Disclaimer: Not mine.

After the job fell apart, her employer ruined, she skipped town with as much money she could get her hands on. Turns out Ford's little team of super thieves had drained the man dry. He was leaking corporate secrets to the authorities like a sieve; she couldn't exactly demand the rest of her payout now. Damn.

Cops were circling like vultures. The hired muscle had been arrested. She'd heard enough over the radio before dodging the police to know that a crazy blonde had stolen the program from under their noses, noses that were broken by a man with a ponytail, and then the system locked down with them still inside.

Huh. Clever. Eliot's team had skills. They were all bat-crap crazy, but talented. She could respect that.

It wasn't until three countries, four identities, and two glasses of wine later that she thought about Ford's words. She bit down her frustration as she tried to push away the realization that his words struck a chord. "Professional does their job well even when they don't like it." Well, she sure as hell a professional. She didn't do half-assed jobs or quit. Even when she didn't like it.

She practically gulped her wine. When had that happened? She didn't use to care. It was a job. She liked the money. The thrill of adrenaline.

Now it was consuming her life. She couldn't separate. Everything was running together. She couldn't sleep. She barely ate. She wasn't coping. Drinking was tolerable but she wasn't much of a drinker. Drinking slowed her reflexes, messed with her balance, clouded her mind; she didn't like it, but it numbed the empty feeling.

She lowered her head into her hands, massaging her temples. Maybe that's what Ford was trying to say—professionals knew when to stop. Why the hell was she listening to him in the first place? Who the hell said crap like that to someone who held a gun on them? She should have shot him.

Alarms went off in her head and she had her Glock trained on the door before she even registered the second knock. She stood quickly and moved to the side of the door. She waited for a moment. No more knocking. She cursed silently. Not room service then. She scanned the room, noting which furniture to avoid and which could be used as cover and/or weapons on the way to her exit. She was just about to move away when a voice stopped her.

"Open the door, Lacey."

She froze. Realizing her mouth was open, she clamped it shut and peeked through the peep hole. Well, that wasn't a coincidence. In all honesty, she probably should have seen this coming. She blamed it on the very expensive bottle of wine sitting smugly on the desk. Damn thing was practically chuckling. Nevertheless, there he was, standing in her the hallway. Blue pearl snap shirt, worn denim jeans, brown leather jacket, and his ridiculously perfect hair pulled back.

How the hell did he find her?

She bit her lip, had a bitter two-second, internal debate, and then unlocked the door. She moved back quickly, her Glock trained at eye level. Eliot pushed the door open and moved inside. He didn't try to move further into the room after closing the door, just stood there with his hands clearly visible.

Her gun didn't move. Since it was clear he wasn't going to start this conversation (although she really thought he should) she voiced the red-letter question swirling through her head.

"You here to kill me, Eliot?"

"I ain't in the business anymore." he scowled.

She raised an eyebrow incredulously and didn't bother trying to hide the skepticism in her voice. "So you were in Russia the same week of my contract, the same city, the same building and now you're in my hotel room?" She narrowed her eyes. "I don't believe in coincidence, Spencer."

"Damn it, Lacey! I ain't here to kill ya." If anything, his scowl deepened.

"Then why are you here?"

His reply stopped her in her tracks as she was moving towards her exit.

"I know what you did."

Damn Nate Ford. This was going to ruin her reputation.

"He didn't say anything."

Damn Eliot and his damn mind reading.

"He was very careful to leave you out of it, in fact. " He paused. "You didn't kill him."

It was a statement. No, it was a question. Statement with an inferred question. A stated question. son of a seabiscuit, her head hurt. Apparently, her thought process went down the drain after a few drinks. When she didn't respond, he continued.

"You had a contract with Novikoff. Kill anyone tryin' to take the program. You didn't. I never heard of you leavin' a job undone."

She lowered her gun and realized she'd stopped moving. When did that happen? Cursing was proving futile and apparently so was the gun. She was only 70% sure only she could see the fog in the room.

"If you're not here to kill me, then get out."

He didn't move. He just stood there like a statue. A damn statue that looked incredibly good in that jacket. He'd look damn good out of it too, her mind supplied. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

She was seriously rethinking that second glass of wine. Geez, she was such a light-weight.

"I need to know if you had a reason, Lace." He narrowed his eyes at her and it was positively menacing. Or it should have been to someone that didn't know him like she did or maybe it was because she felt kinda floaty. Eh, either one. "Was it part of your plan?"

"If I wanted him dead, he'd be dead, Eliot." She replied coolly.

He blinked slowly as though her words confirmed something. Damn mind games. He was fishing for information. She desperately wanted to rub her forehead to push away the building headache.

"So it's finished." He asked carefully.

"Novikoff paid for half a job. I did half a job." She wasn't in the mood for his words games.

"You're the professional here." He stated a little too nonchalantly.

Suddenly it felt like she'd been plunged in cold water and her anger at the whole damn situation boiled over.

"Where the hell do you get off assuming you know my life? What the hell gives you, of all people, the right to judge me, Eliot Spencer?"

She moved forward angrily and noted with satisfaction that he tensed considerably at her approach. Good, she thought viciously.

"You with your 'I'm out of the business' bullshit. If I'd pulled the trigger, if I'd done my job, you'd be here, right now, ready to kill me. Probably with your little team of Robin Hood thieves too." She sneered nastily, "You can lie to yourself all you want, Spencer, but you haven't changed. You're a killer. You'll always be a killer. And one day, it'll be their blood that pays for it."

Then the last thing she expected to happen, happened.

Eliot flinched.