"Almost there….almost there…almost there…." The thought kept going around in his head. Seriously, what was he doing here? Thankful that tonight was the last night of class and that it was nudes…finally….Bass started setting up his station. He would never admit it but this art class had been just what he needed - an outlet for the frustrations he was experiencing as the need to remove the last of the Patriots was slowing down.

Hearing a rustle in front of him as he put the last of his brushes down, he knew tonight's model had arrived. He only hoped it wasn't a man (no inspiration there) or an unattractive female. Yes, he realized it was sexist to think that way but, hey, that's what makes the world go round, right?

"This evening, we will be doing a study of nudes. The human body can be incredibly beautiful and inspiring. It can also bring out feelings and thoughts you didn't realize you had. You may think you're here to paint a naked body tonight, and for those of you without a true artist's soul, please keep your trashy thoughts to yourself, but if you allow yourself to experience the true form, its shapes and shadows, I think you will surprise yourselves with your creations. Because we're a fairly compact community, we try to preserve the anonymity of our models who so graciously give of themselves. You will not be able to see our model's face. Concentrate only on the form."

"What a prick," thought Bass yet again as he waited for the model to disrobe. Mr. Rodney was the one thing Bass would definitely not miss about this class. A little concerned that the instructor hadn't given them any clue as to the sex of their model, Bass mentally started to run through a list of things he wanted to do to Frank Blanchard as soon as his 'sentence' was over. Only a few hours stood between him and completion of the first part of his sentence.

"You may begin."

The words jolted Bass out of his haze and he leaned around his canvas to take a look at whatever tonight had in store. Stunned, he forgot to breathe as he was confronted with the sexiest backside he had ever seen. As his eyes traveled from the model's neck where a few ribbons of swirling gold had escaped from captivity, down the gentle curve of her back, over two wondrous globes that had him immediately salivating and wanting to take a bite, to sinewy, gently muscled legs, Bass forced himself to take a raspy breath. His suddenly uncomfortable jeans coincided with the thought, "What the hell…Miles is the ass man, not me." In his opinion, they had obviously saved the best for last and what a way to finish up!

"Almost there….almost there….almost there…" The mantra played over and over again in Charlie's mind as she slipped off the black silk robe provided for tonight's job. After order had been restored and the country was back on track, Charlie had been happy for the chance to keep working with Miles and Bass. Having the opportunity to continue fighting occasionally as the last random groups of Patriots were taken down gave her a sense of purpose. The downside was that she was paid considerably less than the two former generals although she doubted they ever even considered that part of things. After so long together, they thought of her an equal. It was too bad the rest of the world didn't see it that way.

Her biggest fear had always been the thought of settling – being stuck in one place for the rest of her life tied down with some farm boy and never feeling excitement or anticipation again. She had been able to escape that fate so far, but Rachel was really starting to push. Random guys kept showing up at the house, hired by Rachel to do odd jobs or have a bite of dinner because who knew when they last had a decent, home-cooked meal. Even Miles was starting to talk about eligible bachelors.

Add that to the fact that she had to listen to her mom and Miles going at it like rabbits every night…and walking in on them in various rooms of the house at any time of the day…Charlie had decided it was time to get her own place. It was one thing to be the screamer on the receiving end of someone's cock; it was quite another to hear it coming from your mom and uncle. The only problem was that you couldn't just commandeer a place anymore; you actually had to pay for it. And so Charlie's shadow career had been born.

Babysitting, substitute teaching, washing at the laundry, cleaning out stalls, plowing fields, temporary medic (thanks Grandpa Gene)…whatever was available, Charlie took it. She earned her way across Texas moving from small town to small town where she wasn't known and when she wasn't on a job with Miles and Bass. She was so close to having the money she needed for a small house she'd had her eye on for a while that she had broken her rule of staying under the radar in remote areas. This nude modeling gig was actually in Austin. It paid enough to finally allow her to get the house and still have money left over for repairs, food and some savings. Knowing they kept their models' faces hidden, Charlie figured she would chance it this time. The knowledge that she would soon be able to move away from the sex fiends/matchmakers was all the incentive she needed to take this risk. Settling onto the padded table, Charlie struck her pose.

Bass was wondering what the hell had just happened. He had never had such a visceral reaction to someone whose face he couldn't even see. He was all about the face and tits; not once in his life had he ever thought, "There's an ass I could live with." Shaking his head to try and clear his thoughts, he picked up a pencil and started to do a rough outline of the body in front of him.

Starting at the top of the model's head and working his way down, Bass's pencil seemed to fly across the canvas as he captured her mouth-watering form. What he wouldn't give to be able to see if her front side matched her back side. Pulling himself back from his daydreams, Bass looked more closely at his pencil drawing. "What the hell?" The drawing showed what looked to be the Monroe/Matheson M right above the model's ass in the middle of her lower back.

"That will teach me to draw and daydream at the same time." Bass looked around his canvas toward the platform to see what it was that had prompted him to pencil in the "M" and brand her as his. And there it was….he hadn't imagined it. A smattering of freckles above her ass seemed to form an "M."

It was nearly impossible to surprise Bass, but this anonymous woman was touching a place inside him that he thought was long dead and buried. Instead of feeling relief that this was his last class, he was spending his few remaining minutes trying to figure out what had caused this instant reaction and how he could find out more about her.

"Tsk, tsk Mr. Monroe. You haven't even put paint to paper yet. All of your classmates are practically done. I'm not sure you have fulfilled the first part of your sentence." Suddenly finding himself on the receiving end of one of the iciest glares he had ever seen, Mr. Rodney quickly backtracked. There was no need to tick off a man with Sebastian Monroe's reputation for physicality.

"Actually, now that I take another look, you have captured our model's likeness quite well even though you opted to use a different medium. I think it's safe to congratulate on your successful completion of our course. I look forward to visiting Willoughby to view your mural once it's completed." Wiping his damp forehead, Mr. Rodney continued to back away from Bass as he dismissed the class for the last time.

Peering around his canvas to try and catch the model before she left, Bass bit back a few choice words as he realized that Mr. Rodney's critique of his work had given the model the time she needed to slip away. Hell, there couldn't be too many hookers in Austin who had freckles in the shape of an "M" on their ass. It should be fairly easy to track her down.

One week later, Bass was no closer to finding her than he had been when he started his search. Frustration was running high as he went to see his last resort…the very last person in Austin he wanted to talk to about this.

"Ah, Bass…coming to tell me what you're planning for the mural in Willoughby? I have to admit that I'm impressed by the reports coming out of Miss Pettigrew's establishment of your talent with a paintbrush. It seems so…not you. You are on your way back to get started, aren't you?" Frank leaned back in his chair smirking as Bass glowered at him.

"Okay, Frank. Cut the bullshit. I don't know how you found out that I could draw and I don't want to know. I'll draw the damn mural. What I do know is that I need to find the model they used in my last class, and the school won't tell me shit. All I could persuade them to tell me was that she went by C King."

Leaning forward as his jaw muscles tensed, Frank glared back at Bass. "So help me Bass, if you did anything to hurt Miss Pettigrew or any of her staff, I'm going to come up with something else to add to your community service sentence. They shouldn't even have told you any part of her name. The bottom line is that I don't know who the model was, and they don't either. The school prides itself on retaining the anonymity of its models, and that's how they can get models that aren't working girls if you know what I mean."

"Wait a minute. Are you telling me that this model wasn't a hooker? Goddammit. No wonder I haven't been able to find her." Bass took a step back from Frank's desk, his forehead wrinkling a little as he wrestled with this new problem. "How the hell am I going to be able find someone who isn't a hooker but was willing to pose naked?!"

"Not my problem, General. Good day to you…and happy painting!" Frank grinned at Bass as he backed him out of his office and slammed the door in his face.