Chapter 1.

Charlie Matheson's POV.

Charlie Matheson combs the hair out of her face with her fingers and stares at her reflection in the mirror for the twentieth time that morning, freckles and hollow blue eyes staring back at her in resignation.

'The FBI is the place where criminal go to get put away, not to be let loose' her inner monologue voices to her and she tries to shush it but it still lingers. So does the uneasy fear, but she ignores that feeling entirely. Her clothes are high end, the silk vest hugging her breasts and waist, her jeans hugging the rest of her as if her clothes will blind them enough to not look at her.

"It's better than prison." She mutters and shrugs on her leather jacket, peering out her apartment window at the standard FBI SUV outside. Her ride for the day. The joys of being FBI property.

"It's better than prison." She says again but this time differently. Solid and steady. After all, that is the Charlie Matheson the FBI are expecting.

Bass Monroe's POV

Special Agent Bass Monroe eyes the clock in barely maintained agitation, the slow move of the minute handing making his hand itch toward his office phone to see what's taking so long before reminding himself yet again, he is early. The agents in the bullpen are already in full swing, his office door left open enough that the chatter resonates into his office and its familiarity grounds him.

The paperwork he keeps eyeing sits in a neat folder on his desk, the folder marked in bold red CONFIDENTAL and he thumbs through it yet again even though he knows it word for word.

'Charlie Matheson is being released into the custody of the FBI for consultant and informational purposes that are to be overseen by Special Agent in Charge; Sebastian Monroe. The asset will have a tracker on them at all times with a radius that will be set by said Special Agent in Charge. The asset will be serving a year term with the FBI unless otherwise advised by said Special Agent in Charge or any other disciplinary board the FBI sees fit to assemble.'

It's a bad idea. He knows this. Hell, he spent four years chasing her through countries and cities and precious monuments that he later got shit for. Yet catching her wasn't as sweet as he thought it would be, how he envisioned it would be after all these years and late nights stuck in this very office imagining her in orange. Sometimes, occasionally nothing at all. But seeing her, blue eyes and a smirk on her lips when he sat across from her and read her the charges; art forgery, bond forgery and many others he promised to find her guilty for, the more he read, the more he realized that she doesn't belong in a cell doing nothing for a year. She should be bringing others like her to justice.

He snorts and sits back in his chair. If he's being honest with himself, he knows there's more than that shitty reason he gave his bosses. He's intrigued by her, all legs and messy hair and a smile that doesn't stop, even when he knows it can't be real. And of course her uncle being his best friend didn't help him at all. A criminal, his best friends a criminal and yet Mile's claims he's retired, done with the life and Bass chooses to believe him, chooses to have his best friend for awhile.

Bass doesn't see her at first until she walks through the clear glass doors from the elevator, escorted by two men who are doing more ogling her ass than being actual agents and he sighs. Typical of Charlie to seduce two accomplished agent's moments into her first day.

He leaves his office to meet her halfway, but stays on the second level so she has to look up at him which she does with an infuriating smirk and a raised eyebrow.

"Sebastian." She says his name with a lick of honey in her words and he notes how quiet the bullpen has gotten since she entered, agents grabbing glances of her from their place in the bullpen and he pretends he doesn't see what the other two agents were ogling.

"Charlotte." He uses her full name to get a rise out of her and watches as he expression lifts to something close to a challenge before she smiles again.

"Isn't there some paperwork I should be signing?" She says it sweet and Bass knows that she's going to have words for him and sighs before ushering her towards his office, watching as she takes the stairs two at a time in heels, pretend oblivious of the stares burning into her back.

He holds the door for her and watches as she drops into the chair across from his desk and eyes him as he slowly sits, her head tilted as she watches him with the smile still on her face, as if it was glued there.

"How were your escorts this morning?"

She snorts, "Are they FBI agents or two boys who've never seen a girl before?"

Bass shakes his head, "Once we set the tracker up, you wont need them."

"Thank fuck." Charlie mumbles and Bass chuckles. "Never heard someone grateful for a tracker."

Charlie glares at him, "I'd rather a tracker than two horny boys."

Bass chuckles but grabs the folder and goes through the pages, pulling out the ones she needs to sign and placing them face up for her.

She grabs the finished stack and reads through them and he watches her expression carefully as resignation is softly etched across her face, barely visible but there.

"It's just a year Charlie." He says quietly and he watches her smile blindingly so.

"I'm lucky Bass. Most people would get four years minimum for the things I plead guilty for. I got one year, out of prison. That's lucky." She picks up the pen and scrawls her initials beside the x's. "I'm assuming you're not going to forget to put at tracker on me huh?"

"You're not that lucky Charlie. C'mon we'll go get you fitted."

Her heels click as she follows him to the elevator and she leans against the wall as the floor numbers flash above them.

"They'll quit staring eventually." Bass says, watching as she shrugs as if two dozen people hadn't stared at her all the way out.

"I'm the shiny new thing, staring happens. Maybe don't send them on any undercover ops."

Bass chuckles and ushers Charlie into the waiting elevator, noting the smell of vanilla and cinnamon as she walks by him.

"Where are we going?" She leans her body against the steel railing lining the elevator and he pushes the button for the lobby.

"We have to go downtown to get you fitted."

"Why?"

Bass looks down at her unabashedly. "The FBI doesn't trust that you won't be able to pick our tracking devices, so they had one custom made."

"I'm that special huh?"

Bass rolls his eyes as they exit the elevator, "I knew I shouldn't have told you."