One Week Earlier

Tim sighed, rubbing his temples as though it would get the creative juices flowing in his mind. The notepad in front of him contained nothing that he could possibly send into his publisher, unless she thought random doodles and the word "Think!" written over and over would be a nice addition to his next book.

A coffee cup was placed down beside him. "Thank you," he muttered to the barista without even looking up. He placed his pen down beside the notepad and leaned back. He glanced out of the window hoping for inspiration. There were throngs of people out Christmas shopping. There were children running around in awe of the small snow flurries that had begun to fall. There were men hard at work decorating the local businesses with Christmas accoutrements. There were couples snuggling on benches as they shared cups of hot chocolate.

There was absolutely nothing that he could put in a murder mystery novel.

Crawshaw will kill me, he thought as he reached for the cup that had been placed on the table. Just as he took a sip he felt something hit the back of his chair. His body was pushed forward, causing him to drop the cup. The lid popped off and the latte spilled out onto the notepad and table. He jumped up as the liquid oozed toward where he was sitting and bumped into the person responsible for the accident.

"I am so sorry!" The woman stood wide-eyed in her spot, her cheeks pink in embarrassment. Tim's initial feelings of anger dissipated at the sight of her. "Here," she offered as she grabbed a handful of napkins from off the table, "let me help you." She sopped up the liquid from the table and carefully stopped anymore from spilling on to the floor. "I can't believe I did that!" she muttered.

Tim grabbed more napkins and began wiping off the seat. "It's alright," he assured the young woman. "I've done worse, trust me."

She looked up at him with a shy smile. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"No, it's true. I'm a bit clumsy. I can ace a video game and work my way around any computer, but my coordination stops right about there." He stopped, suddenly hoping that he wasn't coming across as a complete geek.

To his surprise, the woman laughed. "That's better than I can do." She stood and caught sight of the notepad. "I'm afraid whatever you were writing was ruined."

Tim looked down and saw the white paper was now filled with nothing more than black ink smudges. He shrugged. "It wasn't important. It wasn't even good."

"Well, I insist on buying you another coffee."

"Oh, that's really not necessary!"

"I insist," the woman repeated.

"Fine," Tim conceded, "but only if you'll join me for a cup."

The woman blushed. Tim smiled.

Kimberly turned out to be much different than Tim had thought. She had chocolate brown hair that fell softly around her face, accentuating her deep brown eyes. Her body was very slim, her skin very tan. She looked like she could have just come from a photo shoot or runway show. Tim's immediate assumption was that she was a model or wannabe actress. She looked like the kind of woman who thought the most important things in a man were his looks, his car, and his bank account, the kind who would be bored to tears by a computer geek such as himself.

As it turned out, she was as shy as Tim was and just as prone to blushing. She liked books, though found she had little time to read. She preferred quiet nights spent at home as opposed to raucous parties. She had a glass of wine with dinner, but never drank hard liquor. She went to church and did volunteer work during the holidays. To anyone else she may have seemed sickeningly sweet, but Tim found her to be wonderful.

"I joined the Peace Corps right out of high school and stayed with them for a while," she explained over her coffee. "Now, though, I'm studying childhood education. I would love to be a kindergarten teacher."

Tim smiled, noting that she obviously loved children (always an important trait). "I think that's a great career."

She ducked her head shyly. "I'm sure it's not nearly as exciting as being a writer and a federal agent."

"I don't think the worth of a job should be measured in how exciting it is. You'll be doing great work and you'll be helping people, though in a different way." Tim sipped at his latte. "What do your parents think?"

Kimberly's smile dissolved and she was quiet for a moment, her eyes downward. "My…uh…my parents died about two years ago," she said softly. "It was a car crash."

Tim groaned inwardly, kicking himself for brining up a subject that was obviously painful. He gently placed his hand over hers. "I'm sorry…I didn't mean to…"

"It's okay, Tim. You didn't know." She wiped at the tears that had begun to slip down her cheek. "I do think I need to go now, though."

"Yeah, that's fine," Tim sighed dejectedly. Finally, a beautiful, intelligent, and kind woman shows up and he blows it in only half an hour.

Kimberly paused. "Tim…I don't do this very often…but…I mean…would you like to have my phone number?" Tim looked at her in surprise. "Or maybe I could have your number?"

"Yes! Of course!" Tim said jubilantly once his brain started functioning again. "I would love to see you again," he confessed as he stored her number in his cell phone.

Kimberly smiled as though relieved. "I'm glad to hear you say that. I was afraid you would think of me as a bore or something. I'm sure my life isn't nearly as thrilling as yours and I'm certainly not nearly as intelligent as you are."

"I think you're very intelligent," he assured her, earning a smile in return. "Maybe we could have dinner tomorrow?" he suggested.

Kimberly leaned in and tenderly kissed his cheek. "It's a date," she whispered to him, grinning in delight as his cheeks grew red. "Call me tonight."

Kimberly slid into the front seat of her car, pulled out her cell phone, and dialed the number. "It's done," she said to the person on the other end. "We have a date tomorrow night." She looked out of the window and saw him still sitting at the table. Even from that distance she could see the smile on his face. She smiled in return, but it was a much colder smile than his.

"How long will it take?"

"Hard to tell. It shouldn't take too long." She paused. "We don't know that we'll find it there," she reminded the other person.

"If we don't we have back-up plans. There are other ways of getting to it."

"Do you think we'd be able to break him?"

"You're the one who has talked with him. What do you think?"

She glanced back at the young agent. "Eventually."