The Broken Road

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Normally cool, calm and collected, Max looked anything but as he scurried through the French doors. And scurry he did. It wasn't generally in his vocabulary, certainly something he normally didn't do. However, there was an air of desperation surrounding him that led to his almost frenzied pace. He needed to make certain his friend and fellow agent was all right. He searched her out first, inhaled sharply when he noted she was perfectly healthy, and then took in the state of the man standing proudly beside her. A little beat up, a little dented, a little bruised. Otherwise fine. Once he saw that they were relatively unharmed, the desperation dissipated into the cool central air, allowing him once again to don his super secret agent persona. He did so with the next steps he took and nodded once when she smiled back at him. Then he eyed the rest of the scene, taking it all in. It looked exactly as he'd expected it to while he'd been forced to wait on the outside, listening impatiently in the wings and dying to get a chance for some of the action. He hardly spared a glance for the dead man floating in the water; his only regret being that he hadn't been the one to fire the shot that'd killed him. Mr. Young took more of his attention. He knelt down by the now unconscious man, noted the pale skin, labored breathing and impressive pile of blood. He picked up the man's wrist, felt his pulse, and stated matter-of-factly, "Young's not looking so good."

"Help's on the way, right?" Trixie replied anxiously, wanting him to get all the help that he could possibly need. "He needs medical attention. You know, like ten minutes ago."

"Don't worry. It's on the way." As if on cue, two agents came through the doorway, dragging a gurney behind them. They'd make certain that Mr. Young was taken care of. He pointed at them. "And right on time, too."

Appreciative of the help, Trixie walked over to the bar and lathered her hands with soap, grateful to get rid of the blood on her hands. As she cleaned up, she couldn't help but think how excellent her agency's background checks were. While he may not be the nicest of guys and his morals were certainly questionable, especially when it came to his business dealings, Mr. Young kept his private life on the straight and narrow. No drugs, no extra-curricular activities of any kind, for himself or his wife. He was perfectly healthy, with nothing for her to worry about from the blood exposure, the only reason why she'd jumped in so quickly to assist him without proper medical supplies. Wiping her hands on a fresh towel, she looked over at Max and asked teasingly, "What took you so long?"

Max rocked back on his heels, one eyebrow lifted high, and stifled a chortle. The answer was simple. He jerked a thumb in the direction of Jim. The last time he'd seen him, the man had been in the suite downstairs and had been ordered to stay put. Obviously, Jim Frayne had a serious hearing problem. He didn't listen too well. "Do you really have to ask?"

Jim had the grace to flush. "Sorry," he muttered but he didn't sound apologetic. In fact, he didn't feel properly apologetic, either. How could he, when Trixie was safe? If anything, he was both pleased and proud to have helped her, even if his choice had impulsive, reckless and spontaneous written all over it. To him, it had been the right choice; in fact, the only choice.

"That's what I thought." Trixie chuckled slightly. She could only imagine what the scene in the suite had been like, once Jim had discovered she was in trouble. She doubted it had been pleasant. Thinking of their suite made her remember someone else, someone who was noticeably missing from their small group. Worried, she looked around the room to be certain, her lips turned down in a serious frown. "What's up with Dan? I'm surprised he didn't come up here with you. He doesn't like to miss out on stuff like this."

Max paused as Mr. Young was being wheeled away on a gurney to the living room for the agents to work on him and then crossed over to her, composed and in control and in direct contrast to the way he'd entered the room in the first place. "He was another thorn in my side," he answered with another pointed look at Jim, showing that he wasn't quite ready to fully forgive him yet. "Only not quite as pointy as that one standing over there. Right after I left, Mangan managed to get away from Shane. I had to send back three more members of our back-up team to…ah…assist him in returning to the room. From what I understand, it wasn't an easy endeavor. They decided it would be best to stay and watch over him." Sighing, he dragged a hand through his dark hair. "I haven't been in touch with Shane or the others recently but I don't imagine it was an enjoyable assignment."

Trixie couldn't help it. Her lips twitched. Enjoyable wouldn't be the word to describe it. Then a giggle escaped her before she could prevent it. Covering her mouth, she giggled again and managed to get out before she started full-out laughing, "You should probably let them know that everything's okay."

"I probably should," Max admitted and pulled out his cell, while the sound of her delighted chuckles forced him to grin, too. Really, it must have been an amusing sight. He sent out a quick text, informing Shane that the mission was over and they were now fast approaching flight mode. He imagined Shane was going to be delighted when he read it, especially since he'd also been given the task of getting Dan out of the hotel and to their escape vehicle. "There. That should do it."

Jim lifted his head, watched with interest as other people began descending onto the scene. Members of their agency, he accurately deduced. He studied how quickly they started working, amazed at how swift and organized they were. They seemed to be everywhere. And none of them were looking their way or were paying them the least amount of attention possible. All were busy on their assigned jobs. He touched Trixie on the shoulder and whispered quietly, "What's happening now?"

"Clean-up crew," Max answered for her. "Due to the nature of the events that occurred here, I mobilized them quicker than normal. They're going to clean up this mess, make it look like something entirely different happened here. It's their job."

Both of his eyebrows shot up. Jim filed away the term for future questioning and watched the clean-up crew with more interest. Two of them pulled Ritch out of the water. Others started righting the tables and chairs and then began wiping them down with a substance he was positive wasn't offered to the general public. The bloody towels were already out of sight, taken away from the scene. Guns were confiscated, as was the laptop. The pace was fast and furious but not frenetic, with no one seeming to take a break, and no spot in the room left untouched. It was seriously impressive. "Clean-up crew, huh?" he mumbled under his breath.

"They're amazing. You won't be here to see how speedily they put the room in order." Since they didn't require an audience, Max grabbed Trixie's arm, and started leading her away from the scene and towards the far door. He knew Jim would obediently fall into step and didn't bother to order him to join them. Glancing over his shoulder, he informed them, "In about ten minutes this room will resemble something completely different from the way it looks right now."

Trixie correctly interpreted the confused expression on Jim's face. She quickened her pace to match Max's and asked before Jim could question him further, aware that they didn't have much time left, "What's the official story going to be?"

Anticipating the question, Max began with the simplest information, "We've already gained control of the surveillance system and are currently working on recreating the surveillance tapes. It was a very complicated system, more than any of us expected it to be. It took some time to tap into it but our techs were finally successful. Nothing was recorded from the time Jim entered the penthouse. Now I've got them working toward the vision I've created." He pushed a few buttons on his cell to check their progress. "Hmm. Appears that they should be finishing shortly."

"Good. That's good." Trixie blew at a stray curl, tried to ignore the thrill that shot through her when Jim slipped an arm around her waist. It was difficult but she managed to stay focused on her superior. "But you didn't tell me the cover story. What is it?"

Because he adored her, he overlooked the pinkening of her cheeks and the reason for it standing behind her. Instead, he shared the story, although his eyes gleamed with brotherly delight at the prospect of future teasing. "In the new surveillance tapes, you and Jim will be seen leaving the penthouse where you'll head down to your suite, gather your belongings and then check out of the hotel, well before any of the gunshots were fired. We already have a Mr. and Mrs. James Hart booked on the red-eye to Los Angeles, leaving tonight in roughly an hour and a half. Your alter-egos will be gone before the police ever learn that you visited the penthouse tonight. They won't need to get in touch with you, either. You've got an air-tight alibi." He rubbed his fingers against shirt, then blew on his nails and arched an arrogant eyebrow at her.

Well used to her supervisor's cocky attitude, especially when he orchestrated a successful cover story, Trixie rolled her eyes and swallowed a low groan. "That's only part of the story. What about Ritch and Mr. Young? What do you have up your sleeve for them?"

"Simple." Max pushed open the door and stepped out into the hallway. The door closed behind them, blocking off the sight of the rest of the agents working feverishly to purify the room before changing it into what they wanted it to be. Incredibly, they were already halfway finished. "After you left the penthouse to pack up for your flight home, there was an ugly power struggle between Mr. Young and Ritch over ownership of the disc. Ritch will have demanded it; Young refused. A fight ensued between them. Obviously, Ritch shot Young, who then retaliated by pulling out a concealed weapon. And the rest, as they say, is history."

Trixie considered the scenario, looking for any loopholes or weaknesses, before nodding her agreement. It would work, especially with the manufactured surveillance tapes to back it up. Even if the butler or Ginny brought up their presence in the penthouse, it wouldn't matter. They would truly be in the clear. Max had seen to it. Her fingers tapped along her thigh before she mused aloud, "It won't be too hard to create. Short and simple. I like it."

Jim openly stared at her, flabbergasted. He didn't have a clue how they could pull something like this off. Confusion was evident in his tone as he stated, "But, Trix, that's not what happened."

Max clapped a hand on his shoulder. Because they weren't being taped, he felt free to use Jim's real name. "Don't worry, Frayne. We've got the technology to make it happen. In fact, the finishing touches are probably being put on the tape right now." At that moment a new text popped up, informing him that the surveillance tapes were finished. His answering grin said it all. "No one but us will ever know the actual truth."

Jim stared at him as if he'd grown two heads. To his way of mind, there was still someone they hadn't taken into consideration. "Young will know what happened," he promptly countered, pointing out a glaringly obvious hole to their plan. "He's still alive. He'll probably pull through, now that his injury is being taken care of. You can't change his memory."

"You're wrong there, Frayne," Max answered without a moment's hesitation, a touch of arrogance to his tone, confident in the workings of the CDA. "In fact, that's what the agents who are with him are working on right now. Once they have his wound under control, they'll start concentrating on his subconscious. We have…sophisticated ways of making him believe what we want him to believe. He won't be able to recall the truth. Ever. He'll truly believe that he completed the deal with you and then Ritch turned on him. He won't have a reason to disbelieve it, either. There'll be the surveillance tape to back him up."

Feeling like he'd somehow stepped onto a soap opera set, where reality could easily be turned on the quick flip of a dime, Jim whirled around to face Trixie, unsure exactly what he was feeling, and inquired weakly, "Brainwashing?"

"Something like that." Not wanting to go into the details of how they'd get what they want, Trixie settled for a small shrug, tabling the discussion for now, and addressed Max. She needed to be certain that all bases were covered. "So, you've got all the details taken care of, right?"

"Everything's been seen to," he answered in the affirmative, proud of what he'd accomplished. "It's done. Through the texts I just got from our counterparts, everything should be ready in…" He paused to consult his watch. "About thirteen minutes."

"Good. That's it, then." Trixie blew out a relieved breath, glad that they were able to clean up the mission from hell so quickly and efficiently and without any serious harm. She glanced back at Max, a slight smile playing across her lips. "Thanks for setting up the snipers, by the way. They came in handy."

"No thanks to you." Max let out a low chuckle when she looked affronted. Before she could argue with him, he held up his hands, palms out, and shared, "I'm not being a smart ass. You two did an excellent job of getting in the way. Every single time one of them had a clear shot at either of our targets, you managed to get in the way and block it." He shook his head, bemused at the way the mission had finally turned out. A dead turncoat, a wounded mark. No sale of the disc. A failed mission, all in all. At least the disc was still in their possession. As he looked at his agent and his stand-in, he had to correct his thoughts. And they were safe. They were going home. For that, he was grateful. He couldn't ask for much more.

Trixie waved an airy hand through the air. "What can I say? We'll do better next time?"

"Hey. There won't be a next time. At least, not for me." Max shook his head, amazed that he was reaching the end of his career as a CDA agent. It sucked that his last mission wasn't going to go down as a success. He'd much rather preferred that it did.

Trixie's eyes flared open. "Your last mission," she breathed out. She'd completely forgotten about that last little tidbit. Biting her bottom lip, she glanced back at the closed door, imagining the scene as they continued to turn Max's vision into a reality. "I'm sorry."

"Not a big deal." Max rolled a casual shoulder. Totally deadpanned, he stated evenly, "I mean, it's not like we have to face our Chief or anything."

Her eyelids fluttered closed. Inwardly, she swore. A lot. "Damn it," she grumbled finally, her face squinched up into an unpleasant scowl.

"Yeah, I'm looking forward to it, too," Max muttered back, his expression momentarily mirroring hers. The debriefing back at their San Diego office wasn't going to be pretty. Already thinking of the best way to handle it, Max decided that they'd need to focus on the positives. Trixie, he knew, would go along with it. They'd discuss their strategy on the flight back to San Diego. "The Chief isn't going to be happy with us."

"Don't remind me." Trixie sucked in a deep breath, putting the worry off for another time. They still had to get out of Vegas first.

Max rested against the closed door, idly playing with the doorknob, grateful to introduce a subject that didn't include their Chief. "Before we get to face the head honcho, we've got to get out of here, and fast. So…this is how the rest of the evening shakes down. You two. You need to get to the roof, pronto. A helicopter's going to be there in roughly five minutes, to pick you up and get you to your next destination."

"Okay." Trixie agreed, already half-expecting their quick exit from the scene. For the moment, she ignored Jim, who couldn't look more puzzled, and concentrated on Max and what he was saying. She couldn't miss out on any of the particulars.

"I'm staying behind. I need to be certain this mess has been properly cleaned up and no stones have been left unturned." He'd make damn certain of it, too. There wasn't going to be anything left that would clue the authorities in on what had really transpired in the penthouse.

Jim finally inserted himself into the conversation. "What about Dan?"

"He'll be there, too." Max took a second to grin at Jim. "Since it's imperative that you two leave immediately, you get to go by helicopter. Mangan'll be traveling by a different means of transportation. Don't worry, though. You'll see him soon enough."

Relieved that they'd all be together soon enough, Trixie closed her eyes and drew in a deep, relaxing breath. It was almost over. Jim was safe. Dan was safe. And they were on their way out. "You should know that the disc is in the laptop," she informed Max.

"We'll be sure to take it with us." And substitute another disc to help substantiate the story that Mr. Young had completed a sale with one James and Beatrix Hart. He'd already had the techs prepare one, while Trixie and Jim had been out on the terrace. He gave Trixie a little push. "Now, you need to go."

"I know." Although he'd alluded to the meeting, Trixie asked directly, wanting to know if he'd be there, "And we'll be seeing you at the rendezvous, right?"

With one hand on the doorknob, Max tilted his head up. "I'm the one who'll be bringing Mangan to you. All you've got to do is get there." He opened the door, had a foot through it.

"Will do." Trixie opened her mouth, closed it, and then decided to say it anyway. She put her hand on Max's elbow, prevented him from leaving. "I am sorry. This is a hell of a way to end your career with the agency," she murmured lowly, earning a sharp-eyed glance from Max.

"Hell of a way to blow your record, too," he countered smoothly. He watched Trixie mouth gape open, gave her a small chuck under her chin, and murmured sympathetically, "Can't win 'em all, Belden."

"Yeah. I guess you can't." Staring straight ahead, she let out a long, drawn-out sigh while the truth of Max's words sank in. What did losing her first mission mean? Nothing, she realized with a flash of blinding insight. It didn't mean a single, damn thing, not when everyone she loved and cared for was walking away from it, mainly intact and relatively unharmed, she thought as her eyes hastily skimmed the fresh bruises on Jim's handsome face. No, losing, even losing for the first time, didn't mean a thing, not when it could have been worse…a whole hell of a lot worse. She nodded once, a small smile touching her lips. Yeah, she could deal with it.

"Get going." Max shooed her away with his free hand, although he was curious about the sudden sparkle that blazed from her eyes. He'd expected her to be disappointed or furious when she realized her record had been marred. He hadn't expected her to appear triumphant. "Time's ticking, Belden, Frayne. Go on. Get out of here."

Trixie grabbed onto Jim's elbow, tugged him towards the door that led to the kitchen. "We're gone," she called out over her shoulder, beginning the trek through the pristine kitchen with Jim following right besides her. It was dazzling in its brightness and its whiteness, a true testament to the skill of the butler who ran the penthouse. She didn't stop to admire it and picked up the pace. They went through another door, the servant's entrance, one that led them straight to the hallway. Because the CDA had firm control over the surveillance cameras she led them into the foyer and out through the front door of the penthouse. A sharp glance left, a sharper glance right, and she took off for the left. A pair of large silver double-doors at the end of the hall greeted them.

Jim waited until they were in the stairwell to start voicing his questions. "I'm unclear on a few things here, Trix. Why do we have to leave? Shouldn't we stay to help out?" He matched his strides to keep up with her much quicker ones and found it more taxing than he'd expected it to. His girl could move fast when she needed to. Her shorter legs were eating up the steps.

"Our presence inside isn't necessary," Trixie answered matter-of-factly, barely winded by the fast pace. "The clean-up crew has a lot of work ahead of them. We've left them a few problems that they need to solve, and quickly. Getting out of their way so that they can do it is the best way we can help them right now."

"Max mentioned them, too." Jim followed her lead, took the steps two at a time. "But a clean-up crew? What exactly is that, anyway?"

She paused, a hand on the dull silver railing, and gifted him with an incredulous look. "Jim Frayne. After all you've learned, after all you've participated in, after all you've seen and heard and done, now you're going to get stuck on the clean-up crew?"

"Ahh…no." He shook his red head, although his mind still had trouble wrapping itself around the enormity of what her agency could do, and apparently do very well. "I guess not. I gather, from their name, that they must…ah…take care of…well…things."

"That's putting it mildly," Trixie replied, giving her curls a little shake. As usual, Max was right. They'd left behind a huge mess this time. But she had faith in her crew. They'd take care of everything. It was what they did. And they excelled at it. No one would ever know that the CDA had come and gone. "Basically, you just need to know that there won't be any trace left of us in that penthouse. No hair, no fingerprints, nothing. Nada. Zilch. As Max told us, they'll fiddle with the security cameras, show us leaving shortly after handing over the disc, then make a show of how it was Ritch and Ritch alone who took on Mr. Young. Knowing them the way that I do, they'll digitalize Mr. Young firing back at Ritch at the same time that he fired on him so that there won't be a question that it was self-defense."

"But…that's not how it happened." Jim came to a sudden stop halfway up the stairs, sounding very mystified by the whole idea and unable to get past it. Altering reality, in any way, shape or form, was clearly not his forte.

Taking pity on him, Trixie halted two steps ahead of him so she was slightly taller. Smiling down into his perplexed eyes, she gently patted his cheek and spoke lowly, wanting to comfort and soothe, "I know that. You know that. But that's how the authorities are going to see it. They're going to see it in a complete different way. I promise."

"I guess…" He stopped, blew out a breath, and ran a hand through his hair, making the short red locks stick out in different directions, a perfect match for the differing range of emotions he was experiencing, and tried again. "All right. I guess I'm just surprised that you can mess with reality like that. I mean, surveillance tapes, brainwashing, clean-up crews, speedy exits. With helicopters," he couldn't resist tacking on. When he heard how astonished he sounded, he stopped talking and aimed a sheepish grin at her. "Us corporate lawyers don't tend to think in terms like this."

"We're the CDA. We can pretty much do anything we want to." She leaned forward, pressed a quick, comforting kiss to the center of his forehead. About to urge them to move forward, she stopped in mid-stride when long fingers grasped her elbow, preventing her from moving.

"Anything?" Jim repeated.

"Anything," she asserted firmly. Thinking back on some of the events her agency had created and spun out until the world saw it firmly as the truth, she let out a small chuckle, wondering how he'd react if she shared the results of a few of their other missions with him. Right now wasn't the time to contemplate it. With the clock running down, she started up the stairs, her hand safely held within Jim's, and pulled him along after her. "Roof, Jim. We've got to get moving."

So far everything he'd heard, both from her and Max, hovered well beyond the realm of his understanding. But, come to think of it, so did the entirety of his vacation. Maybe he didn't have to actually comprehend it. Maybe all he had to do was believe in it, to believe in her. After all, the facts were on their side. He was currently fleeing the hotel, with his wife next to him. And they were leaving via helicopter. From the rooftop. Little lights of humor finally flickered within the depth of his eyes, making him see more into the situation than she'd ever expected him to.

She glanced at him questioningly, curious why he suddenly seemed so amused. Since they had other, more important things to concentrate on, she focused on their upcoming exit. "We should make it to the rooftop right about the time the helicopter does. All we need to do is get in it and leave. Have you ever ridden in a helicopter before?"

"Hmm….mmm," Jim murmured, following her again as she started up the last flights of steps. He looked ahead, saw the large door that stood between them and the outside. "So, everything's really settled?"

Trixie squeezed his hand, held on tight. "Oh, yeah. They'll take care of everything, even our belongings. Everything will be shipped back to our houses, probably before we even get there. Your laptop will be restored to its regular condition, as will your cell phone and all your personal effects." Although she fully understood the coming of the end, she bravely tried her hand at some levity and shook a finger at him. "You'll have to turn in your fake ID before you go home, though. No more James Hart for you."

And just like that, his recent humor dimmed until it faded completely away. Home. God, he didn't want to go home, to his quiet, lonely apartment, to his job at his father's company. He wanted to stay. With her. It felt like a fist grabbed ahold of his heart, squeezing it tighter and tighter as each second dragged painfully on. He stumbled over the next step, nearly took her down with him but caught the railing at the last moment. It took a minute before he was able to mumble out quietly, putting a whole lot of feeling into such a short little phrase, "I see."

She was under the same type of spell, one conjured up both in regret and disappointment. Like him, she was reminded that they didn't have much time left together. The trip to the roof, the short helicopter flight to their rendezvous point, and then…and then…Oh, God. The pain hit her, hard, right in the vicinity of her heart. She squared her shoulders, resolutely blinking back a set of tears that sprang to her eyes. She'd face their departure, stoic and strong. She had to. She didn't have a choice. "Yes. Well. Um, we need to go." But she didn't move. She was caught in a pair of emerald eyes, eyes she knew as well as her own, maybe even better. And this time, she saw something in them, something she knew had to be reflected in her own.

He cleared his throat, breaking the spell. As much as he'd liked to tackle the white elephant romping around them, he couldn't. Not yet. They needed to get away first. This time it was Jim who urged Trixie forward. "We don't have much longer, right? What did Max say? Five minutes?"

Trixie recognized the change in subject. She didn't fight it, not when she'd been the one to bring up the ending of her mission, his vacation, their time together, whichever way one wanted to view it. She wanted to curse. She wanted to throw something, maybe break something, but all she could was follow along as they made it to the last door that opened onto the roof, their footsteps echoing together in perfect harmony, just like their thoughts. "I'd say we've got about a minute to spare," she answered, despising the way reality was rudely intruding on them. Hang reality, she thought with disgust, wishing, just wishing, that they could have a little more time together.

When they reached the top of the stairwell, Jim pushed open the last door. Cool air immediately greeted them, a sign that it was much windier up on the rooftop. It caught her curls, lifted them and made them dance in a way he couldn't help but appreciate. Cupping her elbow, they stepped over the threshold together, out onto the rooftop, their thoughts on the same subject. The sand was dripping down through the hourglass at an alarming rate. There was nothing they could do to stop it.

He halted in the center of the rooftop, tossed a glance out over the Vegas night. The city looked completely different from their new vantage point. All lights, all bright, a large, glittering, glimmering neon rainbow. It sparkled and twinkled as bright and as far as the eyes could see. He didn't see a speck of it and watched with trepidation as a dark shape began to form well out on the horizon. The helicopter. Had to be. It would be on them sooner than he wanted it to. "Max is right. It's on time," he mumbled unnecessarily, pointing off in the direction of the helicopter.

"As annoying as it is, Max is always right," she replied, somewhat stupidly, and totally unaware of the vulnerability painted across her face. She pressed her hands against her thighs, keeping the slashes of her skirt from billowing out, and looked unseeingly out into the night.

"To hell with it." Fed up with the sudden seriousness of the moment, overlooking the imminent arrival of their newest mode of transportation, Jim caught her shoulders and roughly pulled her forward until they were chest to chest. An edge of one lip curled up at her small squeak of surprise. But that was where his amusement ended. She lifted her face to his, all sweet and young and desperately helpless; helpless to deflect, helpless to deny, helpless to do anything but respond in the way he was demanding before he even demanded it. Breathing hard, he lowered his head down to hers, and, throwing aside all the frustration he felt, claimed her mouth with a force that wouldn't allow any response from her but the same.

The shock, intermingled with pleasure, and heightened by passion, shot straight through her. She went tight, then she went lax, crumbling into him in less than a second. She held on to him, her arms twining around his neck, as his mouth demanded an equivocal response. Desperate, she gave back as much as she could, pouring as much of herself as she could into the embrace. Anything, anything, to make the most of their preciously few dwindling seconds together.

The whip of the wind, the whir of the engine, and, with a small moan of frustration, Trixie reluctantly broke contact and dropped back. Tucking an errant curl behind an ear, she rolled her eyes when it immediately popped back out. Refusing to be embarrassed, she declared, her voice unusually hoarse and husky, "It's time to go."

He didn't move. Couldn't, not when his world had been rocked by the simplest of actions. Reaching out, he tenderly cupped her cheek, and breathed in sharply when she turned into his touch. "I know."

She dredged up a smile. Before she could give in to the impulse to kiss him again, she gestured towards the helicopter hovering above them. She couldn't see the pilot but she imagined he'd must have had a front row seat for their most recent display of affection. She caught his arm, preventing him from walking over to the rope ladder that dangled precariously from the helicopter, "Jim. Wait."

As always, her touch made its way all the way through him. He immediately complied. "Trix?"

"Thanks for making Vegas so…memorable," she said, twin flags of red flaring in her cheeks. "We may not have won but it's been…."

"Amazing," he finished for her and grabbed the end of the dangling ladder.

"Without a doubt." Knowing he wouldn't go first, she gripped the sides of the ladder and, with an athleticism he couldn't help but admire, started climbing her way up to the helicopter. Another agent reached out, helped her inside. She crouched down inside and waved down at Jim, letting him know it was his turn. Chewing on the bottom of her lip, she held her breath until he was safe inside. Then she took a seat in the back and observed the pilot competently set the ride in motion. It didn't surprise her when Jim sat in the seat next to her. Although the vehicle held two other fellow agents, she didn't offer a single protest when Jim dropped an arm around her shoulder. Allowing herself the luxury, she laid her head against his chest and breathed in deeply. No words were spoken; none were needed. Both knew the end of the road was looming ahead of them.