Rachel shivered as she looked out her hotel window. It had snowed during the night and the world was white as far as she could see. She knew most people hoped for a white Christmas but, a child of the deserts of Arizona, she couldn't see the point. To her, snow meant cold and difficulty traveling.

She dressed quickly, wondering what Hood would have on the program for today. She holstered her weapon and picked up her cell phone. She hesitated, wondering if she should call her father to wish him a Merry Christmas. She compromised, sending a quick text message; 'Merry Christmas. Case keeping us busy, will try to call later.' It wasn't a complete lie, she thought.

Hood answered his door, coat in hand. "I had an idea; we need to go back out to the plastics factory…" He broke off as Rachel slowly shook her head. "What?"

"It's Christmas Day, Hood. The factory is closed."

Jacob was taken aback. He had forgotten the difficulties of carrying on an investigation during the holidays. He furrowed his brow, trying to decide what would be the best course of action for today. His face cleared, he realized what he needed to do first.

"Excuse me," he murmured. Moving across the room to the windows, he pulled out his cell phone. "Hello? Merry Christmas Owen."

Rachel waited awkwardly as Hood carried on his conversations. This was the part of her job she found the most uncomfortable; being privy to the personal details of someone else's life. She had been grateful when she discovered how limited Hood's life was; he basically went to work, to official social functions, and to his sister's. She was relieved she hadn't had to chaperone him on a date…yet.

She pulled out her own cell phone as a distraction. Having an iPhone was an advantage in situations like this. Even if she didn't do anything more than watch a cat video on YouTube it allowed her to establish the illusion of privacy for Hood while permitting her to maintain surveillance on his position.

"Here, Alex would like to talk to you."

Rachel looked up in confusion as Hood held his phone out to her. She took it tentatively.

"Hello….oh, Merry Christmas to you too…. ah, yeah, sure, thanks." She handed the phone back to Hood, slightly discomfited. Alex Hood had just invited her to accompany her brother to her house for a belated Christmas dinner as soon as they got back to DC. She knew the woman realized she'd accompany Hood as a matter of course. But not as a guest, it was her job. Normally she'd patrol the property or wait in an out of the way room while Hood visited his family.

But Alex Hood made it clear that she would be setting a place for her at the table. It wasn't appropriate but now wasn't the time to have that conversation with her. Rachel hoped she would be more successful in explaining her role in Hood's life to his sister than she had been with Hood himself. He might be a brilliant biophysicist but he had trouble grasping what it meant to have a protection detail, the boundaries that needed to be firmly in place for her to do her job properly. She could see how this insouciant disregard for protocol could have annoyed her predecessors.

She handed the phone back to Hood and he ended his call with a chuckle.

"It seems my gift to Owen wasn't a total success."

Rachel's brow creased briefly, wondering what he was talking about. Her face lit up with amusement as she recalled the trip to the mall. "I take it his mother wasn't thrilled with the chemistry set?"

Jacob shook his head ruefully, "It seems Owen has already caused one minor explosion in the kitchen today." At the look on Rachel's face he defended himself. "It was only lemon juice and baking soda; it made a bit of a mess but there wasn't any real damage."

Rachel rolled her eyes but didn't make a comment. Instead she turned to his plans for their day. "Since a visit to a factory is out, do you have anything else you want to do?" She hoped he came up with an alternative course of action; the thought of spending a whole day with nothing to do but keep Hood company was distinctly unappealing.

Jacob stood lost in thought for a moment. Rachel waited patiently; when Hood had "that look" on his face it meant he was sorting out his thoughts and his preoccupation with what was inside his head meant he was unaware of the world outside his head.

"The hospital." Jacob announced decisively. "Robert will be there and we can review the patients' files again. I have a feeling there's something I'm missing there."

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After a quick breakfast in the hospital cafeteria, they found Kessler at work in the lab the hospital had made available to them. Jacob greeted him warmly and the two men proceeded to review all of the information the hospital had collected on the condition of the meningitis patients.

After a while, Rachel began to be bored. The hospital was fairly deserted; no one had even walked down the hallway in the last hour. There was nothing for her to check out, no one for her to evaluate, nothing that presented a threat to Hood. She decided she needed a snack.

"I'll be right back; don't leave this room until I get back."

Jacob face twisted in an impatient acknowledgment of her words. He thought her warning unnecessary; he and Robert had more than enough to do here.

Kessler's eyes followed Rachel as she left the lab. Stretching, he contemplated his friend, wondered about his relationship with the attractive blond. "Looks like the rumors were true."

"Rumors? What are you talking about?" Jacob looked up quizzically. "Something about these patients?"

"No, I mean the rumors about you having an FBI agent stuck to your side. Funny, no one mentioned the agent was a good-looking woman."

Jacob shrugged. "The agent is because there was an, uh, incident about a year ago. As for Rachel, Agent Young, she hasn't been with me long."

"Must be interesting to have her as a travelling companion."

Jacob stiffened a bit. "Rachel is hardly a travelling companion; she's my bodyguard and handler." He raised an eyebrow. "And I suggest you treat her with the respect she deserves unless you want to end up on your ass like Tidwell."

Kessler opened his mouth to make a comment when the other rumors about Jacob Hood came back to him. He closed his mouth as he recalled them; rumors of a breakdown when his wife died almost two years ago. Those who attended the funeral reported that Jacob was so distraught over her death he hadn't been able to speak to anyone.

Then word had spread that he had gone into seclusion, his classes cancelled, his graduate students reassigned. When he finally did reappear it wasn't in his lab at Stanford, it was in Washington DC where he had taken up permanently this position with the FBI. People wondered if he was avoiding Palo Alto and the memories it must contain. He looked at Jacob speculatively, 'Maybe he is as indifferent to her as he appears.'

He shrugged; if Jacob was still to grief-stricken to appreciate how attractive his handler was it wasn't any of his business. "Look, we're spinning our wheels here, why don't we take a break?"

With a small huff of irritation, Jacob agreed.

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Rachel stared at the vending machine in the hospital corridor weighing her options. Salty snacks weren't her preference but the candy selections were pretty limited. She was debating the choice between Skittles and a bag of pretzels when Hood entered the corridor followed by Kessler.

"I thought I told you to stay put." Rachel frowned in irritation. "You know you're not supposed to wander around by yourself."

"I'm hardly wandering around. I merely walked into the corridor where, I might point out, you are standing."

"But what if I hadn't been here?" she retorted. "Would you have waited until I came back?"

Jacob rolled his eyes. "Let's not argue, it's a moot point anyway. Robert and I decided to take a break for coffee. We're at a stand-still."

His lips twitched into a brief smile as he watched Rachel make her purchase. It was a source of some amusement to him that someone so well-disciplined couldn't resist the lure of any nearby vending machine.

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They sat quietly in a corner of the cafeteria, Hood and Kessler half-heartedly throwing out theories as to what could be occurring in Arkadelphia.

"I know how you feel about first-hand observation Jacob," Kessler said, "but I don't think your environmental scans added anything to what we already know."

"I can't help but feel that I've seen something, something significant, it's just not registering. Why these people? There's no connection between them, they aren't any different from anyone else in town, so why did they pick up the bacteria?"

Kessler frowned. "I agree, how eight previously healthy individuals could suddenly develop bacterial meningitis is beyond me."

"They weren't all healthy."

Kessler looked at Rachel, puzzled. "What are you talking about? Trust me; I've been over their records with a fine-tooth comb. Before they presented with meningitis, they weren't ill."

Rachel shrugged, accepting Kessler's dismissal. She wasn't going to argue with him, even if she felt he was over-stating things. The case wasn't her job, protecting Hood was.

Jacob looked at her curiously; Rachel normally didn't offer observations on what he was doing. The few times she had, what she had to say was worth listening too. "Why?"

"Why what?" Rachel's lips curved up slightly. "I've told you before Hood, you need to use complete sentences."

"Why did you say that? Why don't you think they were all healthy?" Jacob asked patiently.

"The pill bottles." Rachel shrugged again. "Almost all of them had prescription pill bottles at home; some of them had a bunch."

"That's hardly conclusive," Kessler snorted in derision. "Those bottles may not even belong…."

"No, Rachel's right," Jacob interrupted. "I remember those bottles. Most of these people did have some sort of chronic condition before they developed meningitis. They weren't what you would classify as "ill" but they did require medication."

"Yes," Kessler was impatient. "Most of them did have some kind of chronic condition, allergies, eczema, arthritis, but nothing that could lead to meningitis."

"No." Jacob agreed. "But they have a common element, steroids. They all should be on some form of steroid medication."

"No, I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong." Kessler was firm. "You're thinking of that case, a year or so ago, when bacterial meningitis was transmitted via steroids. But those patients were all taking injectable steroids, we don't have that here."

"Still, it's a commonality we need to explore further."

Kessler remained skeptical. "I don't see it Jacob, they may all be on some form of a steroid medication but each one is taking something different. How could that contribute to the meningitis outbreak?"

"The steroids used in the various medications could have been contaminated in the manufacturing process." Jacob looked at him, head tilted, "I think we need to go back and talk to these people."

"That doesn't make sense," Kessler argued. "Like I said, they're all taking different medications, medications most likely not even manufactured by the same pharmaceutical company."

"What if they were manufactured locally, right here in Arkadelphia."

Kessler's jaw dropped. "A compounding pharmacy? Yes, that would explain it."

"What's a compounding pharmacy?" Rachel asked.

"'It's A Wonderful Life' was on TV last night; did you watch it?" Jacob asked in return.

"Uh, yeah, why?" Rachel was curious as to where Hood was going with that question. In anyone else she would have dismissed it as a non sequitur but she was quickly learning his strange questions usually had a point. He almost always had a story to tell.

"Remember Mr. Gower, the pharmacist? How he made a mistake preparing some medicine?"

Rachel nodded.

That's what a compounding pharmacy does, actually makes the medicines, the formulas it dispenses."

"Don't all pharmacies do that?" she asked doubtfully.

"Not anymore. Most pharmacies purchase their drugs from the big pharmaceutical companies. When they say they're filling your prescription, that's exactly what they're doing. Transferring pills from one big bottle to the smaller one they give you." Jacob shrugged. "Most of the people doing that work aren't even licensed pharmacists, they're trained technicians."

"But a compounding pharmacy…" Rachel still wasn't clear.

"Actually makes some of their own drugs on site. They don't entirely rely on big pharma for their products; they purchase the basic ingredients for some things and make them on demand."

"Why go to all that trouble?"

"Well, some people are allergic to the preservative agents used in drugs; sometimes it's as simple as people wanting a certain flavoring for their medicine."

"Flavoring?"

"Uh, huh," Jacob smiled. "Did you ever have an ear infection when you were a child?"

Rachel shook her head.

"Well, it's a common aliment in children and the drug of choice to treat it is amoxicillin. The drug companies generally make it with a sweet bubblegum flavor, to make it more palatable. But some kids don't like that flavor. So a compounding pharmacy will make amoxicillin in any flavor you request, orange, grape, whatever. It's almost like they're making designer drugs, they tailor the formula to each particular patient."

Jacob turned back to Kessler. "That's why we need to talk to those people. To see if they've been patronizing the same pharmacy."

Kessler shrugged, "If you want. It's not like we have any other avenues to explore. But don't forget, Jacob, the high school student and the deputy, they both were in perfect health, not on any medication at all."

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Jacob stared at the whiteboard he had set up in the lab. It was covered with information. There was a column for each patient listing every medication they took and the source of the medication. Jacob was elated when his hypothesis seemed to be valid. As he suspected, almost all of the patients used the same compounding pharmacy, Vickery's, and had the pharmacist make up their medicines rather than taking a standard formula. And almost all of the patients were taking a steroid based medication.

But two columns were completely blank. Kessler was right about Don Spaulding, the high school student, and Bill Heen, the deputy. Neither of them took any regular medication.

"Maybe they picked up the infection in a secondary fashion," Jacob mused. "Heen, the deputy, he's a first responder. Maybe he had some contact, somewhere, somehow, with one of the others."

"Maybe," Kessler conceded, "but he says not. And don't forget, he was one of the first to present. I guess we could go back and talk to him again, look over his duty rosters, but it seems unlikely. And how would you account for Spaulding? The kid isn't on any medication and he didn't have any contact, or any reason to have any contact, with the others. I'm sorry Jacob, but I'm afraid this is just another dead end."

Jacob was nodding in reluctant agreement when a middle-aged woman entered the room. "Excuse me? I'm Andrea Spaulding, Don's mother?"

Jacob got to his feet immediately. "Yes, Mrs. Spaulding, what can we do for you?"

"It's what my son, Don, just told me. He said you were asking him about any medicines he took right before he came down with meningitis?" She hesitated, but Jacob nodded at her encouragingly. "Then, I was talking to Mrs. Gilliam in the hallway and she said you were asking about the pharmacy, and well, I got to wondering…."

Under Jacob's patient questioning the woman soon told her story. Her son hadn't been taking any medicines before he became he developed meningitis. While on a camping trip with his church's youth group, however, her son contracted poison ivy. When she complained to the local pharmacist that the calamine lotion she purchased at a chain drug store irritated her son's skin further, he mixed up a special cream to soothe the rash. Jacob was pleased when Mrs. Spaulding volunteered to go home and retrieve the cream.

A short while later Jacob's hypothesis was strengthened. Not only did the cream the pharmacist prepared contain steroids, it also contained traces of the meningitis bacteria. "I told you this was the commonality."

"It could be a secondary infection." Kessler said. "The kid could have transferred the bacteria to the cream from his hands. And it doesn't explain the deputy. He's still unaccounted for."

"What do you mean, Bill's unaccounted for? He's in his room, I just came from there."

Jacob nodded at Sherriff Bailey. "Robert and I are having a disagreement. It seems all of the meningitis patients, with the exception of your deputy, have some kind of condition that was treated with steroids recently."

Bailey gave a small laugh. "Until he got meningitis Bill hadn't been treated for anything in years. The guy's the healthiest person I know. He claims it's from all the vitamins and supplements he takes."

Rachel nodded in understanding. She also was on a multi-vitamin regime. People in their line of work couldn't afford to get sick. But Jacob's eyes widened in surprise.

"What do you mean? He told us he wasn't taking anything regularly."

"I don't know about that," Bailey said, "but he takes a couple of vitamins a day plus some kind of nutritional supplement."

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The deputy looked up in surprise when the four of them descended on his room. He was slightly aggrieved when he realized they suspected him of lying to them. He pointed out they had asked him specifically if he was on any medications.

"Which I'm not," he said self-righteously. "Shit, most of that stuff is little better than poison. Have you ever paid attention to the lists of side-effects in the drug commercials? Half of them sound worse than the original disease. That's why I only take all-natural, organic vitamins and supplements."

Jacob's lips twitched but he didn't argue with the man. "Really? And where do you purchase them?"

"Oh, at the pharmacy here in town. Alan Vickery makes 'em up special, just for me."

Bailey called Janet Heen and asked her to bring Bill's collection of pills and supplements to the hospital for testing. Jacob wasn't surprised when one of the supplements contained not only traces of an anabolic steroid but also traces of the meningitis bacteria.

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"I have to admit you called it Jacob." Kessler said. "The source of the infection has to be that pharmacy. What I can't understand now is why we had so few cases. I mean, that place must fill hundreds of prescriptions a day."

"Not exactly," Bailey said. "Vickery's Pharmacy is a small operation. Alan doesn't take all the different kinds of insurance so most folks use one of the big chain drug stores." He shrugged. "Even if he does take your insurance, lots of time he doesn't carry some medicines. Alan says he's running more of a specialty store."

"Christmas Day or not, I think we need to check out Mr. Vickery's pharmacy, now." Jacob said. The others nodded in agreement.

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As he let them into his store, Alan Vickery expressed surprise and dismay that they could think his pharmacy was the hub of the meningitis outbreak.

"I may be a small outfit, but I follow all the sanitary procedures scrupulously. I find it hard to believe my drugs are what made people sick."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Vickery," Jacob replied. "But the fact of the matter is at least two products we know of, prepared by you, contain traces of the bacteria."

He nodded in defeat. "This is going to kill my business. So, what do you want to see first?"

Vickery looked on in distress as Jacob and Kessler thoroughly searched the dispensing area in the pharmacy. He would nervously push his glasses up his nose or rub his face every time either of them asked him a question. They tested the surface of his workbench and his lab equipment and found no traces of the bacteria. Undeterred, they then began testing his supply of anabolic steroids. Vickery visibly began to relax as test after test came up negative.

As they left the pharmacy in defeat, Vickery was elated. "I knew my pharmacy wasn't the source of the meningitis." He narrowed his eyes at Jacob and Kessler. "And I hope you make it clear to whoever knew about your suspicions it wasn't. I have a hard enough time competing against the chains without rumors about the purity of my drugs going around."

Leaving Kessler to placate the pharmacist, Jacob turned to look for Rachel. He spotted her murmuring something to Bailey that caused the man to smother a laugh. He stomped over to them, still seething with frustration. "Well, I'm glad someone found something to laugh about today. Care to share your comments Agent Young?"

Rachel bristled at the tone of Hood's voice. 'Jerk, like it's my fault his big idea didn't pan out.' "No." She glared at Hood.

Bailey hastily tried to smooth things over. He glanced around and, satisfied the others couldn't hear them, said, "it's nothing Dr. Hood. Agent Young only mentioned that maybe Alan would do more business if he didn't smell like a goat."

"Goat? What are you talking about?" Jacob looked at Rachel blankly. "I didn't smell anything."

"Maybe because he didn't keep trying to stand next to you." She grimaced at the memory. Nervous as he was about the FBI and the CDC investigating his shop, it didn't prevent Vickery from trying to strike up a conversation with her. "Trust me, when he got up close and personal, it was hard to ignore."

"Goats," Jacob repeated. This time a smile broke out on his face. "Goats…that must be it." He turned toward the others. "Excuse me, Mr. Vickery; do you by any chance raise goats?"

Vickery broke off his conversation with Kessler to look at Jacob quizzically. "What? Um, yeah. I do a little farming. Plus I keep a couple of goats, some chickens, and bees. Why?"

"Have any of your goats been sick recently?"

Vickery looked at him in confusion. "No, they've been fine. Well, not exactly fine, but not sick." He began shaking his head at the look on Jacob's face. "They weren't really sick, just ate some bad feed. The vet gave 'em some antibiotics and they're fine now."

"Bad feed? What exactly were the symptoms? What did the vet diagnose?"

"Like I said, some of their feed was bad, they all had a bout of diarrhea, but the vet gave me some antibiotics and they were fine in a day or two."

"But what did the vet diagnose?" Jacob pressed the man.

"He didn't say, he gave me an antibiotic for the diarrhea and that was the end of it."

"We need to talk to that vet." Jacob declared as Kessler nodded vigorously in agreement.

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Rachel couldn't contain her curiosity as they drove over to the vet's home. "Do you think Vickery's sick goats caused the meningitis? That he's selling meat or milk that's contaminated?"

"No, it's may turn out to be simpler than that. If what I suspect is true, then the goats are patients zero in our meningitis outbreak."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Well, it's clear, Vickery's goats were patients zero in this outbreak." Kessler declared as they filed back into the hospital lab.

It had taken a while, but they finally tracked the vet down at his in-law's home. The man was annoyed at being pulled away from his family but it turned out he didn't need to resort to his files. He remembered Vickery's goats easily. As Jacob suspected, the goats had listeriosis.

"I don't understand, though," Bailey said. "The goats didn't have meningitis, so how come all these people came down with it?"

"The listeria bacteria presents differently in humans and animals. When the bacteria were transferred by Vickery to a human host, it was absorbed by the brain, hence, the meningitis." Jacob explained.

"How did Alan pass along the bacteria along anyway? Didn't that fool didn't have the good sense to wash up after tending to his animals?"

Jacob's lips twitched. "He most likely did wash his hands and arms, change his clothes. Unfortunately, he didn't think to wash his face." He raised his hand to his nose when they all looked at him quizzically. "I noticed Vickery touched his glasses, his face a lot. He transferred the bacteria to his face from his hands." He shrugged. "Even if he wore gloves when he was mixing his medicines, his gloved hands would still come into contact with his face, transferring the bacteria into whatever he was working on."

"So the steroids were a coincidence?" Bailey asked.

"Yeah," Kessler answered. "Vickery just happened to prepare those medicines during the incubation period of his goats' illness. Any medicines he touched after touching his face would have been infected. We're, he's, lucky only eight people were affected."

"Why didn't he get sick?" Rachel wanted to know. "If he had bacteria all over his face, why didn't he get meningitis?"

"That's another example of his luck," Jacob replied. He shook his head in disgust, "if he had nicked his face while shaving or was a careless about washing his hands before eating, he would have been infected along with everyone else."

"Well, I'm damned glad this thing is over," Bailey declared. "People were starting to worry, wondering if maybe someone out there was doing this on purpose. He extended his hand to Jacob and Kessler. "Dr. Hood, Dr. Kessler, it was interesting working with you." He nodded to Rachel, "and Agent Young, for fed, you weren't half bad."

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Rachel wasn't surprised when they didn't leave Arkadelphia immediately. As in their previous cases, Hood seemed to feel the need to dot all the i's and cross all the t's before heading back to DC. She didn't mind the down time, it gave her a chance to get her own paperwork in order. And in a grudging way, it increased the respect she had for him. It seemed he wasn't all about the job, about the science.

As the Special Science Advisor, his job was finished once he had identified the source of the meningitis outbreak. Once it was clear there was no abuse of science, no threat to national security, he could have left. If had chosen to do so, they could have caught a plane and been back in DC in time for Hood to spend at least part of Christmas Day with his family.

Instead, he stayed until he and the doctor from the CDC were satisfied there were no lingering problems. She was a bit surprised his previous handlers had put this behavior done to arrogance; his not trusting the locals to finish off the job. To her, it was clear he actually cared about the people who had been affected and he wanted to be certain they were all right.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Rachel was relaxing, her eyes closed, the music from her earbuds drowning out the noise of the aircraft engines, when she felt her arm being poked. She opened her eyes in irritation, wondering what the hell Hood could want. He knew he didn't need to be escorted to the bathroom at 25,000 feet. To her surprise he was looking at her expectantly.

She removed one earbud. "What?"

"Your present. I forgot to give it to you earlier." Jacob pointed to a small, brightly wrapped package on her tray table.

She looked at him blankly. "You shouldn't have."

"I know I didn't have to, I wanted to."

"No," she explained patiently, "you really shouldn't have, it's inappropriate." She looked at him in exasperation. She had already explained to him, twice, that she was there to protect him, not be his friend. While she was resigned to letting him use her first name, she made it clear there were lines they would never cross.

"Inappropriate?" Jacob's lips twitched. "Don't worry, it's not jewelry or clothes." At Rachel's look of confusion he explained airily, "according to Miss Manners it would be inappropriate for a gentleman to give clothes or jewelry to a lady to whom he is not engaged."

He pushed the small package closer to her. "Since it's not either of those, it's not inappropriate."

Rachel reached out and pushed the package back toward him. "Ah, but I didn't get you anything."

"That's ok." He pushed the package toward her again. "If it makes you feel better, you can think of it not as a Christmas present but more as a token to recognize your longevity."

"What?"

Jacob lifted a shoulder negligently. "Well, you've been with me two months, that's longer than any of the others. Look," he said coaxingly, "it really isn't that big of a deal. It's just a little something I saw and thought you'd like."

Capitulating, Rachel opened the package. It was a box of gourmet jelly beans. "Ah, these are great." She turned her head to give Hood a genuine smile. "Thank you, I really like them."

Jacob blinked in surprise at the way the smile transformed her face. In the place of cool, reserved Agent Young was a very attractive young woman. It suddenly stuck him why people assumed he might have some personal interest in her. "Um,… you're welcome."

To Jacob's disappointment, Rachel put her earbud back in and closed her eyes. He was intrigued by the change in her expression and had hoped they might talk for a while. Sighing, he pulled a book out of his carry-on.

He respected, for the most part, her dictates on the boundaries required for her to do her job effectively. Still, he couldn't see the problem with them occasionally sharing a friendly moment. It was the thing that irritated him the most about his protection detail; their insistence on remaining aloof from him, from the work he did, from everything, at all times. It made him uncomfortable being watched silently, dispassionately, as if he was a subject of some kind of experiment.

A few minutes later, absorbed in his book, Jacob was startled to feel his arm being poked. Looking over at Rachel, he saw that while she still had her earbuds in, she had opened her box of candy and, with a smile, was offering him some. Returning her smile, he declined the treat.

It was a small thing, but her obvious pleasure in her present, along with the memory of her warm interactions with the sheriff's children, kindled a slight bit of optimism. 'Maybe this one will allow herself to act like a human being after all.' He returned to his book comforted by the idea that maybe, just maybe, Ty had finally found him an agent with whom he could build a decent working relationship.