A/N1 More CATs. More Miami mission.

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Don't own Chuck.

The (Mis)Education of Sarah Walker

CHAPTER TEN

Girls Will Be Girls (Three):

Dream Club

Death by violence
Destiny decrees
A permanent reliance
On the science of extremes

Absent at the wedding
Present at the birth
Turning off the lights now all across the earth …

Do you dream in colour?
Do you dream in colour?
Do you dream in colour?
Do you dream at all?
- Bill Nelson, Do You Dream in Colour?

The corpse dream. Again.

Sarah rose from her bed as if it were a grave.

Headstone.

That is what Carina called her last night. A joke - but also not a joke. Some Freudian twist.

Sarah was too close to death, too close to dying, too close to making dead. Too close. A zombie with a gun: not kept undead by eating the brains of others, but by slowly devouring her own heart. When would she take the final bite? When would all hope that she might be reanimated end? She - meaning her heart - could not last forever. What hope was there for her?

Corpse dream. Again.

She walked the bathroom and splashed water on her face. She leaned forward onto her palms, resting much of her weight on the sink. She was standing like that when Zondra came in. She gave Sarah a look, then held up her running shoes. Sarah nodded.

A few minutes later, Sarah was alive again, sweating. Corpses did not sweat.

Sarah liked Zondra already, liked being with her already. She put no pressure on Sarah. (Sarah returned the favor.) She could just be. She did not have to be anything in particular. Most importantly, she did not have to be a talker.

Zondra was happy with silence. Dead air. Sarah too, though she stayed away from that term.

They did not sprint intermittently as they had the first time. Instead they settled into a slower, distance-consuming pace and began to cover ground. Clouds collected darkly above them. About the time they turned to head back to the condo, the sky opened and it began to spigot rain, to stream water. They both began to laugh as the heavy downpour soaked them; they slowed their pace at the same time without consulting each other.

Sarah could feel the rain on her lips, in her hair, could feel the dampness of the great wide air. Zondra's dark eyes were bright. Festive. They ran in the rain, ran in joy. Without any cause, other than a deep momentary delight at breathing, running, living.

Not a corpse. Not just now.

ooOoo

Zondra had gone to get her shower. Sarah cut up some fruit in a bowl and spooned in some plain yogurt. She made coffee and sat down to eat. She heard a moan and a shuffle behind her. For a split second, her night's dream and her current situation united: she turned, expected to see a corpse. But what she saw were the remains - the mortal but animate remains - of Carina Miller.

Carina scuffed into the kitchen. She had a wine bottle, empty, in one hand and an empty wine glass in the other. She threw the first in the trash and put the second in the dishwasher. Sarah watched her, amused. Carina opened the refrigerator and stood silent, staring into it as if were the newly discovered Ark of the Covenant. The interior light bathed her face in the dark kitchen, dark because the rain was still falling outside. After a moment, Carina spoke but she continued to stare into the refrigerator.

"So, Headstone, all that stuff I said last night...I was, you know, joking. None of that really happened. I was just putting you on, testing your gullibility." She glanced at Sarah finally but out of the corner of her eye.

"What stuff?" Sarah kept her tone light.

Carina shut the refrigerator door and turned slowly to Sarah, giving her an imponderable look. "Right. What stuff? If I had said anything, it would not have been true."

Sarah shrugged a small shrug. "Of course. I know that." She looked back at Carina. Sarah knew Carina was lying now, not lying last night. Carina knew Sarah knew. Carina turned and scuffed back down the hall, another low moan escaping her lips. She put her hands on her head as if she were trying to trap something inside it. Her hands still there, her voice reached Sarah, small, hesitant...ashamed. "Thanks."

ooOoo

The rest of Wednesday passed uneventfully. Amy left the condo to go shopping and managed to drag Carina along, although Carina was still struggling. Amy had sought out Sarah a few times during the morning, and each time asked her about her work for Graham. Sarah tried to be patient and understanding - she could see how another CIA agent might be curious about that - but she could not really tell Amy anything, and Sarah had made that clear in the first mission briefing. Amy, unlike Zondra, put enormous pressure on Sarah, talking incessantly and still wanting Sarah to do the same. After the third time, Amy seemed to finally realize that Sarah was not going to share anything about her Enforcer status with Amy.

All morning, Carina was just as eager to avoid Sarah. She had not even made eye contact with her after the strained conversation in the kitchen. She had chatted a little with Amy, spent some time in her room on the phone with her DEA bosses. She was avoiding Sarah. She was evidently repentant about sharing what she had shared the night before. Sarah was almost sure that avoiding her was the main reason Carina went shopping with Amy.

ooOoo

Zondra had spent her time mostly in her room. At a couple of points, she came out to get food and something to drink. Each time she passed Sarah's room, Sarah was on the phone with Graham, reporting on the Story Club foray last night or discussing details of the Dream Club foray coming Saturday night. VIP passes had been arranged. Everything seemed ready, as long as Carina's informant was as good as his word.

When Sarah hung up after the second call and stood looking out the window, Zondra appeared behind her in the door to Sarah's room. In a jesting tone: "You two talk like father and daughter - a weird father and a weird daughter - but that's what it sounds like: a strong-minded teenager talking to her overbearing, overweening father." Zondra did not stay for a response.

The comment made Sarah's legs weak. Is that true? Sarah sat down on the bed.

Graham as my father? Do I think of him that way? Sarah had no more than formulated the question than she knew the answer was yes.

Why did I do that, adopt him as my father? Again, she knew the answer as soon as she formulated the question. Because he adopted me as his daughter. From the beginning. Graham saved Dad by getting Dad out of the way: so that Graham could step in. Graham as father figure. Of course, Sarah had no love for Graham - he was not her father in that way, but he had functionally become her father, occupied a vacant role.

She pushed the thought away from her. She did not want to think about Graham. But she could feel the thought rattling around inside her as she sought to forget it.

ooOoo

Wednesday night they took a limo to Naoe, a five-star Japanese restaurant not that far from the condo. But the goal, again, was to be seen, and to be seen doing particular things. The limo guaranteed an audience. The dresses and heels the women wore guaranteed that the audience was unlikely to lose interest. The meal was phenomenal: fish as good as any Sarah could remember, with a soy sauce that was unreal, delicious - a specialty of the house.

Amy sat beside her, and Sarah, despite it being hard for her to do so, took control of the conversation, steering it away from herself, from Enforcer topics. She asked Amy about how she had joined the CIA.

Amy smiled, her eyes going out-of-focus as she remembered. "Well...I was studying Hotel and Restaurant Management at school. Majoring in Hospitality - that was the joke, anyway.

"One day they had a career fair and I was walking around the tables. There was this one table...I couldn't see the sign, but I could see the guy sitting there. He. Was. Gorgeous. A little older, but, well, scrumptious. I started talking to him. It was the CIA table. I mean, it didn't say 'CIA' but that's why he was there recruiting. He identified himself as screening candidates who might be interested in federal law enforcement. I was interested in him. He took me to dinner when the fair ended, and then to his hotel later. After, you know, he opened up to me, told me what he really did. I was curious about him; so, curious about what he did. I was studying Hospitality because I wanted to travel; I was hoping to get a job at a luxury hotel overseas. And then I thought: Cool, I can see the world and do something significant too."

Sarah had to steel her features when Amy said 'significant'. Sarah had thought of Christiana, of Leipzig.

Amy was waiting for a reaction from Sarah. Sarah forced her mind back to the present, to Miami. "Huh. So, you joined up. A long way from Hospitality, I guess?"

Sarah intended the question to be rhetorical, but Amy studied after it: "No, not really. Not if what you get stuck doing is constant seduction missions. Behind my back, some of the other agents at Langley call me Miss Hospitality." Amy's look was so painfully earnest that Sarah stifled her burgeoning grin. "I can be a real agent, Sarah, guns not gowns. Maybe not like you, exactly, I don't know about that, but like...Zondra." Amy eyed Zondra, who was looking the other way, listening to Carina. "But everyone looks at me and sees a damn cheerleader, not a spy. I've been...typecast. It's so annoying."

Sarah did her best to placate Amy, but she was not sure how effective she had been. Especially since Sarah represented what Amy wanted, or thought she did, even while Sarah tried to make Amy feel better about not having it. She felt like the conversation ended with Amy still frustrated.

But then Sarah got drawn into Carina's conversation with Zondra. Amy seemed to have shifted focus to it too, and so the Miss Hospitality discussion ended.

ooOoo

Thursday and Friday passed much the same way, except for a brief appearance at a small club on Thursday night. They did not stay long, only long enough to again make sure that their presence was recognized. Friday night was dinner at another expensive restaurant.

By Friday, they had all begun to get used to each other. Sarah and Zondra ran both Thursday morning and Friday morning. Carina was still distant with Sarah, but was no longer actively avoiding her. The truth was that Sarah was feeling awkward around Carina, like she had taken something from Carina that Carina had not intended to give away, and Sarah was unsure how to respond to trust offered and then revoked. Amy seemed to have settled, in and down, and had become irrepressibly cheery.

ooOoo

"My informant's name is George," Carina began and Zondra snorted. "No, really, George Cruz. He's a sad case. Once married, a successful businessman, he let himself try something at an office party and got hooked. Couldn't get unhooked. But his wife could, his career could." She ended the sentence and the words hung in the air for a moment.

"He's been supporting himself and his habit by dealing. He's not on the street but he's not any mover or shaker. Mid-level management, you might call him. Gets the good stuff, mostly deals to folks who drive fancy cars. He's not making handouts to junkies on the street."

Carina took a moment before she went on. She handed out copies of a photo. "He's doing a bad thing, yes; he's really not a bad guy. Anyway, he's at the good spot in the game for the new group to target him. Low enough that he doesn't rate protection or supervision, high enough that he can get their product into monied hands. I suspect they'll make contact with a lot of his type in the next few days, or that's their plan.

"Remember, he's taking a chance for me tonight. Admittedly, his motives aren't exactly pure. He's hoping this gets him a ticket to The Carina Miller Experience." She paused for a moment and shimmied as she hummed the chorus of Hendrix's Are You Experienced? - but then she was immediately serious again. "It won't, of course, but if it goes well, I may be able to use him helping us to get him some help, get law enforcement to stop attending him and let the medical profession to tend to him...Who knows? He might be able to get clean."

Carina sounded hopeful and resigned at the same time. She looked at Sarah, Zondra, and Amy in turn. Each nodded to her. Satisfied, she went on. "He will be at the VIP section of Dream tonight. Contact is to be made there. I have posed as his girl before. Tonight, I have my college buddies with me. That's you three, in case you missed that.

"It's going to be crucial that one of you keeps the contact around, gets him talking, maybe gets him drunk. I don't know how disciplined these guys are on the job. Maybe a lot, hopefully not much. As soon as we can, we need to get him out of there and take him someplace where we can question him. It would work best if we could avoid drugging him. Better for him to remember at least getting himself drunk; that way, the blackout to come won't seem suspicious. We need to do it fast enough no one misses him before we have a name or a location."

The plan seemed simple enough. But the trick was always the execution of the plan in context. Sarah knew that plans were formulated always in the frictionless realm of theory. Practice almost always had other ideas.

They dressed to kill once again, this time more seriously. Weapons were hidden as well as club attire would allow. They had earwigs in their purses. They could use them if necessary, if, for some reason, one of them got separated from the others. They also had trackers hidden in various pieces of jewelry. Sarah insisted that they be fully prepared. When she was satisfied that they were, they climbed into the limo and headed to Dream Club.

ooOoo

As the limo pulled up, Sarah saw a small, nervous-looking man in a stylish suit checking a clipboard in his hands. The limo driver got out and opened the door, and Sarah led everyone out onto the sidewalk. The man rushed to her. "I have VIP reservations here for four women who are to be arriving in...well, in this limo, that is, a limo with this license plate number. Are you the four women?"

Sarah was amused by his oddly clipped, rushed delivery. "Well, I guess. We are four women in a limo with the right plates. Probably not a lot of us running about in Miami tonight." Sarah smiled at him.

He brightened. "Yes, true." He stood up straighter but was still several inches shorter than Sarah. He was shorter than each of the four women. "I am Antonio. I am your VIP concierge. I will make sure you get to our special, private VIP area, that you are served promptly, whatever you wish, and that the evening is all that you hoped when you booked the Dream VIP package."

Sarah had expected all this. Graham told her about the arrangements. Out of the car, Sarah could not only hear the thump, thump of the hip-hop but feel it too. It was going to be loud inside. Antonio was standing looking up (and down) all four of them, his expression a bit wobbly. He saw Sarah notice his look and he forced his eyes to his clipboard. "Well, ladies, come with me. Your Dream awaits." He had intended the last as a verbal flourish, but his voice broke and he ended up coughing a bit through 'awaits'. Sarah and the others followed him inside.

She had been right about the music. Inside, it was the music was not just deafening, it was physically punishing. The beat doled out a beating. Antonio led them through a crowded room, supersaturated with people dancing, and then into a smaller room, nicer and more expensively appointed. The VIP area.

As they came in, Carina quickened her step, passing by the other women and even getting a step past Antonio. "George, sweetie!" she cried, her voice just audible above the music. George rose from a leather armchair. He was a cream-colored suit over a black t-shirt. If he had been less thin, and perhaps less twitchy, he might have been a handsome man. But Sarah, knowing some of his story, could see the toll his addiction had taken on him, how it had reduced and unnerved him. But his smile at seeing Carina was generous and warm. It struck Sarah forcibly that George did not just want to sleep with Carina. He had feelings for her. If Carina knew that, she had been careful not to let on. But then Sarah realized - Carina did not know or would not let herself know that George had feelings for her. What did she say about relationships? Spatial, not emotional.

Carina closed the gap between herself and George almost immediately. He folded her into his arms and she gave him a quick peck on the cheek before twisting so that she could face Antonio, Sarah, Zondra and Amy. "Girls! Here he is. George." She was almost yelling to be heard. In the earlier room, she would not have been audible.

She twisted back to face George. "And these are my girls. Sarah, Zondra, and Amy." George smiled, nodding at them, but it was clear that he would rather be looking at Carina. After a moment, after they had acknowledged him, that is exactly what he did.

Antonio flipped a couple of pages on his clipboard and asked the women what they would like to drink. All this had been happening with people dancing and music playing. Although Sarah had been wholly focused on George once she saw him, she knew that there were lots of people around him. She also knew that their entrance had drawn a lot of attention. The dreary line of men ready to give Sarah a line was about to form. She had been dreading that more than any other part of the evening. It was time for the Ice Queen to reign.

Antonio left to get them drinks. The music seemed to increase in volume. Sarah felt a hand on her arm, spun and found Amy grinning at her. "Let's dance!" Sarah allowed Amy to drag her onto the crowded floor. She began to dance beside Amy. A moment later, Carina and George joined them. Carina danced close to Sarah and leaned to her. "Contact's not here yet. But George expects him soon!" Sarah nodded her understanding and went on dancing. Zondra seemed to have been swallowed by the crowd. Sarah could not find her.

After a few songs, the press of the crowd and the loudness of the music drove them back to their seats. Drinks had arrived - Antonio was standing nearby, watching over them. Zondra was already seated, nursing a drink. Her hair was damp on her forehead. She had evidently been dancing too. They had all just taken their seats, George included, when a group of men walked up. One of them, the leader, evidently, walked to Sarah. "Hello!" He said it loudly, above the music.

"Hi!" Sarah said, wishing the man gone. He was handsome and was obviously more aware of it than anyone else in the club could be.

"Would you like to dance? I was watching you, you are a great dancer!"

Oh, god, open with creepy. "No, no thanks. Maybe later. I will find you." Not a chance in hell, but whatever it takes to get you and your boys out of our way. He smiled at her, teeth dentist-white. He seemed sure that she would. He and his entourage headed back onto the dance floor. Sarah noticed that Carina was looking at her, had evidently watched the whole exchange. Zondra was listening while Amy tried to shout small talk at George. More men began to circle their part of the VIP area. But it seemed likely that the failure of the handsome man who approached Sarah to get her onto the floor had made the new men cautious. If that guy did not succeed, it was unclear who would.

Sarah thought of her dad. A good con controls her space, Darlin', she knows what signals she's sending out. She makes sure her energy is right. People are in communication before they ever speak. Posture, expression, intensity, the trail of the eyes. Everything is a tell for someone who knows how to read. And never forget, we all, including non-cons, we all read each other. It is what humans do. You and I, Darlin', are just better at it than others. So, remember, you are reading but others are reading you. Sarah almost smiled at that - although she did not. It was a lesson her seduction instructor had reinforced. It had proven crucial to her becoming the Ice Queen.

She had found that she was good at being unreadable, a closed and locked book. And even if the people around her were not able to put it into words, her being simply unreadable was more off-putting than her being readably unwelcoming or hostile. It was a little like that strange novel, Perfume, she had read during downtime on a mission. (The novel had been left in a stack in the hotel lobby, and Sarah had done all the mission prep she could do.) The central character, Jean-Baptiste, had an insanely sensitive sense of smell. But he had no odor of his own. People hated him because of it. Not because he stank, but because he had no odor. It creeped everyone out, even though they did not know what was causing their reaction. She had found parts of her life and Jean-Baptiste's distressingly similar.

At the Farm, James had once observed to her that she could petrify her features and that when she did, it was like she went from colorized to black-and-white. She stonified her features there at the table. Maybe the men would be content just to circle. What James never knew was that the shift from color to black-and-white was internal too. My inner world goes black-and-white. The inner life of a zombie with a gun.

Sarah had been staring at her drink, thinking. But she noticed that Carina and George had stood up. She refocused (Damn. Get your head in the game, Enforcer!). A man had come to the table, come to George. The man looked around the table, his eyes lingering for a moment on Amy, who was looking at him. His gaze lingered a beat. She smiled her cutest smile. He noticed but turned back to George.

The man had on an expensive brown leather jacket over a white, button-up dress shirt. Dark pants. Italian shoes, also expensive. He wore a Rolex. There was something about the combination of his clothes and his manner, wary yet self-assured, that made Sarah sure this was their man, the contact. He pulled George aside and began to talk to him intently. Amy stood up, threw back the remains of her drink (she made sure the man noticed, despite his attention being mostly focused on George). She made a show of adjusting her mini-dress, but after adjustment, it seemed shorter, not longer. She sashayed around the table and approached the man. Seduction success, Graham said. I see why. She's good. The man reoriented himself slightly as Amy approached. She stopped just out of arm's reach, waiting. The man said a few more words to George, then he turned his full attention on Amy. They exchanged a few sentences, and then Amy had him by the hand, dragging him (he was going willingly, if too slowly for Amy's pace) to the dance floor. George shot Carina a look and a wink.

Contact had been made. This was the man they were looking for. Amy had him wholly focused on her. Her skirt seemed to have shortened even more on the dance floor, and Amy had found a way to brush almost all of herself against the man in the first few bars of the song. It struck Sarah as too forward, too fast - but Amy seemed to be sure of herself, and judging from the darkening, glazed look on the man's face, she seemed to be right. She already had her mark on the hook.

Carina slid into a chair next to Sarah. Sarah reoriented her chair away from the dance floor. Carina leaned in and so did Sarah. "George says that the guy - no name, yet - wants to talk. Outside. But if he gets outside, we probably lose him. Thoughts?" Carina was staring past Sarah's shoulder, presumably to Amy and the man. "Damn, that girl looks like an angel, but she can dance like a devil. Much more out there, and I will blush." Whether it was for the sake of the mission or for another reason, Carina seemed finally willing to interact with Sarah.

Sarah did not turn around. Instead, she looked down and pondered the situation. After a moment, she looked up. "Do you think he's already into her enough that we can presume he's planning to sleep with her?"

Carina stared past Sarah's shoulder again. "Um, yeah. He's going to try right there on the dance floor if Amy manages to raise her skirt another millimeter. She's good. I heard she was. That misbehaving angel thing she's got going...well, she's good."

Sarah nodded. "So, this conversation outside. Is it supposed to happen soon?"

Carina continued to watch the dance floor. She shrugged. "Don't know. But my guess is that he'll be dancing with Amy for a while. Well, I guess that's not dancing, really. It's foreplay to music." Carina shook her head.

A few moments later, Amy led the man back. They were both panting. Amy looked at Sarah and shot her a private wink. Antonio brought another round of drinks. The man introduced himself as Ricky. Ricky looked at George and mouthed "Later." Then he began to talk to Amy.

The next couple of hours were spent much like that. Drinking (Sarah was careful never to finish a drink before the next one came, as were the others), dancing, and watching Ricky's increasing absorption in Amy. At one point, Carina moved next to Amy and whispered to her. They both looked at Ricky and giggled. The giggles were for show.

Finally, Amy came to Sarah. "C'mon, go to the bathroom with me?" Sarah got up and followed.

Against all odds, the bathroom was empty when they entered. Amy turned to Sarah and in the most business-like tone Sarah had heard from her, she explained. "Ricky wants to take me home. If I go, that puts less pressure on the conversation with George, less pressure on George. I'm sure Ricky will talk to him still, but I can be there, outside, when it happens. And then I can find out more about Ricky."

Sarah shook her head. "We didn't plan for this, Amy. We don't have adequate backup. We have no idea where he will take you. We have no idea what he will want from you, exactly. No, it's a bad idea. We'll stay with the original plan. Has he been drinking."

Amy, her face disappointed, shook her head. "A little, but not enough. Look, Sarah, we came with earwigs, trackers. You made sure we did. I have a tranquilizer. You will know where I am. He's not likely to take me out of range of the tracker." She smiled cockily. "He can't wait much longer; he won't take me far. So, the bases are covered. The tranq's my exit strategy. Let me do this. Let's do this." The look of pained hope on Amy's face mirrored her pained look when she told Sarah about Miss Hospitality.

This is why I work alone. Other people are unpredictable. They make you feel things for them that affect your judgment. They want things for reasons that are not wholly mission-related. I need to work alone. A team is a bad idea.

"Okay," Sarah offered at last. She could not say no. If Amy wanted to run the risk, it was her choice. She did have the earwig, the tranq, the tracker. "But you need to be careful. You are out on a limb here and it can easily be sawn off. Go lightly."

Amy nodded tightly and headed back into the club. Sarah sighed behind her and then followed.

ooOoo

Amy made it clear to Ricky that the answer was yes. At that point, Ricky was ready to leave. He motioned to George to come with him, and he got up, taking Amy's hand, and the three of them headed out of the club. Sarah dropped her head at Zondra, and, after a few seconds, Zondra got up to follow them. Sarah angled in her chair and pulled the small electronic device used to follow trackers out of her handbag. It looked like a cell phone. She punched in the code for Amy's tracker. Immediately, a flashing green dot appeared on the screen, moving slowly. Sarah blew out a breath. She had checked the equipment at the condo, but devices had a way of going wrong. Luckily, no such problem. Everything was working.

They dot stopped. Presumably, Ricky was now talking to George. After a few minutes, the dot began to move again. Sarah adjusted the device so that it displayed a larger area, not just the club and its immediate environs. Zondra came back to the table. George was with her. Sarah looked up from the device. "I need to get into a cab and trail them. Zondra, you come with me. Carina, debrief George. We'll all meet back at the condo." Sarah looked at George and for Carina's sake, added: "Thanks, and good luck." She got up and Zondra joined her. They waved to Antonio. He waved back and made a notation on his clipboard.

Outside, they found a cab. Sarah dropped a fifty over the seat. "I'll be giving you directions. Just take us where i say." The cabbie, a grizzled man in his sixties, took one look at Sarah's face and began to drive.

They followed Amy's green dot. Amy had been right. Ricky did not take her far. It took Sarah and Zondra a few minutes to get to where Amy's signal had stopped moving. It was at one of the nicest hotels in town. Sarah and Zondra got out of the cab. Across the street was a pastry shop, its windows full of wares. Its sign said 'Open 24/7'. Sarah pointed it out with a toss of her head and they crossed the street. Once inside, Sarah sent Zondra to buy them coffee, and Sarah sat down near the window and dug her earwig out of her bag. Without a support truck to amplify the signal, the earwigs were not strong enough to cover much distance. Sarah heard only static. As she looked out the window of the shop, she shifted focus. The few people in the shop were glancing from Sarah to Zondra. She realized that their club attire seemed completely out of place in the shop. Self-consciously, Sarah adjusted herself on the stool, trying to lengthen her skirt.

Zondra came back with coffee and a danish. She slid a coffee to Sarah, then cut the danish in two. She positioned its plate between them. Wordlessly, they ate the danish, staring at the flashing but unmoving dot.

They sat there for two - then for three - hours. The green dot flashed but did not move. Sarah was checking the device, worrying about the battery running low, when she heard Zondra gasp. Amy was walking out of the hotel, unsteadily. Her dress was crooked. Her hair was wild. Even at this distance, Sarah could see that one of her eyes was red and swollen. It looked like her lip was bleeding. Sarah grabbed her bag and stuffed the tracker in it as they ran across the street. Amy saw them and looked around, a bit wildly. But when she looked back at them, the wildness was gone. She just looked blonde and small and hurt.

"He tried to force me. I couldn't get to the tranq. I fought him off, but he got away. I don't know where he went. He didn't tell me anything useful. There was nothing in the room."

"It's okay, Amy," Sarah said softly as she looked more closely at Amy's face. She would have a huge black eye. Her lip was split, but otherwise, she seemed okay. Shaky, but okay. Zondra flagged down a taxi waiting near the hotel entrance. They headed for the condo.

Sarah was deeply relieved that Amy was okay, but as they rode, it occurred to her that unless George had gotten useful intel out of Ricky or they could find something on the hotel computers (she would call Graham when they arrived), the mission had been a failure.

God, I hate to fail. What good is there being in this life unless I succeed at it?

Amy leaned her head on Sarah's shoulder.

Sarah patted Amy's leg and stared out the window at dark Miami, out at her black-and-white world.

A/N2 Tricky chapter to write, lots of things going as a backdrop to complicated interpersonal dynamics, all while setting up things in the middle distance and in the far distance.

Tune in next time for Chapter 11, "Girls Will be Girls (Four): Snake's Blood". Graham calls his Enforcer away from Miami for a mission - and more.

How about a review, particularly if you haven't written one? Love to know you are out there.

By the way, the running scene borrows from and pays homage to the Charles Hamilton Sorley poem, Song of the Ungirt Runners, a favorite of mine. Hadn't thought about that Bill Nelson song for years but it came to mind as I started the chapter.

Story and Dream are current Miami nightclubs. I doubt either existed when these events would have happened. But the names were too good to pass up. Naoe probably did not exist either.

Z