Happy New Year to everybody. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I went back and made some edits based on feedback and great questions from Vargasse (thank you!)

Amy had thought that she had expended all her tears crying about the past, but she was wrong. Sitting on the floor in the guest room at Penumbra, Amy cried until she had no more tears left. She was actually surprised that after all this time her past could still cause her so much pain. "Damn you, Pendergast," she swore. She was angry with Pendergast, but furious with herself with herself for letting him get under her skin. How did that happen, she wondered. It was not as if he had won her over with his charm. He was aloof and arrogant at best and cruel and sadistic at worst. And yet, she recalled the very real compassion in his eyes and the gentleness in his voice when she was recounting what had happened to her. Did the man actually have a heart behind those odd silver-blue eyes?

If Amy was completely honest with herself, she had known she was in dangerous waters when she mentioned Pendergast's wife. She saw his reaction and could read his body language as easily as other people read a book. She saw the warning signs and should have stopped. She had caused him pain just because she wanted to prove a point. She had proved it, she knew, but it had gotten her nowhere. She had hurt him and he lashed out with an intensity that she had not seen in anybody in a very long time. What was it about what she had said, that cause the outburst? She knew nothing about his wife or what had happened, but obviously it was the cause of much pain; pain which she had helped exacerbate.

Pendergast intrigued her – she had to admit that. Handsome and mysterious, he was able to cause her heart to skip a beat and butterflies to flutter in the pit of her stomach whenever he looked at her. His record for solving odd cases was practically legendary. That she would be selected to work with a leading field agent like him said a great deal about her own capabilities and promised good things for her career. Now having met him, Amy was more confused than ever about the man and her feelings. While she understood, at least to some extent, the sadness she saw in Pendergast's eyes, she did not understand the deep, almost unbearable pain that she also saw there. She mulled over her interactions with Pendergast over the last twelve hours and several other questions came to her mind. Why did he look at her with such raw longing when he thought she was not looking? Why had cared about her past after he had so cruelly mocked it? And, most importantly, why could she not stop thinking about him and how it had felt when he had taken her hand to help her out of the car?

Amy pulled herself out of her reverie; if she had the ability to daydream, she had clearly cried herself out and needed to deal with the issue at hand: she needed and wanted to get away from Penumbra and New Orleans as quickly as possible. She reached for her tablet and phone.

An hour later, Amy rubbed her eyes and tried to stretch. She was stiff and the motion elicited a groan of discomfort. She had been entirely unsuccessful in finding a flight; it was simply too late in the day. The earliest that was available was for noon the following day; whether she liked it or not, Amy would need to impose on Pendergast's hospitality for one night. She cringed at the thought of needing to depend on Pendergast for anything, but she stood up and was preparing to head out in search of Maurice, when she heard a diffident knock on her door.

Surprised, she called out, "Yes. Come in."

The door slowly opened to reveal Maurice pushing a small two tier trolley. On the top tier on a small tray stood a crystal glass with an amber liquid –sherry – Amy suspected. On the bottom tier was a large box with an ornate, black satin bow. The box and the bow both bore the name of one of the most expensive and exclusive boutiques in town.

"May I come in, Miss?" Maurice asked diffidently, even though Amy had already opened the door and stepped aside to let the man in.

"Please do," Amy replied. The entire conversation seemed vaguely surreal.

"A small token of esteem from Master Aloysius," Maurice said with an entirely straight face as he handed the large box to Amy. "And this," he said as he lifted the glass and gently placed it on the table, "is a lovely little Amontillado Sherry from Master Aloysius's wine cellar. I thought that you might appreciate some light refreshment." Amy was not sure, but she thought that she detected the slightest gleam of amusement in the man's eyes.

"Thank you, Maurice," was all she said as the man left and she closed the door behind him.

Amy reached for the sherry and took a sip savoring as the rich liquid ran down her throat leaving a warm trail in its wake. She had to admit that it did help calm and soothe her rattled and frazzled nerves. Now for the box that sat so temptingly on the table where Maurice had placed it. She now walked toward it. The name alone was enough to make her heart beat a little faster. The type of money that one had to have to even cross the threshold of the establishment was legendary. In her entire career with the FBI, she would not make enough to be considered a worthy customer.

As curious as she was about what was in the box, the fact that it was from Pendergast, made her hesitate to open it. Did the man really think he could buy her? In fact, her first instinct was to ignore it or to have Maurice bring it right back to her erstwhile host, but even as she was thinking about that possibility, her hands had already reached for the satin ribbon. What would it hurt to look, she thought.

She lifted the lid from the box and could not suppress a small sigh of pleasure as it revealed pink tissue paper on which lay one perfect, fragrant Magnolia. Amy lifted the flower out, inhaled its rich fragrance, and placed it in a glass of water that happened to be standing on the desk. An item that had been hidden by the flower then caught her eye; an envelope with her name, "Ameline", written on it in a beautiful, formal script.

Amy studied the envelope as if it was a piece of evidence. It was an expensive paper made from cloth. The rich cream color was classic and elegant and the embossing could be nothing other than the Pendergast family crest. Wondering what Pendergast had to say to her that required something as old fashioned, and, she had to smile to herself, charming, as a hand-written note. She opened the envelope, took out a sheet of paper of the same cream hue and began to read the note.

"My Dear Ameline," the note opened. "First pray forgive me for being so informal, but I find that if one is in a position to ask, or shall I say, beg, for forgiveness, the formalities of titles such as "Agent" are superfluous at best. Therefore, again, I start with, My Dear Ameline; I beg that you would forgive my horrendous behaviour this afternoon. While I can claim any of a number of reasons for my loss of control, none of them justify my treatment of you. The truth is that your statements were correct on all counts that matter and your only fault was to tell me things that I did not wish to hear. My response was that of a coward and boor.

"I would very much like to demonstrate to you that I am, in fact, both a gentleman and a man of my word, it would be my honor as well as distinct pleasure to take you to dinner at Antoine's; I have made reservations for the late seating at 8:30 this evening. I have also taken the liberty of acquiring a small gift for you. It would bring me great pleasure if you were to wear it tonight, but I will completely understand if you do not choose to do so.

"I shall await you at 7:45 tonight as our car will be ready at 8. Again, I beg your forgiveness and hope to see you this evening so that we can have an opportunity to restart our acquaintance and to discuss our future partnership.

"Humbly Yours,

"Aloysius XL Pendergast"

Amy re-read the note several times. It was so old fashioned and courtly. She was not used to receiving apologies and did not really know what to do. She was still furious at him for the hateful things that he had said and the painful past memories that he had stirred up. But she also knew that she had pushed him much harder than she should have just to show off what she could do. She found that she wanted to forgive him and wished that the entire encounter could be simply forgotten. But her training and her cynical nature still challenged her heart. Could Pendergast really mean it? Could he now see some value in what she did? She also seemed to sense an undercurrent in the letter that made her pulse quicken and her heart beat a little faster as she reached into the box and gently pulled back the scented tissue paper.

A little time spent in Amy's head. I hope you liked it and that it gives some insight into her own thoughts and hopes. She feels there is something between her and Pendergast, but I think she is afraid to put a name to it. I wonder how Pendergast feels? What do you all think? Stay tuned for the next chapter. As always, thank you for reading and your comments and reviews are most humbly and gratefully accepted.