First chapter disclaimers.

Italics thoughts

Clayton Webb stepped hesitantly into the hotel lobby. He was not sure whether it was the stunningly gaudy décor that was make his stomach queasy, or the fact that he was supposed to meet Meg in the brightly colored tourist trap. Had he asked himself earlier, he would have bet on Meg, but the fuchsia carpeting was quickly gaining ground.

If this was any other woman, he'd have sent the largest flower arrangement possible and told her to have a nice life. Pretending to be a homeless man for the Company was one thing. But to willingly submit himself to the urban torture of a hotel overrun by screaming children and desperate tourists, that was a totally different matter. The last time he was in Florida, he had been a guest at some friends of his mother's in West Palm Beach.

Instead of plush surroundings, he was standing in the middle of some tourist trap, in blue jeans no less, waiting for a Navy Lawyer. Maybe he should have taken Chegwidden up on that offer to shoot him. It had to be less painful than looking at the brass flamingo sculpture.

"You look like you're going to eat that poor bird for supper, Clay," Meg said as she came up behind him.

Webb instinctively did not jump at the sound of her voice. He was never surprised, even when he was. It went against his very nature. Plus, it made other agents scared of him.

"Meg, I'm glad you made it. Did you have a good trip?" Inwardly, he winced at the mundane greeting. Where was his witty tongue now?

"It was good. How was your trip?"

Oh, wonderful. You've never lived until you hop a twelve hour flight from some hellhole to Florida. The bugs I had crawling around in my hair were a great in-flight snack, Clay's brain automatically provided.

He shook his head to clear the thought and said, "It was good. A bit cramped, but it was an economy flight."

Yeah, a flight on the US government's economy… Webb shook his head again clamping down on his wayward thoughts.

"Clay are you okay? You seem to keep shaking your head," Meg asked.

Probably picked up lice from that stupid… "Oh fine, I, um, just got some water in my ears. I took a shower before you got here."

"Oh, well you didn't have to do that."

Oh yes I did, you really don't want to smell the remnants of a cover-up mission. "Well, you know what they say. The best for the best."

"Have you been reading some self-help book?"

"I'll have you know that my governess taught me the proper way to treat a lady."

Meg laughed, "Oh, that is a good one, Clay. I can just see you sitting with some pompous old nanny learning proper etiquette."

Webb frowned, "You know, you're very hard on the rich for a girl whose family owns a ranch in Texas."

"There is a difference between us and the 'Upper-class.' You've probably never met blue bloods. They are incorrigible. Between the rich and the politicians, it is a miracle J.A.G. Headquarters ever gets anything done."

"You've been to the J.A.G. Headquarters in Virginia then?"

"Yes, I was stationed there for a while."

"Oh," Webb mentally kicked himself for not looking further into her service record.

"Enough about that though. We're here for relaxation. What do you want to do?"

Meg sighed as she brushed her hair out. Clay would be picking her up any minute now. She'd been here for three days and still had not gotten up the courage to confront Clay about his lies. When she was around him, she could not help but go along with what he was saying. It was only after she was no longer in his presence that she realized she had forgotten her objectives.

She heard the quiet rap on her hotel room door that announced he was ready for her. Clay was unaccountably punctual. It was amazing. Harm's last note had said that his partner 'Mac' was a human clock, but Meg wondered if Clay couldn't give her a run for her money.

"Come in, I'm almost ready," Meg called.

Clay came in and shut the door, "You really should never leave your hotel room door unlocked. You don't know who could break in without you knowing."

"Clay please, I only unlocked it a few minutes ago. Besides, I have my side arm and military training. I'm not defenseless like a gas station attendant or something," Meg looked closely at Clay's face waiting for a flash of guilt. Nothing.

"You should know then that you cannot predict what might happen and that no gun or security system can completely protect you."

"Listen to yourself, you sound like an employee training video for service station employees."

Webb's brow furrowed, "Is there a particular reason you keep using gas station analogies?"

"No, no. They just sort of popped to mind."

"Well, then. Perhaps we should just forget this petty argument and go to dinner. I hear the buffet is particularly lovely tonight."

"So did I. I hope they have another ice sculpture tonight."

"Yes, the chicken was very nice last night."

"Clay, that was a dolphin."

"Oh."

Webb rubbed his hands together as he waited for Meg to finish in the bathroom. The buffet had gone well, but she had continued making comments about management, trucking, gas prices, cars, oil, and anything else that was related to gas stations. He would have to have been a completely worthless spy not to know she was trying to hint at something. But what?

Did she want money to buy a new car? Was she changing her career?

He highly doubted a woman with her law degree would leave the navy to manage a gas station, but maybe she was having an identity crisis.

"Thanks for waiting, Clay. Would you like to take a walk?"

"I'd be delighted."

They walked for a while, enjoying the unobstructed view of the lights of various all night stores that their hotel provided.

"Clay, I can't take this anymore. I know you're hiding from me. You aren't an industrial tools salesman are you."

Clay sighed. He had hoped to wait until closer to the end of her leave to tell her, but now was as good of a time as any, "No, I'm not a salesman. I'm sorry Meg its just that…"

"I know you wanted to impress me because I'm a lawyer, but don't you see that it is the person that counts? I don't care what you do for a living."

"You don't?"

"I don't. You probably work just as hard for your paycheck as I do. There is no shame in what you do."

"You know what I do for a living?"

"Clay, I'm a computer expert. I did some research and made a few phone calls. You don't work for any tool company remotely near Virginia."

"Wow, I mean I'm a little surprised. How did you see through my cover?"

"Clay, your actions never really suited a salesman. You're too sarcastic."

"I suppose that my manners were off also."

"A bit."

"Look, Meg, I wanted to tell you, but I wasn't sure you were ready. Are you sure you're okay with me not being Mr. blue jeans and a t-shirt?"

Meg's smile faltered, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, are you okay that I don't spend Saturday night line dancing. That I take my mother to fancy dinners, that the last time I wore polyester was when my college roommate stole my clothes and left a powder blue suit behind."

Meg turned her back to him and fought back the tears. She had laid her heart out before him and he was lying to her. How could he? She had accepted his first falsehood and instead of changing for their relationship, he was trying to mislead her.

"How could you?" She said as she spun around with angry eyes, "I trusted you to be honest with me and shove this insanity at me?"

Clay frowned in confusion for a second before rebounding, "What do you mean? You're the one who said you didn't care."

"I didn't think that you were this much of a liar. You're nothing but a side show con. And that is all you'll ever be. You'll never stop pretending to be someone else will you? Goodbye. Don't bother contacting me again. EVER!"

Meg whirled and stalked away leaving Webb to stare at her retreating figure. He closed his eyes and slumped against the wall. Why could he handle moles and spies but women eluded him?

He shook his head, Give me an evil spy any day. His pager beeped. I didn't mean that literally. He cursed when he looked down at the number. They would not be calling him if it was not urgent. He automatically snapped into his professional demeanor. He pulled out his cellphone and turned it on.

"This is Webb. What have you got…"

Meg got up groggy the next morning. She'd thought about the fight all night and had decided that she had probably overreacted. After all, she did spring the whole thing on him a little suddenly. Maybe she should at least apologize to him. She was certain a relationship would not work out if he could not tell her the truth when confronted, but the man did seem to have a good heart. Even if he was mislead. Wouldn't she help Harm if he was having problems facing reality?

With determination, she picked up the phone, "Could you please transfer my call to room 208?"

"I'm sorry, but the gentleman has checked out of room 208. Something of an emergency, I believe. He bribed the night desk clerk so he could checkout."

"Oh, I see. Thank you," Meg set the receiver down. She pulled out her laptop and accessed her e-mail account. She sent out a quick message. It really didn't surprise her when the e-mail was returned.

A small swell of grief rose in her as she looked out the window. She had hurt him last night, hurt him enough that he had literally made sure they would not make contact. It was a shame.