A/N: Sorry to be slow. I've had a lot going on. Unfortunately, this may be the only chapter for a while. I have a bunch of other projects and work stuff to attend to, so don't be surprised if another few weeks pass before an update.
The Missionary
You opened up your door
I couldn't believe my luck
You in your new blue dress
Taking away my breath
The cradle is soft and warm
Couldn't do me no harm
You're showing me how to give
Into temptation
Knowing full well the earth will rebel
Into temptation
A muddle of nervous words
Could never amount to betrayal
The sentence is all my own
The price is to watch it fail
As I turn to go
You looked at me for half a second
With an open invitation for me to go
Into temptation
Knowing full well the earth will rebel
Into temptation
Safe in the wide open arms of hell
— Crowded House, Into Temptation
Chapter Twenty-Five: Seduction, Redux
The Uber driver kept glancing up into the rearview mirror.
Carina, though aware of the attention, the nature of the glances (Carina was always aware of male attention and of its nature) stared intently out the rear window, plotting.
Carina understood the importance of the high ground, of tactical advantages.
A surprise was the best way to claim the high ground — take your mark unawares.
Her mark just now was Chuck Bartowski. She was going to hit him hard and hit him fast.
He was the weak link in Overlook.
Walker was, well, Walker. She'd deal with Walker later.
And Casey, Jesus Christ, she'd deal with Casey later too. The idiot probably keeps a photo of me in his wallet, against protocol, against my wishes.
The phone call to Casey did not go well.
Not at all.
Carina tried to force that from her mind.
She had a gift for forcing things from her mind. It was the single biggest similarity between her and Walker. Selective forgetfulness.
Well, that, and bodies that commanded attention.
Carina focused on her mark. Chuck Bartowski. She reviewed what she knew.
Chuck Bartowski's file had been odd — thin yet old, the earliest items in it reaching back to Bartowski's childhood.
Although most of the information had been redacted, especially the earliest information, it was clear to Carina that Bartowski — and his family — had been of interest to the CIA for a long time.
But now it was Bartowski himself, Charles Irving, who was not only of interest, he was the most important of all US intelligence assets.
Bar none.
Bartowski.
A walking computer.
He probably has a USB cable where he ought to have a —
Carina tilted her head, picturing.
Whatever he has or hasn't between his legs, he's sure as hell packing in his head.
Carina smirked to herself. The whole setup was damned odd, unbelievable, even for Graham, the CIA. Especially for Walker.
Bartowski and Walker, operating out of an office in Burbank, Appocalypse Enterprises, had become the epicenter of world intelligence, producing more actionable intel than the infestation of analysts in the bowels of Langley. Evidently, that fact had been kept from Bartowski and Sarah (and Casey); Graham never let on just how crucial Overlook was.
But it had been clear to Carina as she listened to Graham.
Graham had maneuvered Beckman out of the operation, and in so doing, awarded himself discretion over everything that Chuck and Sarah produced.
Carina doubted Graham absolutely withheld much information from Beckman, but she was also sure Graham controlled the timing of Beckman's access to any of it, finding ways to ensure his own advantage.
Carina could not imagine that Walker and Casey had no suspicions about how important what they were doing had become. Who knew about Bartowski? He seemed like one of the guys who had sent Carina folded desperate texts in high school — at a time when she was already routinely sleeping with college guys.
Bartowski. Chuck.
Carina needed to call him Chuck to get herself into the habit. Practice.
Her plan was to surprise him; she was wearing battle gear beneath her street clothes. She slipped into it during a quick stop in her hotel room before calling the Uber. From what Graham had said, Sarah had run a seduction on Chuck, but he had not only resisted Sarah, he turned the tables on her.
That was unheard of. Carina had never managed it, and she had tried, repeatedly; Sarah was indomitable. Tables could not be turned on Walker. The best Carina had ever been able to achieve was an edgy stalemate. Neither fully in control.
They had been forced into sharing control, uncomfortably, and with fatal results. Carina forced that thought from her mind, and all the ones clamoring to follow it.
She crossed her legs, reaching down to straighten one of the black lines that ran along the backs of her stockings, and then she glanced at the driver. He smiled, evidently imagining what she was busy with, her hands low, out of his sight. She frowned back at him.
Fucktard driver thinks he has some chance. He's got less than zero chance.
Bartowski — Chuck — would not turn tables, or any other furniture, on Carina. His chances were less than zero too.
She was prepped and ready, dressed for battle and battle-hardened. She had no termination orders for Bartowski like Walker had when Bartowski bested her. Carina just needed to get information — and by any means necessary.
By any means necessary. Those were Carina's favorite orders.
She had called Graham and told him she had landed just before her quick change in the hotel. By now, he should have called Appocalypse and sent Walker on an errand, pointless, so that he would be alone when Carina arrived.
The low road to the high ground.
Surprise.
The Uber driver twisted in the front seat, trying to get as much of a look as possible as Carina got out. She was almost sure he'd seen the lace tops of her stockings, ending, as they did, just above the bottom of her short skirt.
Call that your tip.
She walked quickly into the building, noticing the Appocalypse Enterprises sign as she went through the door.
Her stiletto heels made hard, stabbing noises as she crossed the lobby. A black man, his eyes curious, not horny, like the driver's, watched her as she waited for the elevator, dividing his efforts between attending to her and sweeping the floor.
Carina boarded the elevator and punched the button for the fourth floor.
Her heart rate was up. That was good in some ways, bad in others. It made seductions seem more real to the mark, but it could also make the seduction seem more real to her. Truth be told, Carina sometimes had a hard time keeping her seductions inside the lines.
She and Walker had quarreled about that.
Carina physically shook that thought from her head. The elevator dinged for the fourth time and she stepped into the hallway, quickly finding the door of Appocalypse. No one else was in the hallway.
She reached into her purse and took out a compact, flipping it open. She examined her face. Perfect. Of course. She never needed much makeup. Her manner was all the rouge she needed. She stretched her lips into a smile and knocked on the door.
A moment later she detected movement on the other side of the thick, frosted glass that bore the company's name. "Morgan? Murphy?"
Carina was banking on Sarah not having told Bartowski that Carina was coming. You can count on Walker's silence, her desire to control the situation. No doubt Walker expected Carina to show up at Walker's apartment. Wrong. "No, this is Carina Miller. An old friend of Sarah Walker's. Is she here?"
She made sure her voice was low and breathy. There was a moment of silence. Carina spoke again, taking a chance. "Are you Chuck?"
The door opened a crack and Carina had to readjust, look up higher than she expected. Chuck was tall. The one hazel eye she could see seemed lost between wariness and friendliness. "You're a friend — of Sarah's?"
Carina laughed, the laugh throaty. "I know that's hard to believe. The only people who believe Walker has friends are people who don't know her."
The door opened further, and Carina saw almost all of Chuck. He had long arms and long legs, and he was wearing a blue polo shirt and a pair of jeans, black tennis shoes. He grinned with one corner of his mouth. "I actually remember Sarah mentioning an old friend, but she didn't seem…um…sure." He twisted his grin with the final word.
Carina stood on one foot, crossing her ankles, drawing Chuck's gaze to her legs, her dark stockings. He noticed them, but, to his credit and her annoyance, he lifted his eyes back to hers a second later. "I'm guessing you do know her," he said, stepping back and opening the door. "Come in. She should be back in a little while." He paused. "She had to run an errand."
Carina entered the office. It was surprisingly bare — or it would have been if she had not been in the know. She knew no apps were produced at Appocalypse Enterprises. She was careful to make sure she passed Chuck — so that he could see the stocking lines down the backs of the same legs he had just seen the fronts of.
When she turned, she could tell from the reddening of his ears that his eyes had tracked her lines. She could also tell something else, from the look in his eyes and the tilt of his mouth. He knew who she was. Not just because she told him her name, but because he knew her. Or the Intersect did. It wasn't her legs that got her in, or her breathy tone or throaty laugh. His wariness was recognition, not lack of recognition, no matter how he had played it at the door.
And then she realized she was planning the seduction of a man who had not only once been seduced (and by Sarah Walker) but of a man who knew Carina for who she was. He was as much in the know about her, or almost, as she was about him. What he didn't know was why she was here.
Good girl, Walker, trying to control the show and keeping Chuck in the dark.
Carina should have known all this — and been prepared for all this — before she arrived. She thought she was.
But, she now realized, although she thought she believed Graham when he read her in, she had only half-accepted what Graham told her about Chuck while also half-scoffing at it as sci-fi foolery.
What was that line? She heard it somewhere. "I believe, help my unbelief."
It wasn't until she saw the knowing look in Chuck's eyes that she wholeheartedly believed, believed in the Intersect, believed he had it. Which meant he really did know her, knew the official version of what had happened when she and Sarah — and the others — had been a team.
A goddamn calculating machine between his eyes.
She was going to have to reconsider her tactics.
Defeat was never an option, so she was going to have to come at this with greater finesse. Or maybe just more blatantly.
She gave him a frank smile, taking a moment to flash it while she made up her mind on her approach. "I see you know who I am; Sarah must have mentioned my coming?" For now, she wouldn't let on she knew about the computer in Chuck's head.
Chuck shook his head. "No, I mean…yes," he seemed confused about how to answer, what or how much to reveal, and Carina instantly felt the balance of power in the room swing back to her.
This is going to be fun. He knows who I am, but not why I'm here. He doesn't know I know about the Intersect. Despite his suspicions, I'll still succeed where Walker failed, and, down the road, I'll never let her forget it. No matter how good she is at selective forgetting.
I'll lord it over her.
"It's okay, Chuck." She reached out and brushed his arm with her fingers, smiling confidentially, trying to create confidence. She dispensed with further preambles.
"Sarah's not one to share, and she's never been open with her partners. Believe me, you'll never know where you really stand with her. She's a 3D lie, you know" Carina slowed and watched as her words sank into Chuck. "I'm here on behalf of the DEA, with Graham's approval. The DEA's mounting an op against CJNG, against Tyger. And you two are the only ones outside of the cartel who have ever interacted with him."
Carina turned after she finished and walked to the couch in the room. She bent down to straighten a cushion, giving Chuck a long look at her stocking lines, her long legs.
She faced him again and sat, crossing her legs. Chuck sat down too.
He still seemed confused but he smiled at her. "Yes, we met Tyger, although that makes it sound different than it was. We were his hostages." He pursed his lips, thinking. "We put all we knew into our report, talked at length with Beckman about it, and later, with Graham."
Carina swung her foot a bit, trying to keep her legs in Chuck's consciousness. She scooted subtly on the couch, working her short skirt up, revealing just a hint of the stockings' lacy tops.
"Right, but my boss figures that if you tell me the story again, in person, you might remember things you forgot. At any rate, it would give me a better feel for the man. I'm the tip of the spear in the op. I'm going to try to infiltrate the cartel and work my way up to Tyger. Then bring him and the cartel down."
Chuck looked at her, a flicker of concern in his eyes. "Really, 'work' your way to Tyger."
"It's my specialty." She crossed her legs the other way; her skirt inched up again.
Chuck kept his eyes on her face, noticeably keeping them there.
"Maybe we should call Sarah," he offered, a hint of panic in his voice, "or just wait for her. She's more observant than me. Way, way more experienced."
He glanced at Carina and she interjected: "No joke. She's experienced, all right."
Chuck went on as if Carina hadn't spoken, but his face looked a little like he was chewing glass. "If anyone's likely to remember something of use to you, it's her, not me."
"Oh, come on Chuck. Graham didn't tell me much about you, but he made it clear you were the brains of this op. Maybe you've not been at it as long as Sarah, but it sounds like you're an agent in full." She lingered on the final words, almost as if she were licking them, one by one.
Chuck crossed his legs.
Chuck was sitting at his desk but facing away from his computer. He was staring at Sarah's empty desk.
Graham had called and sent Sarah to her apartment in hunt of something. She had told Chuck where she was going but offered no more explanation before she left.
Sarah had been very strange all day. Things between them had, since the Halloween party, become much more relaxed. The closeness he'd felt to her at the party had faded a bit, but he felt like it wasn't gone, just…waiting. Until today. Today she had been curt and anxious all day, staring at her phone or at the Appocalypse door as if she feared the arrival of an actual apocalypse.
And then Graham called. Sarah had seemed relieved, and she headed to her apartment with only a quick word of goodbye.
Until today, Chuck had been finding it harder and harder to resist thinking of Sarah. The party had made him wonder if maybe there was something between them, something that had predated their disastrous date and that had survived, against all odds, all that happened on the date and afterward. He had been wondering about what he had done to protect her in Mexico, and about what she had been about to say when they were interrupted.
By a kind of mutual, unspoken consent, neither of them had revisited that conversation, but it remained as unfinished business between them. The problem was that Chuck, at any rate, had been so pleased by what happened at the party that he feared wrecking it by asking her to return to the questions he had been asking of her in Mexico. If they were stuck with each other, and they were, better to get along at the price of ignorance than to be embittered as the price of knowledge.
Since the party, he knew Sarah had been looking at him when she thought he was unaware of it. She seemed pensive as if she were deliberating or debating with herself. Chuck hadn't suggested Tell and Show because he was pensive himself, still trying to figure out how he could be so drawn to a woman who had committed what ought to have been an unforgivable sin against him. He had even told himself, not long after she had put the gun to his head, that he would get her back.
But now all he really wanted was to get her. To hold her as he had when they'd danced at Halloween. He was more focused on Sarah in relation to the future, not Sarah in relation to the past. The press of the gun to his head had been replaced by the impress of her face in his heart.
A part of him was still resisting that impress, but that part was losing.
A knock on the door interrupted his musing. He jumped at the unexpected sound.
Sarah had a key. Who could it be? He got up and crossed through the front room to the door. He stood for a moment, fidgeting, before finally deciding that it must be Morgan or Murphy. The two of them had gotten to know each other over the past weeks, and it could be the both of them, together. Chuck called out both names, neither loudly. "Morgan? Murphy?"
"No, this is Carina Miller. An old friend of Sarah Walker's. Is she here?"
The name seemed familiar, and then, a split second later, Chuck saw her CIA file. She had one, despite being a DEA agent, since she had worked on a combined team at one time, a team composed of Carina Miller, Sarah Walker, Zondra Rizzo, and Amy Edmundson. The latter two, Chuck also immediately knew, were dead. An explosion — the team had separated, and Rizzo and Edmundson walked into a trap, while Walker and Miller were in another place, following a different lead, safe. The fallout, though Chuck had not time to scan the relevant reports and psych evals, had been bitter, full of blame and regret.
Before Chuck could speak, the sexy voice on the other side of the door went on. It was a sexy voice. "Are you Chuck?"
He started. That she knew his name was odd. How was she even at the Appocalypse door? He opened the door and looked down at her. She was tall but not as tall as Sarah, not nearly as tall as Chuck. She looked up at him. He wasn't sure what to make of her, how to react. It was Carina Miller, no mistake. She was the second most beautiful woman he had seen in person, after Sarah Walker. Carina was a distant second to Sarah, but then everyone else, Jill included, was a distant second to Carina.
Carina had on a tiny skirt and dark stockings beneath a flowy blue silk top. The top's deep neckline showed a hint of lace.
"You're a friend — of Sarah's?"
Carina laughed, and somehow Chuck felt that laugh in his groin. It was sexier than her voice. The Intersect spat up a single word a second later: Seduction.
Carina started her next comment before her laugh was done. "I know that's hard to believe. The only people who believe Walker has friends are people who don't know her."
Chuck might have believed that not long ago, but he didn't now. He felt a jet of anger that somehow cooled the physical response to her laugh, her look.
"I actually remember Sarah mentioning an old friend, but she didn't seem…um…sure." He tried to match her smirk as he said the last word but thought he probably failed.
She crossed her legs while standing, quite a trick, but it somehow increased the shapeliness of her legs, highlighting her lovely ankles. He made himself look up from those ankles.
Nothing to do but play along until the cavalry, Sarah, arrives.
"I'm guessing you do know her," he said, stepping back and opening the door. "Come in. She should be back in a little while." He paused. "She had to run an errand."
Carina did not seem interested in Sarah's whereabouts. She walked quickly into the room, past Chuck, and he saw that the dark stockings each had a single line, like it had been drawn there, running down the backs of her legs. He didn't mean to stare but the detail, after the laugh and everything else, snared his attention.
She turned, registered what he had been looking at, and, after a moment, spoke: "I see you know who I am; Sarah must have mentioned my coming?"
Chuck flinched but managed to keep it inward. How does she know I know who she is? Sarah hadn't mentioned anything about Carina coming to town. In fact, though Sarah had mentioned an old friend, as Chuck said, she'd never named that friend to him.
He answered while still thinking. "No, I mean…yes."
Carina tilted her head and smiled at him. "It's okay, Chuck," she said in a voice just above a whisper, intimate, and she brushed his arm with her fingers. Her perfume, subtle, filled the office somehow.
"Sarah's not one to share, and she's never been open with her partners. Believe me, you'll never know where you really stand with her. She's a 3D lie, you know" Carina slowed and watched as her words sank into Chuck. "I'm here on behalf of the DEA, with Graham's approval. The DEA's mounting an op against CJNG, against Tyger. And you two are the only ones outside of the cartel who have ever interacted with him."
There was a glint in her eye as she said this. She turned and walked to the couch, a walk of a few feet somehow reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe's long, filmed walk through Niagara Falls, then Carina bent over deeply to straighten a cushion, showing him the full length of her lined legs, and revealing the lacy tops of the stockings, the firm alabaster flesh above the tops.
She faced him and sat down, crossing her legs.
The room seemed overcrowded with her legs and her perfume.
Chuck sat down too.
He couldn't believe he was being seduced a second time, and his anger grew but he hid it behind a smile. I'm learning to lie with expressions, not just words. He was going to play along and see what this visit was about.
"Yes, we met Tyger, although that makes it sound different than it was. We were his hostages." He pursed his lips, thinking. "We put all we knew into our report, talked at length with Beckman about it, and later, with Graham."
He was trying to keep his mind compartmentalized, one part on Tyger, one on Carina, one on himself. But Carina was trying to make him all about her. She scooched forward on the couch, revealing the lacy tops as she sat, then swinging her foot.
But when she responded, it was about Tyger. "Right, but my boss figures that if you tell me the story again, in person, you might remember things you forgot. At any rate, it would give me a better feel for the man. I'm the tip of the spear in the op. I'm going to try to infiltrate the cartel and work my way up to Tyger. Then bring him and the cartel down."
It took Chuck a second to understand what she was saying, to hear the euphemistic use of 'work'. But, given the show she was putting on, it was inevitable that he would hear it. He asked.
Carina's answering seductive grin was the very substance of a wet dream. "It's my specialty," she offered, recrossing her legs and scooching further forward as if proving what she said. Chuck pinned his eyes to her face.
At that point, Chuck felt out of his depth. He wanted Sarah, he knew that now, not Carina, but Carina was doing a good job of obscuring that fact from him. Her legs seemed to have elongated; her perfume sweetened, becoming more cloying. He felt like he was sinking into some warm, sucking, sexy quicksand; every motion made to fight it just made it worse.
"Maybe we should call Sarah," he offered, hearing the hint of panic in his own voice, "or just wait for her. She's more observant than me. Way, way more experienced."
"No joke. She's experienced, all right." Carina said, authoritatively.
That struck a nerve, hard, but Chuck let it go. For now. He tried to pretend he hadn't heard. "If anyone's likely to remember something of use to you, it's her, not me."
The look in Carina's eyes showed that she knew she had provoked him. "Oh, come on Chuck. Graham didn't tell me much about you, but he made it clear you were the brains of this op. Maybe you've not been at it as long as Sarah, but it sounds like you're an agent in full."
The way Carina ended her sentence made it feel like her lips were brushing his skin as they moved, despite her being on the couch and him in one of the armchairs.
He responded to the feeling and crossed his legs to hide that fact. He was a mass of confusing emotions and physical responses.
Carina leaned forward. Her blue silk blouse fell forward, and beneath it, he could see the bra that matched the stockings, could see her breasts pressing against the lacy black cups, her cups running over.
And then Sarah came stomping through the door, red-faced. She stopped like she had walked into a wall.
