AN: Had to delete and repost because of a couple of glaring canonical errors.
NCIS LA and all its characters are the sole property of Shane Brennan and CBS. The only character that's mine is Jordan Harris. The title comes from the Beyonce song "Halo" This story takes place six months after Physician Heal Thyself.
HALO
Madrid:
Apartment: 6:00 p.m.
Zakhar Bessonov ambled around the small one-room apartment with his case in hand; ducking his head as he narrowly missed bashing his skull on a low hanging beam. Stopping at the open window he gazed out at the star filled night sky. A cool, gentle breeze caressed his face as it brought the heady aroma of bread baking from the restaurant next door. Quietly humming Prokofiev's 'Peter and the Wolf', he lay the case on the cream colored carpet and unhooked the clasp. Opening the lid, he took out the gun and silencer. Feeling the cool metal of the silencer against his fingers, he secured it onto the gun. He finished humming and stood up again placing the gun in the pocket of his long coat. Stretching his broad shoulders he gave a cursory glance at the stark white walls and sparse furnishings before moving toward his target again.
CIA operative Kenneth Phillips sat slumped over in a straight back chair with his hands tied behind him and his legs secured to the front of the chair. His cover was blown.
Zakhar's lip curled as hate and revulsion fought for dominance at the sight before him. Phillips was in his late forties, average height, with a slight paunch that strained against the undershirt he wore and thinning black hair that hung limply over his forehead. Watery blue eyes sat nestled in a round face with a bulbous nose and thin lips.
Standing in front of Phillips, Zakhar grabbed his chin, forcing the head back. His focus was on the angry welt at the temple; the beginning of a black eye and the broken nose. Keeping a firm grip on Phillips, he slid his gaze to his partner Ivan who leaned against the wall picking at a cuticle on his left hand. Ivan glanced up at Zakhar, then Phillips and back at Zakhar and merely shrugged before going back to the cuticle.
Rolling his eyes he turned his attention back to Phillips, "Где - Томас Келлер?" (Where is Thomas Keller?) Zakhar said his voice dripping with malice against Kenneth's ear.
"Я не знаю. Я клянусь, я не знаю, где он." (I don't know. I swear I don't know where he is.) He said, his breath coming out in short pants.
Zakhar's jaw tightened as he balled up his fist to slam it into Kenneth's stomach, causing the other man to cry out in pain.
"Лос-Анджелес. Пожалуйста остановитесь. Он находится в Лос-Анджелесе, Калифорнии." (Los Angeles. Please stop. He's in Los Angeles, California.) He said, barely able to speak.
Releasing the man's chin he picked up the roll of duct tape off the floor; ripping off a piece with his teeth he pressed the tape to Kenneth's mouth. Stepping back a few feet, he took the gun out of the coat pocket. Kenneth began to squirm, eyes wide and pleading, his cries muffled by the tape. "Позвольте дьяволу брать вашу душу" (Let the devil take your soul.) Zakhar said, before firing two shots into his chest causing him to jerk back in the chair with each shot; the blood splattering the once pristine white walls. Kenneth squirmed for a minute like a fish out of water, as the life force drained from his body.
Admiring his handiwork, he took the silencer off his gun and put both in the black case and shutting it closed. Taking out his cell phone from his pants pocket, he pushed a series of numbers and brought the phone to his ear. "Это сделано." (It's done.) Breaking the connection, he placed it back into his pocket. Picking up the black case, he threw one last glance at Kenneth Phillips before he and Ivan walked out of the apartment.
OSP: 7:30 a.m.
Gym
Tension filled the air as Jordan faced Callen across the mat. She took a defensive stance keeping her arms in front of her core, never taking her eyes away from her opponent. She didn't focus on the 'shock knife' in his right hand, but rather on the way he'd shifted his weight to the left.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up from a rush of adrenaline as he sprung to attack.
Jordan caught his wrist; twisting his hand back until he dropped the 'knife'. Kicking the 'knife' away while bringing his hand to the middle of his back; kneeing his lower spine to send him down to the ground.
Letting him go, she held out her hand to Callen, helping him back to his feet.
"Good job," Callen said grinning; shaking out his arm.
"Thanks, "she replied as a sense of pride washed over her at her accomplishment, the last three times they did this she'd ended up 'dead'.
"Now, one last thing," replied Callen picking up the 'gun' from the mat. "Turn around. How would you disarm an attacker that's behind you?"
Jordan turned around as he instructed, raising her hands while feeling the muzzle of the gun against the back of her head. Looking back slightly she noted that he held the gun in his right hand. Finding her center, she shifted her weight to the right quickly out of the line of fire. Seeing her chance while he was momentarily distracted, she raised her right arm and bringing it down against the wrist of his gun hand. Circling his wrist with her right hand, she lowered his arm down to the ground as her left hand fake slammed into the right side of his head. Callen lost his grip on the gun allowing Jordan to take it away and point the weapon at him.
.
"Slick move," Callen said impressed with how quickly she'd learned with their sparring sessions.
"Вы найдете, что я буду заставленным из неожиданностей, Агента Коллена." (You'll find I'm full of surprises, Agent Callen.) She countered; returning his smirk whileputting the gun down.
"Очень хороший. Вы практиковали." (Very good. You've been practicing.)He said, an electric thrill coursing through him at hearing her speak Russian. A grin lifted one corner of his mouth. "Your Russian is very good." He said, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
Jordan felt a blush burning her cheeks, "Thank you. I have an exceptional teacher." She said gazing into his eyes.
Dropping his hand from her shoulder and ducking his head slightly from her gaze, "Uh…thanks," he said, his heart thrumming at her words. He wasn't used to people saying those kinds of things to him.
"Morning G...Jordan," Sam said, strolling into the gym. "You guys are early," a puzzled expression on his face.
"Callen was just giving me a few pointers on how to disarm an attacker," she said, smiling warmly at Sam.
"Oh? How'd she do?" Sam said; his eyes on Callen.
"Uh…"
"I disarmed him twice. Once with the shock knife and again with the fake gun at the back of my head," Jordan teased, laughing at Callen's mock glare.
"Oh G…G…G I'm so ashamed. We might have to revoke in your 'Bad Ass' card," Sam said a bark of laughter escaping his lips. "So, is she NCIS material?"
"Eh…she's got potential I think," Callen said; turning his attention to Jordan and giving her a conspiratorial wink.
"All right, all right quit making me blush here." She said chuckling at their antics. "I'm going to hit the shower and get dressed before going to my meeting," she said looking at her watch.
"What meeting?" Sam asked.
"A debriefing with Agent Ross, at the FBI office, on that money laundering racket that we broke up this week," she replied.
"Have fun," Callen said waving the fingers of his right hand at her.
"Yeah right," she said nearly groaning at the thought sitting through a long, tedious meeting. "See you guys later." She threw out before exiting the gym.
Sensing his partner's gaze on him, Callen faced Sam who was standing there with arms crossed and a knowing grin on his face.
"What?"
Sam responded by shaking his head, "Since you're helping everyone out this morning; mind spotting me?" Sam said moving toward the weight bench."
"I guess I can spare a minute," Callen smirked.
His phone vibrating interrupted him. His brow creasing as he took his phone out of his pants pocket. Who could that be? A tiny smile lifted the corner of his lips at seeing the text message from Jordan which read simply 'can't wait for dinner tonight.'
Office of the FBI:
Jordan pushed through the revolving door of the FBI building, the dry California heat assaulting her senses as she stepped out onto the sidewalk. The business district of the plaza, at the heart of L.A., was alive with people hustling to wherever they needed to go. Taking a left, she strolled toward the food truck just a few blocks down to pick up some lunch; something healthy before heading back to OSP.
Her thoughts immediately turning to Callen as a barely perceptible smile began tugging at her lips. He was coming over to her place and she was going to fix him dinner for the first time. So engrossed in her thoughts she accidently bumped into someone, causing him to drop his briefcase.
"Oh! I'm so sorry!" she said reaching down to pick up the case.
The man faced her, "It's alright, Miss. No harm done," he said.
Jordan noted that he had a Russian accent. Mentally cataloguing his appearance, a habit she developed during her police days, she saw that he was in his late thirties and quite tall, at least six foot five, with a muscular build that strained the black Armani suit he wore. A black suit In this heat? His skin was very pale, not sickly, but very white, along with longish white hair.
"Again, I'm sorry for bumping into you. I'm usually not so clumsy,"
"No apologies necessary," he said an odd look settling on his face before disappearing completely. "Have we met before?"
The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention as icy prickles of warning coursed through her veins. He wasn't outwardly threatening, but something was off.
"I don't think so," she said, slapping a smile on her face, "Thanks for being so forgiving. I really need to be going, have a good day," she said, keeping her strides at an even pace as she maneuvered around him and headed toward the crowd at the food truck.
Reaching her destination, she glanced back to see if that weird guy was still there. Satisfied that he was long gone, she moved to the window where a young woman, whose name tag said Mandy, stood ready to take Jordan's order.
"Good afternoon ma'am! Can I take your order?" Mandy said; a smile lighting up her face.
Yes, don't call me ma'am again. Mandy looked no older than 22 with long blond hair and cornflower blue eyes.
"Yes, I'd like a salad with grilled chicken strips with a side of vinaigrette dressing please," Jordan said, returning her smile.
"Would you like anything to drink?"
"An Ice tea, please."
Tallying up the total on the cash register, "The total comes to ten dollars and seventy-five cents."
Jordan shifted her purse on her shoulder, reaching in to take out her wallet before pulling out the exact amount. Five minutes later after receiving her food and drink, she turned around scanning again the plaza for any signs of that strange guy.
Mentally shaking herself for her paranoia she trotted toward the parking garage to her waiting car.
OSP:
Bullpen:
"How'd the meeting go?" Callen said lifting his head from his report as Jordan strolled into the bullpen.
Setting the salad and tea on top of her own desk; she faced him crossing her eyes.
"That good," he said chuckling.
They were interrupted by a shrill whistle coming from the top of the stairs.
"Everyone up to OPS!" Eric said before scurrying back into the inner sanctum.
OPS:
The team filed into the room making a line in front of the long table. Callen stood next to Jordan, Sam was at his left while Kensi and Deeks were at Jordan's right.
"What's the case Eric?" Callen asked folding his arms across his chest.
Eric swinging his chair around to face the group held up open palms, "Don't know. Our illustrious leader didn't tell me; just said to be sure that everyone was in OPS ASAP."
"Thank you, Mr. Beale," Hetty said gliding through the door with Owen Granger and Agent Tobias Fornell.
Callen watched them marching in. Why is Fornell here?
"Agent Tobias Fornell, this is my team," Hetty said, moving closer to the group, "You already know agent Callen of course…"
Callen nodded at Fornell, still curious as to why the man was here along with Granger.
Hetty continued moving down the line, "agent Sam Hanna, FBI liaison J…"
"Jordan Harris," Fornell interrupted shaking Jordan's hand. "We met once before. What was it…five years ago?"
"At least, sir" Jordan said, sensing Callen's eyes on her.
Hetty nodding her head continued with the introductions, "This is Agent Kensi Blye and LAPD liaison Martin Deeks."
"Good to meet all of you," Fornell said before stepping back to join Granger at the smart board.
Granger took the floor, "Two months ago FBI agent Carl Reynolds was found murdered execution style in a hotel room in Brussels," bringing up a photo of Carl Reynolds while continuing to speak. "Three weeks ago CIA agent Terrance Brown…" a picture of agent Brown appeared on the board, "…found murdered execution style in Berlin. Five days ago CIA agent Kenneth Phillips was found murdered execution style in an apartment in Madrid," Granger said the last photo appearing on the screen.
"How is this an NCIS case?" Sam said.
"Agent Brown was a former Navy Seal and one of my people," Granger said.
"At the last murder, a security camera caught who we believe are the people responsible," Fornell said, speaking for the first time. A grainy, security photo appeared on the screen of two men. One man was tall, about six foot two with shaggy brown hair, ruggedly handsome with a lean, angular face.
"Oh my G…" Jordan said her eyes widening as she stared at the image of the other man, "I ran into that man…the one with the white hair today!"
"What happened?" Callen said focusing his attention on Jordan.
"I was leaving the FBI office and heading to one of the food trucks to get lunch when I literally bumped into that guy making him drop his briefcase." Jordan said.
"Did he say anything to you?" Granger said.
"I apologized for bumping into him and he just waved it off. I noticed he had a Russian accent. There was something strange, he asked if we'd met before and he looked at me like he thought he remembered me from somewhere."
"Had you ever seen him before now?" Callen said.
"No, never," Jordan said turning her gaze to Callen.
"Nell, pull up satellite cam of the area," Callen said.
Running the footage of the business plaza they came to the part with Jordan bumping into the suspect.
"Dude seriously needs to spend some time in the sun," Deeks said grimacing.
"Looks like after she walked away from him; he headed away from the plaza, out of camera range," Nell said.
"We have to act fast, Tobias," Granger said before focusing his attention on the team, "The CIA received an anonymous Intel that there was a leak within the agency and we feel that there is another agent who may be in danger," Granger said pulling up Callen's old CIA picture, "Thomas Keller."
"I'm the next target?" Callen said staring at his image on the screen; his jaw clinching as fury burned in his gut at the thought of those murdered men. They were good people who didn't deserve to die that way.
"If you recall Mr. Callen, you and the other three men were part of a special task force that brought down two criminal enterprises. Mr. Granger, another FBI agent and I set up that task force. We need to contact that man so we can discover who ordered the hit as well as discover who the leak is at CIA headquarters," Fornell said moving toward Jordan, "We need to speak with your former partner Tom Manea. I assume you know how to contact him?
"Uh…yes, he lives in San Bernardino now. I can give you his number…"
"I think it would be best if you spoke with him first. The last time we saw each other he said in no uncertain terms that if I ever crossed his path again he'd ram a very pointy object where the moon doesn't shine," Fornell said.
"That sounds like him," Jordan said nodding her head.
"Once you've contacted Mr. Manea I think it would be wise to bring him back here for safety. Then we can move forward with our plan of action," Hetty said.
Callen mentally shook himself out of his stupor, "Sam, Jordan and I will go and get Tom Manea. Eric, see if you can get a line on who those two killers are and when they got here."
"On it," Eric said.
"Be careful out there," Hetty said pausing a moment before adding, "If he tries to be stubborn and not come along just tell him I said Berlin 1980."
"We will," Callen said the three of them charging out of OPS.
"I can't believe your former partner is Tom Manea," Callen said shaking his head.
"So, what is this Tom Manea like?" Sam asked.
"He's very intelligent, articulate, has a slightly sarcastic sense of humor, stoic, doesn't take to people easily but when he does he's your friend for life. He was an Air Force pilot before joining the FBI. Tom also enjoys a good bottle of Merlot and Italian food. He loves to go fishing and his favorite thing is building model rockets," she said.
"Intelligent, sarcastic sense of humor; doesn't take to people easily but is your buddy for life when he does. Kind of reminds me of someone," Sam said giving Callen a sidelong glance before making a right at the exit.
Callen turned his attention to Sam, his brow rising to his hairline, "Are you insinuating that I'm like Tom?"
"If the shoe fits."
"I don't have a sarcastic sense of humor. I have a great sense of humor," Callen said in an offended tone.
"You can be a little sarcastic," Sam said making a left at the corner.
"Ok, I admit I do use sarcasm sometimes. People get my jokes, they love my jokes."
"Fine. But it does take you a while to warm up to people." Sam said
"We hit it off right away…"
Jordan sat chuckling at the exchange as memories of countless car ride conversations between her and Tom came flooding back.
Twenty minutes later they pulled into a quiet residential neighborhood with two-story cookie-cutter detached houses. Turning left at Dresden lane they pulled in front of the house with the number 205 on the mail box.
Exiting the car, and making their way over the lush, manicured lawn to the front porch. Jordan moving to the front knocked on the door, "Tom? It's me Jordan." Grabbing the door knob, she turned pushing the door open and poking her head inside. "Tom?" she said walking in with Callen and Sam who had their guns drawn and ready.
Moving through the front entrance they came into the living room. A leather couch sat in the center of the room, behind the couch was a sliding glass door that looked out onto a small vegetable garden. On each side of the couch was and end table with a lamp. A round, glass coffee table was positioned in front of the couch. There were a few magazines and that day's L.A. Times lay open on the table. To their right was a fireplace. On the mantelpiece were family pictures.
"Want to give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you all right now?" said a deep voice from the vicinity of their left.
Callen and Sam whirled around aiming their guns at the tall man standing in the middle of the steps. In his right hand he was holding a Glock 22.
Jordan gently put her hands on Callen and Sam's wrists, pushing their guns down. Stepping forward with raised hands she said, "It would really suck if you shot us, Tom. And also this is my favorite blouse."
Lowering his gun, he sauntered down the steps. Reaching the bottom landing he placed the weapon on a nearby table before moving toward Jordan.
"I said one good reason," he said before a smiling and grabbing Jordan in a big hug.
Callen watching the hug noted great affection from between them; the father-daughter kind. Tom Manea was six foot two with a lean, wiry build. Tom was a well preserved sixty year old with a head full of black hair that held a touch of gray at the temples. He was olive skinned with a rugged angular face, strong chin and a straight nose. Dark, brown eyes beneath bushy brows flashed with intelligence, but there was a hint of sadness in their depths.
Letting Jordan go he focused on Callen and Sam, "Not that I don't love seeing you Jordan, but why are you here with…Callen right?" Callen nodded his head in agreement as Tom continued speaking, "and who is the other guy."
Moving back toward Callen and Sam she made the introduction, "This is Agent Sam Hanna. They're with NCIS."
Tom ambled over to the couch, gesturing to the two chocolate brown, curve backed arm chairs for Sam and Callen to sit in. Jordan joined Tom on the couch.
"Tom, three agents were murdered. FBI agent Carl Reynolds, CIA agent Terrence Brown and just recently CIA agent Kenneth Phillips; they were all killed execution style. Mr. Tobias Fornell said…"
"Tobias is in town?" Tom asked his brows rising.
"Yeah, he told us that you and he plus Mr. Owen Granger set up this task force that included those three men. There is also another agent they believe in danger," she said sliding her eyes to Callen.
"I see. Why come see me?"
"Hetty Lange thinks you could be in danger too and wants you to come back with us to NCIS headquarters," Sam said.
"Ah, you work for Hetty Lange. Look I can take care of myself, I've never run from anything in my life and I'm not about to start now," Tom said, his tone indicating he wasn't backing down.
"Hetty said you might do this. She said to tell you Berlin 1980." Jordan said, wondering what on earth had happened in Berlin in 1980.
Rising up from the couch he glared at the three of them, "That's just fighting dirty Jordan Olivia Harris. I expected better of you!" He said moving around the coffee table and the arm chair where Sam sat before charging up the stairs with the three of them gaping after his retreating form. Stopping at the middle of the stairway he looked back at them, "There's beer and a pitcher tea in the fridge in the kitchen. I need to pack a few things and get my rocket kit." He said before stomping all the way up the stairs.
OSP Headquarters:
"Ah…good to see you again Thomas," Hetty said greeting them as they entered headquarters. Owen Granger and Tobias Fornell were standing behind her.
"Good to see you as well, Henrietta," Tom said bending down to hug the petite woman. Standing back up he gave a curt nod to Granger and Fornell, "Owen…Tobias."
"Hello Tom," said Granger, his expression impassive.
"Tom," Fornell said.
Jordan snuck a look to Callen and Sam who just shrugged their shoulders. The tension between Tom and Tobias was thick enough to cut with a knife. Kensi and Deeks came from around the corner to join the group.
"Now that we're all here we all need to work together. I'm sure we can put aside petty grievances for the sake of the mission, right Thomas…Tobias?" Hetty said her hawk like eyes traveling between the two men.
Tom gazed at the diminutive woman, his brow rising, "What are you getting at, Henrietta?"
"What I'm getting at is that for now the team needs to be in one place so to speak. I have a place that is safe, private and functional." Hetty said.
"A safe house?" Callen said speaking up, "For all three of them?"
"For Mr. Fornell, Mr. Manea and you as well Mr. Callen; and no room for arguments," Hetty said when he started to object.
"Granger won't be at the safe house?" Callen asked, a rush of relieve washing over him.
"No, he's staying here," Hetty said holding back a smile knowing the younger man probably hated the thought of staying under the same roof for extended periods of time with Owen Granger.
"Miss Harris, Miss Blye and Mr. Deeks you will also be there as lookouts," Hetty said. Looking back at Tom and Tobias she turned back and motioned Jordan to bend down so she could speak in her ear, "Make sure Tom and Tobias don't end up killing each other."
Jordan went back to her standing position, "I'll try my best," she said a grin lifting the corners of her mouth.
That evening:
Safe House:
Sam drove them to the address that Hetty had given them; taking back roads to ensure no one followed them. After pulling onto the lane leading them to the safe house; Jordan's jaw dropped at seeing the behemoth structure seemingly rising from the sandy dune. Jordan turned her attention to the others in the car and saw they were having the same reaction as she.
After saying goodnight to Sam and watching as his black truck with the tinted windows disappear into the night; they all shuffled up the walkway to the large ornate double doors.
The safe house was more like a safe mansion. It was 4,280-square-feet of heavenly space and a massive view of the ocean. The front entrance led to a double decker living room with supported glass walls. The furniture was a harmonious collaboration of white and teak. Near the panoramic window sat an obsidian coffee table encompassed by four white love seats one each side and a white couch that pulled out into a bed at one end. On the other side was a long, teak dining room table with six chairs. Here was the command center with a desk that was located at the back wall of the living room. There was a computer setup that showed the ground outside from every angle.
Off of the living room to the left was a spacious kitchen with chrome appliances and ceramic countertops. From every room of the house there was a spectacular view of white sand and crashing surf.
A spiral staircase led to four bedroom suites that had their own bathrooms and a balcony; two bedrooms on the left side of the hall and two bedrooms on the right.
"Whoa!" said Deeks giving the living room a once over, "I could get used to a place like this."
"Don't get too attached," Callen said, giving him a warning look, "Once this is over its back to reality."
"Way to burst my bubble," Deeks muttered.
"Aw maybe Hetty will let you visit sometimes," Kensi teased.
"Whatever," Deeks said shifting his duffle and sleeping bag on his shoulder, "I call dibs on the upstairs room to the right."
"Sorry Deeks, we have seniority so we get the rooms upstairs," Callen said indicating Tom, Fornell and Jordan.
"So unfair."
"Life's not fair sometimes," Callen said smirking. "OK. Let's decide who gets what room and which team mans the monitors tonight?"
Later that evening:
Bedroom:
Callen dropped his duffle next to the chest of drawers in the room, chuckling over Deeks losing the coin toss on who watched the monitors tonight. Scanning the room he took in the king-sized bed in front of him with the white down comforter. Two night tables with a tiffany lamp flanked each side of the bed. A small walk-in closet was on the right side of the bed. To the left of the drawers was a full bathroom. A wide-screen T.V. was on the wall above the dresser. Going to the sliding glass door that led out to the balcony, he grabbed the handle sliding the door back. Taking a deep breath, the tangy scent of the salt water filled his nostrils.
Stepping back into the room, he noticed another door next to the bathroom. Padding forward on the plush, beige carpeting he tried the handle and opened the door; discovering that it lead to another room. "Sorry, didn't know there was another room."
"It's alright. Come on in," Jordan said waving him in. She was sitting on a peach colored divan by the bed watching TV.
Moving closer he settled down on the divan next to her.
"Don't have one of these in my room." He said checking out the seat.
"Maybe each room doesn't have one," she said gazing into his eyes, "Not exactly how we planned this evening, huh?"
"Guess not," he said chuckling. "This isn't too bad. Great place with a nice view; too bad it couldn't be under different reasons."
"True."
"How long were you and Tom partners?" Callen said settling back in the seat.
"About eleven years," she said a smile forming on her face. Callen loved it when she smiled; it seemed to brighten up the room.
"You two seem really close from what I could see."
"We're close friends; he really helped me through a dark period."
Callen felt an irrational ping of jealousy that Tom could help her through a difficult time and not him.
"Good to have someone like that especially with our jobs."
Jordan nodded in agreement.
"What's the deal with him and Fornell?"
"I have no idea. I only met him once and that was briefly. Whatever went down must have been pretty big," She said rubbing her chin.
"In a fight I think my money's on Tom," Callen said making Jordan laugh.
Callen reached out his hand pushing the fringe of hair off of her forehead before planting a gentle kiss.
"What was that for, not that I mind?" She asked, her heart strumming at his touch.
"I just wanted too," he said tilting his head and studying her, "I wonder."
"What."
"What would it have been like if we'd been FBI partners when I was still with the agency?"
Jordan propped her head on her hands, narrowing her eyes as she considered the question, "We would have been amazing. Mulder and Scullly would have nothing on us," she said grinning.
"Unbeatable, huh?"
"Unmatchable. No one would be able to touch us," She said her hands moving over his.
"Sounds like a great team."
"The best."
Hotel Room: California
Zakhar lay on the bed with the sheet only over his hips. His mind went back to the woman he's seen earlier today. I've seen her before I know I have; but where."
TBC:
Hope you all liked the first chapter. Please review and more to come.