I don't even have a car to take Piper somewhere to talk, nor can I can't take her to my apartment and risk her knowing where I live—that could eventually put both of us in jeopardy.

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know." I'm furious with the position she put both of us in, and if I look at her, she'll detect my anger. Piper is scared, and I don't want to make it worse, so I keep my eyes trained on the pavement. "I have no money, no car…"

"How far away do you live?"

"Miles," I reply, turning onto Lenox. "You?"

"Upper West Side."

"So, not that far?"

"No."

"Can we go to your place?" Finally, I glance at her, hoping the anger I'm sure she could've detected in my reddened cheeks has reduced.

I sense her hesitation. "I live with someone," she admits barely above a whisper.

That information shouldn't sting, but it does. "Larry?"

"No." She shakes her head. "A woman."

"I don't want to know any more than that." I let out an irritated sigh. "I need to tell you what's going on with me—with my job." I run my hands down my skanky outfit, wishing I was in jeans and a t-shirt so I'd feel more like myself. "And to explain what you've gotten yourself into before you have to go down to the field office tomorrow." I stop in the middle of the sidewalk. "So, where do you suggest we talk?"

She reaches into the pocket of her pants—her tight, white pants that I didn't allow myself to fully appreciate until now. "I have $20."

"You went to a club with only $20; not even a credit card?"

"My friend was buying drinks tonight. We take turns."

We make our way into a seedy bar in lower Harlem not far from the Apollo Theater. The way we're both dressed, we're sure to garner some unwanted attention, but I still have my gun tucked into the back of my skirt, so at least if things get out of hand, there's that.

"I should probably tell you I'm packing heat." I hold the door open for her.

Piper's eyebrows rise.

"Relax, it's a licensed firearm."

She glances up at me. "Still."

On instinct, I place my hand on her lower back, leading her to the bar. My hand has always fit perfectly in the space just above her ass.

The bartender tosses a rag over his shoulder and seems surprised when he finds the only two white women in the dimly lit place. "You come in here lookin' for directions?"

"No." I keep it simple. "Coors Light, please."

Piper slides the $20 bill across the bar. "Two."

He presents the longnecks to us, and then returns with Piper's change. "Here you go."

I lead Piper to a table at the far end of the room, feeling the stares of the six other black men in the small space. They aren't intimidating—they look like a bunch of guys telling stories in a bar.

She sits across from me and makes a face. "The table is sticky."

"It's not exactly The Ritz," I offer with an eye roll. I don't want to waste time on small talk, so I dive right in. "What did Agent Thompson tell you?"

"Not much." She wipes her hands on her thighs. "He asked a lot of questions."

"Like what?"

She takes a swig of beer. "My name, address, association with you…"

"What did you tell him?"

"The truth." Piper shrugs. "That we were girlfriends a long time ago and hadn't seen each other since prison."

I close my eyes, wishing I could snap my fingers and we would not be in this situation.

Piper leans in. "Did I say something wrong?"

I sigh. "I'm sure while Thompson was asking questions, the other agent in the van was doing a background check. They probably know more about you than I do."

She lowers her gaze. "That's unlikely."

"Did he tell you anything about me?" I sip the beer, and the burn feels good as it journeys down my throat.

She shakes her head.

I push the beer bottle aside, putting my forearms on the table. She's right—it's sticky. "I'm an undercover informant for the DEA."

Piper twitches. "I assumed you were undercover, but…the DEA?"

"Remember when I visited you at Litchfield after the trial in Chicago? I told you I had to skip town."

She averts her eyes. That was a gut-wrenching moment for both of us.

"What I couldn't tell you then was that I'd made a deal to work for the feds in exchange for my safety—our safety."

"Was I in danger?" She creases her forehead.

"Kubra and his people wanted vengeance on me, and he knew the best way to get to me was to do something horrible to you," I begin. "I couldn't let that happen."

"I was in prison. What could've happened to me there?"

"Kubra could've easily hired someone on the inside." I chuckle at her innocence. "I needed to make sure that didn't happen."

"So you went to the feds with this idea to help them?"

"Not exactly." I sip my beer and sit back. "They approached me, but they didn't give me any details—just that if I agreed to work for them, they'd protect both of us."

Piper remains silent; she still looks worried.

"I had to relocate to DC and enter a training program for ex-cons who struck a deal with the government to work with them. They erased any information about my existence after prison."

"I know at least part of that."

"What do you mean?"

"I've tried to search for you on the Internet, but there's literally nothing about you anywhere. It was like you didn't exist after prison."

I can't help the smile spreading on my face. "You searched for me?"

"I didn't want to talk to you or anything," she replies defensively, as if she divulged too much about caring about my existence and needs to reel it back in. "I just wanted to know if you were alive."

I tilt my head. "How thoughtful of you."

"I have every right to be angry." Piper folds her arms. "First, you fucked me over in Chicago, and then you told me you were skipping town!"

"To protect you." I reach for her, but she doesn't budge.

"It's going to take more than a conversation in a seedy bar for me to wrap my head around that." I recognize her don't fuck with me tone.

I take a long swig of beer, deciding it would be best to proceed with factual information rather than getting caught up in emotions.

"After nearly a year of intense training, I was told I'd be doing undercover work for the DEA," I state. "That's where we are now."

"You couldn't let me know?" She sounds upset—like I've kept a secret from her that she should've been privy to.

"There are rules about who I can and can't talk to about my job."

"Rules?"

"I don't make them up." I return to my beer, rolling it between my hands. "They exist to protect me and whoever I'm…"

She bends forward. "You're what?"

I hesitate before responding, "Whoever I'm in a relationship with."

Piper's eyebrows remain arched. "You're in a relationship?"

"Not currently." I try to conceal the smirk that's longing to surface. "No."

"Oh." She relaxes and sits back. "Then who knows about your undercover work?"

My mouth twitches, and I decide to be honest. "I haven't been close enough with anyone who deserves to know."

"What if I wouldn't have stumbled into the situation tonight?"

"You wouldn't know either," I admit.

We sit in silence for a moment, nursing our beers. I can tell Piper is deep in thought, so it gives me a minute to stare at her. She looks younger than she did in prison. Maybe it's the clothing, but it seems like more than that. Her eyes seem brighter, her hair blonder. She looks healthy. It's astonishing what prison can take away from a person. For that moment, I allow myself to appreciate her natural beauty.

She breaks the silence. "It's hard for me to look at you like that."

"Like what?"

"The wig, the blue eyes…You're like Sidney Bristow from Alias."

I'd almost forgotten about my disguise. "It's not like I can go into a phone booth and change like Superman."

"I don't think phone booths exist anymore." She gives me a tentative smile. "How often do you have to go undercover?"

"It depends on the case." I shrug. "Sometimes a week; other times a few months."

"Is it scary?"

"Sometimes." I finish my beer. "Tonight was scary."

"Why?"

I make eye contact with Piper, hoping she understands the seriousness of the matter. "Because you were almost caught in the middle."

"Sorry, I didn't know," she admits in a shy tone. "And I was a little tipsy."

This time, I reach for her hand and she doesn't pull away. "That was a close call, Piper."

She nods and stares at our hands before pulling back. "Why do they want to meet with me tomorrow?"

"There's certain protocol people have to go through when an undercover agent divulges his or her role," I explain. "They'll do a background check, although like I mentioned, I'm sure that's already been done; interview you, scare the living shit out of you with what could happen if you tell anyone about my line of work. It's not going to be a walk in the park."

"I won't tell anyone."

"Save it for the feds." I stand and glance at my bloody leg. The blood has since dried and almost looks fake. "Forgot about this."

"You cut yourself." Piper bends over and touches my leg, sending shivers down my spine. I miss her touch, even one as innocent as this.

"Climbing up those rickety stairs at the back of the club."

She stands, and I immediately miss her touch. "Will you be at the field office tomorrow?"

"Yes." I walk to the bar, scribble the address of the field office on a napkin, and then hand it to her. "In fact, I need to head there now."

"It's almost one in the morning."

"You're not the only one who has questions to answer," I sigh.

"Will you get in trouble?"

I remember Piper asking a similar question many years ago when I first asked her to travel with me, and my response: God, I hope so. How times have changed—now the last thing I want is for either of us to get in trouble.

I exhale a short puff of air. "Probably."

She grabs my hand, squeezes it, and then drops it. "I really am sorry."

I give her my best smile, but I know it's not much. "Maybe someday I'll say it was worth it because I got to see you again."

She blushes and looks at the ground.

"You ok getting home?"

She nods. "I'll take an Uber. Want me to get one for you?"

"That would be nice, actually." I follow her outside. "I'll pay you back at the office tomorrow."

"That's not necessary." She hands me the phone to type in my info.

I take that moment to scroll through her Contact List to see if I'm still there. I grin, handing her phone back.

She looks at the screen that I purposely didn't close. "Is snooping part of your job?"

"I prefer to call it investigating." My smile widens. "Just curious to see if I was still listed."

She shoves the phone back into her pocket. "It's probably not even your number anymore."

"It's not." I lift my eyebrows. "I'd give you my new number, but it changes constantly."

She juts her chin forward. "I didn't ask for it."

I take a step closer. "But you want it."

A silver Prius pulls up and the driver rolls down the window. "Are you Piper Chapman?"

I lean close to her. "Change your Uber profile. Never give them your real name."

She opens the back door, climbing inside the vehicle and then grins at me. "Packing heat? Really?"

"Yes." I lift the back of my blouse slightly, revealing my Glock. "Really."

There's something mysterious in her eyes—either she's turned on or completely disgusted. Perhaps she's just intrigued; after all, I'm in the total opposite position now than I was when we first met when she was initially intrigued.

"See you tomorrow."