A/N: My personal Challenge: I use ten random words for each chapter (they're they ones shown in bold).

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN NCIS: LOS ANGELES.

"Federal Agents! Put down your weapon. Now!" Sam's voice rang clear down the town hall's corridor.

"I'm putting it down. I'll slid it across the floor, all right?" The accent was British, lower class. "But first, I want to see some ID." Well that was rare. Callen raised his eyebrows as his partner lowered his weapon and stuck his hand out, badge and all. "Okay. I'm sliding it now." A matte black .45 1911 skidded down the hallway to Sam's feet.

"Come out from the wall with your hands where I can see them." The woman did as she was told and the two agents got their first good look at her.

She was tall and slender, clad only in black: a tight corset top and loose linen pants. There was a hold-all over her shoulder, and she had two gloved hands out in front of her. Long black waves were pulled into a tight ponytail, throwing into sharp relief her big, gunmetal gray eyes and razor sharp cheekbones.

"Drop the bag." Sam instructed. She did and it thunked as it hit the ground. An earring she wore distracted Sam: it was the blue and yellow feathers of a parrot, and it was only in her left ear – there wasn't one in her right. "Come closer." She did. "Stop." She was two feet away and her lips quirked up in a smirk.

Callen cuffed her and Sam looked her over. Her body had that… X-factor that appealed to him: she was athletic but curvy, like a dancer. Her legs went on for miles and when she walked she had a confident sway to her hips. When he looked at her face, her lidded eyes told him she knew what he was thinking.

"What's your name?" He asked. She looked him straight in the eye.

"Maverick."

"What kinda name is that?" She shrugged, and it meant everything and nothing.

"Google it." When they reached the Challenger, Callen opened the door, pulled the seat forward and stepped back so she could get in. "I knew I should have gone to San Francisco." She muttered.

"You wanna tell us what's going on?" Callen asked form he front seat.

"I plead the Fifth." She said, calm as ever.

"What?"

"The Fifth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States. The right to remain silent. You're feds. You should know it as well as the Ten Commandments." Callen rolled his eyes, but either she didn't see or she didn't care. Sam swiped all the origami figures he'd made out of napkins off the dash and put all Callen's rubbish in a Cracker Jacks box.

As he started the car, he peeked at the woman in his back seat. Her eyes flashed when she caught him looking and she arched a brow. He looked away and started the drive to the boat shed, blaming his goose bumps on the cold season.

By the time they reached the boatshed, the woman hadn't said a word. She seemed content to uphold her union with the Fifth.