A/N: I hope you all enjoy this story. I am very excited for it, and very happy with how this first chapter turned out! Reviews welcome! ENJOY!

Chapter 1

Long ago I learned that, mostly, being a spy is boring. Very boring. Nobody wants to spend several hours staring at a bank in Rome, constantly memorizing the patterns of camera sweeps and guard changes (trust me I know), but we do anyway. We do it because we learn things, even if it takes all day and a really odd tan line to find them out.

One thing I didn't learn at Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women that being a spy is also very lonely. More specifically, being a pavement artist is.

I spent my childhood and every year as a Gallagher Girl thinking that I would be going on missions with the best spies in the world, working in far off places, and staying in constant contact with the people I cared about most. I even hoped that several of them would be in the constantly changing circle of people that I was working with.

Little did I know, when I got to be an actual spy, I would never talk to them. Or more accurately I couldn't talk to them.

The last time I searched (or hacked…I guess) the CIA data base Bex was on a mission. She was in Italy on "special assignment". She was there for a month, and her target was Grant. Not because he was suddenly a threat or a traitor. She was having the time of her life and so was he, doing what spies always did. I'm sure it was great, mostly because they were also on their honeymoon. I didn't even get an invite to the wedding.

Liz, you ask. Where is Liz? Lizzie is working. I think she was developing a system to adjust memories on the spot, just like you see on TV (but less flashy). Macey had just gotten back from Hong Kong and was visiting her parents. Tina was in New York, and Josh was happily married.

That was two years ago, since then I continued watching. I waited and made notes. I followed my target everywhere. I worked in the same building as him, and had an apartment in the same building. I took the same bus and walked on the same streets. He was a computer software engineer for a big company. I wore a wig and was the ditzy secretary on the third floor. Everyone knew me as Rachel Matthews. No one would have guessed that I would also respond to the Chameleon.

One Tuesday morning I was walking to work, saying approximately thirty-five feet behind my target, or charge (I'd been watching him for so long, it felt more like babysitting). My skirt had ridden up in the back. I stopped to smooth it, watching him stop at a cross walk in one second and scanning for threats in another. I was just turning to leave when I noticed a man, tall but not too tall, and dressed like any other person heading to work in the sprawling streets of Las Angles. The reason I noticed him was more than because I noticed everything, but because he always turned left on the last street and hadn't today. He also seemed to have stopped when I had.

I went on with my day, watching closely for any other oddities. Anything unfamiliar in the patterns of people's lives. Oddities are suspicious, and suspicions are always dangerous.

At lunch I spotted the man again. He was kind of skinny, and I could see the way he walked, a gait that I'd only ever seen on operatives, one of a forced limp just slightly on his right knee. He must be a spy. The only question was if he was friendly or not. Could he be MI6 or CIA? Could he be a Circle wannabe? Who was he? As it turns out, I didn't have to wait long to find out.

I had just walked to a seat in the café near my office. The man walked through the door, and confidently strutted toward the counter. He seemed just like an important CEO until he stumbled and dropped his wallet next to my table. I knew I shouldn't have done it. I should have repressed the instinct to reach down and grab the wallet. I was being sloppy, I had put myself at risk just to seem normal. For all I knew, the man could have jumped me when my head was down, and then I would have only had a 70% chance of winning the fight (but it increases to 85% if he would have been balanced on his heels instead of toes).

When I gave him his wallet, his fingers lingered on my hand. "Stay calm," I thought. I took a deep breath and quipped in high pitched and very accented English, "Here's your wallet, sir! Have a good day."

He paused. Gruffly, he said, "You look familiar, do I know you?"

Much too quickly I answered, "Umm, no. I don't know you sir."

"Are you sure?" he smiled, one cocky smirk. "Because I swear I have seen you before."

I shook my head as he continued, "I guess you just look like the beautiful," he laughed, "the beautiful spy in that new movie."

"Well, see you around Ms. Matthews" He flashed that smile one more time before leaving.

"He never ordered anything," I thought. "He never ordered and he knew my name, or my alias at least." Then I realized I knew that laugh. One I hadn't heard for five years. The man was…Zach.

I quickly left the café as quickly as I could. I had to follow Zach. I had to find out what in the hell he was doing here. I had to find out how he found me when I was on a highly classified assignment. And, mostly, I couldn't get over the fact the Zach. Was. Here.

He was here, and he was good. He flipped corners and doubled back. Then he suddenly turned into a red brick building, and apartment complex, with a palm tree out front and a sign hanging down from the front. I followed several paces behind him. Zach went up two staircases, and around four corners (left, right, left, and left). I passed sixteen doors, and seven of which needed painting. I reached him just as he was unlocking the door.

"You dropped this!" I chirped, one thing I never thought would happen in my life.

"Oh, really? Why thank you. Why don't you come in," he said.

"Oh, um, sure." I stammered. As I walked into the tiny apartment I counted four windows, one leading to a fire escape. I was sure I could get out if things went wrong. I did master a disabling maneuver last year that would give me at least a two minute head start.

I heard the door shut softly. Zach stepped up behind me and, as I turned around, slid my wig off my head.

"What's your prob…" I didn't get to finish because Zach's lips pressed against mine. His arm pulled me close. "Cammie," he whispered.

I pulled away. "How did you find me."

Just like he did when we were sophomores, he flashed a cocky smirk and said, "Spy."

"What are you doing here? How did you find me? How did you know it was me?"

Zach shook his head. "The better question is what are you doing here. Why did you run Gallagher Girl? Why again, why then?"

What is he talking about? I've been here for years, on assignment. Every week I send progress reports back to Headquarters, and they respond with the same thing Stay on assignment.

"Zach, I've been on a mission, you know that."

"No, Cammie, I don't."

I was confused. His words didn't make sense. They couldn't make sense. I had been following perfect protocol since I had graduated nine years ago.

"What do you mean?" I breathed, almost too frightened to hear the answer.

"You missed a check in, the one in Ulaanbaatar. The CIA thought it was nothing, but you never responded. And we tried to contact you, everyone did. You were nowhere to be found."

I remember that check in. I was late, but just a few hours, and when I had I was given instructions on my new assignment. The assignment I was currently on. "That's impossible, Zach. I checked in and was given this assignment. I've been here ever since. Sending constant status reports."

I could finally see the wear on his body. The hunched shoulders, and the tired eyes, the very real limp on his leg, show of a mistake on the job. Just like it was the summer before senior year, but much, much worse. "For the last four and a half years I've been on assignment looking for you. Cam, you have been considered MIA for the last four and a half years."

No wonder I hadn't heard anything. Never send a Christmas card, or an invite to the wedding of my best friend. "What happened, since I left."

"So much has changed. We've needed you."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Only about forty percent of missions are successes, the rest…"

"We lose someone." I said, with the gravity of the situation finally settling in.

Zach just nodded his head.

I feel like crying when I ask, "Liz? Macey?" I pause, "Bex?"

"They're fine, mostly. Liz and Jonas are scared and constantly protected, especially after the threats a few months ago." He heard me try to interrupt, but continued before I could. "Bex…" He stops, whether it's to gather his thoughts or drive me crazy, I'm not sure.

"Bex isn't in the field anymore."

I gasped, involuntarily. "That can't be! You have to be lying!"

"I'm not Cammie! You don't understand! People were going missing! All the time! As soon as she found out about little Ellie, she decided to take a desk job." Zach sighed.

"Who's Ellie?"

"Grant and Bex's daughter. Cammie. Her daughter." He put emphasis on every syllable in the word daughter.

I started hyperventilating. "Bex has a daughter," I thought. "WHAT DID I MISS!" I panicked

"I have to go back, now. What's the first plane to DC?" Then I realized something. "What about Macey?"

Zach bowed his head as he said, "She missed a meeting with an asset two days ago. She missed a meeting with me."