"I don't want this assignment."
"You don't have a choice."
"This isn't even my area." Her voice was deep and forceful, and, at the moment, riding the razor edge of control. Her eyes were dark brown, deadly cold. "I'm an investigator, not a goddamned baby-sitter."
"You've been selected by the security council. They think you're the best one to head up the detail." Assistant Director Robert Gold regarded her impassively. He'd expected this reaction. She was a a seasoned field agent with more than a decade's experience,
and, despite recent events, a highly effective one. She'd be in line for an assistant director's position if she ever learned to play the game. That thought almost made him smile. Not very likely.
"With all due respect, sir, I am a senior agent. I should have some say regarding my assignments."
She was right; they both knew it. He studied the tall, trim, dark-haired agent silently. She was thinner than the last time he had seen her, and there was a new hardness in her dark eyes. She stared at him in thinly disguised challenge, anger simmering
very near the surface. The folder on his desk held her service record, and he knew every word by heart. It was flawless, exemplary in every way. It told the crucial facts, and none of the story. No one had never known the whole story, and now they
never would. Because she wasn't talking, and no one really wanted her to. What everyone wanted was to get on with business as usual, and it was his job to see that that happened.
"The directive was clear," Gold said flatly. "The decision is not negotiable."
"Any rookie could do it," she seethed through clenched teeth.
You're wrong. But I expect you'll discover that soon enough.
"Is this some kind of punishment?" She was skirting the edge of insubordination. She knew it, and she didn't care. There wasn't a thing anyone could do to her that could hurt her any longer. Except maybe bury her in a bullshit detail like this. She needed
a field assignment- something that would consume her energy, something that would exhaust her mind, something that would obliterate her memories. "A little late for that, don't you think?"
" Most people would consider this a top post."
"Not the people on my side of the street." Her laugh was brittle. "Is it the injury? Do they think I'm not fit for real duty?"
"Are you?"
"Absolutely. I've been released from rehab. I've passed the mandatory psych eval." Her leg still wasn't quite right, she couldn't sleep, and most of the time all she felt was empty, but he didn't need to know that. "I'm ready."
"Good. I'm glad to hear it. You start tomorrow. I suggest you review the available reports from the current commander before you leave for New York."
"Damn it, Gold. You know I don't deserve this!"
"This has nothing to do with you, Agent. That will be all."
When she turned away, stiff with rage, he felt a wave of sympathy. She did deserve more from them than an assignment that to her could only seem like a demotion. He had no doubt she would give her best; she always did. What he wondered was where she would
put her anger.
"Booth seven is free," the firearm supervisor informed her.
She nodded and grabbed a pair of protective ear mufflers as she walked through the small office to the long corridor that opened into the individual firing stations. She wore a gray T-shirt and navy sweatpants from her two hour workout at the gym, and
the back of her shirt was still wet with sweat. The small bag she carried held her service automatic and ammunition. She looked neither right nor left as she strode rapidly toward the marrow glass enclosure.
There was a row of buttons that allowed her to set the target type and distance. She began with a medium range standard human form and fired off a clip at an easy pace, alternating between clusters in the mid torso and head. As she rhythmically squeezed
the trigger, her mind slowly emptied of emotion until all she felt was the recoil of her weapon and the measured beat of her heart. When her anger over an assignment that she had no desire to undertake and couldn't avoid slowly abated, she moved the
target fifty feet farther away. Accuracy demanded even greater concentration, and as she began to fire in faster, tighter bursts, the ever-present vestiges of longing and loss gradually faded.
By the time she had moved the smallest target to its farthest distance, she felt absolutely nothing.
Fresh from the shower, she walked naked across the carpeted living room to the bar. Her apartment was on the top floor, and the floor to ceiling windows were uncovered exposing the night skyline of Washington D.C. The view was breathtaking. She poured
an inch of single malt Scotch into a heavy crystal rock glass and leaned against the bar, staring at the city lights mingling with the stars. There had been a time when this vision had moved her with its piercing beauty. There had been many nights
when she had allowed the tensions of the day to drift away into that great expanse of flickering light, feeling the world settle back into some kind of order. It was often the last thing she saw before she slipped into bed, but then she hadn't been
alone.
Now when she looked out the window, she saw the past reflected back at her. Unchangeable, immutable, unforgiving. She had no desire to think at all. Not tonight. She glanced at the clock. Soon she wouldn't have to.
She reached for the red silk robe from the back of a chair when a knock sounded at the door. She had a flight to New York in five hours, and a meeting with her new team at 8:00. She still needed to review the dossier that had been delivered by courier
that evening. She didn't have much time, and she knew she wouldn't sleep.
She glanced at the clock again as she crossed to the door. It was 1:00 a.m. Her visitor was punctual; she always was. She opened the door to admit a woman in her mid thirties, expensively dressed in a charcoal gray linen suit, a silk shirt open to expose
the swell of her breasts, and low heeled black boots. Casually elegant. The woman greeted her with a familiar smile, brushing her blonde hair back with a long elegant hand. "Hello."
"Hi." As she closed the door, she asked, "Can I get you something to drink?"
"That depends," the blonde replied as she slipped her jacket off and laid it carefully along the back of a leather couch that faced the windows. "Are you in the mood for talking tonight?"
"I don't have much time."
"Then I'll save that drink for another night," her guest replied softly. With a knowing gaze, she assessed the faint circles beneath normally clear brown eyes and noted the tightness along the sculpted jaw. "Sit down in front of the windows."
Wordlessly, the woman in red dimmed the lights as she moved around to the sofa and sat as directed. The room was in near darkness now except for the shadows etched in moonlight. She might have been one of them as she sipped her Scotch and watched the
stars revolve overhead. She has been here before, in the still of the night, but not quite like this. Never quite so detached, so singularly isolated despite the warmth of the body just barely perceptible between her thighs. She was distantly aware
of the gentle tug that loosened the belt at her waist and the soft parting of the silk that covered her. At first light touch of fingers against her skin, she shivered involuntarily.
Eventually the teasing stroked over her abdomen and along her inner thighs became firmer, more insistent, demanding her attention. When the press of palms high on the inside of her legs bid her open, she arched toward the woman kneeling before her in
the dark, tightening almost painfully as warm lips encircled her. Slow, practiced caresses of a velvet smooth tongue swept every image from her consciousness, eclipsing thought with near-agonizing pleasure. A groan escaped her as she dropped her head
back against the couch, allowing the slowly building pressure to take her outside herself, beyond thought, past memory. The pounding of her heart grew loud in her ears as her breath came in short gasps, almost sobs. Eyes closed, she struggled to contain
the exquisite, piercing ache centered in her clit, and failed. When the explosion began, ripping at her control, she slipped one hand into the soft blonde hair, moaning deep in her throat. Trembling, helpless, for a few moments she was mercifully
unaware.
She walked the blonde to the door and picked up a sealed envelope that rested on the table just inside the foyer. She handed it to her visitor, who took it wordlessly and slipped it into her purse.
"I'll be away for a while. I don't know how long."
"Will I see you again?"
"I don't know."
The blonde studied the tall, handsome stranger she had met countless times in the dark hours of the night-in this room, in elegant hotel suites, in rooms that might be anywhere, or nowhere at all. She knew virtually nothing of the other woman's life,
except what she gleaned from the confessions of her body. She knew the hard, lean muscles and the angry red scar on her thigh that was healing now, faded over the months since they had met. She knew the soft, sensitive places that left her gasping
when touched. She wondered whose name the stranger called out when she came into the silence. She had never tried to find out, and she did not want to know now. Strangely, it was something else she wanted altogether. If this was to be their last meeting,
she wanted to leave something of herself.
Breaking every rule, the blonde said softly, "My name is Angelina."
"Angelina," the dark-eyed stranger whispered, the expression in her intense gaze unfathomable as she leaned close and kissed her for the first time. It was a brief, tender meeting of lips that spoke a greeting, or perhaps a goodbye. Then, breaking every
rule, she said, "My name is Regina."
When the door closed, leaving them to their separate lives, with their silent secrets, the lingering memory of that kiss was all that remained between them.