Scene changes to 3.13, "False Profit," in which Jack really doesn't want Sue undercover in the place where Sue . . . and Tara are undercover . . . so why is Sue the only one he mentioned?

If they had known about the missing women before Sue went undercover, Jack would have fought D on approving that plan every step of the way. He doubted he would've had to fight much anyway, D probably would've been less willing as it was, but if he did . . . ugh, this entire case was insufferable. Unbearable. It was all he could do not to go demand that D have the whole thing shut down, no matter how much he knew that he had no such power.

As everyone stood around his desk, or leaned on his desk, discussing what they'd learned about the last times the missing women were heard from and how to garner more information moving forward, it was taking every ounce of self-control in Jack's body and mind not to forbid Sue to ever return to that place—something that he suspected would somehow go over even worse than demanding D shut the mission down. He supposed it gave him that much more compassion for what Lilly's parents must've been going through that led them to use such drastic measures. He, too, found himself tempted to tie Sue to a chair if that's what it took to keep her from returning to the cult, and Sue was at least going in armed with accurate information, another agent, and an entire team watching out for her!

Instead, he managed to keep his outward reaction down to just extracting a promise that she would check in with them or Tara every couple of hours, and then, as everyone scattered, adding just for her, "I don't like you being in that place."

A year or two ago, Sue might have argued with him, trying to convince him that she was just as capable as everyone else—which she was. That was never why he didn't want her in situations like that. Either she was finally starting to understand that, or she had just seen enough by now to understand that none of them were invincible, not her nor any of the rest of them.

Whatever the reason, rather than argue, she admitted "I don't like it either. But somebody's got to do the job, and Lily trusts me." She paused, then added, "Anyway, Tara's there too. Why should you be fine with her in there but not me?"

"I'm not . . . I'm not fine with her in there," he objected. "It's just that she's . . . ."

"She's what?"

"She's . . . had more training in it."

"Jack, I've been undercover several times," Sue argued. She didn't seem upset with him, though, more like she was trying to reassure him. "Have I ever given you a reason to think I would be any less safe than Tara?"

"But she can carry a gun," he returned feebly, knowing that still wasn't his real reason.

"And she and I are in the same area a lot," was Sue's rebuttal. "I'm stocking shelves in the bookstore, she's doing the accounting thing. We have eyes on each other regularly."

"I know," Jack tried again, frustrated. "But she's . . . ." He hesitated, glancing around to make sure that none of their coworkers were within earshot before softly confessing, at least in part, his real reason: "She's not you, Sue. I would never want any of our team to be harmed but . . . you . . . I can't . . . ."

"Oh," Sue whispered. Her eyes scanned his face, seeking some information in it but, without knowing what she sought, he had no idea if he was conveying the information to her or not. All he knew was, he couldn't handle the idea of anything happening to her and he desperately hoped she understood how much he needed her to be safe. Finally, she said, "I, um . . . I have to get back but . . . um, we should . . . talk about this more . . . later."

"Stay safe," he replied, his eyes boring into hers. "Stay safe so we can talk about it later."

She swallowed hard under the weight of his gaze, nodded once, and then left, glancing back at him a couple times on her way out the door.

He had been very, very right. She should have been more careful.

She should have let Tara know she was going to Lily's apartment.

She should have been more cautious in what she was willing to say to Lily in response to those expressed doubts.

She should have realized that if anything happened to her, Malcolm was smart enough to get rid of her BlackBerry so they couldn't track it. She should have asked Tara for a tracker she could hide somewhere on her person.

More than anything, she shouldn't have put off that conversation with Jack. Again. She should have insisted they talk before she returned to MindProphet. She didn't want to die without him knowing how she really felt.

All this kept rolling around in her mind as she was rolling around in the trunk of a car, desperately fighting to break out the tail light, thanking God there was a flashlight in the trunk that she could flash through the hole, praying desperately that someone would see it—and actually do something about what they saw!

Then the car stopped and she quickly turned the light off and tossed it aside so nobody would know what she had been doing. The trunk flew open, and she was harshly yanked out and marched into a building . . . somewhere. She had no idea where they were, so even if she somehow found a phone she couldn't direct Jack where to find her. Perhaps she should have wondered at her thoughts of directing Jack, specifically, instead of the team at large, but at this point it was such a customary thought—even though the whole team would come get her if necessary, even though the whole team would be there for her if she needed them, she always thought specifically of Jack needing to know where to find her.

Thus, after all Malcolm's pacing and lecturing and trying to convince her that she should just believe in him, on the bizarre argument that if she didn't believe him the alternative was being sold into slavery in another country—after all that, it naturally followed with her ongoing habitual thought processes that, when the team burst in and took down Malcolm and all his cronies that were in the room, it was Jack that she watched. She watched him order Malcolm onto his knees. She watched him quip that he was "enlightening" Malcolm to the fact that he was under arrest. She watched him barely restrain himself from throwing a punch at Malcolm's smug and smarmy face. She watched him order Bobby to get Malcolm out of there, an order with which Bobby was quite happy to comply. She watched him watch everyone else file out, and then watched him turn to her with concern.

"I'm okay," she immediately assured him.

He took a deep breath, picked up her coat where he saw it had been unceremoniously discarded by one of the flunkies, and handed it to her.

"Thank you," she both said and signed, and while she often did that because she wanted to always keep both languages as part of her life, right at this moment she did so because only one language was insufficient to express the depth of her gratitude—not for handing her her coat, of course. For coming for her. As he always did.

He nodded both his understanding and his acceptance of her thanks, and then reached an arm toward her.

Perhaps he had only meant to put an arm on her shoulder and walk her out.

Perhaps she had only meant to put her arm around his back in response.

Or perhaps deep down, their intentions were never so simple or calm as that.

Intentional or not, they ended up in a tight embrace, clinging to one another as though neither were entirely convinced the other was real.

Finally, she pulled back, not releasing her grasp on him, but only leaning back enough to see his face. "Jack," she said, her voice almost begging him, she didn't know for what.

He seemed to understand what it was that even she didn't know she was asking of him. He moved one hand to cup the side of her face, running his thumb over her cheek. "I was so afraid," he told her, anguish in his face, in his eyes as they poured into hers. "With how the other ladies disappeared . . . I was so afraid he would kill you."

"He didn't kill them," she reassured him. "I don't think he did, anyway. He was talking about selling me into slavery in the Middle East somewhere."

This did not seem to have the reassuring effect she had intended. He was horrified. She thought she understood why—they had dealt with human trafficking cases before, and it was always horrifying. But given the options . . . . "I know it would be awful," she added, "but at least I would still be alive. I could handle being . . . ." She swallowed. "Being enslaved for awhile . . . because I would always know that you were going to come get me. If you hadn't made it here tonight, I would still know you were going to find me."

"Sue . . . sweetheart, no, that's . . . he's not talking about turning you into an unpaid and probably abused laborer. A gorgeous blonde like you in the Middle East? They . . . they would make you a . . . ." He couldn't bring himself to say it.

"A sex slave," she filled in for him, watching him flinch at the idea even as he registered some shock that she had known exactly what kind of slavery she would have likely been sold into and was still saying she would have been able to handle it. "I'm not saying I want that, or that I would be okay with it, and I can't possibly express how thankful I am that you did get to me in time. But . . . I just know that even if I was in . . . in the worst circumstances in the world . . . two things would always give me hope. I always have hope from God, and I always have hope that you'll be there for me no matter what. And those aren't disconnected either—God gave you to me for a reason."

"Gave . . . me to you?"

She blushed, realizing what she'd said, but her only defense of herself was, "Well, you did just call me sweetheart a moment ago, right before calling me gorgeous . . . ."

His eyes grew wide. "Did I say that out loud?"

"I don't know," she responded teasingly, "but your mouth formed the words at least."

At Sue's revelation that Jack had accidentally called Sue "sweetheart" out loud (or at least readably on his lips), Jack found himself for a moment torn between trying to deny what he'd said and wanting to confess all, but in the midst of this internal struggle he suddenly began to grasp a few other salient details.

Details like that since hugging one another after he'd found her, they still hadn't let go.

Or that his hand had been caressing her cheek for almost the entire conversation, and she had not objected.

Or that her own hand had been rubbing up and down his bicep. He certainly wasn't objecting to that either, though he might wish the thickness of his FBI jacket wasn't in between.

Or that she seemed, not affronted or offput, but actually rather pleased that he had called her sweetheart.

Or that her eyes were pouring into his with some level of . . . dare he hope? Could it be . . . ?

By the time he processed all of this to try to make up his mind about what he wanted to do, he discovered that his body had already decided and started moving. Or more specifically, his face was moving . . . toward Sue's.

The scant conscious thought that crossed his mind in this regard was only joy at noting that she was also moving toward him.

When their lips met, it was soft and gentle, nothing like the intensity of the kiss they'd shared in the law offices of Callahan and Merced, but it was so much more real, if only because they knew that they were both in it of their own accord. No cover, no excuses, no pretending, no questions. Just both of—

"Sparky, are you and the sheil—aaaahhhh, sorry, sorry!"

Jack could have about murdered Bobby at that moment. At his best friend's voice, he had startled and broken away from Sue, not enough to let go of her but enough to find out what was going on. Bobby, for his part, at least looked genuinely chagrined to have interrupted this moment. He had turned aside, not looking directly at Jack and Sue as he was apologizing.

"What do you need, Crash?" Jack asked, annoyed. Sue, for her part, was equal parts blushing and trying not to laugh when she saw what had caused Jack to startle as he had done.

"Uh, I was just wondering if you two were okay," Bobby said. "We, uh, we're about ready to roll out there, so, um . . . since we kind of all came in the same few vehicles, we should, uh . . . ."

"We'll be right there," Jack snapped at him.

"Right-o," Bobby said, darting away.

Jack and Sue looked at each other for a moment, then both broke into laughter, which trailed off into their leaning in to kiss once more, this time quickly moving it from the gentle beginning into something far more passionate.

Reluctantly, Jack broke the kiss before it could get too heated, but still didn't let her go yet. "When we get back," he said, "and we've finished debriefing and all, do you want to join me for dinner?"

She grinned. "I'd love to."

"Good. Because not only do we have a fair amount to talk about, but I'm not sure I'm ready to let you back out of my sight anytime soon if I can help it."

"Your sight?" she teased. "I was hoping for closer than that."

"Ohhh, I'm sure we can arrange for keeping much closer," he agreed, pulling her to him and bestowing another kiss to her lips. "For as long as you'll put up with me."

"Are you sure? Because that might be a very very long time."

He arched an eyebrow and asked, "Long enough to require some hardware and some promises?" He had no idea what possessed him to ask that so soon after their first not-undercover kiss. Whatever invisible barrier it was that had kept him from speaking up for so long, now that it was broken through it was well and truly shattered and he was ready to bare his entire heart, soul, and wishes of a lifetime to her.

Thankfully, she seemed to share that sentiment as she smiled radiantly and said, "Oh, that seems very likely."

"Good," he said again, leading her outside with his arm around her shoulder, leaning in for one more quick kiss before they got out where everyone else could see them.

The nightmare was over. It was time for the dream to begin.