have been with three bedrooms, one being a master. Although the rooms were spacious and elegant—the condo was lacking.

Her personal bedroom should have been decadent—erotic! Shelly was the most sensual person he had ever met, but the rooms only reflected modern elegance. There was clothing in the room with the waterbed, but they were seasonal. At the moment they held her summer clothes. She was wearing winter.

He stood just inside the condo's entrance. The bathroom was between the two rooms. A master suite should have been? He pointed to the other side. He eyed a door. He knew from earlier that it was a coat closet. He went inside, and turned on the light. He was guessing that Rebecca's brothers had probably constructed the safe room here, too.

Rebecca's keypad was within easy reach for her height. He squatted down to Shelly's face level. He smiled as he found the thumb pad. He pressed it. A panel slid into the wall revealing the keypad. He pulled out his flashlight and flipped it to the blue lens. He could see the smudges on the keys used most. The condo entry sequence was 93164. He really didn't think Shelly would use that—at least not straight. Guessing, he reversed the order, and slowly entered the numbers—4—6—1. A door opened behind him.

Nathan did what he did best—he snooped. He'd never been shy about snooping around. It's what he did! Grinning, he walked through. His heals clicked as he stepped onto black slate. A red, gold, and black rug on the floor grounded the room.

He stood in shock. His eyes dilated. His cock got hard. He had not expected the total eroticism of the room. Here, was the room of a Dominatrix! He knew Shelly was sensuous. He knew that she worked primarily for MONOP, but he had not expected this!

Along one wall, scented candles sat on small platforms. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. The scent of the candles blended with Shelly's natural scent. The combination was incredibly sexy. Along a different wall, an assortment of whips and crops were displayed. He laughed.

The focal point was the bed. It was set up on a raised platform. It was a king sized canopy with high, elegant posts leading to cross beams. Red and Black silk were gathered at each of the posts. Nathan could see that the silk could be drawn around the bed, enclosing it in light and shadow. The plush comforter was red and black silk with Asian designs. Silk pillows of different sizes and shapes lined thickly against the headboard.

He laid on the bed and hugged into the pillows. He breathed in deeply. Her sweet scent was embedded in the pillows. Closing his eyes he could see her lush body laid out naked on the bed. The image made his cock jerk. Smiling, he turned onto his back and looked up. Subtle lighting showed the ceiling was painted with erotic scenes.

He gave the mattress an experimental bounce. It had had plenty of spring. He laughed. Turning his head, he could see the leather restraining straps tucked along the edge. Another pair was above him on the headboard. He handled the soft leather. She kept them well oiled.

A nightstand was on each side of the bed. He rolled over, and opened the drawer. He was surprised to find books. He laughed. She liked mysteries. He checked the other side. Here, was what he had expected. Sex toys of different lengths and diameters filled the drawer. He stared at them. He couldn't help himself. He picked one up, and sniffed it. He got harder. It smelled like Shelly! He groaned, and put it back in the drawer.

He climbed off the bed to look inside the closet. One side was her everyday clothing. The other side was dedicated to costumes. Expensive costumes. Leather, silk, and feather seemed to dominate. She had lots of shoes. High heeled delicate things, boots, and running shoes. There were leather straps hanging on hooks. Pulling them out, he realized they were restraints. Shelly was a naughty lady. He wouldn't mind her restraining him!

He laughed as he examined the interesting figurines in various positions sitting on top of the vanity. He opened the jewelry box.

"Nice," his brows rose as he examined the nipple clamps. Shaking his head, he put them away.

He snooped through the vanity; silky panties, lacy bras, negligées, masks. Scent trickled up to him as he fingered the materials. A different drawer held leathers and more toys. The bottom drawer held her FBI equipment and mementos; uniforms, handcuffs, guns. There were also certificates of achievements, medals, and pictures.

He glanced through the pictures. On the backs were dates and names. Rebecca featured in some, as well as Keaton's butt beater—Amy. Shelly had known Amy for a very long time. There were a few of them together. There were a couple of new pictures of Keaton on a black Harley.

Most of the people were exotically dressed. He assumed they were MONOP Operatives. He put the pictures away. He had found her heart. One picture had been separated from the pile. Curious he flipped it over. Startled, he saw it was a picture of himself. It was dated the day he had been transferred to her team. It had his name, and a big question mark. She would have realized from day one that he was different. He'd been surprised that she couldn't _feel_ him. He had assumed, she was trying to figure him out, because to what she had sensed. Not that she couldn't read him at all.

He pondered as he carefully put the picture back. Most people would have gone to great lengths to find answers. Shelly had observed him without being intrusive. He had noticed her watching him. He knew she was curious. He had found her awareness of him incredibly sexy.

He walked through the doorway to the bathroom. The floor was also of black slate. The first thing he saw was the large claw-foot bathtub right in the center off the room. Silver knobs for hot and cold were down at the end. Surprised, he looked inside. It filled from within. It was a spa tub.

A large self contained shower was in the corner of the room. It was electronically controlled for temperature, and jet pressure trajectory.

A smaller room held the toilet and double sinks. Track lighting lit the area for the mirror and vanity seating. He could see an assortment of makeup, and personal items sitting on the vanity. Open shelves held towels and soaps.

He grinned. Shelly's safe room was a hell of a lot more interesting than Rebecca's. He preferred Shelly's.

Figuring he'd seen most everything, he went to gather the sleeping woman up, and put her in the proper bed. Stripping off his own clothes, he crawled in beside her. She snuggled into him as he held her.

Shelly was comforted by Nathan's nearness. She'd never experienced that before. Normally, she wanted to scream for them to just leave her alone. It was like having a litter of kittens climbing up your legs. It hurt! The more fatigued she was, the more vulnerable she was. Rarely, did she spend the whole night with a lover.

Nathan was different. He was _quiet_.

He woke to find her watching him. She eyed him with surprise. The last thing she expected, was to find herself waking up in her own bedroom. She surprised him by laughing softly.

"What?" He asked her.

"I should have known you'd figure it out," she nodded to the room.

"It was fun," he murmured against her, "figuring out your secrets."

"Smart and sexy," she murmured.

He could tell by her paleness, and her dilated eyes that she was still in pain. He kissed her gently. Savoring the feel and taste of her lips. She closed her eyes, her lips responded.

"You need a day in bed," he told her, "command me, _Mistress_."

"Say that again when my head isn't busting!" Shelly complained.

"Promise," Nathan laughed softly.

"You're shielded even while you sleep," she murmured. "How do you do that—and why?"

He studied her. It was something he didn't talk about.

"It's okay," she told him sleepily. "Everyone is allowed their secrets."

"For now," he told her.

She nodded, and fell into a drowsy sleep. He held her tenderly.

Many of his abilities, he had inherited from his mother. She had also taught him how to survive in a world that was unforgiving to his kind. One of the survival techniques had been the ability to shield himself. To make himself practically invisible.

In order to answer her questions, he would have to talk about his mother. He laughed to himself. He just wasn't ready to take their relationship to the next step. Maybe someday—maybe never. He knew Shelly was okay with it. She knew what it was like to be really different. To live in a world others would not—could not fathom.

### ***

Douglas Carter cursed as he stumbled into his domain. Everything kept going wrong! Contaminating the water had been a total fiasco! He hadn't thought that one through very well. Yeah, he got into the building, but everyone else was trying to get out! Those who weren't were fighting, screaming, or screwing. He hadn't expected the tonic to be so potent. He'd just wanted people to be distracted.

Today's plan should have worked. He'd watched carefully. Agent Dauss was her _special_ interest. He knew she was watching today. They were close enough to the Fed building. She should have come running out! Dauss was wearing a vest, so he'd been forced to shoot him in the leg. He'd been hoping to get an artery. He'd missed the artery, but the wound still bled plenty!

Carter kicked over the chair. What really pissed him off was he'd lost the laptop! It flew out of his hands when he was hurrying to get the sewer cover off. He'd left the cover slightly open, but it hadn't slid when he'd kicked it. He had to touch it. Grimly, he walked to the sink, and started washing at his hands. He didn't mind blood, but the slime from the cover was turning his stomach.

TOC
Chapter Twenty-Four

Steve told Sarah that Ginger and Tiffany were being moved into the block for protection, until after Carter was captured. It had been six years since she had seen Ginger. She'd never met Tiffany. She was nervous.

Sarah was shocked to see how much Ginger had changed. Gone was the slender, red-headed teen. Ginger was tall and curvy. Her face was delicate. Her smile was nervous as she watched Sarah.

Tiffany stood hesitantly beside her mother. She'd heard a lot about her aunt, but had never met her. She blinked with surprise. She looked a lot like her. She hoped though that she would grow taller. Her aunt was kind of short.

As if in a dream, Sarah walked down the stairs to meet her little sister. She saw that Ginger was crying.

"I couldn't find you!" Ginger was saying. "I looked and looked. I even hired a detective, but you were just gone!"

"I'm so sorry," Sarah was crying, "I was too afraid. He said he would hurt you. Later, he said he would take Tiffany if I left."

"I know, I know," Ginger hugged into her, "they told me all that! Thank God, you finally got away!"

As soon as Steve knew they would be okay, he returned to the command center. He watched, and listened to them from the monitors. Sarah led them inside the house. He was pleased to see that Sarah was being discreet. She didn't let on just how big of a Monster, Carter was. She didn't explain much about the neighborhood. She mainly listened.

They'd given Ginger and Tiffany the unit across from Sarah. Ironically, it was her old unit. Sarah had been angry they weren't staying with her, but Steve explained, they rarely placed multiple targets inside the same dwelling. It was just protocol. If the threat was high enough, which it wasn't, they even separated married couples.

Steve knew Carter had a new target—Agent Rogers—in DC. He was relieved to know he wouldn't be looking for Sarah. He wouldn't find her, but it was good he wasn't even looking.

It had been easy to convince Ginger to allow them to protect her, and her daughter. She was divorced, and with Sarah gone, Tiffany was all that she had. She'd been scared and delighted to have finally found Sarah.

Steve frowned. Sarah still had her training to get through. Damen had been adamant about that. He hated unfinished _projects_. That might become a bit awkward. He couldn't imagine Sarah and Ginger wanting to part ways right after finally finding each other. They would have to sort all that out once the threat was eliminated.

Sarah listened to Ginger as she told her about her life. She found, she didn't really have anything to share with her. Her life with Ginger was long past. Her life with Carter—unmentionable.

She was surprised to realize that she actually missed Keaton! She was undeniably attracted to Steve, but Keaton had held her and comforted her. He told her what to wear, what to do. Steve was careful to not push her, not to tell her what to do, and not to make her do anything. She felt confused and lost.

He'd spent the night with her after they'd hypnotized her. She'd been astounded to wake up in his arms. He'd been cradling her. She was shocked when she realized that he was naked! It had felt right, and she hadn't wanted him to leave, but she'd been nervous that he might want something more.

Until Ginger left, that wasn't going to be an option. She frowned. She realized it really didn't matter since Ginger wasn't living with her. It was also none of her business. It was odd to see the woman—Ginger—and not the child. She'd been bothered by the way Ginger had sized Steve up.

She didn't know when Shelly would be back, but Steve had assured her that she would, and that Shelly would be teaching her things to help her to protect herself. She wasn't much into self defense classes, but if Shelly wanted her to learn those things, she would.

### ***

Nathan stared with amazement at the woman he saw through the peephole of Shelly's apartment. Without a word, he let her in.

She gave him a saucy grin as she sauntered through the house, and let herself into Shelly's bedroom.

"Amy!" Shelly grinned from ear-to-ear. "What the heck are you doing here?"

Shelly was sitting up in the bed. Her headache had finally stopped pounding, but Nathan insisted she take the day easy. She didn't have a problem with that.

Nathan came in and sat behind Shelly, pulling her naked body tight against himself. He rested his chin on her head. His hand delicately cupped her breast.

His gaze was narrowed and challenging as he stared at Amy. She tried to hide the smirk, but Nathan's eyes sparkled with amusement. She'd given herself away.

"Leya sent me," Amy looked at her sternly. "She wants to know what the heck is going on around here! I gave Keaton his thrashing!" She sighed and shook her head. "I'm not sure it took though. I'll probably have to bring him back, and bind him down!"

Shelly smothered a laugh as Nathan's cock jumping against her back. Amy's eyes sparkled. She hadn't missed its movement.

"Leya wants to know when you're returning to work?" Amy asked.

Nathan's brow quirked.

"And?" Shelly's eyes narrowed, "what else?"

"Oh," Amy shrugged. "She's just checking on things. She likes to keep her options open."

"So how is Keaton?" Shelly asked with a grin. "Did you use crop or whip?"

"Both," Amy told her, "he was a very, very bad boy! He'll be back on the case tomorrow, but he might be walking a bit slower."

Shelly snorted.

"Leya didn't want to return him at all. She doesn't want you there, either. She's territorial with her people." Amy studied Nathan.

"And Keaton is her people now?" Shelly asked.

"It would seem so," Amy answered. "Anyway, I'll be the liaison between Leya and your team. Leya doesn't want another Fed Rep. She doesn't trust what is going on. You know she has a sense for these sorts of things."

"Another Rep?" Shelly frowned. "Why would there be another one?"

"It's rumored that Agent Sheldon will be his replacement," Amy looked between them, noticing their puzzled expressions, "but Leya has never met him, and doesn't want any new players. She has other matters to attend. You don't have a clue as to what I'm talking about!"

"Not even," Shelly told her.

"Armison had a seizure," Amy told her, "it was due to the drug put in the water. Agent Sheldon didn't tell the team?"

"No," Shelly frowned, "not a word. We were led to believe that Armison was busy with the Director and Staff. Does Adam even know?"

Amy shrugged, "We thought all of you knew."

"How does MONOP know?" Nathan asked.

"Honey," Amy said in a low, sultry voice, "MONOP knows everything the government does."

Shelly felt him jerk.

"He's so responsive," Amy smiled with delight.

"You don't get him until I'm well enough to share him with you," Shelly informed her. "So just settle down!"

"Fair enough," Amy smirked.

"Hello," Nathan complained, "right here."

Amy stared straight at him, "Like you're going to say no?"

He stared back with eyes that had changed to electric blue. Her eyes widened. Shelly laughed, feeling the heat between them.

"Leya thinks MONOP may be able to recoup Armison," Amy frowned. "If so, she's going to offer him a Block job. She could use his expertise at Baltic. It's a little rough down there. She thinks his presence would be advantageous."

Shelly's eyes narrowed. Amy was on a scouting mission. It was obvious, they were looking at Nathan. Shelly wondered who else had caught their attention? Amy winked at her. Shelly just rolled her eyes.

"Well, I'm leaving," Amy walked over, and kissed Shelly fully on the lips. "Get well, Sweetie. We are all sorry about your head."

Shelly was studying the ceiling when Nathan returned from letting Amy out.

"I wonder who else they plan on _recouping_ " Shelly asked out loud. "Will you say yes when they offer for you?"

Their eyes met, "Yes."

TOC
Chapter Twenty-Five

Rebecca shoved the keyboard away in frustration.

"Problem?" Adam asked her as he walked by her office.

"I've gone through every freak'n file on these flash drives," Rebecca scowled. "Nathan suggested I use the term _pennies_ , because it came up in the logbooks. Oh, it comes up all right. With accounts so miniscule I wonder why the heck he keeps them. When Carter writes pennies. He means it literally!"

"You might want this, then," Sam came in grinning ear-to-ear. "Local police found it while combing the area of the stand off."

Rebecca's eyes got big. It was the laptop she'd seen Carter carrying.

"Oh my God! Yes!" She jumped up and grabbed it from him.

She paused as she studied it.

"What?" Adam asked her. His steely gray eyes wary.

"I need Nathan on this," she answered. "As much as I crave to open this baby up, he knows more about espionage script than I do. I don't want to be opening any more surprises."

"He will not be here until Monday," Adam told her distractedly, "You will have to do your best."

Her Best?

She nodded, and returned to her desk with the laptop. She set if off to the side. On a hunch, she opened a minimized field and typed rapidly. She was assessing the news feed attached to the computer that Carter could control.

It was showing her, sitting at her desk. She quickly closed the window. Someone had moved the camera. Someone had sabotaged the light showing that the camera was on. Someone was using her as bait!

Rebecca stared down at her desk, breathing deeply. It was not the same laptop! Someone had switched it. It was the same brand, but was not the same model. She had pulled up the video, and studied the image. She'd printed off a still-paused image! Why didn't they just bury the laptop? Why create a dummy?

She didn't want to be, but she was suspicious of Adam's deceptions. Armison wasn't coming back. Elliot hadn't been moved to a distant hospital. And this computer wasn't the real thing! It was one thing to use the— _Need to Know_ —card. It was another, to lie to the team, trying to do a job.

Rebecca no longer trusted Adam. She no longer trusted the FBI. She certainly didn't trust them to keep her safe and alive. She picked up her phone and called a special number.

"Hey Michele," she called out. "Lunch? My buddies are busy, and not letting me out much. Meet in the downstairs cafe in forty?"

"Be careful," Nathan told her softly, "The lights are dim."

Rebeca slipped her wallet into her pocket. She casually looked through the computer. They hadn't even bothered to make it interesting. They put in some dummy files that were from the 5" floppies. They must have assumed she hadn't seen them, or thought she wouldn't have remembered them.

She made a show of looking at her watch as she wandered out of the room. She noticed Adam was watching her with his peripheral vision. A technique that she had also been trained in. I'm not angry, she told herself, just hungry!

She took the elevator to the ground floor. Got out and turned left. She doubted anyone was watching her as she took a different elevator to 3BL. She walked down the empty corridor to a small room. Nathan was inside waiting for her.

"Figured it out did you?" Nathan asked.

"You knew," Rebecca started to back out of the room.

"The day Elliot got shot," Nathan told her. "Let's go."

"Where?" Rebecca frowned. She didn't know who to trust.

"Trust Michele," he told her.

Surprised, she nodded. Nathan led the way through a different corridor, and then up two flights of stairs.

"There is an old service elevator on this floor which leads to a part of the garage that was bricked up a long time ago due to water damage. They never bothered with the door that leads to the back alley. They never bothered positioning cameras on the older parts of the building."

A silver Lincoln Navigator with tinted windows was just down from the door. A beautiful blond was in the driver's seat.

"Get in," Nathan instructed her.

They climbed into the back. Nathan put a blanket over them.

Some of the cameras around the building had heat sensors. The blanket was a heat shield. Rebecca laid quietly as she was driven out of the city. Nathan curled up against the back of her, holding her securely. She was unexpectedly comforted by his warmth. They drove for quite a ways. Her head pounded from the tension. She was surprised when Nathan lightly rubbed the tension out of her neck and shoulders.

Rebecca calculated that they drove for around an hour before the driver spoke to them.

"You can come up now," a sultry voice called out as she pulled over. "We still have several hours of driving, but it should be safe enough to sit up front."

Rebecca and Nathan climbed into the seats behind the driver.

"I'm Amy," the blond told her. "From MONOP. Shelly and Elliot will meet us there."

"Elliot?" Rebecca asked.

"Yeah," Amy answered. "It made sense to keep as much of the team together as possible. We hope it will stop them from other Dumb-Ass stuff. Personally? I'm not holding my breath!"

Rebecca felt her face turn red as she looked at Nathan.

"Okay," she told him, "I didn't figure—It—out. Just that I was bait. Care to explain what the heck is going on?"

"Patience, Grass Hopper," Nathan told her, "Elliot hasn't been debriefed, either."

"I always hated it when the kids called me that!" Rebecca glared at him.

Amy laughed, and turned the radio to a local station. She pressed a button, and got dispatching.

"They don't seem to know you're gone yet," Amy told her.

"Damn long break," Rebecca growled, "Armison would have known something was wrong before now!"

"Armison would not have retracted his order to have Elliot and Sam following you around," Nathan reminded her. "Even into the bathrooms."

"Sam tried that," Rebecca laughed. "He backed out fast enough when I went for the tampon machine! You should have seen his face, when I pulled open the side, and stole the damn thing!"

Amy snorted.

After a few hours of driving, they pulled over to the side of the road.

"We're going to Baltic Avenue," Amy told them. "We can't take the Navigator. It would draw attention, so we're switching cars."

They climbed out. Rebecca looked around, but nothing looked familiar. The car waiting for them was an older model, white Toyota Camry. The drivers switched places. Rebecca climbed into the back. She was surprised when Nathan climbed into the back with her.

Baltic Avenue was a run down block in Pittsburgh. Rebecca looked around nervously. Amy pulled into the most dilapidated house on the block. It looked like a crack house. She resisted getting out of the car. Nathan grabbed her hand, and pulled her out.

Rebecca blushed. She didn't want to think ill of her rescuer, but in this block, with those clothes, Amy looked like an expensive hooker. Amy turned to see what was taking them so long. She took one look at Rebecca's face and laughed merrily.

The room inside didn't look any better. It did not instill confidence. The walls were yellowish and dirty. The carpet was dirty and torn, and the couch looked like there should be a bunch of crack heads sitting on it shooting up. She ground her feet into the floor, not allowing Nathan to drag her any farther.

"Do you come along," he told her, "or do I carry you?"

"You wouldn't!" She glared up at him.

He didn't even pause. He simply scooped her up, and carried her along. She closed her eyes, and seethed. It was either be carried, or be prepared to kill him! He got lucky that day!

"You can open your eyes now," Nathan laughed as he set her down.

Her eyes sprang open, and grew even wider. It was a command center. Monitors showed not just the block, but also inside every house on the block. One man sat at the console watching it all. He turned to stare at her.

It was Carl Armison.

"You might as well know," Amy told her, "You are being recruited. We want you on our side."

"You are working for them?" Amy asked Armison with surprise.

"As soon as they offered," he nodded.

"Huh," Rebecca frowned.

"I was already writing up my resignation when this case landed in my lap." He told her. "I was looking at you to replace me."

"What?" Rebecca was astounded. She wondered if the seizure had damaged his brain.

"You're bright and capable," he told her. "You've been running the office for the last six months. Don't think I didn't notice. You handle yourself well, and you're damned nasty when pressed into a corner."

"Gee, thanks," Rebecca frowned at him. "I think."

"The only problem is you aren't authoritative," he frowned. "That had me stumped."

He turned back to the screen.

"They're here," Carl spotted Shelly and Elliot arriving in an old VW bus.

"I'm glad we got the Navigator," Nathan whispered to Rebecca.

She snorted.

"This way," Amy led them into a different room.

It was a small room with a large table. They could barely squeeze into the chairs.

"Sam would never fit in here," Rebecca commented.

"Kind of like him, and a certain Smart Car?" Nathan reminded her. "Someone uploaded the video to the Arsenal."

Her eyes got big.

His blue eyes twinkled with amusement.

Elliot came in on crutches. His face was white. Rebecca went to him. Without a word, he gathered her up in his arms. She held him close. She led him to one of the chairs, and took the crutches. She just leaned them up in the corner. She sat next to Elliot, and took his hand.

Keaton came in, and took a chair. Rebecca studied him. He seemed more relaxed than normal. He smiled at her. She blinked with surprise. She'd always been invisible to him.

"Carl will be staying at the command center," Amy told them as she sat down. "He's watching through the camera. He did not have a seizure from the contaminated water. The CIA slipped him a mickey to get him out of the way so Adam could take over. They kept him sedated. We moved him out of the hospital, and now he's here!"

"Why would they do that?" Elliot asked.

"Adam is former CIA," Shelly answered. "When they needed a favor, they called him. Douglas Carter was a CIA Operative. He'd joined right out of High School. He was a spook, and a very good one. We couldn't discover what went wrong at their agency, but he fell off their grid. Showed up as Hutton. The CIA didn't make the connection until Rebecca hit a CIA flag."

"I did?" Rebecca asked surprised.

"When you found the address for Olivia Geraldine Benton," Amy answered. "It flagged the CIA. You were looking for Hutton at the time. They were looking for Carter. His old connections were being flagged."

"Nathan was able to hack into some of the camera feeds from D Street. What we saw didn't make sense. There were unidentified shooters trying to take Carter out." Shelly told them. "While Carter was using Elliot as bait to draw out Rebecca, the CIA was using Elliot as bait to draw out Carter. They missed, and Carter disappeared."

"They did recover the laptop," Amy told Rebecca, "but they weren't as smart as you. They plugged it into their network, and when their analyst tried to access it—it crashed their systems. They are still trying to dig out all the critters. Carter knew exactly how to compromise their systems. After all, he was one of them. He was also tapping into one of their funds. You were looking for the money. It was a CIA, Black Card account."

"The CIA was funding his damn surgeries!" Rebecca looked sick.

"Son of a Bitch!" Elliot muttered angrily.

"Why did they bother handing me a dummy computer?" Rebecca asked.

"I suspect to keep you engaged," Shelly answered. "They still had a use for you."

"Neat!" Rebecca said sarcastically. "Are Tori and Sam involved in this mess?"

"Tori will blindly do anything Adam tells her to do," Shelly grimaced. "I knew she was attracted. I hadn't realized she'd been conditioned."

"Conditioned?" Rebecca asked.

"Deliberate tampering of her emotions," Amy answered. "Something MONOP does a lot of. The CIA, although they deny it, are not above using the tactics. The main difference is they are sloppy."

"And you aren't?" Elliot's eyes were narrowed.

"Sloppy? No," Amy smiled suggestively, "we are very, very good! You are here to finish this, but The Mistress is also interested in you as Operatives. You will have full disclosure, and buy-in before any transfers, or training commences. If you aren't into it—you walk."

"Just like that?" Elliot asked suspiciously.

"Mostly," Amy smiled.

"Sam?" Rebecca asked.

"As far as we can tell," Amy shrugged, "he's just following orders."

"Why is the _Mistress_ interested in us?" Elliot asked.

"You would have to ask her," Amy met his eyes. "I would just be guessing."

"So what do we do now?" Rebecca asked.

"We could draw Carter out," Nathan answered, "or just let the CIA cleanup their own mess."

"They'd just Fuck-up, and more women would die," Rebecca growled.

"My thoughts," Shelly agreed.

"I say we bait him," Nathan looked straight at Rebecca, "and kill him."

Rebecca blinked with surprise. The concept of killing him had never crossed her mind.

"The idea does have merit!" She agreed.

She studied Amy.

"Is this a MONOP operation now, then?" Rebecca asked.

Amy paused, considering.

"Not really," she finally answered, "although it would not be beyond the parameters. MONOP usually lets their new Operatives clean up their own messes, before becoming a part of the community. I'd say this was one fine mess—wouldn't you agree?"

"I would," Rebecca nodded. "Plan?"

"I suggest we interrupt the webcam feed," Nathan proposed. "You pretend to be Anna. We lure him somewhere—and shut him down."

Elliot glared at him. He then shrugged and sighed.

"I can't think of any other way to end this," Elliot admitted.

"How is that different from what Adam was doing?" Rebecca asked.

"We care about you," Shelly told her. "We would give our lives to protect you. To them, you are just a tool."

"Nathan?" Amy asked.

He studied her. He should have known that MONOP would know.

"I suppose you have the proof, footage, or something?" He asked her.

She nodded, but didn't say anything. This was his decision, and she would never divulge his secrets.

Nathan studied Shelly.

She stared right back at him. She accepted him. All she cared about was who he was today! Not, who he might have been before, or what he did in the name of a job, or by someone's order.

"I used to be Secret Service," he told them. 'I took my orders directly from the President."

"What does that mean?" Rebecca asked.

"I was an assassin for the United States of America," he answered, staring straight at Rebecca. He then turned to Amy, "I was very, very good."

Amy laughed.

Rebecca shivered.

Carl stood in the doorway.

"Adam's finally noticed that Rebecca did not return," Carl scowled. "He thinks Carter has her, but he's not raising an alarm."

Silence followed.

"Son of a Bitch!" Elliot scowled

Shelly watched as Nathan's lips twitched. Something was amusing him.

"What?" She asked Nathan.

"Why don't we go in tonight with Carl, and steal Rebecca's office." He suggested, "Every scrap. I can route the feed. We can setup a decoy office anywhere, and take over again. Adam would be sitting with his head up his butt."

"I like it!" Rebecca told them. "We're basically the same staff. Carter won't even know the difference."

"Traveling back is risky," Carl told them, "and we don't need to. I still hold authority, and I still have a few friends in the building. They can stash it."

"I know some Operatives in the area who can retrieve it," Amy smiled wickedly.

"They can stash it just inside where we met Amy," Rebecca suggested.

"That would work," Amy nodded. "We've already made sure the area is secure."

"Where do we set up?" Rebecca asked. "This place is too small. We can't duplicate the office."

"There's a hotel I know of," Keaton grinned, "down there at Mediterranean Avenue."

Amy laughed deliciously. Shelly smiled. It was perfect.

"I'll make the call," Carl told them.

Carl walked back to the command center. Adam really pissed him off! He'd trusted him. He couldn't believe the way he had put his own friends and fellow agents at risk. And for what damn reason? Carl considered. He grinned. It would serve the Son of a Bitch right!

"Hey Raleigh," Carl called. "I—what? No, I'm good. Although I'd like you to know what that was all about, and I need a favor."

### ***

Adam shrugged. He really should have called out an alert when Rebecca first went missing. He'd do it as soon as he got to the office. It wasn't uncommon for an agent to leave a little early. He knew Rebecca hadn't done that, but things did come up, now and then.

He realized he was rehearsing his story. He'd have to call Keaton in to help search for her. Shelly would probably come in, too. So what if she knew he felt guilty. Rebecca had gone missing on his watch. Of course, he would feel bad about that!

His thoughts were on how to best manage the day when he stepped into the office. He stared around in shock! It was missing! Every last thing was gone! Even the damn window blinds, and the clock! He walked into Rebecca's office. It had been cleared, too.

He flipped open his phone to call security.

"This is Special Agent Adam Sheldon," he identified himself. "There has been a breach in the office. Things have been removed."

"No sir," the security guard told him. "The removal was authorized by Unit Chief Carl Armison. I spoke with him on conference call myself. His agents have set up elsewhere do to a breach."

Adam hung up. He stared at his phone. He had one more phone call to make.

"We've been made." He hung up.

Later, Tori and Sam came into the office. They stood in shock. No people, no office. Sam made the phone call to security.

"No sir," the security guard sighed. He repeated what he knew.

"Now, what do we do?" Tori asked.

"Go home," Sam shrugged, "wait to see if anyone calls us."

"And if they don't?" Tori asked.

Sam just shrugged.

TOC
Chapter Twenty-Six

Anna was frowning, looking nervous. She kept looking behind her. Carter watched her, wondering what was bothering her. She was typing furiously. He wished he could see what she was typing. He'd been watching her for hours.

Now and then, her boss would walk behind her. Once Anna acted like she was talking on the phone. When he was gone, she'd look around, and start typing again. She was totally unaware that he was watching her. This time, he was smart enough not to engage her—to scare her.

Sighing, she nodded. He was annoyed when she turned her back on the camera. That was, until he realized he could read her smart phone. She was making hotel reservations! He quickly took pictures as she scrolled through the process.

He was suspicious of why she had her back to her monitor, until he realized that she was facing her boss. He couldn't sneak up on her, and see what she was doing.

He watched as Anna powered down her computer, and went to lunch. He was still watching when she returned thirty-five minutes later. She powered it back up. She was calm now. From what he could see, she just did what she always did. Filled in forms and made reports. He sighed. Her job was really boring. He signed off.

"He took it," Nathan called out.

Rebecca stretched in her chair. The room was staged to look like her old office. They even had her old boss! She smiled appreciatively at all the work the team had done. She could not find one thing that looked out of place. They were finished for the day. It would be a while before Carter could do anything with what they'd just given him.

Shelly flipped open her phone.

"So hey Ares," she said in a low voice, "Mistress Leya suggested you might be able to help me out. I have something special—."

Rebecca, tuned her out, and walked over to grab some coffee. Their office was not just exactly _like_ their old office—Rebecca grinned—it was their old office right down to the coffee pot! They'd all done an awesome job getting it back to what it was.

"I need food," Shelly took the coffee pot from her, "maybe a muffin."

"Sounds good," Rebecca agreed. "Anyone else?"

Her question was met with a wave of the hand, and a distracted mutter.

"Fine," she told them, "I didn't want to get you anything, anyway."

Shelly laughed.

They were staying at the Mediterranean. A training center, and vacation home for MONOP. Rebecca had been shocked. Her brothers would have paddled her ass for venturing into such a depraved place. There wasn't much that was taboo amongst its members.

People went to public areas of the hotel in drag, S&M, or sometimes not wearing anything at all. They spanked each other in public. She'd even seen them go down on each other!

And what went on in the _training_ rooms, had positively made her squirm. She cringed with thoughts of doing any of that herself. She'd asked Amy if she would have to do that to join MONOP.

"Maybe," Amy had answered with a grin.

Rebecca didn't know if she could. She wanted to be a part of MONOP, especially after the CIA/FBI fiasco, but honestly didn't know if she had it in her. She'd talked about it to Elliot. He'd just shrugged.

"We're here to finish a job," he told her. "Focus on that. The advantage of us being here, is that every person—no matter what they are doing—are military, X-Agents, or regular Bad-Asses. It's got to be the safest place on earth for you! Don't worry about joining them. Right now, that's not important."

He'd been right of course, but Oh My God!

They grabbed their coffee and treats, and wandered to the Gallery. Rebecca looked about curiously. The Gallery didn't carry art, it carried people. People gathered to preen. Rebecca couldn't think of better word for it.

"Are you ready for your hair and face?" Shelly asked her.

"What?" Rebecca turned to her.

"Surely, you've realized that you and Elliot stick out like sore thumbs?" Shelly told her.

"Us?" Rebecca said with disbelief as she stared at Shelly's getup.

Shelly was made out to be a Dominatrix. The problem? Shelly was a Dominatrix. It wasn't a costume. It was the reality.

Shelly made Rebecca blush. She'd worked with her at the FBI off and on for years, but she'd had no idea! Nathan had laughingly told her what Shelly had done with the safe room! He liked it—he would! Nathan was already in training as Shelly's submissive. Shelly had him dressed in the thinnest of trousers and no shirt. He wore the collar and leash proudly. Sometimes, he had clips on his nipples. She'd never seen him so— _happy_!

Rebecca blushed looking at Shelly. The six inch heels made her look taller and more busty. They made her butt and boobs poke outward. The black silk stockings made her legs look like they went on forever—right up to the little red skirt showing off the black crotchless panties. And—oh yeah—you could see the flesh!

Shelly's top, which really wasn't, was just a couple of red silk scarves tied at the shoulders. There were black leather straps which forced her bare rosy nipples to poke upwards. A belt around her waist held a whip. Sometimes, she wore a half-mask which emphasized her gorgeous blue-green eyes. Her dark brown hair was red streaked, and fluffed to suggest that she had just climbed out of bed. Her makeup was flawless, emphasizing her cheekbones, her red lips, and her amazing eyes.

Nathan walked around with a permanent hard-on. He didn't need anything more. His cock said it all! He fit right in!

Keaton wore whatever Amy told him to wear. Part of the ensemble always contained a collar and a leash. He was training as her submissive. She'd confided in Rebecca that Keaton had too much attitude which bordered on boorishness. She was going to beat it out of him! She'd laughed when Rebecca's mouth fell open.

Rebecca stared at Shelly, appalled by what she was suggesting. These weren't people dressed for Halloween. They were for real.

"I can't do that," Rebecca's eyes were big, "I'd be exposed."

Fear emanated off of her. Shelly considered.

"I can make you my Virgin Submissive," Shelly suggested.

"What does that even mean?" Rebecca asked.

"We make you look really young," Shelly answered. "With your size you can pull it off. You would usually wear something soft, white and flowing. You will still have to wear a collar though, and I'll have control of your leash."

"That will work," Rebecca cringed. "I think, until I start to show."

"That would only make it more interesting," Shelly smiled at her. "If it doesn't work, we'll figure something else out."

"What is Elliot going to do?" Rebecca asked.

"I don't know," her laugh was low and husky.

Rebecca didn't trust that laugh—not at all.

"There will be court tonight," Shelly told her, "I will be introducing you and Nathan to the community. Amy will introduce the others. Everyone already knows Keaton." She rolled her eyes, "he's been _training_ here since being placed in Vermont."

Rebecca gulped. Her eyes bulged. She was to be put on display!

Shelly frowned, feeling the kaleidoscope of her emotions.

"You don't understand," Shelly told her. "There is no one here who wants to hurt you in any way, or force you to do anything you do not want to do. It's a place they can be free to be themselves. We don't normally allow anyone in here who is not already vested into the training, or already a member. You and Elliot are _Guests_. I'm only dressing you as part of the disguise. As long as you wear outsider clothing—you stand out. The members will not relax around you."

"Leya and Damen only want to welcome you—and to protect you," Shelly went on. "They are very careful concerning all the Clients and Members."

"It's not going to work," Rebecca voice was tense. "There are too many people. He'll get through. You know how good he is, and we've given him an open door, and a free pass!"

"Oh," Shelly blinked with surprise.

She'd thought all of Rebecca's fears stemmed from her being so inhibited. That was true in part, but it was also due to not being able to hide. Rebecca was used to being invisible. She'd been getting stressed more and more with each passing day. It was because she was feeling vulnerable.

"This is a gated community," Shelly assured her. "Not just gated, but _Armed_ and gated. Everyone here has known everyone else for years. New people are greeted with interest, and soon absorbed into the community. You can bet that Leya and Damen will make sure you and the guys are very well protected."

Rebecca looked at her doubtfully.

Shelly looked around. The Galley was exceptionally crowded. She suspected it was because people wanted a peek at Rebecca. She was a pretty little thing!

"Choose any two people," Shelly asked her.

Rebecca shrugged, "The woman with the green hair and the green nipples."

"And another," Shelly insisted.

Rebecca looked across the room, "The man who looks like a Martian Ape."

Shelly grinned, "He does."

Shelly pulled her to her feet, and led her towards the Martian Ape.

"I have a question, Zack," Shelly addressed him.

"Anything Mistress," he studied Rebecca. She blushed.

"Who is the woman over there with the green hair and nipples?" Shelly asked.

"That would be Elizabeth of course," he answered quickly. "She does like green!"

"And is there anyone here you do not recognize?" Shelly asked.

"Only the fair one beside you," he told her with a grin.

"Would you say that would be the same answer, if I were to ask, anyone else in this room the same question?" Shelly asked him.

He looked around studying everyone in the room.

"Most definitely, Mistress," he assured her.

"And the hotel?" she asked.

"There are three men I don't know," he answered. "They've been with Mistress Leya, so I know they are welcome."

"Okay?" Shelly asked Rebecca.

"Seems to be," she turned to Zack, "thank you. I was afraid of all these people."

"You are very enchanting," he bowed to her.

"Come," Shelly led her away, "maybe a nymph. Yes, I think that would be better. That would give you more freedom. Tori called you an Imp, but I don't see it myself."

"As long as I get to cover up," Rebecca muttered.

"For now," Shelly laughed. "The Artisan is going to be delighted with you."

Shelly led her to a salon on the second floor. Rebecca tried to pretend she spent every day being pampered by half naked men and women. It wasn't working very well. She tried to keep her mouth from gapping open as she glanced around.

The man who met them was so beautiful, and so decadent that Rebecca was in instant awe. She wanted to sink into the floor. He had golden skin, curly dark brown hair, and deep green eyes. He was tall and looked incredibly strong with rigid muscles peeking—everywhere. He was wearing black silky pants, and a loose flowing shirt. Her eyes shifted to the ties in the pants. There were two ties, and she could see flesh. She blushed.

Ares noticed where her eyes had shifted, and he smiled. Her blush was natural and very becoming. His lips twitched. She looked up and met his eyes. She blushed brighter knowing he knew where she'd been looking. He laughed.

Ares made her feel positively dowdy. Shelly had been right. She didn't blend in at all.

His eyes were intense as he watched her, "Mistress Shelly, Is she yours?"

Rebecca's cheeks burned.

"No, Ares" Shelly told him, "She is a guest! Behave—if you can. This is Rebecca."

"You are quite exquisite!" He told Rebecca. He turned back to Shelly, "What would you like done with her today?"

"You two work it out," Shelly winked at him. "I'll see to her dress."

Shelly walked away leaving Rebecca in his care. Rebecca blushed as she regarded him. She felt vulnerable and understated. She felt stupid!

_"Sweetie_ ," he told her gently, taking her small hand, "It is all done with smoke and mirrors. No one is better, or prettier, or stronger than the next person over."

Rebecca blinked at him with surprise. His hand was large and warm. It felt comforting. What he was saying was basically her, _badder_ _than_ , lecture. She nodded.

"You are so very beautiful, though," she told him.

He laughed with delight. His laugh sent shivers through her body. She stared at him.

"Come," he led her to a high chair, "sit".

Rebecca swallowed nervously. She'd never done the female pampering thing very well. She never had a clue what to ask them to do.

"You have very fine hair," he started unbinding her long tresses. "But is it what you prefer, or is it what you are used to? What is your wish?"

She frowned as she considered. It was long and heavy. It always got in the way. Sometimes, it was a hazard. She studied him. It was a matter of if she trusted him. He gazed back at her, patiently waiting. She realized that she did trust him—explicitly. The realization startled her.

"It's too long," she finally told him, "and too heavy. It's flat and boring."

"Boring?" He smiled softly as he drew his finger through the silken mass. "It could never be boring. Would you like me to layer it? Give it bounce?"

"Something like that," she nodded. "I'm going to just rest here, and let you take care of it."

"You are giving me free reign with it?" He asked, making her clarify.

"Yes," she closed her eyes.

"And your makeup?" He asked.

"Yes," she told him, "to everything."

He smiled. His eyes glittered. He knew, she'd no idea of what she'd just given him permission to do. His mind visualized many _things_ he was interested in trying on her.

Rebecca gave into the pleasure of having her hair done. Other than an occasional trim, she hadn't done anything with it in years. She liked Ares. He nurtured her battered spirits. He brushed her hair and cared for her. His touch was sensuous and soothing. She giggled.

"What?" he asked her.

"I feel like your pet," she laughed with happiness.

"You can be if you want to be," his breath teased the tip of her ear.

Her eyes widened as she turned to look at him. His face was just inches away. He was quite serious. She trembled. Her eyes dilated. He smiled roguishly.

She started understanding the allure of this community. He left the statement open as he continued to work on her hair.

He was soon joined by others who gave her a manicure and pedicure. When he was finished with her hair, he started her facial. The feel of his fingers was soothing and tenderly erotic. She was lost to his touch.

"Makeup is last," he murmured, "and for that I need you in your gown."

She'd forgotten about that. She tensed up. She didn't know what Shelly was going to do with her.

"Sh, sh," Ares whispered into her ear, "You will be beautiful."

"And here it is," one of his assistants handed him the garment.

"Shall I assist you?" he asked her, "or would you prefer privacy."

Rebecca looked at the blue and silver pieces that created the flowing gown. Perplexed, she realized that she didn't know how to get into it. There was nothing else to it except the silver little sandals. She was glad, she had shaved, but she was sure that they would have taken care of that, too. She didn't see any undergarments. She closed her eyes and sighed.

"I would like you to assist me," she asked him.

"It would please me to assist you," he admitted, "from the top of your lovely head, to the very tip of those delicate little toes."

She felt herself blushing again.

"Come," he held out his hand to her.

She hesitated, and then took his hand. She shivered. She stared up at him with surprise. His green eyes sparked as he watched her. She knew he was very aware of her. She was not invisible to him. It _disturbed_ her.

He helped her out of her own clothing, and into the clever layers of the gown. He never made her feel uncomfortable, or ashamed of her nudity.

He led her back to the chair, and finished with her makeup.

"I have brothers," she said shyly, "four of them in fact. They were a little rough when given the chore of dressing me. I appreciate your gentle touch."

He took her hand, and turned it palm side up. He kissed the very center of it. His lips were warm and tender.

"I would love to have you as my pet," he assured her. "I would never treat you with anything, but a gentle touch, unless you wished otherwise."

"Ares," Shelly laughed at him, "are you luring my guest away, before I have had a chance with her."

Rebecca growled at her. Shelly laughed.

"You've seen her," Ares informed her, "that was chance enough. She is very _pleasing_."

"That she is," Shelly agreed. "Come little nymph. See for yourself."

Rebecca was led to the full length mirror. She stared at the creature it reflected. Her blue eyes glowed. Her dark brown hair was done in layers, and bounced to the middle of her back. There were flowers mixed here and there in it. The gown draped around her delicate body. Her feet looked dainty. She looked tantalizing and playful.

"Wow," she said. "I don't look like a rowdy little tomboy anymore!"

"Sweetheart," Ares said in sultry voice, "I don't think you've looked like a tomboy for a very long time. I think those brothers you mentioned, told you that just to keep the boys at bay."

"I don't blame them there," Shelly smiled. "What a job that must have been!"

"Ares," Rebecca frowned and looked up at him. "Wasn't he the God of War?"

"There is a time for everything," Ares tilted his head.

"What shall her name be?" Shelly asked him.

"If she was mine," he told her, "I'd call her Iris."

"That's pretty," Rebecca told him.

"Careful," Shelly laughed, "Iris was the servant to the Gods."

He winked at Rebecca.

She frowned. She didn't understand their games. She'd never been a very good player.

"Do I need a name?" Rebecca asked them.

"No," Shelly assured her. "It's just common practice. Some of our names and titles get a bit cumbersome."

Shelly led Rebecca to a small room. Inside were Amy, Elliot, Nathan, and Carl. Rebecca grinned when Elliot's mouth fell open. She _felt_ like a nymph. She smiled at their garb. Amy had made a slave of Elliot, and a gladiator of Carl. Nathan's eyebrows rose when he caught sight of her. So did his cock. She shook her head. That guy was going to seriously hurt himself! Nathan was Shelly's submissive. He seemed to be enjoying the adventure.

Court was not as Rebecca had imagined it. She had assumed it would be some illustrious affair with fine dining, some dancing, and maybe some weird entertainment.

Court was nothing of the sort. These people took Court to a serious level. In the glow of their freedoms and eccentrics, it had been easy for Rebecca to forget what MONOP stood for. It was about safeguarding people. Keeping people from harm's way. Elliot had been right. It was about the job. The room for court reminded her of that. It was probably designed to remind everyone of that fact.

It was an assembly room. Up front was a platform with a podium. Behind that was an electronic projection screen. Facing the platform were rows and rows of chairs set up like in a theater. It looked like the room could fit five hundred people, or so.

Rebecca, Elliot, Nathan, and Carl sat in the front row between Amy and Shelly. Keaton sat directly behind Amy. He had slipped his leash. He was dressed as a Huntsman. That meant, he had graduated from being Amy's slave. He caught her eye and winked. She grinned at him.

The room filled with members. Leya and Damen took seats on the platform. A Mistress with red flowing hair, and a short blue gown stood before the podium.

"I'm Mistress Viola," she started. "I know all of you know me, but we have guests tonight. We are going to do this a little differently. Our guests are here to be safeguarded. The Mistress and Master want you to know why and exactly what you are up against. For this reason a presentation has been created. Master Dutch, who is in charge of security for the Mediterranean Block, will describe the situation. But first, Mistress Shelly and Mistress Amy will introduce our guests."

Master Dutch was a big boned, bulky, muscled man. He looked like he could throw a horse. His blond, graying hair was cropped short. His light blue eyes looked like they never smiled. He wore army type fatigues with knives and guns in plain view. He studied the room. His cold eyes landed on Rebecca. She shivered, and it was not from pleasure.

Rebecca was shocked by the announcement. She thought their task would be incognito.

Shelly pulled Rebecca and Nathan from their chairs. She led them up to the platform.

"This is Agent Rebecca Rogers," Shelly introduced. "Don't be fooled by her size. She's a Bad-Ass fighter. She is currently employed by the FBI. We hope to make her one of our own."

"This is Agent Nathan Gentry, and He belongs to Me," Shelly growled, "He is employed by the FBI, but he has contracted to become one of us."

Shelly walked with Rebecca and Nathan back to their seats.

As she returned to her seat, Rebecca noticed that Ares was sitting directly behind her. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. His green eyes flamed as he caught her regard. He was taking that pet thing a bit too seriously. She wondered if he would have been so keen if he knew she was pregnant?

He was dressed as a warrior. No, Rebecca corrected, he was a warrior. He wore a long flowing black cloak with a high collar. It outlined his broad shoulders and lean frame. There were leather straps and attachments which could hold various weapons. At the moment they were mostly empty. She could see the silky black shirt under the coat. His pants were black. His boots were black. He was sexy as hell!

Shelly's lips twitched as she gave Rebecca a light tug to sit down.

Amy walked up with Carl and Elliot. Elliot was limping heavily, but was not using the crutches. Amy introduced Carl first.

"This is ex-FBI, Unit Chief Carl Armison" Amy introduced. "He has just resigned from the FBI, and is now one of us."

"And this is Agent Elliot Dauss he works for the FBI. He was shot during the case we will be discussing," Amy finished

Short and quick, the introductions had been done. Now, everyone knew who and what they were. Rebecca was surprised by how quiet the assembly was. These people were disciplined and intent.

The lights dimmed. Master Dutch took over the meeting. "These agents are working on a case dealing with a serial killer. MONOP became involved when given the task to safeguard the only surviving victim."

A picture of Sarah Munshaw flashed up on the screen. It was not a flattering picture. It was of her before she had come back to herself. She sat with a vacant expression. The picture had been shot during mid-rock.

"No," Master Dutch told them, "It is not Agent Rogers, but the similarity is uncanny. This is Sarah Munshaw. This guy targets women who look like a girl he used to know as Anna. This is what he does to them."

Case file pictures of crime scenes flashed up on the screen. Dutch spoke as they flashed. "He butchers them while they are still alive. They are aware of what he is doing to them. He's convinced he's cutting away defective parts. He places them in shallow graves in secluded areas. Recently, he started putting them where the FBI could find them, and they could be given a decent burial. This guy is totally insane and extremely dangerous. He killed Mrs. Munshaw's husband without hesitation. He saw him as a rival for _Anna's_ affections."

"These FBI Agents have figured out who he is, Douglas Carter. It has only recently come to light that he was a CIA Operative who had fallen off the grid. Carter noticed Agent Rogers by webcam, and is now stalking her. The CIA, not wanting to admit to their mistakes, have infiltrated the FBI. They started using Agent Rogers as bait to flush Carter. It didn't work. All it did was get Agent Dauss shot."

"These Agents are here to lure the guy out and to terminate him," Dutch told them bluntly. "He is probably on his way here now. Here are some composites of what this guy could look like. He was a spook. So anyone you don't know is suspect. Except for these guests, no other strangers will be here. It's a Free Game."

He nodded at the assembly and sat down. Mistress Leya took the stand.

She looked straight at Rebecca and smiled. "Don't make the mistake that Rebecca is a dainty little flower, and a victim," Leya told the assembly, "She can kick some serious butt."

Rebecca turned red as a piece of video was shown of her kicking Sam's, and then Tori's butt all over the place. This time the assembly did respond. They laughed.

"Any questions?" Leya asked.

Rebecca cringed. Normally, that kind of open-ended question generated all kinds of stupid questions. She resigned herself to wait it out. There was only one question, and the person stood to be addressed.

"Yes, Ares?" Leya asked.

"And where would you like us to take the body?" He asked gravely.

Everyone clapped and shouted!

Rebecca turned to look at him. He was staring straight at her. His green eyes were dark. His expression fierce. She blinked with surprise. He meant every word! Now, she was seeing the God of War.

"Take it to the morgue of course," Leya answered. "Rebecca, please approach."

Rebecca stared at her in shock. She looked around. Shelly nudged her, smiling encouragingly.

Rebecca squared her shoulders, and walked up onto the platform to stand beside The Mistress. Leya took her hand, and walked with her to the side. Rebecca's hand trembled. Leya gave it a comforting squeeze.

Master Damen stood at the podium.

"We do not usually ask this of our guests," his dark green eyes were very serious. "The Mistress and I have decided that the gravity of the situation warrants Rebecca being assigned a Protector. Those who are Protectors, and would be willing to perform the task—please stand."

Rebecca watched as half the assembly stood. Men and women alike. Elliot also stood, giving Damen a defiant look. Rebecca noticed that Shelly as well as Ares were standing.

"Rebecca," Damen paused, and then frowned at her. "Do you have a pet name?"

Her eyes got big as she notice the collar and leash that he was holding.

"Not that I will answer to," she told him. Her eyes narrowed as she challenged him.

He grinned at her. There was a slight shuffle in the assembly as more people stood.

"The symbol of the collar and leash are not of slavery, but of the permission granted from one person to the other. A submissive is allowed to surrender control and decisions to another person to grant rights and protections." He looked at her with serious eyes. "The person accepting this collar has pledged to solemn promises to Protect and Serve. There is not one person standing who would not give their life, if it was warranted, to your service. You may be asked—demanded of even—to obedience, but it will not be requested with frivolity."

He handed her the collar. "Please choose a Protector."

Surprised, Rebecca watched as He, The Mistress, and Master Dutch all walked to stand with the assembly. They were making themselves available as her Protector. She felt honored.

She stared out over the people standing, but did not hesitate. She gave Elliot an apologetic smile as she walked passed him, and presented the collar to Ares. He accepted it gravely.

"Dominator Protector Ares Les Battant, approach with your Charge," Damen once again stood on the platform.

Ares took her hand, and led her to the front.

"Protector Ares," Master Damen stood before them, "Do you swear on your life to Protect and Serve the Lady, Rebecca Jennifer Rogers?"

"I will!" Ares fastened the collar around Rebecca's neck.

Rebecca had a moment of wild panic as she felt the leather confining her neck. Her heart beat forcefully. Shocked eyes looked up to the stranger she was being promised to. Her hands instinctively reached up to pull the collar away. His fingers reached to caress hers.

"It is just symbolic," Ares whispered against her ear. "I would never do anything to harm you."

His voice soothed her. The panic subsided. She remembered that he was basically promising to be her body guard.

"Lady Rebecca," Damen continued, "I hand your safety and wellbeing over to Dom Ares."

Damen handed him the leash. Ares accepted it gravely, and hooked it into the collar. Ares turned her to face the crowd.

"She is now Mine!" He declared, much like Shelly had done with Nathan.

Now, everyone stood. They clapped, whistled and yelled. Rebecca looked around in confusion. She couldn't help but wonder what the heck she'd just gotten herself into! Ares gently rubbed her back. It felt like some weird-ass marriage!

"Welcome our guests," Leya stood at the podium, "We are done here. Let the fun commence."

The crowd dispersed. Rebecca looked up at Ares shyly. He smiled wickedly down at her. She swallowed nervously. His smile grew wider.

"Come along, little Ward," Ares gave a gentle tug to the leash.

"Do that again," Rebecca warned him, "and you'll be wearing it between your balls!"

He laughed heartily.

Rebecca shook her head. He was probably already wearing something similar between his balls!

"What did The Mistress mean by, Free Game?" She asked him.

"Anyone's kill," he answered.

"That's what I thought," Rebecca frowned.

"Problem?" Ares asked.

"I don't think so," she studied him. "I'm not into vigilantes, but I don't think anyone here will make a mistake, and lynch the wrong man."

"No," he agreed, "they won't."

He led her through the doorway and into the crowd. She stopped, startled. Here, was the decadence and frivolity she had been expecting.

He handed his cloak over to the slave at the door, and turned to her.

She swallowed nervously. He was disturbingly sexy, and very focused on her. She was not used to such attention.

"May I have the first dance?" He asked her.

"You ask?" She pulled at the collar.

"Is it too tight?" He asked with concern.

"No," she answered. "I'm just not used to leather circling around my throat!"

"You don't have to wear it," he told her softly.

He unclipped the leash from her collar, and wound it to the attachments on his belt. She swallowed nervously.

"Everyone here understands." Ares looked over at Elliot, "well, maybe not everyone."

Rebecca bit her lip.

"What is it?" Ares asked her.

Her eyes were tormented. It was obvious, she was torn about something. He knew it must be concerning Elliot. He had not missed Elliot's determination to stand as her protector. She could have chosen him, but she had walked passed him to choose a stranger. She had chosen _Him_.

"I'm pregnant," she whispered to him. "It should have been mentioned, before the request for a Protector. It does kind of change the dynamics a bit."

Her cheeks were flushed.

He lifted her face to look deeply into her eyes. "It only means there is more to protect and consider! I am still honored!"

He kissed her. It was a tender kiss. She started with surprise.

"Come," He led her into a slow dance.

She felt the press of his body up against hers. She looked up, startled. He was wearing that wicked smile again as he stared down at her. She realized that he liked teasing her. Her eyes narrowed. She pressed and wiggled her pelvic onto him. She laughed as his eyes widened.

He growled. She laughed with delight as he swept her around the room.

Elliot's eyes narrowed as he watched Rebecca being whirled away.

"It's not poaching—if it's not declared," Nathan told him. "You can always challenge him."

Elliot watched as Shelly leashed Nathan, and walked him into the party. He shook his head. Nathan was right. He'd told Rebecca he'd be there for her and the baby, and then never brought it up again. He never even explained what that meant. To be honest, he didn't even know what it meant. He'd never said he loved her. Never said he wanted a life with her.

He was also at a disadvantage with his leg. Rebecca was being smart. So why did he feel so wretched? She looked so beautiful as she was being twirled around!

Amy grabbed his arm, "Come on, boyfriend," she told him. "Today is not the day to make life altering decisions!"

She pulled him into a very, slow dance.

"Are you always so controlling?" He asked her, frowning.

"Duh," she laughed up at him.

He looked down at her near nakedness, her big breasts, the leather, the whip, her sparkly gray eyes, and shook his head. Keaton had warned him about her. He should have listened. He looked over to see Keaton grinning at him. He actually winked. Elliot sighed.

"Sigh like that again," Amy threatened in a low voice, "and I swear, I will bring out the whip, and whip you sound right here in front of everyone!"

Her eyes were serious. Elliot's eyes widened with shock. She smirked at him.

She danced him over to Rebecca. In a move, swift and smooth, he suddenly found himself dancing with the Dom. Amy was dancing away with Rebecca. He stared up at Ares with shock.

"You guys are certainly amusing," Ares laughed, and continued to hold him as they danced across the floor.

Rebecca stared at Amy with surprise. Amy smiled, and pulled her closer against her body. Rebecca's eyes widened as she felt Amy's boobs pressed into her.

"We tend to take our entertainment very seriously," Amy smiled into her eyes.

"And I'm the entertainment?" Rebecca asked.

"Or they are," Amy laughed tilting her head towards Ares and Elliot.

Rebecca looked over to see them dancing. Elliot looked a little strained pulled up tight against Ares. Rebecca snorted.

"You don't need to worry about any of the Doms," Amy told her.

"What are you talking about?" Rebecca frowned at her.

"STD's or getting pregnant," Amy continued. "No Dom, male of female, would put themselves out, if they were contagious. It would get them banned from MONOP."

Amy held her away to watch her. Rebecca was small and graceful. In the blue gown she looked stunning.

"There are choices about pregnancy," Amy told her. "There are the permanent decisions of course, but there are also alternatives for men and women which the general public doesn't know about."

"I won't get pregnant," Rebecca assured her.

Amy's eyes gleamed wickedly. She smirked. If Rebecca thought she could hold herself away from Ares, she was fooling herself. Ares was patient, but relentless for what he wanted. It was pretty obvious he wanted Rebecca.

"And why is that?" Amy asked, her lips twitched.

"I already am," Rebecca's head tilted. She stared at Amy in challenge.

Amy's eyes grew big. Rebecca laughed at finally shocking one of the Dominants.

Amy frowned and muttered, "You should probably have an additional protector."

"Ares didn't think it would be a problem." Rebecca's eyes narrowed. "I am not weak!"

"No," Amy agreed with a smile, "you are not. I'm glad. Weak people annoy me. That's why I'm not a Protector!"

"Do you like women?" Rebecca asked curiously.

"Some," Amy studied her, "Do you like men?"

Rebecca laughed, "Sometimes."

They smiled as they parted.

Rebecca felt like the Belle of the Ball. She was teased and flirted with as she was passed from one dancer to the next. Alcohol was being passed around. But that, she stayed away from. She was pleased to see that although people drank, no one was becoming drunk.

She was becoming a lot more relaxed as she realized the people, even in all the sexy attire, were good people. They truly wished her well. They weren't deviants or perverts. They were just people enjoying another way of living.

At one point Elliot claimed a dance. Their movements were stilted. She was sad to see how awkward he was with her, and knew it wasn't because of his leg. His interest had spiked, while hers had dimmed. It should not have taken other people's interest in her to make her more appealing to him.

Ares watched as Rebecca was danced and flirted with. He was pleased to see she did not participate with the alcohol, or the drugs. There was no one there who would hurt her. There was only one who might challenge for his control of her. Ares was not worried about him. It was obvious that Rebecca had moved on.

He watched her with fascination. She was a speckle of light twirling in a mass of color. He felt honored that she had, of all the people there, chosen him as her Protector. He walked into the crowd to claim the last dance.

Rebecca was surprised when Ares stole her away for a dance. He was smooth in his interception of her. So graceful in his movements. He held her tight against him. She liked the scent of him. She'd never been fascinated by the unknown. She'd never responded to strangers. His effect, confused her.

The dance ended. He cradled her face with his right hand as he lowered his lips to kiss her. Her eyes grew luminous as she realized his intent. His lips were warm and full. They teased her and melted her. She felt the press of his tongue, and opened her mouth for him. He bathed her mouth in warmth.

She blinked with surprise as he drew away. While he had been kissing her so ardently, he had attached the leash.

"Come, little Ward," he told her. "Let me show you to where you will be living."

She looked up at him with surprise. She had forgotten that basically, he owned her. She hadn't thought about the fact that she would no longer have her own room. She looked around, but there was no one to save her.

He gave the leash a gentle tug. She glared at him in warning. The rumble of his laughter tingled to her toes. She swept out of the room, only to realize that she did not know where to go.

"So eager," he looked down at her. "I will call you Iris."

"I may not answer," she informed him.

"Oh," he smiled, "I think you will."

He led her to a room on the quiet side of the hotel. She was surprised to see it had a coded entry.

"You live here?" She asked him.

"I have rooms here," he answered.

His hand moved fast on the keys, but she was able to follow them. She memorized the numbers. He opened the door, but she paused at the entrance. He waited. He did not pressure her. He did not push her. He simply waited. Taking a deep breath, she took the step that pivoted her to the point of no return.

He turned her, so her back was to the room, as he unhooked the leash. He removed the collar. Her neck was a little pink, but the skin was smooth. He caressed the tender skin.

"You kept the collar on," He murmured.

"It seemed prudent," she answered.

Her breath caught as she turned into the room. It was not the hotel room she had been expecting. It was truly beautiful and personal. She could see a lot of him in it.

She'd been so caught up in the Protector that she'd forgotten the Artisan. They were in a greeting room. There was no other explanation for it. The furnishings were elegant with wooden cabinets, delicate tables and chairs. An ornamental rug grounded the room, and connected the seating area.

There were two carved pillars, one on each side of the room which ran up to the high ceiling. The walls were covered with delicate wallpaper. She had to get right up on it to see the delicate roses in the pale blue background. She stopped at the paintings to admire the artist's stokes.

The paintings were varied. As if the artist dabbled, and painted a bit of whatever he fancied. A lovely young girl, a bridge over a babbling brook, a brilliant sunset. He used a lot of shades of blue in the room; in fabric as well as in crystal.

"You did these," she smiled appreciatively.

"Yes," he answered softly.

Ares watched her as she moved about the room. Curious to what the room held. She had touched the pillars to better understand the carvings. She had noticed the roses. Most people did not see them. She appreciated the art. She seemed to understand it.

Rebecca walked into the next room. Startled, she tried to back away, but bumped up against him. He did not move. She drew in a deep breath. The scent of the room—and of him—filled her senses. Her eyes dilated.

It was _the_ bedroom! A very large bedroom. Centered in the room, was a European Pedestal King bed. It was mounted up on a platform. Thick pillars of dark wood were at each corner of the bed, joined by delicate wooden beams. Silky drapes of golds and browns hung from the top of the beams. A lush, light gold comforter covered the large mattress with a scattering of gold and brown silk pillows. Two small, dark wood tables were on each side of the bed.

An ornamental rug grounded the room. The dressing vanity matched the dark wood. A delicate table stood in a corner. It was accompanied by a single chair. She did not inspect the cream colored wallpaper, but suspected that once again, it was not what it seemed. Personal paintings dotted along the walls. Some were sensual renditions. Some positively shameless!

She turned to leave. His chest blocked her vision. His lips quirked as he looked down at her. She glanced up. His green eyes shimmered.

She was at a loss. Heat radiated through her body, but she had never been able to initiate intimacy. She had never allowed a stranger to touch her before. Now, she wanted both, but did not know what to do.

"Touch me," he told her. "Touch my chest."

She blinked at him.

"That is all you have to do is touch my chest," he said softly.

Her eyes opened wide. She understood. Hesitantly—shyly—she lifted a hand to slide inside his shirt against his skin. His skin was smooth, his muscles strong and tight. Her fingers wandering further inside his shirt to touch the fine dusting of dark hair, and then across to the dark tight nipples. She touched them lightly. They were hard little nubs. She unbuttoned his shirt to give herself more access. Her fingers lingered on his stomach. It was flat and strong. She looked up into his green eyes. He stared down at her hungrily.

He drew in a deep breath at her first touch. Not because of the affect of her touch, but due to her permission, for him to make love to her.

He raised her face up and kissed her gently, deeply. She sighed against his lips.

He slowly undressed her. Gently touching her skin as it was revealed to him. It was creamy and silky soft. He took his pleasure in her, taking his time, understanding just how shy she was. He stroked her, and left rows of kisses across her skin. He gently bathed her in fragrant oil, and then kissed across it. She tingled from the attention.

When she was naked and standing before him, he slowly took off his own clothes. He wanted her to watch him. When he got to his pants, he used her hands to unbutton them. Her hands caressed his tight butt as she pulled his pants away. He wasn't wearing any undergarments.

Her blue eyes were luminous. They glowed with fascination and desire as his thick, long cock was revealed to her sight. She licked her lips. If he had been any other man, he would have groaned. She was so unaware of her own natural responses to him.

Her eyes grew enormous as he picked her up, and carried her to the bed. He knew she was very inexperienced. He laid her on her back, and climbed up over her.

Her fevered eyes gazed at him. He took her lips, caressing them with his own. His tongue slid between her lips and gently filled her mouth. Pushing in and in. He withdrew, and then he filled her again. He did it again. She writhed against him. His hand lightly caressed the mound of her breast, his fingers teased the nipple. His hand slid across her chest to the other breast. He gently squeezed it while his tongue plunged inside her mouth. He touched the nipple, just lightly on the very tip. She squirmed wanting more.

He withdrew his tongue to kiss down the side of her throat. He kissed down to the nipple. He sucked it into his mouth, and tormented the tip with his tongue.

He kissed the underside of her breast. Sucking lightly at the delicate skin.

His hand drifted down into her moist folds. His fingers swirled around her clit, and gently caressed her entrance. He stroked her.

He kissed deeply between her breasts, as his fingers gently tugged, and twisted on the other nipple.

Rebecca squirmed as she felt his hot breath and gentle kiss. His dark hair brushed across her skin, teasing her as he moved. He teased with his tongue. She squirmed with hunger. She wanted him to bite her nipple. Why wasn't he biting it? That was when she remembered his words from earlier that day.

"I insist," she murmured.

"Look at me," he told her, "look at me and tell me that!"

She met his hot, hungry eyes.

She was fevered. She wanted the intensity of his touch!

"I insist," she said tensely, "I want you to bite me!"

He bent over and sucked up the nipple. He bit her. Her back arched with the pleasure and intensity of it. His fingers rubbed from the folds of her entrance to her clit. He caressed and rubbed as he chewed and sucked on her nipple. He bit down on the very tip. He pulled it up hard between his teeth.

A thrill shot from her clit to her nipple. She bucked from the intensity of it. He continued to rub her clit with his thumb as he moved to the other nipple. He bit it hard. She arched. He pushed two fingers inside her, and stroked her passage. He continued to rub her clit with his thumb. He curved his fingers to hit on her G-spot. She moaned losing herself to the assault.

He bit her nipple again. She bucked, pleasure rolled through her as she climaxed. She gasped. Spasms rippled through her body. He continued to stroke inside her, and to rub hard on her clit. She spasmed again. She moaned with the pleasure of it.

He loved how responsive she was to his touch.

He climbed up on her, and positioned himself above her.

"Look at me," he ordered her.

Her eyes were wide as she saw him mounted up above her. His big cock was just touching against her entrance. He rubbed her entrance with his cock. He then slowly pressed himself inside her. He withdrew. He pressed in again. He withdrew. He did it over and over again. Each time pressing harder and faster.

He was so big, she couldn't breath. He pressed all the way inside, and lowered himself on top of her. He took her lips in a kiss as he plunged his tongue deep inside her mouth. He started stroking with his cock and his tongue.

He then reached a hand around and touched the bud of her butt. She jumped with surprise. She could feel the slick warmth of the oil as he stroked her. His finger then pressed inside her. He overwhelmed her senses! He continued to stroke, to plunge, and to press. He moved fast and hard. He lifted her butt with both hands to meet his thrusts. His finger was joined with another. They pressed deep into her.

Her eyes opened wide. He was staring at her with such intensity, even while he was plunging into her with his tongue. He lifted up to watch her pleasure.

She came apart. Her back arched, smacking into his chest. Her breathing rocketed. Light flared. Her body spasmed and jerked. She had never come so hard in her life! She might have screamed. Probably did scream, but she didn't know. She was so lost to the pleasure of the orgasm. Even as she was at the peak of her climax, he still pounded inside her. She gasped, holding herself up to him. She wanted him to cum, but he did not. Her heart slowed as she was lowered back to the bed.

She looked up at him. He smiled wickedly as he started the process all over again.

"No," she murmured in disbelief.

"Yes," he told her as he kissed her lips, and lightly twisted a nipple.

Her body jerked.

He laughed softly at her response. He kissed her stomach and made a path down toward the core of her heat. His fingers gently separated the folds surrounding her entrance as he kissed towards it.

She panted with anticipation. Her fingers dug into his hair. Her hips shifted trying to bring him there all the sooner. She felt the breath from his laughter at her impatience.

Finally, he sucked up her clit. He chewed it lightly as he pressed two fingers deep inside her. He licked her hard from clit to pussy again and again before replacing his fingers with his tongue. He lifted her butt with his hand giving himself better access to her pussy as he lapped her.

He plunged his tongue deeper. Her eyes sprung open to watch him. His eyes darkened wickedly as he looked into her eyes. He used a finger to caress the bud of her butt before pressing it into her. She rocked wildly as another climax took her. She was still in the midst of spasms when he lowered her to the bed, and thrust his thick cock deep into the core of her. He spread her legs to take her deeper. Pounding into the deepest part of her.

Her body exploded into a harder climax—a higher climax. She panted. She then forgot to breath! Light patterns burst in her head as he pounded into her fast and hard. Her body continued to shudder. He growled, pulling his head back as he came deep inside of her. She could feel his hot cum. He rocked tight against her, releasing every drop. Her body splintered and she climaxed again. She reeled from the shock of their orgasm.

He lowered her back down to the bed. Breathing deeply, he rolled with her and held her head to his chest gently caressing her hair. She could feel his cock still inside of her. She panted trying to catch her breath.

"Oh," she murmured, "that was so, so good!"

"It is," he corrected her.

Her eyes opened in shock as she felt his cock start to grow within her. She started to raise her head to stare at him, but he held her firmly to his chest as he regulated his breathing.

_Oh God!_ He was big in her again. She whimpered. He chuckled.

He took her several times through the night. Only allowing her time to rest long enough to catch her breath. The final time, she was on top of him. Her head resting on his chest as he rocked her tightly against himself. She groaned as he came inside her once again. This time, he let her sleep. He smiled with satisfaction.

Once during her sleep, he felt her reaching for him. He positioned her fingers around his cock. She murmured contentedly, and continued to sleep.

Now, she knew what it was like to be taken by a Dom—to be loved by a Dom.

TOC
Chapter Twenty-Seven

Rebecca woke to the feel of a hot, naked body pressed tightly up behind her. Her sleep, fogged mind snapped to attention. So did something else that was poking her in the back. She heard a throaty laugh, and remembered the night before—the whole night before.

She groaned. She felt sticky and sore. She hoped to God that Ares was not seriously thinking of putting that back inside her! Even as she was thinking of his cock, her pussy clenched. Her traitorous body jerked. She blushed crimson.

She rolled over to face him. Words died on her lips as she watched the slow decent of his lips as they took hers in a feathery light kiss. He deepened the kiss, melting her.

"Come," he pulled her from the bed, "we have a meeting this morning. We have plans to make, but first we must get you dressed."

"I'm perfectly capable of dressing myself!" She glared defiantly at him as she stood naked.

He met her flashing blue eyes.

"Allow me," he told her huskily. "I would enjoy dressing you."

"Anyone else," Rebecca muttered, "and I'd say, screw you."

"You will let me?" He asked, his eyes sparkled.

"Fine," Rebecca sighed, resigned to playing the doll.

An hour and a half later, Rebecca admitted that she enjoyed Ares attention. He had bathed her, and caressed her. He'd soothed her soreness. Which was only right, since he'd made her that way! He picked out her dress, and did her hair and makeup. He was so much better at bringing out the feminine side of her than she was.

When he was finished, he allowed her to see herself in the mirror.

"Really?" Rebecca glared at him.

"Totally," Ares laughed softly.

"I cannot wear this!" She told him.

"Come," he hooked on the leash. "We don't have time now to make changes. The meeting is starting."

Rebecca stared at herself in the mirror. The gown was sheer pale blue. She could see her dark rosy nipples and her pubic hair! In fact, she could see more, since he'd shaved right up to her clit! She could see Flesh!

She glared at him. He was wearing dark blue trousers, and a cream silk shirt. While he was still sexy as hell. He was totally covered! Not even a peek of flesh!

"I am not going out there like this!" She stated angrily.

"Yes," he lifted her easily, and carried her through the door, "you are!"

Once placed in the hotel corridor, tears sprang to Rebecca's eyes. She stared down at the floor. She could have hurt him—hurt him badly! It wasn't a choice she had been willing to make. He squatted down in front of her. She resisted his touch when he tried to lift her chin to meet his eyes.

He sat down in front of her. He turned her towards him. Surprised, she stared at him. His eyes were serious. There was nothing playful, or teasing about them.

"You have a role to play," he explained. "You must convince this bastard that you are into this. That you are into me. He's dangerous as hell. We have to keep him off balance—off his game. We need for him to make mistakes. If he's thinking straight, others will get hurt. You know he will use anyone, and anything to get to you."

"So why the dress—or lack of it?" Rebecca asked him.

She stared at him with tear filmed eyes. One tear shimmered in her lashes. He gently wiped it away.

"There's no time for you to get used to this," he told her. "If I'd asked you to wear this, would you have done so, without a fight?"

"Hell no!" Her eyes flashed angrily.

"So, I took the choice from you," he told her gently. "It's what I do."

She stared at him—at the Dom. She nodded. She understood. It didn't mean she liked it!

He hesitated, "I know you are capable of refusing," he told her, "I appreciate your trust in me."

"Only for you, Ares," Her voice was tight. "Anyone else would find themselves with a new asshole."

He laughed.

"So wear your clothing with pride," His eyes sought hers. "It is true, I would have chosen you regardless of the mess you find yourself in. I meant it when I said you were exquisite! You are also unique!"

"It is not my mess!" She glared at him.

"No," he grinned at her, "but the warrior in you rose to meet the challenge. I admire that!"

She pressed her eyes closed to gather her nerves. She'd be lying to herself if she said Ares words had not affected her—had not charmed her. But then again, it's what he was! She had to remember that!

She opened her eyes to stare at him He smiled. Her eyes were defiant. He could see the warrior.

They were not alone in the corridor. People passed them as they went about there business. One woman caught her eye. Her eyes were sympathetic. Rebecca had to laugh.

"What?" Ares asked with concern.

"They think the Dom is chastising his Sub," Rebecca told him.

"Well," he pulled her to her feet, "they'd be right in that—wouldn't they?"

She stared at him with surprise. Her brothers were brutes when they'd scolded her. With Ares, she hadn't even realized she was being chastised.

"It is not always necessary to be harsh," Ares reminded her "a person doesn't always need tough love."

"Is that what you were doing?" She asked sarcastically, "giving me soft love?"

His lip twitched, "Come along, little ward."

He pulled on the leash. She growled at him.

"Oh," he stopped, "one more thing."

He turned her, and attached a three inch silver tag to her collar. He smiled.

"What is it?" She asked with dread.

"A name plate," he told her. "So people will know your name is Iris."

She touched the plate. He watched her to see if she would tear it off. She just rolled her eyes.

"I'm glad this place is warm," she commented. "This dress is very _fine_. Couldn't we have done this in stages? Today my boobs, tomorrow my hoochie-momma?"

"Sometimes," he told her as he led her away, "you just have to dive on in."

"One of these days," she promised him.

He laughed.

She squared her shoulders. Her eyes dared anyone to stare at her, or to criticize. She need not have worried. There was not a person there who would defy Ares. His Sub could have been displayed naked, and they would have accepted his decision. Halfway to the meeting room, Rebecca realized that.

"Thank you," she told him.

"What?" He asked surprise.

"For not displaying me naked." She blushed. "That would have made me feel vulnerable. This just makes me feel silly."

He stopped in the hallway. He turned her. A frown marred his face. The first frown, she'd ever seen on him. She swallowed nervously. He stared intently at her.

"It was not my intention to make you feel vulnerable, or silly," he assured her. "There is nothing _silly_ about the way you look. You look sexy as hell! There isn't a person here who does not wish they could pull off what you're wearing so effortlessly. It is your own natural beauty which allows the affect."

She looked at him doubtfully.

He took her hand, and pressed it against his cock. He was big and hard.

"There is nothing silly about the effect you have on me!"

She blinked with surprise. He groaned.

"Come along," he pulled on the leash, "or I'll be taking you right here. We're already late."

He opened the door, and pushed her in ahead of him. She anchored herself against the floor. Everyone turned to look at them. Keaton's pen fell from his fingers. Nathan grinned. Elliot blushed. Rebecca glared at Elliot, and walked in. Ares took a chair, and pulled her onto his lap. Shelly and Amy's eyes glowed. Carl ignored the whole thing.

Master Dutch nodded. He'd been concerned that the woman would not be able to play the part. He should have known that Ares would see to it. The woman had fire in her! She would need it. She was smart to have chosen Ares as her Protector.

There were three other people there who she didn't know. They were part of the security detail for Mediterranean Avenue. Master Dutch introduced them. Master Silver was a wiry man with black hair and silver rimmed glasses. Madam Chester grinned at her and winked. She was a busty lady with flaming red hair. She had a gun strapped to her bare thigh. Master DeLouse was a big, dark haired man with a sculptured mustache. His eyes were black and cold. Rebecca did not like him!

"I would have wished that The Master had not made it an open hunt," Master DeLouse complained.

"It doesn't matter," Master Dutch told him. "It is now a Free Hunt."

"That's just all we need is everyone shooting at the guy as soon as he's spotted," Madam Chester frowned. "That makes containment impossible."

"He did the right thing," Ares surprised them by saying. "It was going to happen anyway. This way everyone is aware, and everyone is on the same page."

"I don't get that," Master DeLouse frowned at him.

"Will you let him walk on by if you spot him?" Ares challenged.

"No," Master DeLouse argued, "but I have the authority."

"Authority doesn't mean shit," Armison told him. "You saw the way your own people responded. There wasn't a person there who wouldn't put a bullet in the guy."

"That's what I was saying," Master DeLouse said angrily.

"This discussion is pointless," Rebecca glared at them. "Can we just get on with it!"

Ares's eyes narrowed as he watched the interplay between the two. DeLouse was shocked, and then Rebecca had the nerve to roll her eyes at him. He was livid. He stood to tower over her. She jumped off Ares's lap to confront him. Everyone watched. Everyone waited.

Madam Chester made to intervene, but Ares shook his head at her. Master Dutch watched with amusement. He'd watched all the videos of Rebecca. Nathan's eyes gleamed. He watched with anticipation. Shelly sighed and gave his leash a tug. He turned to grin at her.

"Your balls," she warned him.

He laughed.

If Master DeLouse had not been so angry, he might have noticed that no one seemed concerned about the play of disrespect. He also forgot one base rule. No one—No One—touches a Dom's Sub.

"You only walked into this mess," Rebecca growled at him, "and you think you know this guy! You don't know squat!"

"You little, Twat!" He yelled at her. "I'm a Master! You do not talk to me like that."

In his rage, he grabbed her arm to shake her. Ares stood, but before he could take a step. Rebecca had launched DeLouse across the room. They heard his arm break upon impact with the wall. He howled in pain.

"Be careful who you call a Twat," Rebecca glared down at him, "You Ass-Hole!"

She kicked him in the side. They heard another bone break. Ares pulled her away.

"Breath," Ares rubbed her back. "Breath."

She did breath. Out of her nose, in through her mouth. She was still pissed. She'd come in ready to figure out how to take Carter down. Not play dumb-shit games!

"And the gloves come off!" Nathan laughed with delight. "I knew you were teaching with kiddie gloves!"

"Call for a medic," Master Dutch growled.

"Sorry," Rebecca told him.

He looked at her with surprise.

"I'm not angry at you darling!" He laughed. He turned to DeLouse who was whimpering in pain. "Third strike—you're out of here!"

Rebecca's mouth dropped open.

"You set me up?" She accused. "Damn you guys, and your Freak'n-Ass games!"

"Smart, too," Master Dutch complimented Ares.

"It was not in question," Ares told him.

He led her back to _their_ chair. She sighed as she leaned her back into his chest. He put his arms around her—holding her. She closed her eyes relishing the feel of him. She had never felt so cared for!

Elliot watched them with shocked eyes. He'd only just realized that to the Dom, it was not a game. He planned on keeping Rebecca. Ares challenged Elliot over the top of Rebecca's head. Elliot wondered if Rebecca knew that? Wondered if she cared?

The medics carted DeLouse away.

"What will happen to him," Keaton asked.

"He'll be reconditioned," Amy answered. "I doubt if they will bother trying to rehabilitate him. He has bad character. You can't habilitate that out of a person!"

"Recondition?" Elliot asked.

"Forced to Forget," Shelly answered.

Elliot frowned as he considered.

"At least you're seeing with eyes wide open," Rebecca told him, "before making any choices."

"Yah," he looked between her and Ares.

She just shook her head. He needed to get over it. It was finished. With or without Ares.

Shelly started laughing. She was laughing so hard, tears came to her eyes.

They all stared at her.

"I know what we need to do!" She told them. "The main disagreement has been about who is going to take the shot, right?"

"The only disagreement," Master Dutch admitted.

Shelly grinned at him. Her eyes sparkled.

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Chapter Twenty-Eight

Carter reacted in rage as he watched Anna being led around by a leash! The big bastard who was leading her acted as if he owned her! Hell! She acted as if he owned her. No one owned his Anna!

And what the heck was she wearing? Some thin pale blue thing! He could see right through it. He could see her nipples and her slit! What was she thinking? She needed him, before she ruined herself!

He couldn't believe that she was even in a place like this! The hotel was filled with perverts and degenerates. Men and Women alike. Whores all of them. He paused. So what did that make Anna? He threw the question away as unworthy. She obviously needed his help!

The first day he had tried to step inside, he was stopped at the door by a transvestite! Security! In Drag!

He'd had to disguise himself as a hooker. Who would have thought that the plainness of his face, which had always been an asset, now worked against him. He'd have waited for her to leave, but it looked like she had settled in to stay. Bought and paid for—it seemed. Damn it!

He'd use bait and draw her out, but there wasn't any of that readily available, either. There was no other choice, but to come inside and get her. He'd been unable to do reconnaissance. He kept getting locked in or out, of places. This hotel wasn't laid out like any he'd ever been in before, and he'd been in some pretty sophisticated hotels.

Damn, he was losing her. That bastard made her walk way too fast in those silly, six inch heels. And why was he rushing her along so fast anyway? He hurried to get closer to them. He fingered the gun.

"Sweetie," she was saying. "Why the rush? We don't need a room. I can do you right here!"

"I'm in the mood for something a little more exotic," he growled at her. "I want to tie you up, and swing you down on me! I want to use whatever entrance lands on my hard cock. I want to jab it up into you, and bounce you hard."

Carter gripped the gun harder.

"Ease off," Shelly's voice called to them. "He's going into a rage."

"Not going to happen sweetheart," Rebecca scolded him.

"I know," he laughed, "I just wanted to say that to you."

"You did, didn't you?" Rebecca stopped to stare at him.

"Well the thought had crossed my mind," he admitted.

Her eyes grew wide. He grinned at her, and made her walk.

"Can we do that?" Rebecca asked.

"Not quite how I said it," Ares answered, "that was a bit crude, but yeah. There are rooms available, but you aren't ready for that."

Rebecca swallowed nervously.

They walked through the door at the far end of the hall. Carter didn't know where it led. He sprinted after them. He rushed through the door. He stopped, and frowned. Anna was no where in sight. He realized there were people at the back of the room. People with guns, and they were all pointed at him. He turned to run out, but the door had closed. It didn't have a knob, or a handle. He turned to face them. The light was in his face, blinding him, but he could still make out that the room was full.

His smile was smug. They knew he was dangerous! He was good at what he did. Okay, so he was caught for now. There would be more opportunities. It was time to give up the game. He would go to prison for a while. He could do some time.

He looked around. It was a strange room. A long room.

The room exploded with gunfire. Anyone who wanted a piece of him was emptying their clip. Ares and Rebecca had led him to the target area of the firing range.

"I think that should do it!" Rebecca glared at the broken, bloody body.

"I don't think there's enough left to take to the morgue," Ares agreed.

Everyone laughed.

"So who had the killing shot?" Elliot joked.

"Me," someone called out, "I went for the head. Got it too, spot on!"

"Not me," someone else yelled, "I wanted the Fucker to suffer!"

"Oh come on, Andy, admit it, you're just a crappie shot!"

"I think we all got in the killing shot," Master Dutch said dryly as he looked down at the body. "He won't be bothering anyone, anymore—ever!"

They laughed and slapped each other's backs, hands, shoulders—whatever! The game was done. It was Good!

"He's finished!" Shelly holstered her gun, and hugged into Nathan. He grinned back at her, and holstered his own gun.

Carl and Keaton did the same.

Amy laughed as she heard fifty plus other people slip steel into leather.

"Damn Doll Dicer got what he deserved!" Master Dutch growled with satisfaction.

"A good day's work!" Dominatrix Leya Noire DeSoul congratulated them.

"A very fine day's work!" Dominator-Protector Damen Les Écrans agreed.

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Epilogue

"He's really dead?" Sarah asked Shelly.

"Oh yeah," Shelly assured her, "there wasn't much left of him."

"Does that mean I have to leave?" Sarah's eyes were big. She was scared.

"No," Shelly frowned. "We don't do that. The threat to you is gone, but you are not ready to leave. I'll teach you how to start making decisions for yourself."

"I make decisions," Sarah protested.

"Sweetie," Shelly laughed, "deciding whether or not to wear shoes to the mailbox is not making a decision. That's just being dictated to by the weather instead of by a person."

"Oh," Sarah frowned down at her bare feet.

She grinned, and then laughed. She was barefoot, because it had finally gotten warm enough! Shelly was right.

"Will I ever be well again?" Sarah asked sadly. "Will I ever feel like me again?"

"I think so," Shelly answered, "but people change. You will never be the person you were. You just have to figure out who you are now. Find what you do and don't like. When you do, you will know what you want, and make decisions about life. Until then, you will stay with us."

"And after?" Sarah asked.

"Again," Shelly told her. "That will be your decision. There will be choices. In fact, I see a choice approaching. Do you want to go with him? Do you want to dance in the park? Sing under the trees? What do you want?"

Sarah watched as Steve walked towards them. She felt a great amount of warmth flood through her. That was one question she did not have to think about.

Sarah skipped towards him. She smiled as she looked up into his warm brown eyes. She loved his eyes!

"You doing okay?" He asked.

"Better now," she rose up, and kissed his lips. She savored the feel of them as he kissed her back.

Shelly smiled as she watched them kiss. Sarah would be okay. There wasn't a smidgen of coercion in her response. In fact, she initiated it.

Steve walked with Sarah back to where Shelly stood.

"When are you due?" Sarah asked Shelly.

"Five months, eighteen days, and eleven hours," Shelly told them.

"Right," Steve laughed.

Shelly smiled mysteriously. Nathan had told her the exact time their child would be born. She had made book on it!

"Rebecca just went into labor," a voice announced in their ears. He laughed. "I was going to have us all watch, but she just threw a vase of flowers taking down the camera. That woman has one hell of a throw!"

### ***

"Come on, Iris baby," Ares tried to sooth his Lady. "They didn't mean any harm."

"Harm My Ass!" She panted.

Iris screamed as another contraction took her.

"I'll not have a bunch of perverted voyeurs watching me as I push out this squirming little brat!" She declared as she squeezed his hand.

"A video then," he offered persuasively, "to watch later?"

"Fine!" She growled.

Ares nodded to the technician. A new camera was quickly put into place.

"That thing better not be sending out a live feed!" Iris panted. "I get first dibs at seeing it!"

"We'll see it together," Ares assured her.

"No Mistress," the tech was quick to assure her. "It's only recording."

"God hates me!" Iris groaned as another contraction took her.

"Breath sweetie, breath," Ares coached.

"What the fuck do you think I'm doing!" Iris shouted at him.

Leya and Damen watched from the observation window.

"It's always the quiet ones," Leya laughed.

"Give you odds that before the day, she'll be agreeing to another," Damen smirked.

"No way!" Leya laughed at him, "Maybe later, but not this day she won't! I'll take those odds."

"Okay," the Handler called out, "you can push now!"

"About fucking time!" Iris yelled at her.

Iris strained as she pushed for all she was worth! She panted.

"Push!" She was ordered.

If she'd had breath, she would have told that Bitch just what she could do with herself!

Iris pushed.

"I see the head," Ares grinned at her.

"Shut—Up," Iris growled at him.

Iris pushed again. She panted, she pushed. She felt as if she was being twisted inside out. She pushed again. Finally, she felt the pressure leave her body. She heard the infant cry.

"Oh My God!" Tears streamed down her face.

Ares watched intently as they wiped the infant down, and placed her in Iris's arms. She gazed down at her.

He touched her tiny, tiny fingers.

"You and Elliot made a beautiful little girl!" Ares said softly.

"I wish he could have been here," Iris held the infant. "He's always too busy. He's an idiot!"

Iris smiled up at him. Her daughter had black hair and the darkest of eyes. She was perfect! She watched Ares as he gently touched the baby, delicately as only his touch could be. He had a wistful expression as he gazed at her.

"What will you call her?" Ares asked her.

"Anything, except Grass Hopper!" Iris told him adamantly.

He laughed.

"I was thinking of Dawn," she told him. "Maybe to go with Dusk, the son you're going to make with me!"

"A son?" He asked, shocked, "You would do this all over again for me?"

"I would do _anything_ for you!" Iris answered softly. "I love you!"

"You own my heart," he buried his face into her hair. "I love you, too!"

"Your bet," Leya sighed.

"When is Shelly due?" Damen asked.

"Nathan told her it would be, November 21st at 3:27 in the morning," Leya laughed. "He said Sarah and Steve would have theirs in thirteen months!"

"Who else did he say?" Damen's eyes sparkled. "He's got quite a thing for that, doesn't he?"

"Oh," Leya grinned at him. "He has a list. You would be surprised!"

Leya laughed to herself. _Should she tell him? Naw, let it be a surprise!_

"At this rate we might as well build a nursery." Damen told her.

"Probably," she agreed mysteriously.

"We can convert a portion of the basement at the Mediterranean for day care," he suggested.

"That would be good," she nodded.

His eyes narrowed as he studied her.

She just smiled as she watched Ares and Iris holding Dawn.

"Huh," Damon grunted.

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Books of Fiction by L. S. Fayne

### Romance Suspense Series: MONOP

CONTAINS ADULT SEXUAL CONTENT

* The Lie that is Vermont Avenue: Book One

* Marvin Buried in the Gardens: Book Two

* Landing on Chance: Book Three

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - \- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

### Fantasy Magical Adventure

WRITTEN FOR YOUNG ADULT AND ADULTS

19th Century Series: The O'Byrne Daughters

* Budding Magic: Book One

* It's Just Magic!: Book Two

* Gathering of the Raven: Book Three

20th Century Series: Druantia's Children

* Christmas in the House of O'Byrne: Book One

* Druantia's Braids: Book Two

* There Can't Be Shadows Without Light: Book Three

21st Century: Raven Investigations

* Mad Queens and Dying Kings

### Books of Non-Fiction by L. S. Fayne

* FiBroMyAlgia Chatter
From The Author

This is my first Romance Novel.

I always try to write the complete story, an honest story, that makes sense to the realities of life. Stories are always so loud in my head that it is a challenge to create the words so the reader can experience the depth of emotion the characters are experiencing.

I hope you enjoy this new series. It's very naughty. It made me blush even as I was writing it.

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