Aha, another chapter coming your way! I was going to update sooner, but my body was like "RAWR let me sleep, dammit!" Well, you know, not literally, but ugh I dunno.

So… are you going to tell me now?" Let me say, never bother trying to get information out of Grant, he's like a rock.

"Nope." He doesn't even glance up from the laptop.

"Tomorrow?" I'm hopeful that he'll crack sometime soon, because I'm growing impatient.

"Nuh-uh."

"Next Christmas?"

"Not even then."

I almost scream in frustration. "I'll tell Patricia that you pee on your socks." Nothing. "I'll tell her about that time you fell in all that mud and then got arrested."

"What time?" he asks, still fixated on the computer.

"I dunno. I'll make it up," I retort, picking at my nails. "I'll tell her we're married, but you ran off with some Drag Queen from Belgium and left me broken hearted."

Grant snorts and finally looks away from the screen. "You think she'd believe that?"

"Perhaps… It's worth a try."

Shaking his head, he turned away from me again, muttering to himself.

I shuffle through some bills and letters I've received lately, but never got around to opening, before putting them all aside and taking out a photo of Melanie and me, arms over each others shoulders, both holding melting ice-creams, with huge grins on our faces. "Grant? Do you know who's really in 'my' grave?"

He shakes his head slowly. "Not really… no one ever told me her name."

My heart pangs at that. "What? She wasn't important enough? She's the best friend anyone could ever have! Her name was Melanie Hibbard, and she definitely didn't deserve to die. Not for me, not for anyone!"

A little startled, Grant moves away from the laptop and pats my back awkwardly. "I'm sure she was… lovely…"

"You don't get it, Grant!" Tears are beginning to leak from my eyes. "I miss her!"

He nods sadly, and says slowly, "Have you ever wondered what happened to my parents?"

Slightly shocked, I glance at his face, to see that it's holding back pain. "Yes…" The word comes out as a soft whisper.

"Well, me too." He gives me a sad look. "All I was ever told was that they gave me up to Blackthorne when I was young, because they didn't want a son. Can you imagine what it feels like to not be wanted?"

"I know what it feels like, Grant."

Crikey, we're a sad pair.

"Dinner!" Patricia's shrill voice reaches us from downstairs, as we stare at each other, at a loss for words.

Eventually, Grant jerks his head and says, "Let's go. She'll probably drag us by ours ears if we're not there soon."

Nodding in agreement, I follow him down, staring at the back of his head and wondering what's going on in that mind of his. It must've been awful for him to just be dumped by his parents at some spy school and never be contacted by them again.

"Chicken Pesto!" I laugh at Grant's enthusiasm.

A few hours later, I sit alone in my room while Grant has a shower, staring up at the ceiling. I wonder what his purpose is inbeing here. Is there something he needs from me? Is he going to rat me out to the CIA?

All I know is that he is up to something, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it.

When he comes back from his shower, I pretend to be asleep so that he doesn't feel the need to talk. Usually the two of us have that 'comfortable silence', but after what I've been thinking about, I have the feeling that that silence won't be so comfortable. I'd bound to ask something stupid.

Morning comes quickly, and Grant decides he wants to see me working. He's still teasing me about being so 'civilian-ish'.

As I wait for him to come down from my bedroom, I look at all the photos of children in the hallway. But one in particular catches my attention. He's a young boy, about seven or eight, with dirty-blonde, scruffy hair and mischievous blue eyes. Something about his picture draws my hand to caress the frame.

Frowning, I try to think of where I've seen this man before. He seems so… familiar.

But I'm shocked out of my reverie by Grant bounding loudly down the stairs, causing my hand to knock the picture off its hook.

It clatters to the floor, and the actual photo bursts from the frame. I bend down, cursing Grant, and that's when I notice the red, harsh writing on the back of the photo.

TERMINATED

In shock, I drop the thing again, shivers running down my spine.

Quickly, I stand back up and turn to Grant, my expression horrified.

"Grant, grab your things! We've got to leave, now!"

I'm thankful that Patricia is spending the day with some friends. This means that we can pack quickly without being interrupted by her.

Grant follows my panicked orders, completely confused. "What's happened, Cam? Why are we packing?"

I know he deserves an explanation so I tell him about what I saw. Comprehension dawns on his face as I mention the part where I saw 'TERMINATED' scrawled across the back of the photo.

When all the necessities are packed, we hurry out the front door. But just as Grant's about to close it, I rush past him and run back into the hallway.

There's an empty cardboard box lying next to a small table which holds the telephone, so I snatch it up and start piling the picture frames into it. The second the last picture frame is dropped into the box, I scramble back down the hallway towards Grant. He pushes me into a car he's stolen and jumps in the driver's seat.

With one last look back at the house, Grant steps on the accelerator, causing the car to jump forward and me to be pushed back into the seat.

He drives around the town as if he doesn't know where he's going; like he's lost, but I know better. He's shaking off any tails we possibly might have.

"Cam, there's a gun under your seat. Take it out and get ready to fire behind us."

Shocked, I reach a hand under my seat and feel the cold metal of a large gun. I pull it out and check that it's loaded.

I turn around in my seat and realise that there's a shiny blue Mercedes coming after us.

"Ready? Aim it!" he calls out, twisting the steering wheel so the whole car lurches into a side-street. "Fire!"

I obey his commands and aim it right at the driver. As soon as he says the word 'Fire', I press my finger down on the trigger and feel the shock of the bullet travelling at nearly nine-hundred metres per second. The first shot shatters the back windscreen, and the second shatters theirs.

Shooting at such a distance, let alone with the car lurching and turning unexpectedly, is incredibly difficult, but I remember my training and focus as hard as I can.

I raise the gun again and take aim. I can practically see the angry, blood-thirsty face of the other car's driver, but it doesn't stop me. Calming myself, I pull the trigger again. Relief sweeps over me as I see the car veer off to the side, but not before the passenger fires two shots at Grant and me.

One flies directly above my head, but the other slams into my upper arm.

Have you ever been shot before? I have. And, boy, does it hurt.

Grant shoots me a look of worry as I clutch my arm, but I scream at him, "Keep going! Don't stop, there could be more!"

He drives wildly for another fifteen minutes, before we arrive at an abandoned shack.

Groaning and still clutching my bleeding arm, I unbuckle my seatbelt and collapse out the door. Grant helps me upright and practically carries me towards the shack.

He kicks the door open and rushes over to the carpet in the middle of the room. Kicking it aside, he reveals a trapdoor which he pulls open and begins to climb down.

"Follow me."

Still in agonising pain, I follow him down the ladder and emerge in an almost pitch-black room. I only notice the elevator when Grant jerks his head towards it and says, "After you."

When we're inside, the pain is pushed aside by sheer confusion about where we are.

"What is this place?" I choke out. "Where are you taking me?"

"Welcome," Grant says as the doors slide open, "to HQ."

Ooh, I completely changed my idea for where this story is going. Originally I was going to have Cam helping the gang on missions, but I couldn't help but get this feeling that that plot wouldn't go anywhere.

Plus, there are already other authors who have written about that sort of thing.

My new plot is entirely new (I'm really hoping, anyway)

And I'm gonna try update soon, and it should be easier because now I only have, like, two stories to work on because 'You've Got to be 'Kid'ding has finished *sniff*.

~Jen

(Oh, and check out my profile for a challenge – if you want one)