A/N: The title of this story comes from a painting by Rene Magritte. If you choose to google it (and read about the meaning of the painting), it'll give you a little clue as to what the intention behind the story is. ;-)
This chapter is a short one. It's meant as a bit of a prologue to the rest.
-1-
A sharp knock at the door sounds. It is purposeful and demanding and Andy knows exactly who is on the other side. She gives a second glance at the monitoring system. The tiny light, concealed next to a ratty old refrigerator, blinks red indicating that the cameras and sound system are off. She chances a glance at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and hopes that she seems equal parts casual and appealing.
Her fingers deftly turn the three locks. "For your security," her handler, Jacob Blackstone, had explained. "Keep it locked at all times, even when you're inside." A rush of cold air greets her as she opens the door. She sucks in a breath as her planned visitor steps over the threshold, face concealed by a hood.
"You alone?" He asks, his voice a whisper. She nods, her heart quickening ever so slightly.
"Cameras?"
"Off," she replies, closing the door behind him. "Just like last time." She turns each of the locks, securing them inside.
He pulls back the hood of his coat, revealing himself. "When's he coming back?" Her visitor asks as he slides his winter coat from his shoulders and hands it to Andy. It is heavy in her hands and smells of his musky cologne. She would have to hide it in her bedroom closet; the last time she'd stored it in the main hallway the smell had attached itself to Nick's jacket. She can't risk raising his suspicions a second time.
"Tomorrow afternoon. Blackstone's got him on stakeout." He nods his head, his tongue wetting his lips ever so slightly. Andy holds up his jacket. "I'm going to just put this in my room…"
The corners of his lips rise with a small smile that she sees instantly. She gives him a questioning look. He shakes his head and takes the jacket from her and drops it to the floor. "Later," he says. Before she can respond, his cold hands cup her face, pulling her toward him. She tilts her head up and smiles.
"Later…" he repeats, his voice raspy, lips hovering over her own. She nods, arching her body into his and he pulls her roughly against him.
"Sam—," she manages to mutter before his full lips hungrily meet her own, silencing her.
...To be continued...
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