Chapter I. Names and Secrets.

"You know, it's taken me longer to do my fingernails," Shiela said in annoyance.

"Some buildings are built in a shorter amount of time than it takes to do your fingernails." Tom Jones said. The agent had been teamed up with Sheila for nearly half a year now, and showed no signs of burning out like so many others. Sheila was a senior agent at thirty, but she would never move beyond.

Her eyes narrowed at the thought. Give up the field for a desk. Please. If she'd wanted to do that she could have stuck with Hego for a never ending series of PR stunts and ultimately meaningless battles against "evil." The FBI let her deal with real evil.

Still, sometimes she mourned the end of the days when frustration could be solved by going out and hitting someone.

"OK, let's see if the nerd patrol has come up with an answer yet." She said.

Walking through the labryanth of the Federal Building, Jones marveled at Sheila's staying power. Granted she had "comet energy," but even so, she was never anywhere else. Go out, party a bit (and some of her parties had achieved legendary status), come back, work 20 hours, go sleep for four, and repeat the process. The occasional vacation she took evidently consisted of her finding some deserted beach and reading romance novels. The other rumors remained just that, rumors, but nobody was about to begrudge her any fun on her vacations. He remembered the story's about the Kendl kidnapping, where Sheila literally hadn't slept for nearly two weeks until the kid was recovered and her kidnappers were put in jail. She'd been the on the entry team and had called in the good news to her parents, before collapsing into a nearly comatose state that had lasted for three days, after which she'd, according to witnesses, eaten the best part of an entire cow's worth of steak.

And, he had to admit in an unabashedly male chauvinist pig moment, she was pretty damned easy on the eyes.

They finally reached the lab they were looking for, and Sheila unlocked and entered the door. Not many had the key, as the occupant was…very shy. He was also just over 11, which made for some odd work habits.

"Hi guys." Wade Load said.

"Hey Wade, how's working off your debt to society coming?" Tom asked.

"Boring, mostly." Sheila frowned.

"Boring can be good," Sheila said, in a reprise of an often said statement. "And be glad we were the ones who took the case. If that had been an NSA computer you hacked and not a civilian one, we might not be having this conversation." Wade frowned, but let it pass.

Oh yes, Kid, be glad. Sheila thought. Kids, no damned clue to their own mortality, or how easily the world could change the rules on them. Technically, Wade was working off his debt to society by spending time in FBI custody, working as an Intern. Unofficially, the Bureau was giving him everything he wanted, within reason, and there were several people in charge of steering legitimate consulting work his way. If idle hands made for the devil's work, keep his hands from being idle.

Like right now.

"So, what did you find?"

"I got a DNA print… but…" Wade paused, and looked uncharacteristically worried, "It's probably a misidentification. I'm running it again." The two blinked, Wade almost never admitted to a misidentification.

"Why?"

"I got a match, but it was in the cold cases, and I can't."

"What case?"

"A little girl—missing, presumed dead. Kim Possible." Sheila blinked at that, then her eyes narrowed.

"You got a DNA read off of that?"

"Well, you know that they're banking any DNA reads off the cold cases?" Wade asked. The two agents nodded. More than a few murderers who had thought they were safely beyond the reach of the law had been caught by old blood stains. The FBI had formalized a program to insure that any DNA based evidence was properly catalogued and banked.

"Her mom was a doctor—she's also presumed dead…suicide."

"Let me see the case." Sheila said. Wade handed to her as the computer continued to ruminate over the identification.

Hmmmm…. She said to herself, reading the synopsis.

Small town doctor decides to run a business on the side dispensing drugs…not too unusual, although I-no, people throw their lives away for the most stupid reasons, maybe she wanted a new car.

Caught… claimed innocence claimed she was framed, even claimed she'd received menacing calls…one day, just before the indictment comes down she takes her little 5 year old, and leaves. Car found later, smashed into a wall burned out with two bodies in it, same weight and size… wonderful. Mom can't face life so she takes her kid with her. Surviving family—husband, and two twin boys—newborns at the time. They'd be about twelve now.

DNA was taken from…hold on.

"Where did this DNA come from again?"

"Hospital samples."

"Not the car or the bodies?"

"The bodies were charbroiled, Sheila. They couldn't get a read off of them, and the car wasn't much better." Sheila looked at the included pictures. The car, with the two corpses, one large, one smaller, still sitting up in the car. Her stomach twisted slightly at the memory. Sheila had been places where the stench of burning meat filled the air. It wasn't a pleasant memory.

"Could you get a read now?"

"Um, maybe the technology is better now, but Shego, why?"

"Because…" She paused, as the computer gave a ping and spit out a paper.

"Let me guess, confirmed that it's the same?"

"Ummm…yeah." She nodded. "Well, Math Boy, here's the question. We have a dead girl, but we also have a murderer who is about the same size and height that a seventeen year old could be. We have a single strand of hair, with the tiny, tiny pieces of flesh that adhere to the base of the follicle, dropped on ledge, that says that person, is, In fact our dead girl." She gave a humorless smile. "Now, at the time, you say the DNA in the car was irrecoverable, that the corpses were burned. How did they ID them, anyway?"

"Um…dental records…but…" Now Sheila's smile was like a sharks …

"But it really wasn't too much of an in depth look, because these were local cops and I bet they wanted to spare the father any further trauma, once he was cleared. Mom killed herself, admission of guilt, end of story, selfish bitch takes kid with her, film at eleven."

"So…what now?"

"Why Wade…" Shego purred. "We're about to try and get permission to dig up a few graves…."

To be continued.