Disclaimer: Alias is owned by rich people, I am not rich, therefore I do
not own Alias.
AN: This is a sequel to my story "A Dame Like That" which can be found here by clicking on my name.
Chapter 1-Hello Again
The streetlights had just come on when I heard the office door open behind me. I poured my evening scotch, shaking my head and grimacing as I thought about the characters who usually showed up at that time of day. "Don't the closed blinds mean anything to you?" I asked gruffly. "We're done for the day, come back tomorrow."
My back stiffened when I heard her response. "Hello Vaughn," she said softly. "Do you remember me?" Three years, and I still knew that voice. It was her, the only dame who could turn my life upside down with just one glance.
Slowly, I turned to face her, my fingers clenching the scotch glass so tightly I'm surprised it didn't shatter in my hands. "Well hello again Sweet Thing," I replied smoothly, covering up my surprise. "What are you doing back in this part of town?"
She sauntered into the office, running her fingers along the spines of the books on my shelves before answering. "Oh you know Vaughn, I thought it would be a good night for a walk. In the rain. In the seedy part of town." Her tone got more sarcastic with each biting word. "Why do you think I'm here, Hot Shot? I need help, and you're the only one who can give it."
"No need to get nasty Dollface. Why don't you take a seat and tell me what's on your mind?" I suggested, gesturing to the empty chair with my half full glass of scotch. Glancing at it, I downed it in one swift motion, then set the empty glass down and leaned against the wall. She didn't say anything, just looked at me with those eyes. After all these years, those eyes could still pierce straight through me. "So are you going to tell me what this is all about, or are you going to make me guess?" I asked, covering up my unease.
She sighed and looked away, and for the first time since she'd walked in, I noticed the worry lines on her forehead. Something was up all right, something big. Her next words told me I didn't know the half of it. "My father is missing," she answered quietly. My jaw dropped a little at that-G- men do not simply go missing, there had to be more to the story. I waited patiently, and after a moment she continued. "We have lunch together every Tuesday, but he didn't show up this week. Instead I got a phone call from his boss, telling me he won't be there. Well naturally, I wanted to know why."
"Naturally," I agreed, getting a glare in return. Holding my hands up in defense, I said, "Sorry, you were saying?"
"I went by his place yesterday, thinking maybe something was wrong, but he wasn't there. I finally called his office, but they still wouldn't tell me a thing. So I went in this morning and caused the biggest ruckus you can imagine, demanding to see the director or my father or anyone who didn't have bureaucratic red tape stuck across their mouths." Her voice was getting more tense the farther into the story she got, but I couldn't hold back a chuckle at that comment. Ignoring me, she continued, getting more agitated as the story went on.
"Finally this suit came down to talk to me. 'Right this way, Miss Bristow,' he said all polite like. He took me into a sardine can of a room and asked me to sit down at the table. Then as calmly as if he were reading the stocks, he let me know my father is missing. 'We're doing all we can, Miss Bristow,' he told me in this voice. this voice that was just oozing impatience. I could tell he resented drawing the short stick and having to come talk to me. I tried to ignore that though; I had more important things on my mind, so I asked him if they knew anything. He hesitated for a moment, probably wondering how much he should tell me, but I must have looked desperate. I [b]was[/b] desperate! Finally he said that my father was in a safe house-just as a precaution, he reassured me-but that he went missing from there two days ago."
Her thin veneer of calm cracked a little when she told me that. "Two days, Vaughn. He's been gone for two days and they don't have a clue where he is!" She rested her head in her hands, barely holding back tears.
Those tears ripped a hole in my heart, I had to say something to make her stop. "Calm down Sydney, I'll give you a dollar to a donut hole that they're not being square with you. There's more going on than they're telling, and we're going to find out what it is," I said resolutely, pushing away from my spot against the wall.
She lifted her to look me in the eye and asked, "Then you'll help me?"
I wanted to tell her that I could never refuse a dame who needed help, especially this dame, or maybe that I could no more resist an intriguing case like this one than I could a nice Havana cigar, but something stopped me. Instead, I just flashed her a grin and said, "I'd like to see you stop me."
AN: This is a sequel to my story "A Dame Like That" which can be found here by clicking on my name.
Chapter 1-Hello Again
The streetlights had just come on when I heard the office door open behind me. I poured my evening scotch, shaking my head and grimacing as I thought about the characters who usually showed up at that time of day. "Don't the closed blinds mean anything to you?" I asked gruffly. "We're done for the day, come back tomorrow."
My back stiffened when I heard her response. "Hello Vaughn," she said softly. "Do you remember me?" Three years, and I still knew that voice. It was her, the only dame who could turn my life upside down with just one glance.
Slowly, I turned to face her, my fingers clenching the scotch glass so tightly I'm surprised it didn't shatter in my hands. "Well hello again Sweet Thing," I replied smoothly, covering up my surprise. "What are you doing back in this part of town?"
She sauntered into the office, running her fingers along the spines of the books on my shelves before answering. "Oh you know Vaughn, I thought it would be a good night for a walk. In the rain. In the seedy part of town." Her tone got more sarcastic with each biting word. "Why do you think I'm here, Hot Shot? I need help, and you're the only one who can give it."
"No need to get nasty Dollface. Why don't you take a seat and tell me what's on your mind?" I suggested, gesturing to the empty chair with my half full glass of scotch. Glancing at it, I downed it in one swift motion, then set the empty glass down and leaned against the wall. She didn't say anything, just looked at me with those eyes. After all these years, those eyes could still pierce straight through me. "So are you going to tell me what this is all about, or are you going to make me guess?" I asked, covering up my unease.
She sighed and looked away, and for the first time since she'd walked in, I noticed the worry lines on her forehead. Something was up all right, something big. Her next words told me I didn't know the half of it. "My father is missing," she answered quietly. My jaw dropped a little at that-G- men do not simply go missing, there had to be more to the story. I waited patiently, and after a moment she continued. "We have lunch together every Tuesday, but he didn't show up this week. Instead I got a phone call from his boss, telling me he won't be there. Well naturally, I wanted to know why."
"Naturally," I agreed, getting a glare in return. Holding my hands up in defense, I said, "Sorry, you were saying?"
"I went by his place yesterday, thinking maybe something was wrong, but he wasn't there. I finally called his office, but they still wouldn't tell me a thing. So I went in this morning and caused the biggest ruckus you can imagine, demanding to see the director or my father or anyone who didn't have bureaucratic red tape stuck across their mouths." Her voice was getting more tense the farther into the story she got, but I couldn't hold back a chuckle at that comment. Ignoring me, she continued, getting more agitated as the story went on.
"Finally this suit came down to talk to me. 'Right this way, Miss Bristow,' he said all polite like. He took me into a sardine can of a room and asked me to sit down at the table. Then as calmly as if he were reading the stocks, he let me know my father is missing. 'We're doing all we can, Miss Bristow,' he told me in this voice. this voice that was just oozing impatience. I could tell he resented drawing the short stick and having to come talk to me. I tried to ignore that though; I had more important things on my mind, so I asked him if they knew anything. He hesitated for a moment, probably wondering how much he should tell me, but I must have looked desperate. I [b]was[/b] desperate! Finally he said that my father was in a safe house-just as a precaution, he reassured me-but that he went missing from there two days ago."
Her thin veneer of calm cracked a little when she told me that. "Two days, Vaughn. He's been gone for two days and they don't have a clue where he is!" She rested her head in her hands, barely holding back tears.
Those tears ripped a hole in my heart, I had to say something to make her stop. "Calm down Sydney, I'll give you a dollar to a donut hole that they're not being square with you. There's more going on than they're telling, and we're going to find out what it is," I said resolutely, pushing away from my spot against the wall.
She lifted her to look me in the eye and asked, "Then you'll help me?"
I wanted to tell her that I could never refuse a dame who needed help, especially this dame, or maybe that I could no more resist an intriguing case like this one than I could a nice Havana cigar, but something stopped me. Instead, I just flashed her a grin and said, "I'd like to see you stop me."