Thanks to everyone who reviewed my last chapter; I honestly didn't think I'd get such a lively response right away. This is where the story might get a little hard to follow: we're going to be switching narrators. Probably every other chapter or so. In order to make it a little easier to tell the narrators apart I decided to make Artemis' chapters in the present tense and Michael's in past tense. Let me know if this works out well, otherwise I'll make a few changes. Hope you keep enjoying the story! –T


Hi, there, I'm Michael Westen. Remember the brown haired man Artemis ran into? That was me and, before we move on, there are some things you should know. I used to be a spy until I got a burn notice put on me. Basically all of my accounts were frozen, my job history was erased, and I was dumped in Miami with nothing. Since that day I've been trying to uncover the truth behind my burn notice and taking odd jobs along the way to help pay the rent.

I'm telling you this so you understand the importance of the dossier I was carrying when I ran into Artemis. I had finally gotten my hands on a copy of the dossier that got me burned and was on my way back to my loft to read it when I ended up on the pavement. That's what I get for not paying attention. My first thought was for the dossier, wondering if I had been made on my way out with it. When I saw that my 'assailant' was an apologetic college student I relaxed a little, and even more so when I saw the dossier laying two feet away.

If she's not leaping at the dossier she's probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time, I thought to myself, brushing myself off and picking up the folder, glancing at the cover to make sure it was the dossier. No harm done. I waved off her apology and went home.

When I got back to the loft Fiona and Sam were waiting for me. Sam, of course, had a nearly empty beer in his hand, probably from my fridge.

"Hey, Mikey, how'd it go?" he asked, putting the bottle down.

"You got that out of my fridge, didn't you?"

"Yeah, about that, Mike…you need to get some better labels in there. If I'm going to be over here helping out—"

"Not now, Sam."

At this point Fiona bounced off of the bar stool she'd been sitting on and snatched the dossier out of my hand.

"Well, come on, let's see what all the fuss is about," she said, flipping open the cover. At that moment I saw something I never expected to see: Fiona looked confused. Even if the file had been redacted, which I was expecting, Fiona wouldn't have reacted like that, so I grabbed it from her and looked myself. Instead of lines upon blacked out lines I was staring at the Miami skyline rendered in vibrant watercolors. Thinking it may have gotten shuffled in when that girl and I dropped our folders I flipped through the entire dossier, searching for anything even remotely related to my burn notice, but the folder contained nothing but art. I closed the folder and looked at the cover, realizing it's a replica, not an actual dossier. I dropped it on the bar, staring at it blankly for a moment before turning to Sam.

"I need your cop buddies to look someone up for me, Sam," I said, opening the fridge and tossing him another beer.

"I dunno, Mike, I've been asking a lot of favors lately and I—"

"I'll buy the drinks on our next surveillance op."

"I'll see what I can do. What do you need?"

"A name and address from a vehicle description and partial plate number. I can give you the driver's description, too, if needed. I'm positive she has the dossier."

"How?"

"We had a run-in earlier. The folders must've gotten switched."

"All right, give it to me," he said, pulling out a pen and napkin.

"Black '74 Charger, just like mine, out-of-state plates…Washington, I think. First three digits 713. Driver was female, blonde, five foot seven or eight, medium build, late teens or early twenties."

"I'll put in a call."

"Make it quick, Sam."