I have returned bearing gifts. And one is a teddy bear named Harold…don't ask. And yes, this is a short chapter, but as I am the master of my fate, I DO WHAT I WANT. You all may find this hard to believe because I am so genteel on FanFic, but 'I DO WHAT I WANT' is basically my catch phrase.

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Cammie's POV:

"What's taking so long?" Zach asked me as we stood impatiently at Macey's personal jet. Yes, she does have one of those.

I shrugged, looking around in vain for our hostess who had disappeared fifteen minutes earlier to find her pilot. The sun looked like it was setting right at the end of the runway and the breeze was finally cooling everything down.

Zach had ditched his jacket and tie in the car, then undid the top buttons on his crisp white shirt. He was now in the process of rolling up his sleeves, a methodical process that was sort of mesmerizing.

Must have been the lack of sleep. It totally wasn't his muscular tan forearm or the new scar running in a thick line from his wrist until it disappeared out of sight at his shirtsleeve.

The question was on the tip of my tongue, but the look in his eyes when he caught me staring cut me off. Our eyes locked, but no one said a word.

I wanted to say something more, to ask how we'd grown so far apart in just a short amount of time, to ask if he'd missed me, to ask where he'd been, but another question came out instead, "Didn't Macey say that Bex was flying in tonight?"

The spell was broken. He looked back to his sleeves, "Her fight was delayed. But now she's trying to reroute her trip to get to Alabama. She'll be in the States by early tomorrow morning either way."

I nodded, sort of half-heartedly wondering why my best friend was talking to Zach rather than me, but I let it pass, "It'll be good to have her here."

"Yeah."

We were saved from anymore awkward, stilted conversation by the sound of fast clicking heels coming down the tarmac. Macey still looked immaculate (even after doing a face plant on the sidewalk), but something wasn't right…

Ways To Tell A Person Is Nervous- Body Language

A List By Operative Cameron Morgan, 'Chameleon'

1. Eye movement

2. Hand movement

3. Gait speed

4. Face flushed

5. General nervous ticks (twirling hair, fidgeting, stuttering, ect.)

Right now, Macey was walking just ever so slightly faster than her usual slow sassy saunter. Her face was flushed (prettily of course) from the heat or the exercise. She also glanced over her shoulder twice in less than a hundred feet.

By the time she got to us, all my senses were on high alert. "This way," she said, motioning us to follow her away from the plane.

"What's wrong?" Zach and I said together.

Macey glanced behind us again, "Just changed up our flight plan a bit."

"Do I even want to know why?" I asked.

"Probably not."

We walked through the shadows of the immense airport until we finally came to one of the lesser used out buildings. Fugitively, we trekked around the building until we came to a large, tarped object blocking the sunset.

"Is that-" I began as Macey gave the tarp a good yank.

"Our ride!" she announced proudly.

Our 'ride' was a very ancient, very decrepit looking helicopter. I looked at it skeptically as Macey headed over to the pilot's side, "That can't be safe to fly. It looks like it's been sitting back here for thirty years."

Macey shrugged, "Forty actually, but whose counting? Hop in, we've got a Brit to track down."

"Why do I get the distinct feeling that we are stealing this thing?" I mumbled as I tucked myself into the cramped back seat after Zach claimed shotgun (is it even called that on a plane?)

"Well, apparently, my father rented out the jet for one of his poker games, so I couldn't use it. I remembered seeing this thing back here and decided to borrow it."

"Do you even know how to fly one of these things?!" I yelled over the roar of the engine starting (after being hotwired), "I seem to recall you nearly failing your helio course last year!"

"Minor details!"

Closing my eyes, I let Zach play navigator. Slowly, out rusty bird rose into the air like a pathetically prehistoric Phoenix rising. We were about three hundred feet from the ground when the first group of people arrived; the old girl was rather loud.

Shouting a prayer, Macey through the bird into gear. I closed my eyes, but we seemed to be moving forward. Slowly, I opened one eye then the other.

"Alabama, here we come!" Macey let out a cheer as we chug-chug-chugged low over the treetops.

"Does anyone smell something burning?!" Zach yelled.

Oh dear.

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~Striker