I sat at Elisa's table the next day too. Of course I arrived five minutes before she did. She sighed as she approached, rolled her eyes and sat on the next bench over.

"Hi," I offered. "Are you new here? I don't think we've met." Not really a lie.

"Relatively." She answered, her tone guarded.

"I'm Cammie. You can join me if you want." She considered for a moment, then grudgingly set her bag down across from me.

"Elisa. This table is usually empty."

"No, I always study here. It's my favorite spot!" Lie. She grunted, and pulled out a book. "I have been away for a few weeks though," I conceded. Not a lie. "Thesis research." Lie.

No response. Maybe I was just going to have to force my friendship on this woman the same way Liz and Bex had forced their friendship on me so many years ago. The same way the three of us had forced our friendship on Macey. That had actually worked out pretty well for all of us. I gave it a try.

"What do you study?" She flipped her book closed, so I could see the title. "Macroeconomics!" I exclaimed, briefly considering the possibility that someone was after Elisa for her own knowledge. "Cool. I'm Applied Mathematics. I know it sounds boring, but my thesis is on implications for advanced cryptology." Not a lie. She glanced up. "I really like codes," I added. Also not a lie.

We both returned to our books then, but I kept a close watch. I noted her focus as she read, the tiny, perfect cursive she used to make her notes. We worked for an hour or so before I let her catch me watching. She raised her eyebrows accusingly.

"You went to a top boarding school, didn't you?" I asked. Her eyebrows went higher. "Your handwriting," I said. Then I lifted my notebook to reveal the matching, tiny perfect cursive I'd been imitating over her shoulder. "No one else writes this way. It's totally impractical in the real world. But I've been doing it so long I don't know how to stop." Lie. I'd stayed up late the night before, copying Elisa's handwriting from a to-do list I'd swiped from her bag. Gillian Gallagher had, for the most part, had more important things to teach her students than penmanship (although coded calligraphy was part of the Gallagher curriculum).

She laughed. "Me either."

"I miss it sometimes," I offered. "I always had kind of a built in family at school." Not a lie. "Sometimes I get lonely here." Also not a lie.

I missed my friends. They had scattered to the ends of the Earth, and I rarely ever heard from them. I got the occasional dead letter email drop, but they were always cryptic, always guarded. For their safety and for mine. Most of the time, I didn't even know where they were. Just rumors. Whispers that floated around the field office. Nothing real, nothing concrete. Only bad news was ever shared in full. It was an occupational hazard, I knew, but it wasn't enough.

Of course I had Zach. I'd always had Zach. But our missions often had us passing like ships in the night. And we spoke half-truths to each other as well. Many of our assignments were too sensitive to share, even in the privacy of our bug-swept loft. This life was fine, but I missed Gallagher. I missed when things were simple.

"Maybe we should grab a bite to eat sometime," I offered. "I think we'd have a lot in common." For a moment, I worried that I might be starting to like Elisa too much.

Elisa nodded in response. Then we went on our separate ways, presumably to class. I didn't actually go to class. Instead, I checked my dead letter email accounts, hoping for some word from my friends that might ease my homesickness.

Surprisingly, I wasn't disappointed. A cryptic note from Liz told me she'd be in Chicago in three weeks. I didn't know where, and I didn't know why, but I did know that Elizabeth Sutton would somehow manage to find me, one Chameleon in this city of 2.7 million people. And that was comforting.

That evening, Zach and I strolled through Grant Park, taking advantage of one of the last mild nights before the summer weather truly set in. Soon there would be nightly thunderstorms, and hot humid days. Not like Virginia, or Saudi Arabia, but unpleasant all the same.

Zach was quiet. Not unusually so, but I'd known him long enough to tell his comfortable silence from his restless silence. We were definitely in restless silence territory as we strolled around the plaza, taking in the crowds of tourists and families.

"The woman with the baby carriage," I noted. "I've seen her before."

"We're not the only operatives in Chicago," Zach responded calmly. "I'm sure she's thinking the same thing."

He was right, of course. Part of the reason we routinely strolled Grant Park was to look for other operatives. To monitor any newcomers who had wandered into our underground community.

Grant Park was an ever popular location for clandestine meetings. Almost everyone was a stranger to everyone else. Tourists blended with locals, everyone was wrapped up in their own days. The foot traffic was good, the police coverage relatively light. No one was looking. Except for us of course. Only someone who'd been posted here for some time would realize the park was often crawling with operatives.

"The man with the ponytail, though," Zach said quietly, and I glanced at the man in my peripheral vision. "Is new."

"And suspicious," I added. Zach nodded. The man had an umbrella, even though there had been no rain in the forecast. He'd also been reading the same page of his newspaper the last time we'd walked by. I kept an eye on the man as we continued to stroll, hoping to pick out his mark.

"What am I going to have to do to get you to trust me?" Zach's question took me aback, but it shouldn't have. Our relationship was one of the few topics we could discuss in public. Zach hadn't forgotten the marriage conversation at all. Instead he'd been carrying it around, mulling it over, for almost three weeks. "That's what this is about, right?"

"Zach, it's not that simple..." I started.

"Cam," he rolled his eyes. "You know me. You know me like no one else in the world ever will. And I know you. And I love you. I have always loved you, from the very beginning. We fought together. We almost died together. What do I have to do?"

"Zach. . ." I cut him off.

"I see him."

The ponytail man's mark had made us. He'd abruptly turned in the crowd and headed in the other direction. Zach instantly dropped my hand as we separated, circling opposite sides of the fountain and heading after the newest member of our clandestine Chicago community. The lady with the baby carriage moved also, in the same direction. Interpol, I thought briefly, placing her.

Zach shifted into a run as we left the park. I speed-walked on the other side of the street, watching the man's head move from side to side as he considered his options. I ducked into an alley, and ran full out, emerging three blocks over. It was a risk, an instinct, but it paid off. The man was running now, quickly. He'd lost Zach somewhere along the way.

I studied his image in the store window reflections as I chased. Dark hair and a chiseled jaw. A sharp nose. A scar under his ear, right at the hairline. I'd remember him the next time we crossed paths. And then he was gone. We raced around a corner, and he vanished. I searched the alley. Nothing. No clues, no mysterious doors. Not even the dumpster. Whoever our new pavement artist was, I knew I'd been out-spied.

Zach rounded the corner, walking now.

"I lost him."

Zach shrugged. "I have a feeling we'll see him again."

"He made us." I said. "We don't know who he is, but he knows us."

"Yeah," Zach admitted. "That's concerning. Did you get a good look?"

I nodded. "He got sloppy the last block or so. He may have gotten away, but I'll know him the next time."

Then Zach took my hand as if nothing had happened and we stepped back onto the street.


AN: Thanks for joining me for Chapter 4! Reviews are always appreciated. I've actually written quite a bit of this story for all of you, and I'm excited for you to see it. I'll be doing updates on Wednesdays and Saturdays (US), so stay tuned!