Well, here's my next offering to the WaT gods. It's kind of a case file and kind of not, and is, of course, J/S, though you'll see M/S in spots. I'll try very hard to update regularly.

This chapter is dedicated to Justine, who wrote me out of the blue and said I should start posting. I guess she's right. Thanks as always to Diane, who is patient enough to survive my many revisions with grace and no complaint!

I own none of the characters but the ones of my own creation, and don't pretend to.

Too Good to be True
By: Mariel

Chapter 1

Standing in front of her kitchen sink, Georgina Blackwell smiled at the summer sounds wafting through her open window. Across the street, children had left their backyard swimming pool to dance and squeal in the cold spray of a lawn sprinkler set in the front of their house. In the sun-dappled trees lining the street, birds chirped half-heartedly, wearied by demanding young and August heat. Burdened with similar complaints, a few of their human counterparts pushed lawn mowers that droned a steady, summer lament. Farther away, she could hear the distant sound of an ice cream truck, its tinkling melody promising sweet relief from a week-long heat spell that showed no sign of letting up.

Taking pleasure in the small domestic chore, she finished the last dish and put it on the rack to dry, glancing at the clock as she took the plug out of the sink. When the phone began to ring, she looked at it, then glanced at the clock again. Quickly wiping her hands on a dish towel, she strode across the tiled kitchen floor.

"Hello?" she said, holding the white portable phone against her ear. She stiffened when she recognised the caller's voice, then hastily took a pen out of a drawer. Listening closely, she searched through a pile of papers strewn on the counter. Selecting an empty envelope on which to write, she jotted down a few words, then nodded. "I'll be right there."

TUESDAY, AUGUST 13
20 HOURS MISSING

Special Supervisory Agent Jack Malone of the FBI's New York Missing Persons unit clipped an 8 by 10 photograph onto a large whiteboard.

The picture showed an attractive woman in her early thirties with dark curly hair and expressive brown eyes. There was a refinement in the delicate bone structure of her face that seemed to promise a soft voice and quiet demeanor. Full lipped and with a smile that revealed white, even teeth, she looked directly at the camera with candid eyes that hid nothing.

Or, as Jack had learned from long experience, hid more than anyone could possibly imagine.

Turning, he faced his team. His deep voice calm and matter-of-fact, he drew from memory an outline of the latest missing person assigned to his unit.

"Georgina Blackwell, aged thirty-four. Lives at 3472 Dearbourne with her two sons, Blake, aged six, and Denton, aged eight. She separated from her husband, Jason Blackwell, six months ago. She was reported missing by her sister, who spoke with her last two days ago, on the 11th at about 10:30 p.m. When her sister arrived at her home yesterday at 4:30 p.m., she was not there and had left no message explaining her absense. The sister contacted us this morning, when Georgina didn't come home during the night..."

When Jack finished, his team stirred.

Danny Taylor frowned. His dark brows furrowed over darker eyes, he leaned forward and put his elbows on the table in front of him. "Where are her kids?" he asked.

"According to the sister, they're with their father in New Jersey as part of their summer vacation."

Martin Fitzgerald, who sat on Danny's left, shrugged his lean shoulders and sat back more deeply into his chair. Swinging his chair slightly from side to side as he spoke, he suggested, "So maybe she's not missing. Maybe she just decided to take advantage of some time without kids and took off for a few days. If she's living at that address, she can certainly afford to."

No one questioned that last statement. Of anyone there, it was Martin who would know which addressses were the ones only considerable wealth could buy.

"It's something to consider, but the sister doesn't think it likely," Jack told him. "She and her sister are close, and she's certain she would have told her if she'd had something planned - and would have called to cancel if something had come up unexpectedly." He paused a moment, then added, "Her sister, by the way, is Victoria Newbury."

The name sent an electric shock of recognition around the table. Victoria Newbury. Everyone at the table knew the name. You couldn't live in New York and not. A member of New York society since her surprising marriage into the wealthy Newbury family about ten years earlier, Victoria had quickly made a name for herself by fundraising for various charities. Five hundred dollar-a-plate galas, fancy dress balls, concerts in the park...she planned them all, and everyone who was anyone made sure they attended. And they always - sometimes to their complete surprise - donated generously to whatever cause she was championing.

"Maybe Georgina's disappearance has something to do with her sister."

This comment came from Samantha Spade. The slender blond agent tapped her pen on the table top and added, "The Newburys are a very powerful family. Perhaps they have powerful enemies. With grudges to settle."

"That's an angle we'll look at if we have to," Jack agreed, "But first we're going to go through the house and talk to the neighbours. Samantha, you and I will do that." Turning his attention to the others gathered around the table, he said, "Danny, Martin, I want you to check with the husband." Turning to the remaining member of his team, he said, "Vivian, I want you to look at Georgina's telephone and bank records to see if there's anything of interest." Agent Johnson, who had worked with him longer than anyone else, could be trusted not to miss anything.

Acknowledging their assignments with nods, the team prepared to go their different ways.

-XXX-

"You sure she didn't just decide to take a few days off?" Samantha asked as she walked through Georgina Blackwell's livingroom.

The home was a suburban tribute to good taste and plenty of money. Looking around, she added, "This is quite a house. Did you get a look at the swimming pool out back? It's huge! If I had a place as nice as this, I wouldn't need to vacation - I'd be happy just to stay home."

"There's nothing wrong with your apartment," Jack responded absent-mindedly, "It's comfortable and has a view people would kill for." He looked around him, taking in the atmosphere of the room with a dissatisfied look on his face. "There's something that doesn't feel right about this place."

Looking at furnishings she'd have given her eye teeth to afford, Samantha didn't agree, but she held her tongue. Hearing him mention her apartment pleased her in a way it shouldn't have. Once, he had found her place a quiet refuge from busy days and tormented nights. And, with his arms wrapped comfortably around her waist, they had often stood and looked out her living room window at a city guilded with golden lights.

That, however, was years in the past. After their affair ended, she'd lived in a sad sort of limbo for a long time, never able to quite let go, incapable of truly moving on. Jack's announcement he was going to Chicago with his wife had been the wake-up call she'd needed. Finally realising there was no hope of a future with Jack, she had acted on impulse and invited Martin home. Though based on a less-than-optimum beginning, the relationship she and Martin had been forging ever since seemed to be working. They spent most of their off hours together, and she found him undemanding and easy to be with. Better still, he seemed to genuinely care for her. If there weren't the highs she had had with Jack, it was okay - there weren't the lows, either. There was something to be said, she'd decided, in playing it safe.

As for Jack, he seemed too busy adjusting to the idea of remaining in New York and living without his girls to think about relationships, past, present, or future. All things considered, she decided, it had all worked out for the better.

She started slightly as a voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Did you check her bedroom for suitcases?" Jack asked.

Samantha turned to respond and saw that his back was turned to her. Looking more closely, she saw that he was examining a picture of a dark-haired, smiling woman with two small boys.

Moving to look at the photograph over his shoulder, she commented, "Nice looking family."

"All that's missing is a father," Jack said.

Samantha stiffened at the reminder of the reason for their affair ending, but did not move away.

Jack, unaware of the effect his words had had, was only conscious of her closeness. Inhaling just slightly deeper than necessary, he caught the delicate aroma of her perfume and then firmly pushed memories of her aside. "I wonder if she's seeing anyone," he said, refusing to give in to regrets he could do nothing about.

"I'll see what I find in the bedroom and let you know my guess," Samantha said. Turning, she walked towards the stairs that led up to the second floor.

End

Chapter 1