Chapter 1:

Catalina walked down the dirty side street of New York City as the sun began to set. She loved the city, had missed it, and was glad the job had brought her back. She wished she could enjoy it for the overpopulated, overused mini-world it was, but she had a job to do. The only thing she was good at.

Kill.

Cat had spoken with the victim of the attack under the cover of a police officer, just another day at the office. Chance had put a guy who'd been packing nearby and he'd shot the thing a few times, enough to get it to take off. The girl had been coherent enough to tell her she'd been in an alley near a place on East 25th Street called Vicky's Bar. As Cat walked down the street and caught the neon sign that said VI KY'S B R, she allowed herself a shadow of a smile. She was glad the victim hadn't been too traumatized to remember where she'd been.

That's when Cat felt eyes on her back.

Not changing her posture, not moving to look behind her, she just waited as the presence…no, presences, there were two of them, came up to her. When the hand landed on her shoulder, she grabbed the hand and sent the young man down to his knees. "You shouldn't make a habit of sneaking up on people," she quipped.

"Federal agents," the young man snapped.

Cat narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but let them go. They looked a bit young to be agents, but then again people bought that she was a cop and she was twenty-three. And she could occasionally pass for FBI, with a good badge and a confident attitude. Besides, the NSA was rumored to be recruiting right out of high school these days. "Badges?" she asked with a slow blink.

The young man, pursing his lips, got back up to his feet.

"Sorry we startled you," the other one said earnestly.

"Takes a lot to startle me," Cat replied. "You just didn't alert me before putting a hand on my shoulder. Not a smart thing to do really, at least in this neighborhood." Cat took that into account mentally. They'd wanted to catch her off-guard, gain the advantage. Yea, they could be feds.

The two young men took out their badges and flashed them at her, but she held out her hands to take them and inspect them. They handed them over. Cat took one look at them and smirked. "Special Agent John Bonham and Special Agent Jimmy Page," she said, with mock incredulity. "So you guys play drums and guitar, huh?"

The first one blinked at her. "I'm sorry?"

Cat's face went from entertained to pissed and slightly insulted. "Choosing the names of real people to put on fake badges is never a good idea, genius, at least when you have a Led Zeppelin fan checking them out." She handed the badges back, ready for retribution for whoever the two men really were once they knew she knew they weren't feds. Mostly the two just looked surprised. She stared at the first one. "Do I know you?" she asked.

"I don't believe we've met," he replied.

"You just look familiar. So who the hell are you?" she asked.

"We get a lot of heat from the department about our names," the second one said, "but we need to ask you a few questions."

Interested in gaining some information about them, and since the second one seemed honestly concerned about what he was doing, Cat played along. "Knock yourselves out," she replied.

"Could I get your name?"

"Amy Lee," she replied without hesitation.

He gave her a look before continuing. "You live around here?" he asked.

"No. I just moved from California. I'm staying in a motel for now, but I'll be getting an apartment soon."

He nodded, taking down the info. "You notice any strange activity recently?"

"This is New York City. I saw a guy with a corded telephone hanging from his belly button ring ten minutes ago. What counts as strange to you?" Cat asked.

The second young man, who didn't seem to take note of her attitude, spoke up. "Any behavior that seems extraordinary, something you'd expect from someone who's taking drugs, something unusual."

"Everyone's on drugs around here," Cat told him.

"How about you?" the first asked.

Cat shot him a glare. "Do I strike you as the suicidal type?"

"No, you actually strike me as the smart type," he replied, which took her by surprise. "Which is why you should help us out instead of dodging our questions."

"I'm not dodging anything," Cat said innocently. "Seems to me you're just asking some really dumb questions."

He stared at her for a second before the second man spoke up again, almost interrupting an angry remark from the first. "Look, there's a girl in the hospital who was attacked by a young man who was high on something," he told her, real concern in his voice. "We're just trying to get to the bottom of this."

"Yea, I heard about that," Cat said, shifting her weight. "Article in the newspaper. Poor girl."

"Well that's the fifth poor girl that's been attacked with the same M.O.," the first one said.

Cat narrowed her eyes. She'd done her research. The only way these two could have known that was if they'd known the other girls had had their hearts missing. The only thing about the M.O. that was the same. They weren't assaulted. They weren't stabbed or shot or anything else. Just ravaged with their hearts missing. Maybe suspicion came a little too easy to her, but it was what kept her alive. And she had a feeling that there was more to these two guys than they were telling.

"That's really sad," Cat said, putting a puppy frown on her face. Suddenly, her expression brightened. "Hey, can I see your gun?"

The first one blinked. "My what?"

"Your gun. FBI agents do carry guns, right?" Cat asked casually. "My friend back in California is going to apply to the FBI and would totally freak if she knew that I was interrogated by two FBI agents and I didn't get a look at your gun."

The two young men looked frustrated, almost exasperated with her, but they pulled back their jackets to reveal their holsters. Cat nodded and looked to the second 'agent'. "Very cool. Look, you guys totally ruined my evening; I'm not in the mood for a drink anymore. You have my name. If you need anything else, I'll be around."

At that, she took a step around the first one. He was shorter, so he was the one she went after. Presumably, they didn't expect her to try anything. Men can be cocky, which they can definitely pay dearly for. She had her gun out and against his back, right behind his heart, with her arm tightly around his neck within a split second. She instantly felt him tense, and could imagine the look on his face.

"Okay, pistol, in my back," her hostage rasped.