Sorry for the delay, my little ferrets. For starters, I really wasn't in the mood to write, and I didn't want to post any more of the chapters I had completed without going forward on new ones. But, it's been so long, I decided to anyway. Plus, you know, I got obsessed with the show "Dexter" and have been catching up on it (seriously, that show is sooo good). Oh, and I got reacquainted with my old friend vodka, so there's that.

Oh, and please, give me reviews. That might cure my lack of desire to write.

CHAPTER SIX: ROSWELL, PART ONE

It was a cruel trick, Ellie decided. Sometime around two in the morning Devon finally tired of her anxious pacing and slipped a mickey into her glass of tea.

Now it was nearly ten am. To her horror, the past 72 hours had proven to be a reality and not the twisted, horrific dream she so fervently prayed for. She was living in a world where her next-door neighbor and brother's girlfriend were secret agents, and her brother had been abducted by a third, renegade agent.

She tried to eat breakfast. Finding she couldn't even stomach toast, she retreated into the bedroom and broke out Devon's stationary bike. After thirty furious minutes of pedaling she opted for a steaming hot shower. Neither tactic worked to relieve her of any frustration or anxiety. It had come to the point where Ellie was seriously thinking about breaking out a bottle of wine. At eleven in the morning.

Finally she went to the window of her cell – she had already begun to think of the apartment that way – and looked outside. Once again she saw Sarah pacing the courtyard. The blonde agent was using the nub of a smoldering cigarette to light the next. That task accomplished, she snubbed out the butt and went to work on the fresh smoke.

Ellie didn't think it possible before, but the usually attractive blonde looked ragged and rough. To be blunt, she looked like crap warmed over.

She couldn't quite fathom how much her feelings for the young blonde had changed in the last couple days. Just a week ago, while preparing for her own wedding, Ellie was keeping mental notes for the inevitable – in her mind – Chuck and Sarah wedding.

She had been so terribly disappointed in his renewed interest in his old flame Jill, but literally squealed with delight when she discovered the ex was once more out of the picture. 'Soon,' she thought, 'my dumbass brother's gonna pop the question to Sarah.'

Then came the revelation. His girlfriend was actually his cover girlfriend and she worked for the CIA. But it was complicated because there were certain shared feelings...

Now her brother was gone. And That Woman had essentially confined her and Devon to quarters. To be sure, Ellie was positively livid at the situation. That Woman swore to protect her baby brother and less than a day later had broken that promise.

But despite herself, Ellie couldn't stop the tinge of sympathy gathering in her soul. Because there was no way she had misinterpreted the hundreds of looks her brother and this woman had shared in the past year. Or even the expression upon That Woman's face as she chronicled the heroic exploits of her brother.

"God, she really does love him," Ellie whispered.

Somehow, that only angered her further.

-------------

Roswell, New Mexico

Roswell First Savings & Loan

After stopping at a dive of a hotel in Vaughn, New Mexico for a few hours of rest, Rachel roused Chuck from a fitful sleep. A couple hours later they arrived in Roswell just in time for the lunchtime bank traffic.

"To better blend in," Rachel explained. "People forget your face during a rush."

As they sat in the Corolla observing the bank, Rachel withdrew her weapon from the small of her back.

"Holding the place up?" Chuck dryly asked. "If things go south, my word of advice: don't let them take you alive."

"Ha!" Rachel exclaimed as she indicated her right side. "See, right here? It's splitting."

She tucked the weapon underneath the driver's seat, then uncuffed Chuck's wrist. "Remember..."

"Yeah, yeah. Best behavior or the button. At least you're not telling me to stay in the car. Though if you do, just leave the keys in the ignition so I can listen to the radio."

"Oh, Chuck. I can see why Sarah likes you."

The comment only befuddled him further. Chuck was fairly sure it wasn't natural to have this easy a report with one's kidnapper. For a brief instant, he considered the possibility he was already suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.

"Here, take this." Rachel thrust an empty canvas duffel bag into his arms. Off his curious look, "We're making a withdrawal."

Soon as they entered the bank, Chuck's eyes immediately began to scan the area. First, he spotted a security guard trolling the room. Chuck didn't like his chances there. The guy looked to be about 55 and forty pounds overweight, the definition of "Rent-a-Cop".

He imagined there were panic buttons behind the counter in the tellers' area. Maybe he could do something stupid, like yell "She's got a gun!" and get them to lock down the bank.

But as they approached the counter, Chuck did nothing. Except look up into the black camera ball in the ceiling above. Silently, he mouthed—

"Can I help you?" the teller asked.

Rachel presented the teller with a phony, but exquisite, New Mexico driver's license. "Yes, hello. My name is Annabelle Reed. I'd like to retrieve the contents of my safety deposit box."

The teller examined the flawless forgery, looked to Rachel. On the license, she still had red hair.

"You know how it is," Rachel said. "Sometimes you just gotta change things up."

The pretty young blonde teller smiled. "I know. About a year ago, I tried being a brunette." She then typed the driver's license info into her computer. "I see you as having box 2431."

The teller then proceeded to escort them to the Security Deposits Vault. After finding box 2431, the teller inserted a key into one lock, while Rachel inserted another key into a second lock. The box the teller helped her remove was quite large, nearly one foot by three feet.

"There's a private room right over there to view your contents," the teller pointed. Rachel thanked the girl, then dropped the box into Chuck's arms and shooed him into the room.

Chuck dropped the heavy box to the table with a clatter. "Oof! What the hell you got in here, a body?"

"No. Just something to help me find one."

When Rachel popped the lid, Chuck's jaw nearly hit the floor. "Holy crap!"

"Yeah," Rachel responded dryly. "I just hope the fact you know I have money doesn't change our relationship."

After removing a plastic bag full of fake driver's licenses and passports, Rachel began removing thick bricks of money – each comprised of hundred dollar bills – and placed them inside the duffel. After that, she began removing thick stacks of paper and placing them inside.

"How much...?"

"Two hundred grand, cash. About four million in bearer bonds."

"Wow. Government work pays better than I thought."

Rachel paused. "Yeah. This money, it isn't exactly taxable, if you know what I mean." Off Chuck's confusion: "Ran an op in Latvia a couple years back. Scammed a few arms dealers selling old Soviet anti-tank missiles on the black market. I took a percentage."

Chuck's eyes went wide. Rachel gazed longingly at the cash. "This was supposed to be my retirement fund."

With one last sigh, Rachel finished transferring the bearer bonds to the duffel bag. Zipping up she said, "Okay. Let's book."

She slung the duffel over her shoulder and escorted Chuck out. Through the Deposit's Vault, back into the main area.

As they approached the tellers' counter again, Chuck's mind began to race. He knew he had to act. This could be his best opportunity to shake his captor, or better yet, induce a situation that might result in her capture.

One word. One magic word. That's all it would take for the entirety of the Roswell Police Department to streak to the bank.

Gun.

She has a gun. That's all he had to say. That pretty blonde teller would slap the silent alarm so fast... And maybe, just maybe, that poor excuse for a security guard would pull his own piece before Rachel crushed his windpipe.

"She has a gun."

The words were out of his mouth before he even knew he said them.

Silence reigned over the bank for several moments. Time frozen. The teller looked at him. The security guard looked at him. The entire room looked at him. Hell, even Rachel looked at him with a stunned – and even betrayed – expression.

Then someone screamed: "She has a gun!"

The pretty blonde teller kneed the silent alarm beneath the counter.

Most bank patrons stood still, frozen by fear. A couple screamed and broke for the exits.

The security guard reached for his weapon, tried to pull it— The pistol caught on the safety latch.

That was all the time Rachel needed.

Dropping the duffel bag, she was atop the guard in a split second. Her left hand dropped over the guard's right, which was still trying to pull the pistol. With her right hand, she drove her knuckles into the man's throat.

As the man dropped, Rachel jerked hard and yanked the six-shooter free of the holster. Aiming the weapon into the air, she fired a single shot.

"Nobody move! This is NOT a robbery!"

Everyone in the bank obeyed the woman's command. Outside, the sirens of the first patrol car cut through the silence. It must have already been in the area.

With a death glare at Chuck, Rachel warned, "You and I are gonna chat later."

She then aimed her weapon at the blonde teller. "Lock the exits. Any funny business and I'm gonna start shooting people, okay?"

As the teller moved to obey the command, Rachel turned her attention to the roomful of hostages. She noticed two in particular - a man in his mid-30 with his daughter, no more than 7 or 8 years old. The little girl clutched her father's hand fearfully, eyes wide at the sight of Rachel's weapon.

"Wait!" she called to the teller. She spoke to the father and daughter. "You two. Get out of here." The two didn't dare move. "I'm not gonna shoot you. Take your little girl and go."

The father nodded slightly and quickly pulled his daughter towards the exit. With them gone, she indicated for the teller to finish locking up.

Outside, two more patrol cars shrieked to a stop near the first. The officers leapt from the cars to form the beginnings of a perimeter around the bank.

"Okay everyone!" Rachel called. "Back behind the teller counter! You're going into the vault!"

The patrons herded together like a flock of sheep and swept behind the counter. A man in a suit – undoubtedly the bank manager – opened the vault door. With a few quick instructions and a shake of the gun, Rachel directed everyone inside.

"Just sit tight," she advised before shutting the vault door. "Fifteen minutes and you'll all be on your merry way."

Just then, a telephone on the counter began to ring. As she moved by Chuck to answer it, she said again, "Did I mention we're gonna have a long talk?"

Chuck gulped. Rachel lifted the phone.

"Yes...?" ... "My name isn't important, only my words. I have nearly twenty hostages in here. I've already demonstrated good faith by releasing a father and his daughter. As a further demonstration of my generosity, I will give you two hours to meet my demands." ... "Simple. I want a helicopter on the rooftop. It will take us to the Roswell Airport, where a Leer jet will be waiting for us, fully fueled I might add." ... "Our destination is not your concern, only the safety of the hostages. Two hours. If my demands are not met, I will begin to execute them, starting with the women, every fifteen minutes." ... "No, that is all."

Rachel slammed the phone onto the cradle.

"Oh God, we're not going to Venezuela or something, are we?" Chuck panicked.

Rachel paused, an irritated expression on her face. She waved him silent. "Don't speak to me right now. I'm very angry at you."

Chuck cocked his head, confused. Why did she use the same tone Ellie used when Awesome bought a toaster oven for her birthday?

Rachel breezed by, quickly recovering the duffel, intent on a door behind the teller counter marked "Bank Personnel Only".

"Come along Chuck."

Chuck obediently followed.

---------------

Outside, one patrolman disconnected his cell phone. He looked to his fellow officers huddled around their own patrol cars.

"Damn," he said. "She sounds like one tough bitch."

"It's a woman?" another patrolman asked, surprised.

The first patrolman nodded.

"What did she ask for?"

"A helicopter to the airport and a plane ride out of here or she'll execute hostages."

"Think she'll do it?" a third patrolman asked.

The first patrolman thought for a moment. "Mike, call the airport, arrange for a plane. I'll try to wrangle up a helicopter."

---------------

Rachel seemed to know where she was going. It was a short hallway with only a few doors – a bathroom, couple offices, a maintenance closet, and a door marked:

"Basement," Rachel said.

She threw open the door and led Chuck down the stairs. The basement contained the large units for air conditioning, heating, and something else. A large cylindrical tank with a smaller metal tube that appeared to run through the outer wall.

"Fetch me that sledgehammer over there, would ya?"

Chuck retrieved the tool Rachel requested. Giving him the duffel, she took the sledge and proceeded to take up a good whacking stance, a few feet away from the smaller tube running from the tank through the brick wall.

"What is that?" Chuck queried, suspecting the answer and really not liking it.

"Ever see The Shawshank Redemption?"

With a solid whack, Rachel drove the sledge through the tube, puncturing a three-inch wide hole. The room was suddenly filled with the most god-awful stench, as brownish green fluid gushed out, like soda from a shaken bottle, soaking Rachel in the process. She barely flinched.

Chuck's jaw dropped. "Aw shit."

Rachel looked over. Even in her anger at him, she managed a wry smile. "That's about the size of it."

A couple more whacks knocked the pipe free of the wall.

END PART