Is it possible that even my latest fear is sheer delusion? – H.P. Lovecraft

San Antonio, April 25, Around noon

The message that flashed across the screen of the phone mounted on the dash pulled Briel back to the present, and she narrowed her focus to take in the words.

It’s Mexico City. Pin to follow.

Another message? Briel had never figured out who had shared the location with her the month before, and the new text seemed destined for the same obscurity. How could someone send a personal message from a five-digit number? The tip the month before had panned out, so maybe this one would hold some promise as well. Of course, Briel had spent hours researching the location of the original tip, first finding the ProtoComm annex in Banff, then locating the Henry property outside of town, and then finally gaining access to the cameras that had shown her Jase – had confirmed he was working for Bill Henry.

She had known then, had figured out where Jase was holding Felicity, and less than forty-eight hours later, Briel had retrieved her mark and had set in motion the events that led her to San Antonio, and to a trafficking clearinghouse with pathways into several Central and South American centers. Was the new message offering another direction for her mission? For an instant, excitement thrummed in her chest, and she wondered if the whole thing would be over by next week.

When lights flickered in her rearview mirror, her enthusiasm evaporated instantly. One moment of distraction to read the message, and Briel had broken some minor traffic law that would promise yet another court date. She smashed her hand against the steering wheel in frustration. Though she wanted to blame the message, she knew the truth – it had probably been the flashback If the flashback hadn’t sent her head into the hemisphere, she wouldn’t have lost sight of the road.

For the past several months, her usually ordered mind had fractured into unpredictable turmoil – likely because of the attack in New York. It had been one of the hazards of the profession, yet the flashbacks had begun when she tried to suppress the memory of the man’s hands on her throat. For years, she had trained her mind to compartmentalize her missions, retaining the important information and pressing all connection to her marks into inescapable cages. Literally, she had dissociated herself from the thoughts, and if she tried to remember faces or impressions, specific moments of connection, the images blurred and faded away.

It was a protection, and she needed her mind to play along with the intentional separation. Now, though, vague images peppered her memory, interrupted her rational stream of thought to create chaos through shattered impressions. The chaos unleashed in her mind had so affected her that she regularly lost sight of the things around her as her mind tried to force her to examine her memories.

Instead, she spent far too much time engaged in internal battles, heedless of her surroundings. Like whatever traffic situation had led to her current irritation. Glancing behind her again, Briel pulled over to await the swift lash of justice as unleashed by the offended San Antonio Police Department. Placing both hands on her steering wheel, she watched in extended time as the obnoxious cowboy boots sauntered toward the driver’s side of her car.

As if the day hadn’t started off badly enough, what with Liam’s punishing fight in the ring that morning. The heat outside the ring was worse in San Antonio than Phoenix, but at least everyone in Texas was highly dependent on their air conditioners, so the gym was cool – not to mention that the humidity minimized the dust.

Liam, though? Liam had poured on the heat in the gym. Up to that point, Liam had cooled down his attitude significantly after Banff – after she had left the Miller’s and Jase Hamilton behind. Apparently, her intense reaction to Liam’s little game a month ago in the gym had communicated clearly that he was nearing a line he did not want to cross. Since then, he had managed civility to a degree she would not have predicted.

Today though? Today had been different. Something must have happened in the past couple of days – something she had said or done. She never really knew what would set him off. In the session she had just left. he had ignored the point system and gone after her with unusual aggression, landing several bruising blows, including one on her scar. When she had cried out, he had immediately stopped the fight and apologized, and she had not known what to think.

It was difficult to hit her scar unintentionally, but not impossible. Even worse, he had revealed her weakness to the team, and she would always wonder after that who would exploit the weakness. Had it truly been an accident? She wanted to believe it. The bruises on the back of her thighs – the lingering effects of a brutal back kick – offered her enough reason for anger. Those had been intentional, and he had not apologized.

Whatever she had done to piss him off, she was going to have it out with him soon. When she called him out for illegal moves, he had started a verbal assault, the trash talk carrying undertones of personal insult that he would deny if she confronted him. Fortunately, he hadn’t made a spectacle of kissing her again – he wasn’t that stupid – but something was stirring behind his eyes that she didn’t like.

After the fight, Briel had stalked to the car imagining all the places she could punch him, the weak spots she knew would cause the most pain. Of course, she wouldn’t have done it – both because she would be a fool to make an actual enemy of Liam and because it wasn’t in her nature to enjoy inflicting pain. No, the mental images were just an impotent exercise in releasing her frustration.

Not everything has to be a fight…

What the hell? she complained to herself. Where had that thought come from? The same place as all the recent thoughts. The din of random voices in her mind had become a regular mental backdrop lately; not literally, like from a chemical imbalance, but from memories that would play at random, disconnected from events or images.

If she were to take the easy route, she would make herself go to therapy and let a counselor unpack the memories from their carefully contained places in her mind. The thought carried more risk than even she wanted to deal with, though. She needed the clarity that came from being able to isolate from the guilt and regret from missions. The memory wasn’t right anyway – everything was a fight. Whoever had claimed the opposite had been naïve and ignorant, and if she listened to the voices, she would get herself killed. Even worse, if an actual flashback happened on a mission, it could get her – or a teammate or an incidental victim – killed. Pausing to analyze an emotionally challenging exchange in expanded slow motion while bullets rang past her ears seemed a recipe for disaster. She didn’t want to, but if the visions kept up, she would have to get to a therapist of some sort, even if she paid for it herself rather than use the one supplied by the team.

Yes, life was a fight. If she needed any more proof, the move from Phoenix had offered it. San Antonio had not treated Briel particularly well. Since her run-in in the locker room with Liam over a month before, her case hadn’t improved; it had deteriorated significantly. Liam had laid off her for the most part, because she had figured out how to hide her frustration over the case.

She had gone to Banff, gotten her intel, and left Phoenix behind – had left the kids and their family on a tropical island – but Briel had not been able to leave behind her dissatisfaction over her general behavior during the operation. Somehow, she hadn’t quite suppressed the memories of the kids and all that had affected them.

What arrogance that she had spent so much judgment on Felicity Miller, who had managed a better reaction to the danger than Briel and her entire team! How inconsiderate and heartlessly had she treated the kids – the whole extended family, really – whom she had mined for information and then thrown aside for the mission? That had been her job, hadn’t it? Was it her near failure professionally or her personal betrayal of people who had grown to be friends that had upset her usual self-assurance?

Whatever the reason, the frequency of the flashbacks had increased once she left Phoenix rather than settling down. Even the wreck that had stolen her own family had begun to haunt her dreams again, and some subconscious angst told her that it was because she had lost another family. Those kids were not my family, she contradicted, to which her memory just answered, you’re not thinking of the kids. Not just the kids, and not Felicity. As if sensing danger, her mind cut itself off instantly from the line of thought, refocusing her on the pair of boots that approached in her sideview mirror.

She was going to get a ticket in the here and now, and with the current addled state of her mind, Briel needed to use all her faculties not to react to the policeman with belligerence. Flirt your way out of the ticket, Bri, she heard Liam’s voice. Use that body to your advantage. Even if the idea had appealed to her – which it didn’t – the option wouldn’t have worked anyway, Briel realized, as the rest of the officer came into view and a long dirty blonde ponytail swung out from behind a decidedly feminine face. Briel sighed. Keeping track of the officer in her side-view mirror, Briel instead entertained herself by imagining different ways to incapacitate the innocent, if seemingly arrogant, policewoman.

Briel could reach through the window, pulling the woman's head through and disabling her by pressing on her carotid. Unfortunately, if the woman proved at all competent, she could counteract such a predictable maneuver before Briel had time to accomplish it. Briel could just open the door when the policewoman faced away and knock the woman to the pavement, placing a knee on the back while twisting the arms into a submission hold. With the officer's dash-cam, though, Briel would suffer a worse punishment than a ticket.

If a regular person had considered such action, he would find himself suffering the wrong end of a policeman's baton, but Briel had years of intense and specialized training. Training used to defeat evil and vanquish criminals. Somehow, accepting a reprimand from someone so wholly unaware of Briel's current endeavor seemed unjust. What was a stop sign in light of the life of Emilia Alvares? Briel wanted to unleash a lecture to the woman on just how unimportant her little traffic laws were at the moment.

Of course, Briel would never actually consider engaging in the actions she had played in her mind, not even the lecture. The woman had a job to do, like Briel. It just seemed that some force of nature had destined Briel to suffer more tickets than the average motorist for far fewer infractions.

Her mental exercises exhausted, Briel waited patiently until the woman made it to the window. Smiling pleasantly, Briel asked, “Is there a problem, officer?” in cliched fashion. What else could she actually do? Lately, Briel had felt impotent on so many levels of life, and it frustrated her to no end. How could she avoid traffic tickets? Who cared? How could she overcome all the obstacles standing in the way of accomplishing her current mission? That question seemed much more relevant.

“I guess you missed that stop sign back there?” the officer stated sarcastically.

Clinching her jaw, Briel forced herself to respond graciously, “Yes, ma'am. I'm very sorry. May I have your permission to look for my insurance?”

“Sure,” the woman responded.

Briel restrained the thoughts of her pistol that hid in the console between her front seats as she reached down to grab her purse off of the floor of the car.

“Here it is,” she offered, leaning up and handing the folded paper to the officer once she returned. “And my license.”

Briel watched again, squinting against the late-afternoon Texas sun, as the woman sauntered back to her car and called in the information. Devoid of any real reason for her general sense of discontent, Briel chastised herself for the emotionalism.

This life was supposed to satisfy me, she complained as she thought over the past several months. Ever since Briel could remember, she had craved excitement; she had gained motivation from the respect of others; she had sought to be the strongest, smartest, and bravest. Now she had achieved the pinnacle of her life's goals. At the ripe age of twenty-eight, she had passed several ranks of the FBI and, after mastering her skills, had left the Bureau to pursue her own ideas on her own agenda.

No one could force her anymore to overlook the nasty personal habits of the people she dealt with: the FBI held no qualms about making compromises with criminals if it fit with the “agency agenda.” Though Briel still had to make some difficult choices, she made the choices, not some overpaid bureaucrat trying to scratch the back of a fat-cat, loud-mouthed politician. Briel felt a sense of elation every time she thought about having escaped that life of relative slavery. Now, a year later, she still reveled in the freedom.

“Well, I can see you have a spotless record. That deserves some lenience,” the heavy-set blond interrupted Briel's reverie, reappearing suddenly outside her window. “So, I'll let you off with a warning.” The officer handed Briel a piece of pink paper past the glass.

Incredulous, Briel gaped at the paper. She steadfastly refused to remember the favors she had recently garnered at the FBI, i.e. expunging her record of traffic violations, and with a near-humorous sense of glee, Briel turned and smiled apologetically at the policewoman. “I'm very sorry ma'am,” Briel offered obsequiously. “I'll be more careful next time.”

Briel couldn't believe her good luck. She had literally never been let off from a ticket before. I guess somebody up there likes me today, she smiled up toward the usually unseeing sky. Tucking the pink paper into her glovebox, Briel switched her car into drive and accelerated gingerly into the flow of traffic with a much more complacent attitude.

The ringing of the phone dampened her elation somewhat. When she glanced at the caller ID, her pleasure evaporated completely. At some point, she had to confront him about the fight in the ring, but as she drove further away from him, her ire cooled and her avoidance strengthened.

“Hi, Liam,” she managed, though with little enthusiasm. Excuses for his recent behavior flitted through her mind, trying to silence her growing dissatisfaction with his treatment of her for the past couple of months. The voice wouldn’t silence completely, though.

There had been so many realizations that had hit her in Phoenix, but she hadn’t really processed them. Certainly, there was the processing of her past with Jase, and how thoroughly she had resented him. There was her strange connection to the family. And though she tried to ignore her growing recognition of her dysfunctional relationship with Liam, the reminders just kept slapping her in the face.

On the plane ride back to Phoenix from Banff, he had unleashed his irritation at her mental fractioning. If he had cared about her at all, he would have withheld his criticism until they were alone. Of course, he hadn’t, making sure to point out all of her errors for everyone to hear. Still, with her mind so battered by her own thoughts, she had quickly excused him.

How could she blame him for judging her when she judged herself? When she thought about all the moments in Banff that had filled with regret, she knew she had almost bungled the whole operation. The moment she had sent Felicity into the hands of criminals bent on selling her into trafficking. The sound of the gunshot and the sight of Jase Hamilton lying unmoving on the floor of the cabin. Briel’s shocked impotence when Felicity had drawn everyone’s attention to her and somehow saved the entire mission. Yes, the Banff leg of the mission had proven a success, but not because of what Briel had done.

She lay the blame for her errors on New York. Since the moment her vision had blurred with the lack of oxygen, she had lost confidence in herself. How many times had control slipped away from her since that moment? But that’s not what’s bothering you now…Even not including her confusion with dealing with her marks, she had experienced other problems with Liam besides the plane. A few days before in her apartment, he had pressed her so hard about her attachment to the Miller family that she had resorted to flirtation to distract him. In typical Liam fashion, he had jumped at the chance, hemming her into the wall so he could reestablish his caveman ownership of her. It had irritated her so much that she had punched a hole in the sheetrock after he left. It hadn’t been like her at all. Fortunately, the Phoenix leg of the mission had ended, and she had moved away from the family, so everything should have gone back to normal, shouldn’t it? Her frustration at how she had treated the family in Phoenix had rendered Briel moody, and she had made one snarky comment to Liam, but that was all over by the time the Team made it to San Antonio.

So, why did she judge herself so harshly for Banff? Not only had she retrieved every ounce of information that she needed about ProtoComm, she had also managed – with Jase’s help – to save Felicity, something Briel had never felt confident of during her entire operation. Yet, she had let Liam publicly castigate her?

Because he was right about her problems – Briel had grown too involved with her marks. Her anxiety about them revealed so much. It had sprung out of nowhere, completely surprising her: she had feared losing the mother of the three children for whom she had cared the previous few weeks. How many times had the blue eyes of little Nicholas floated into Briel's vision, and she had imagined their confused pain when Mommy didn't come home? Before the Alvares mission, she had considered herself beyond such interest, but the family had uprooted Briel’s careful indifference.

Even worse, it had erected a partition between herself and Liam. When she thought back, though much of her time in Phoenix lay shrouded in her willful dissociation, she could clearly picture Liam’s hovering displeasure as he had accosted her on the plane on the way back from Banff. She had made the mistake of criticizing his use of force with Felicity, and he had not reacted well. “How the hell do you have a right to be mad at me over this?” he had jabbed. “You know as well as I do that nothing else would have worked. With all those witnesses, we couldn't very well use more traditional methods to encourage her cooperation. Besides, you had let her pull the stunt in the first place.”

“I did,” she agreed, but then her defense rose. “But wait…that wouldn’t have been a problem if you hadn't let her jump off the train.”

“Yes, I did. After I saved her from plunging to her death. Where were you? Rifling through your backpack to get a bigger gun? You didn't even have the guts to use it.”

What would you think if he talked to someone else like that? a voice had floated through her mind. She hadn’t been able to place the thought, but she remembered wanting to stop time long enough to remember. Confused flashbacks already, even back then? Briel wondered at the divergence from the norm. Usually, the flashbacks didn’t happen until a weeks-long lull in work, and they had little effect on her.

Instead of worrying about it at the time, Briel had just shut out the vague voice of the memory; Liam had always spoken the same way. Why would she suddenly find herself bothered by it? She had known better than to show him weakness – he always used her humility as an opportunity to humiliate her. And yet, she had done it anyway. “I – I’m sorry,” she had stuttered. “You’re right. It was my fault. I didn’t mean to snap at you; I’m just so frustrated about how this went.”

Instead of acknowledging her concession, Liam had doubled down. “You're out of control,” he jabbed. “What's happening to you?”

If he had said the words out of spite, she could have written them off, but Liam had seemed sincerely mystified by her behavior. The genuine confusion had felt much worse than a childish taunt. And Liam had held more insight than Briel would admit, because Phoenix had affected Briel's peace of mind enough that she found herself much more susceptible to flashbacks than even after they had first been triggered in New York. Or was it as far back as Venice? She didn’t think so, though she had always assumed they were related to trauma. But if that were true, why would a positive experience like Phoenix send her into a spiral?

Had her error regarding Brendon Miller shaken her confidence in her own thoughts? In a way, Briel had held on to a naïve sense of betrayal from Brendon, a remnant of some momentary relapse into faith in humanity. Brendon had proven a criminal, and maybe that had carried enough trauma to trigger her. Briel didn't know, though she had always known how easily a pretender could slip into any community and wreak havoc, so that shouldn’t have particularly shocked her.

One day, she knew, she would have to face the fact that something inside her had changed in Phoenix. She did not know what, but, being a rational human being, she would need to take the time to assess exactly the implications of that change. In a world of intrigue and deception, she tried – sometimes unsuccessfully – to insist on complete honesty with herself.

With Liam, though, Briel could afford some dishonesty. Liam smelled weakness, and he possessed an almost uncontrollable urge to capitalize on it, as he proved time and again with his reactions to her thoughts or struggles. Because of that fact, as the plane ascended on its way back to Phoenix, Briel had reined in her self-recriminations over the mission, refusing anymore to hand herself to Liam as easy prey. Fortunately, even as his ego rendered him completely insensitive to her, it also made him very easy to distract.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

“Are you jealous?” she had challenged, adopting the most seductive tone she could manage.

“Should I be?”

“Well, I'm not sure. Have you been deficient in some way that would make you vulnerable?”

Liam had narrowed his eyes at her, doing his best to pin Briel to her seat with his gaze. His smile had seemed almost menacing, but Briel had anticipated the reaction, so it hadn’t concerned her. “Come here a minute,” he commanded.

Grabbing her by the hand, Liam had pulled her to the back of the plane, beyond where their teammates had napped or read. Finally, she could escape the public humiliation. Liam pinned her gently between himself and the wall, grinning suggestively as he asked, “Do you want me to show you how vulnerable I feel?”

Rolling her eyes, Briel had played along with the game that she had begun. She held no intention of letting Liam know how close to the truth he had landed, and when the plane hit the tarmac, she had willfully pushed aside all regrets over the mission.

Over a month later, as the thoughts dissipated, Briel closed down the memories again. Why would they not leave her alone? She glanced up into her rearview mirror to make sure the patrol car had actually left. Liam’s audible voice in her ear almost shocked her, and she realized that she had likely ignored him for a full minute as her mind wandered. “So,” he brought her back to the present, “are you going to talk to me, or what?”

“Sorry,” Briel replied a bit more petulantly than she had intended. “I just got stopped for running a stop sign.”

“Wow, that sucks!” Liam laughed. “When's your court date?”

“Actually, she let me off.”

“Right,” Liam countered skeptically. “You never get out of tickets.”

“Well, I did this time,” her antipathy leaked past her usual stoic demeanor at his disbelief. Had she ever lied to him before? “The woman was very nice.”

“Did you threaten to pistol-whip him if he gave you the ticket?” he laughed again.

Such wit, Briel sighed disgustedly. Woman,” she corrected. “Her…I honestly can't explain it. She just decided to let me off the hook.”

“Huh,” he dismissed the topic, apparently bored. “So, are we going out tonight?”

“Sure. Picante’s?”

“Nah, the guys are coming after workout. Let's try Mason's.”

So, we includes your friends? she complained internally. Not only had he completely altered the nature of their date, Liam knew how much Briel hated his favorite sports bar. Always loud and crowded, Mason's kept an abundance of televisions tuned to multiple channels at all times – some even sported split-screens to manage even more sports.

Not that Briel couldn’t enjoy an occasional social event to watch sports, but they had planned a date – not a party. Sitting in a loud bar with a group of guys, there would be little time for interaction. Then again, I’d just as soon not have to talk to him. As soon as she thought the words, guilt gripped her, and she sucked in her disappointment.

Briel lost her appetite as she set the details for their rendezvous. She would meet Liam and “the guys” at Mason's at 6 pm. Another night of burgers, fries, beers, and smelly men. Whoopee, she complained to herself. The telltale beep sounded in Briel's ear.

“Hey, Liam. I have another call. I'll see you tonight.”

“K. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Briel pressed the talk button.

“Hey, Briel.”

“Nessa.”

“What are you up to?”

Briel responded tersely. “Do you have a new job for me?” She didn't feel like small talk.

Nessa paused at Briel's brusqueness.

“No…I just called to say hey.”

“Hey.” Briel didn't know why she always treated Nessa as a nuisance, but in the past three months since Nessa Santiago had joined the team, the woman’s sense of compassion and insight had bothered Briel. Whether she wanted to speak truth or not, Briel felt forced into honesty with Nessa; Nessa always managed to discern the truth despite one's intention to conceal it.

“You wanna meet me for dinner in a while?” Nessa pressed.

“Sorry, I just made plans with Liam.”

In reality, Briel would have preferred Nessa's company to Liam's, but she couldn't exactly call Liam and cancel. No, nothing came up. I just don't like you as well as I like Nessa. Hardly a proper attitude for a dating partner.

“Oh,” Nessa acceded. “I'll just see you tomorrow then.”

Briel moved the phone from her ear and reached for the end button.

“Briel?” she heard just in time to arrest her finger's movement.

“Yes?” Briel responded, slightly irritated.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go on a double date.”

Briel almost laughed out loud. Even though she liked Nessa okay, Liam despised Nessa. Briel could never exactly figure out why, but she suspected that it had something to do with Nessa's intuition. Nessa had seen in five minutes what it had taken Briel six months to realize: Liam needed too much but gave too little.

“Um...I'm not sure Liam would...”

Nessa interrupted the refusal Briel had planned, “I didn't mean with Liam.”

Briel's shock befuddled her for a moment. “Well, I'm sort of dating him.”

“I know, but...” Nessa paused. “Please don't be offended...”

Briel slowly drew in her breath, ambivalent about hearing whatever dead-on observation Nessa would hurl at her. “Go on...”

“I just don't think he's good for you,” another pause. “I mean, he doesn’t exactly respect you, and he should. You're so smart, Briel. And nice.”

I am hardly nice, Briel corrected. If Briel had not spent the past few minutes enumerating Liam's faults, she might have felt offended by Nessa's assertion. Instead, Briel had to shrug her agreement.

“So, not with Liam?”

“Well, you know I've been dating Andrew.”

“Yeah, talk about not good enough,” Briel murmured, her pride lashing out with her own opinionated exclamation before she could stop it.

“Maybe,” Nessa responded immediately, not sounding insulted. “But at least he's nice.”

“Nice is just a mask,” Briel countered.

“And you are a cynic. Sometimes nice means a person cares about someone besides himself. Would you let anyone else be as disrespectful to you as Liam is?”

“It’s just the way we work – no frills, coldly honest.”

“You mean cruel…”

Briel blew out a breath, not really wanting to answer in light of the residual heat the still tingled in her side after Liam’s punch. “I don’t know.”

“Fine, Briel, but just consider what I’m offering. Drew has a friend who's moving into town. According to Drew, he's a really great guy.”

Briel sighed, her dissatisfaction with Liam allowing her to consider the option. “I'll think about it. When?”

“This weekend. He's moving in on Wednesday, and Drew thought he would enjoy getting to know the Team.”

“I'll let you know by Thursday.”

“Thanks, Briel.”

“No problem,” Briel hesitated. “And thank you.”

Despite the officiousness of her friend, Briel could not dismiss her consideration. Somehow, hearing her own thoughts from Nessa's lips alleviated any misplaced guilt that Briel felt over her recent ambivalence with Liam.

Her only claim on Liam lay in her dominance over him – she was smarter and better with weapons than he, so he wanted her. In truth, her attraction to him lay much along the same lines. Very few people really challenged Briel, but Liam did, in many ways. But does that include abuse, her mind challenged. It’s not abuse when it happens in the ring, her will countered. If she thought about it, though, the public character of the fight, his knowledge of her private nature, and his disregard of the rules only when they had an audience might constitute some breech of relational intimacy. Abuse, her mind insisted again, though she shook off the thought as the phone went silent. No one would dare abuse her.

Just as the device went dark, Briel pulled into the driveway of her sleek, modern apartment. Its white stucco with steel embellishments initially had appealed to her sense of style; but pretty quickly, the contrast and coldness had turned harsh in her eye. Lately, she had tried unsuccessfully to soften its lines with as much lush vegetation as she could manage, but her brown thumb impeded her progress. Which is why I should never have kids, she reasoned. She had managed not to damage the Miller kids too badly, but she had found out that the attention needed to handle inattentive, unknowledgeable little creatures had left little time for her job – and she didn’t want them to end up neglected like her plants had.

Plants don’t scream and kick you if you forget to water them. Briel laughed at the words for a moment, but then her humor solidified into disgust. The words had been a memory, and the memory came as another vague impression – a burdened echo shrouded in abstraction. Of course, Briel hadn’t said the words; a sense of humor was not her strong suit. Someone else had said the words, and Briel couldn’t pull up the details. Again.

Shaking her head at herself, she shunned her garage and parked in front of her house. As if the stress of the ticket and the bruises on her legs hadn’t set her off enough, she could add to her issues another indistinct memory, no doubt one of many to follow in increasing frequency, if the current rate of increase continued. But she couldn’t go crazy, not with Liam around. No weakness. She needed to find some way to wind down or distract herself if she was going to manage herself on the “date” with Liam.

What was she doing? Did she really think that he would be okay with her helping out a friend by going on a “date” with another man? It would contradict her own moral core and sense of loyalty anyway. Why had she said she would think about it? Liam had nearly lost it over Jase – possibly because she really was too conflicted about the man. How could she blame her “boyfriend” for his upset over a date? She was honestly going crazy. Letting herself in the front door, she headed straight for the shower. She needed something to help her relax.

+++++++++++++

Phoenix, March 18

Only Jase could have so upended Briel. After stumbling home, finally free for the day from the bewitching spell of the Miller family, the doorbell rang, and she wanted to punch the person who rang it.

Not only did she not wished to interact with any human being, but in her line of work, she did not like for unexpected events to occur near her home – they belonged in the field. A surprise visit elicited all of her caution, so when the bell rang, she carefully crept forward, minutely examining the view through her peephole.

The sight that greeted her so shocked her that she stood statue-like against the wall of the entrance way, not afraid, merely stunned. Part of her rationale for picking her apartment complex had sprung from the oddly shaded hallways. In no way did the pathetic door lamps create enough light to eradicate shadows, but where most people would have avoided the apartment for that reason, afraid of what lurked in the dark, Briel had picked the place because she was an expert at utilizing darkness for protection. She could lurk in the darkness while she assessed the approach to her home.

Unfortunately, the tall, blocky figure that stood over half a foot taller than herself and now inhabited the space outside her door held just as much ability to utilize the gloom of the hallway.

So, though Briel could make out the chiseled jaw, the five o’clock shadow, the gritting teeth, the broad shoulders, and the nervous stance, she could not read the black orbs of Jase’s eyes that would have revealed his intentions. Because of this, she had no idea if his presence constituted danger. Finally, curiosity overcame her initial stupor and compelled her to turn the doorknob.

Rather than betray her scattered thoughts, Briel feigned complete control of the situation. Throwing the door open with great force, she adopted a stance more aggressive than her actual sentiment. “What are you doing here?” she demanded coldly.

“Can I not come see an old friend?” Jase Hamilton crooned with his typical swarthy cool. Confused, Briel glanced up and down the hallway to see if Jase were in danger – or if he had brought danger with him. One of her favorite things about her job was that she never had to trust anyone; she could always assume an agenda, and there almost always was one. Jase stood that knowledge on its head. With Jase, her instincts believed him, accepted his image that he was a kind and generous person. Unfortunately, her experience of the reality was less clear.

Ever since she had known him, Jase had accomplished with finesse what Briel had accomplished with brute force – dominance. Not knowing his reason for showing up at her door, she wasn’t quite sure how to manage it, or whether she needed to. Friend? Hardly. Did she assume he was there to bring trouble, so come out as combatant? Did she believe his demeanor and try to help with whatever ailed him? No, she would just have to find a third option, and that would require investigation.

“It’s raining,” Briel reprimanded him, “And you don’t have an umbrella.” It was an appeal by her, the code language. A reference to their shared history, and a fleece to determine if he had come in peace or as an enemy. Whatever his claim to friendship, he had come without an invitation, and he knew she would not take kindly to the fact. A power play, or desperation?

“If you would invite me in, you wouldn’t have to worry about that,” he smiled crookedly at her.

So, you’re not going to play along? The man had nerve – he always had. Invite him in? “I would as soon stand in the snow.” The code language had been a joke, a game between 22-year-old rookie Briel and her 26-year-old assistant trainer. but it would be harder for him to maintain a façade in the code language.

When he spoke again, some latent emotion brought out his strange orphan accent, a trill and twist of words that stemmed from splitting his childhood between too many countries. He managed to cover the slip with a cold laugh. “The snow can’t hurt you,” he laughed again. “That’s a false friend.”

Briel blinked, shocked. Was he really implying that she was making a bigger deal about Venice than she should? In a way, the she had always hoped that she had misread the situation, that circumstances had driven Jase to act as he had. She guessed nothing had changed, though – he was as callous as he had seemed back then. He had left her to die there, and he was dismissing her complaint? After that comment, Jase would be lucky if she decided not to shoot him.

Of course, as the thought hit her, she realized her own stupidity; she had left her gun on the coffee table like an untrained imbecile. She considered reaching behind her door and grabbing the tennis racket that sat there untouched, an artifact to mock her occasional urge to engage in social activities. The racket could disable him long enough to shut the door and grab my gun, right?

The public setting was enough of a weapon, Briel decided, since he wanted to avoid attention, so she took one step out of her apartment. She glared up at him with eyes full of intention. If he had come to hurt her, she would know in the next few seconds. Either way, this was going to be really satisfying.

Her hand flung swiftly across his cheek leaving instant red fingers of welts on his face. “You’re accusing me of exaggerating? After what you did?” Briel whispered harshly. “Which just proves what I tell everyone about you. You may distract everyone else with the charming act, but you tarnished that for me a long time ago. You’re at my apartment. You don’t want to make me feel threatened. You’ll regret it.” If he wanted to manipulate the code language, then she would just speak clearly.

“You really think I’m the one with regret,” he mused with feigned boldness. The words were obviously intended as even further insult, but her mind registered something totally unexpected: insecurity. In Jase Hamilton? If a man is nice to you, he has an agenda, she reminded herself. Jase was the one who had taught her that, both in words and in actions.

“Considering what you know about me,” she leveled, “you can understand why.”

“You have misjudged me, Lilianne.” All the conciliatory soothing was back.

He refused to accept her reference to their beginnings, but he wanted her to respond to his pet codename for her? Oh, he definitely had an agenda. “I doubt it,” she prodded.

“Lili, I want you to know the truth,” he replied, this time his voice hushed, “but you won’t be able to do that without all the information.”

“Not interested. You're appealing to the wrong person.” Briel had tossed the words over her shoulder as she spun away, pouring as much dismissal as she could muster into her tone.

Jase took the bait. reaching for her to arrest her movement and grasping her by the forearm. She stepped rapidly backwards, twisting Jase's arm behind him and thrusting violently upward on it until he fell to one knee. So he’s choosing not to fight…Which meant that he either held a cooperative agenda, or he intended to ease her into position for his nefarious purposes. Still, it meant that his agenda didn’t intend killing her, but using her. So, she could listen and assess.

“Please, Briel,” he adopted an obliging tone. “I am sorry. I was upset – I shouldn’t have insulted you. This is not about business. I wanted to ask you a personal favor.”

“Personal?” she leveled. “You severed any chance of a personal connection years ago. We’re all business now.”

“Just come have coffee with me so I can explain myself to you. I have information for you. It's regarding your target.”

ProtoComm? Or did he mean Brendon and Felicity Miller? If her sources were right, Jase currently held a contract gig inside ProtoComm, and the coincidence was too great. Question was, had someone outside hired him to hit ProtoComm, or was he, as was his usual habit, just in it for the money? “Just tell me now,” she demanded.

“It is too much,” he replied, then paused and glanced furtively back and forth, up and down the hallway. “And too sensitive to share in an unsecured site.”

“Fine,” Briel allowed quietly. That was true at least. “Meet me at La Parisienne tomorrow morning.” She relaxed her grip on his arm as she spoke, and he stood, turning tentatively to face her.

“I can't wait,” he replied, a sarcastic twinge replacing his earlier conciliation. She had conceded, but at least he hadn’t left with the upper hand.

Of course, he had ruined her night. Though she had acted uninterested, she suddenly began to burn with curiosity as to what would bring an unprincipled rogue like Jase from Briel's past to the suburban boredom of a housewife, Felicity Miller. It had to be Brendon. It had to be ProtoComm.

Briel dressed quickly in the morning and headed to La Parisienne, only slowing to a casual stroll when within sight of the restaurant's windows, lest her attitude belie her interest. With their shared mastery of French, Briel little feared that someone would overhear their conversation. Though not native-born, Jase had spent almost twelve of his childhood years on the Southern coast of France near Narbonne.

Jase sat near a window, and as she approached from behind him, Briel saw with a jolt that he looked nervous. What could shake the imperturbable Jase Hamilton? As soon as he saw Briel, however, Jase adopted his usual mien of careless amusement. All Briel’s compassion evaporated at the familiar nonchalance. She had far too much history with him not to be wary of his act.

“Jase,” she offered tersely.

“Please.” He flashed a wry smile.. “Have a seat. I ordered us some coffee.”

“Would you skip the formalities for me?” she begged as he waved at the waiter to bring the drinks. Before he could answer, a man approached and set a small cup in the French style both in front of Briel and in front of Jase.

“Should I make you taste test mine first?” she quipped dryly.

Ignoring her, Jase delved immediately into his ostensible purpose. Where was the careful persuasion from the day before? “Briel, I will skip the formalities since you asked. Look,” he continued in French, “your client is in danger.”

“My client?”

“Well, Felicity Miller.”

“Felicity. And does this danger stem from you, seeing as you tried to break into her home yesterday? Her brother saw you there.”

Suddenly, his careful mask slipped, and he leaned forward as if begging – Briel found herself almost believing him sincere. “Briel, I know that was stupid, but my concern overcame my judgment. I had to try something. They're going to kill Felicity.”

Kill Felicity Miller? Housewife? Insignificant, boring woman who lived for her kids? What could possibly make her a target of anyone? Briel didn’t believe it – Jase was up to something. And the way he spoke Felicity’s name…not at all like cool, sophisticated Jase. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Jase, calm down; you're not making sense. This is not like you. Who's going to kill my client? And why?”

Suddenly serious again, Jase balled his hands back into fists. “We both know she's not your real client,” he spat. Then, in almost desperation, “Still, I know you, Bri! You have to care if they're going to kill her!”

“She is my client, even if I retain loyalties elsewhere.”

“But if they had to kill her so you could get your information, you wouldn't stop them,” he accused heatedly.

“Not at the cost of my real client's life and freedom, no,” Briel looked guiltily into his eyes. “If someone has to die, it won't be my client. But that can’t matter to your client, so why are you so eager to ask for my help. Did Brendon hire you away from ProtoComm?”

Briel watched, amazed, as from somewhere inside of Jase a fire rose, and his voice grew hard. “That bastard? No, and I will not let them kill her.” This was nothing like the careful, controlled Jase that she knew. In all the years she had known him, Briel had never seen this version of Jase’s act.

“Stop,” Briel commanded. She needed to call a halt to the drama immediately. She needed him to reveal his intentions. “Are you saying that Brendon Miller wants to kill his wife?”

He ran his fingers through his hair, and the obvious struggle confused Briel even more. “No…I don’t know.”

“Then who are you claiming wants to kill Felicity Miller? This is a new look on you, so how do I know how to interpret it? I doubt she has ever crossed anyone in a serious way, so I’m having trouble believing you.”

“Lili,” Jase soothed, unclenching one of his hands long enough to place it on top of hers. “I’m not…I don’t have an agenda. I mean this. All I want is to protect her; you and I both know she wouldn't knowingly cause anyone harm. That wouldn't matter to them, though. You think they would care who they hurt if they accomplished their task? I trained you better than that.”

She would have challenged his claim, but his fists flexed tautly again, and the one on hers squeezed hard enough to create heat. Though she could see that the reaction had come from stress and no intent to hurt her, the action riled her, and she yanked her hand out, replacing both of hers on top of his. “Jase, who? Who wants to kill Felicity?”

“Bill Henry.” He let the name sink in.

“Bill Henry...Brendon’s company? But you...”

The idea didn't make sense. She would bet good money that Jase had contracted with ProtoComm, but if so, why would he come to Briel and try to thwart them? It could cost him his job, his reputation – potentially his life. Perhaps his plea masked a ploy, some attempt to draw from Briel what information she had gathered from Brendon. Still, though he often proved unscrupulous, Jase had never involved himself with murder, not as far as Briel knew.

“I don't know why they have targeted her,” Jase declared, “I never pegged Brendon for the type to go along with something like this, but he has to know. I've seen the order from Henry, and I’ve seen the measures Brendon has signed off on. Felicity Miller is marked for elimination.”

Of course Brendon would not participate in harming his wife; he adored his wife – didn’t he? Besides the fact that she was integral to his image as a family man. There was definitely something Jase wasn’t telling her, and so she didn’t know how much she would agree to. Still, she could engage in some independent investigation. Until then, Jase would have to manage things on his own.

“When you have something more, you can contact me again,” Briel dismissed him, swigging the last sip of coffee.

“But you will watch out for her?” He stood to his feet, mirroring Briel's actions.

“I’ll watch out for her as much as I am able without compromising my own mission, and that includes watching you to make sure you don’t have some backhanded plan in all this. You knew that I always take extra care to protect the innocent from collateral damage – to my own detriment.”

Jase huffed a relieved sigh, and his timid smile, so different from his habitual practiced charm, rendered him even more charming than usual – almost enough for Briel to believe him sincere. “That’s fine, Bri…” He squeezed her hand. “I did know, but I had to be sure. You do whatever you think necessary as long as you watch out for her. And I won’t interfere with you again.”

The whole “distressed” vibe was a new one for Jase, and Briel didn’t have a clue what game he was playing – or if he was playing at all. She just determined to keep an eye out for him, which she would have done anyway once she knew of his involvement.

And from that point on, she did.

From the moment he showed up in her hallway, she stood on alert, and whatever he told her, she took with a grain of salt. His information proved at best interesting and at worst uninformative in regards to her mission. Maybe it gave her a direction, though. ProtoComm, the company that had ostensibly facilitated the abduction of her client’s daughter, may also have targeted the woman whose home Briel frequented several days a week.

Briel had targeted the family because the husband was an executive at ProtoComm, but the new development added a whole other level of interest. If she could monitor the planned abduction of Felicity Miller, she might discover the pipeline that had funneled Briel’s client into the trafficking racket.