John paid the cabby and stepped out of the taxi about a block down from the restaurant. It was a nice Italian place, not too expensive, and the food was decent. He slipped in with a group of people, past the front hostess and moved quietly over to a corner of the bar, asking for a beer as he sat down.
Sam caught his eye after a moment of searching the crowd. She sat in a booth at an angle to him, so he only saw a bit of her face. She was alone, absently fingering a white rose in a bud vase in the center of the table. She looked bored as well, from what John could see.
A few minutes passed. She had begun playing Angry Birds on her phone when someone said her name.
"Samantha?"
John heard his voice in his earpiece. The phone pairing was still working, even as a microphone.
Sam's head shot up. "Hi!" she said, sounding slightly nuts. She hastily jammed her phone back into her purse before she stood up.
John cringed as the pair awkwardly decided whether they should shake hands or hug. The result was a strange sort of pat on the back with a gripping of hands at the same time.
The man sat down across from her. John had a clear view of him. Light brown hair, tanning salon skin, and… manicured eyebrows. But his voice was kind, as was his smile.
"Wow, you are very pretty," he said, sounding surprised.
"Oh, thank you," Sam looked down, brushing her hair away in embarrassment. "And you can call me Sam."
"I think I prefer Samantha," he said after a moment's thought.
John dangled off of the cliff with her in the awkward moment.
"Um, okay. What about you? It's Anthony, right?"
"Anton, actually."
John grinned and shook his head.
"So, it's not Anthony?" Sam asked, confused.
"Oh, it is. That's my full name. But I prefer Anton."
"Not… Tony?"
"As in Danza? Afraid not, Samantha."
"Finch," John muttered. "Are you hearing this?"
"It really is quite fascinating," Finch replied.
"Is it because of Tony Danza that you don't like the name?" Sam leaned forward, unable to help herself.
"Drop it, Sam," John said under his breath.
"Partially," Anton said.
A waiter stopped at the table, asking about drinks. The moment he left, a blanket of discomfort lowered over the area. It was big enough that John felt the edge of it from where he sat.
"So, Eva told me that you work in architecture?"
"I'm a designer," Anton confirmed with a nod.
Sam leaned forward, clearly interested. "What kind of buildings?"
"Well, the project I'm working on now is a recreation and rejuvenation space for individuals whose intellectual faculties are under the supervision of a trained professional."
"Oh dear," Finch exclaimed.
Sam didn't answer right away. "You're designing a common room in a mental institution?" she asked after some thought.
John nearly laughed out loud.
"I prefer to call it a 'space'."
"Well that's interesting," Sam tried again. "You have to choose materials that won't be a danger to anyone, and design it so… there aren't any poles to run into. Yeah, you have to think of how a person could be a danger to themselves or anyone else, and eliminate those possibilities in the room."
"Space," Anton corrected again.
Sam, unfortunately, could not help herself any longer. "Have you researched ways in which you could be a danger to yourself or others?"
"We have and we've eliminated those possibilities in the basic design." Anton's demeanor was becoming stiffer by the second.
"Oh, that's good," Sam said, taking a sip of her water. "I wouldn't want those poor people to get hurt because of the design of the room."
"Space," Anton said as John whispered it simultaneously.
Sam stood, suddenly. "I've already had one glass of water. I'll be right back." She smiled genuinely and left the table.
"This person is a danger to our intellects, Mr. Reese," Finch said over John's earpiece.
John didn't reply. He watched as Anton considered his situation, and came to a decision. He put a couple dollars on the table and left the booth.
"Don't worry, Finch. He's gone."
Sam returned to the empty table a minute or so later. Rather than appear disappointed, John saw her smile and relax. She was relieved. She'd gone to the bathroom on purpose, just to give him the chance to escape. Clever girl.
Grabbing a hold of her purse, Sam walked out of the restaurant and onto the street. It was cooler now that the sun was nearly set. She pulled out her phone and called Eva, who did not answer.
"Hi Eva, it's me. That was the shortest date I have ever had in my entire life. I think you now owe me for setting me up with such a colossal dip! I'll see you tomorrow." Sam posted the message, and dropped the phone back in her purse, unaware of the tall shadow she had.
The bus ride was uneventful. She only received a few double takes as she sat down, but that was all, and that was manageable. The bus dropped her off just a couple blocks from her apartment building. She began walking, now oblivious to her second shadow.
She turned a corner. The crowds of people thinned as she reached her neighborhood; down the rest of the block, past the alley, and halfway down the next block.
Sam looked up and saw the window of her apartment for a split second before someone grabbed onto her and pulled her into the dark alley. Her mouth was covered and all she could see was part of his jaw and the collar of his shirt as he held her there. He shushed her as she made a noise under his hand.
They heard footsteps. Her assailant acted quickly, taking off his jacket and throwing it over her shoulders, covering her red blouse before the man passed. He was searching for something, moving cautiously along the sidewalk, and past the alley.
"I'm sorry I had to do that Sam," her attacker said after he made sure that the man was not coming back. He took his hands away and lowered his face to hers. She could barely make out the details, but the recognition was almost instantaneous.
"John?" she gasped. "What the hell is going on?"
There wasn't a counter any longer. He was standing there; he'd been touching her; and he smelled so good. What was that, aftershave? He was also breathing heavily, as though he'd just done a sprint.
"Are you all right? I didn't hurt you?"
"Yes," Sam nodded. "I mean, no, I'm not hurt. What are you doing here?"
"That man was sent to kill you," he said.
"I – what?"
John glanced to the street where people were still walking back and forth. He looked uneasy. "Let's go somewhere where we can talk."
"My apartment is right – "
"I know that, Finch," he said seriously to the air, then focused back on Sam. "They already know where you live, Sam. No, I can get you to a hotel – "
"They? John, wait, stop!" Sam gripped his arm and he looked at her calmly. Her thoughts were banging around on the inside of her skull. If this was some sort of crazy prank, she was going to kill Eva. But John seemed serious. And if he was serious, he did just save her life. Sam took a breath. "If this is really happening, then I – I need to at least get a change of clothes. Please. You can go in with me and maybe explain some things on the way."
After she finished, John looked as though he was listening to the air for a moment and nodded. He took her hand without a word, and they set off together across the street and into her apartment building. They climbed the stairs in a tense silence as Sam was trying to remember how cluttered she had left her place.
John checked the door before he allowed her to unlock it. When he was satisfied, they entered the dark apartment.
"Hurry, Sam. They might come here for you."
"Who are they?" Sam said as she went into her bedroom. She pulled a duffel bag from under her bed and began stuffing clothes into it along with a hair brush, some hair ties, and what makeup she could find.
"Do you know what Scott has gotten into now?"
Sam froze solid. She went back into the living room where he stood. "He came to see me a couple days ago. I don't – "
"Sh!" John held up his hand and pulled the gun from his back, aiming it at the door.
"No, John!" Sam hissed.
"They're going to get in," he said firmly.
"Then come on. Come, John!" She waved him over to her.
The front door began to rattle in the frame as John followed her into the bedroom. The door burst open, and for the second time that night John grabbed her and moved her without her permission. He hurled himself along with her into the closet. Sam slid the doors shut and they stood amongst some shoes and what Sam believed to be a bra that needed to be washed.
John moved some of the hanging clothes out of the way to look at her as the men entered. There were three of them.
Their voices were muffled as they wandered through the living room. One came into the bedroom. Sam caught a glimpse of him through the slats in the closet door.
"Looks like she was packing to go somewhere. Do you think someone else got her first?" the man in her bedroom said as he wandered away again.
Sam was visibly shaking, her breathing getting shallower. John took her hand and squeezed it firmly.
The three men entered the bedroom then and examined the duffel bag on Sam's bed. Sam watched, horrified as John pulled the gun out again and held it closely.
"John," she whispered, her eyes bugging at him.
He pressed a finger to his lips and nodded his head.
Another tense minute passed as the three men wandered around the apartment until they were satisfied that she wasn't there. They left everything undisturbed and even shut the door behind them on their way out.
Sam released a breath as John pushed his way out of the closet.
"It's Elias, Finch," he muttered. "Yes, I know that, but I recognized two of his men, they were just here in Sam's apartment."
"No," John looked at Sam. "We hid in the closet," he said as he put the gun away again.
Sam then realized she was still wearing his jacket. She pulled it off and handed it to him as she tried to remain calm. "John."
"Yes, Sam?"
"Are you a cop of any sort?"
"No."
"FBI?"
"No, Sam. My work has more of a… private nature to it."
"Work?"
"Yes. I'm working right now. You just happened to be on today's agenda, I'm sorry to say."
Sam lowered herself slowly onto the bed next to the duffel bag. Her heart was still pounding from those seconds inside the closet.
"I take it you're not used to guns." John said, sitting next to her.
"Not in my apartment, no," Sam replied. "I actually own a few, but they're at my parent's house upstate."
"You've used them?"
"Not like how you were about to use one. Just on a shooting range. My father taught me how to hold a gun and fire it correctly. Looks like I might need that set of skills sooner rather than later?"
"I hope not," John said, a ghost of a smile on his face. "That's why I'm here. We need to know about your brother, Sam."
"We?"
John tapped his right ear and she leaned in for a closer look. A tiny flesh colored earpiece sat comfortably just inside his ear. Sam leaned back again and shrugged. "I saw him a couple of days ago. I guess he managed to track me down somehow. He asked me for money. I didn't have any to give him. He asked me to get some from mom and dad for him."
"He can't ask them himself?"
"He's not really on their good side at the moment. I'd like to help him, but I'm afraid of what he'd use the money for."
"How much?"
"Ten thousand dollars, and that's just for a start, he said." Sam sighed and combed her fingers through her hair. The idea that the man she'd been pining after over the last couple of months was sitting next to her on her bed had no effect on her.
"Do you know who he's working for, Sam?"
"I didn't want to ask."
"We'll have to find out," John said. "Take what you need. We need to go."
He got off the bed. Sam remained, her face in her hand. She trembled as she got to her feet and began unbuttoning her blouse. She looked up and saw John still there, his eyes sympathetic. After a moment, he blinked and strode out of the room, shutting the door.