"What progress are you making, Mr. Trelawney?"

Trelawney shut the door of the study. He could hear Angela moving about in the

kitchen, putting the groceries away, but he wanted to make sure she didn't

overhear any of this conversation.

"She's being drawn in, Mr. White. I expect she'll be ready to join the Guard
within two weeks."

There was silence on the other end of the line. Silence, then, "Two weeks is a

long time, Mr. Trelawney. Even for a honeymoon. Is that what this is?"

Trelawney wheeled around in his desk chair, straightening the framed wedding
photograph on the right-hand corner of the oaken mission table, then neatly

ordering his pen, his paper and his laptop computer. "No, sir," he said evenly.

"But you must understand, this is a delicate operation. The Guard, as you know,
is accustomed to scorched earth tactics, but this is a heart-and-mind war. We

need to win her over to our side, and convince her that our mission is hers.

With Angela Bennett as our ally, we are far stronger."

"Stronger than if she were dead?" his boss asked.

Trelawney's heart thudded in his chest.

"Yes," he answered.

White paused. "Good enough, Mr. Trelawney. Two weeks. If she hasn't come
aboard by then, you kill her. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. I agree completely."

He ended the connection, then sat there, staring into space. It was a full 60

seconds before he was able to breathe again. His eyes focused on their wedding
picture, and he smiled. That was a good story he'd come up with about "Jimmy,"
the drunken best man. It was exactly what she needed to hear, exactly what

she'd expect her husband to remember, rather than details about the colors of

the dresses, and what type of flowers she'd carried. He picked up the photo and
stared at it, smiling.

Angela opened the door and peeked in.

"Can I come in?"

His smile broadened, and she entered, crossing to where he sat.

"What are you looking at?" Then she saw it.

"Just reminiscing some more," he said. He pulled her down onto his lap and
caressed a strand of hair that fell across her cheek. His hand trailed down her

arm, coming to rest on her thigh. He could see the pulse jump in her neck, the

sudden flush on her skin. "Groceries all put away?" he murmured.

"Mm-hmm." She settled against him, one arm around his shoulders. "Who was that
on the phone?"

"Our boss. He's getting anxious to have you back already, but don't worry. I

told him you need at least two weeks."

She sighed. "Well, that's good, since I don't remember what I do anyway." She
fingered the laptop computer on his desk, flipping it open. "You say I'm a
programmer?"

"Yes." He closed the laptop. "But not now, you're not."

He caressed her face, and their mouths met. Angela's toes curled inside her

running shoes, every nerve ending in her body alive to his touch. Jacob never
entered her mind.

-\

Jacob had already been and gone.

He took the opportunity while "the Trelawneys" were shopping to reconnoiter

their place in the Seattle suburbs. The rich Seattle suburbs. It was the type

of community where Microsoft upper management racewalked in the evening with

their significant others before retiring to the hot tub for a glass of wine and

some moderately illegal activity.

What Jacob Resh accomplished in that community, however, was highly illegal
activity. He disarmed the Trelawney alarm system and took the opportunity,
while the happy couple was out, to hook up a wiretap to the phone and modem
lines. He also programmed into the alarm system an alternate password, to allow
himself free reign of the household without being burdened by all that
bothersome, felonious hardware.

One thing he wasn't blessed with, however, was inconspicuousness. He would have
loved to have been staked out down the block in his car, but rich folks seem to

be suspicious of bleached-blond teenage boys in Rent-a-Wrecks, especially when

said boys are parked in front of the rich folks' homes for hours on end. As
such, he reluctantly cruised back to the motel room, and set up shop farther

than he would've liked. As he waited, and listened, and waited, he worried

about Angela. Brooded about her. And his stomach churned when he thought of
her with Trelawney.

Had he pushed her into Trelawney's arms this afternoon? He was stupid, stupid,

stupid for reacting so strongly. He should have known better. She had amnesia,
she thought she was alone in the world. Of course she was going to cling to the
one person who seemed to know her, who seemed to offer her safety.

And what had he, Jacob, offered her? A jealous tantrum.

No, not jealous, he corrected. Concerned. That's it, concerned. He cared
about Angela. He just wanted to protect her, that's all. 'I mean,' he thought,
'it's not like we're in love or anything.'

No, of course not. Sure, he flirted with her, but it was just a game. Right?

But if she had ever said yes - what then?

Jacob sighed and slumped in the worn, faded easy chair. 'In a heartbeat,' he

thought. 'One single heartbeat.'

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing. Not his phone,
Trelawney's. Jacob switched on the recorder and slipped the headphones onto his

ears. Fire and ice battled inside him as he listened, the ice of fear at what

Mr. White had planned for Angela, either way. The fire came from what he knew
Trelawney's plans were. He had made those intentions quite clear.

The conversation ended, and Jacob switched off the recorder. That was it. That

was how he got Angela back. Just play the tape for her. He'd break in tonight,
lure her away from Trelawney, and let her listen for herself. And as a backup,

he'd bring a tape of 'the Sorcerer.' That suave English accent would win her over, surely.

If only he could sound like that in real life.