Brenda Leigh sat at a window table inside her favorite neighborhood café. It was a charming little place off the beaten path so it wasn't too crowded at any given time. She stopped by occasionally before she realized G. R. Hawthorne was her target but now that she knew he was and he was on her tail as well, she made sure to be here more often. In the past month since he'd first approached her in the park, he made it a point to "happen" to run into her at the café several times a week.

From behind the financial section of the newspaper, she saw him enter. He looked quite dapper in his dark blue suit…perfectly tailored of course. The dark grey woolen coat he wore to protect him from the cold, blustery October rain was expensive. The potential star power he held back could light up the world if he would put it to good use. But he was sinister despite his boyish good looks and bottomless charisma.

She waited patiently until he approached her. She knew he would.

"So we meet again, Miss Steele." He smiled. Damn, she normally wouldn't let the physical appearance of a person affect her the way his did…especially not while on a case…and especially not the target! She hadn't been attracted to another man since Fritz and now wasn't the time or the person to do it.

She folded her newspaper and offered him the seat across from her. "Mr. Hawthorne, if I…"

"Griffin. Griffin Richmond. That's what the G.R. stands for in case you wondered. But you, you can call me Griff." There was that smile again. And this time she returned it.

"Griff." She repeated his name. It fit him. A bit rugged…a bit refined.

As he lifted his cup of coffee…no English tea for him…he said, "I'd like you to come to dinner." It wasn't a question or an invitation. She knew not too many people turned down a request from Griffin Richmond Hawthorne.

"I'd be honored. As long as you call me Val."

They chatted about nothing in particular for awhile. But gauged each other closely.

"I will collect you tonight at 8pm." He announced as he put his coat back on to leave.

"You know where I live?" She raised her eyebrow. She had no doubt he knew a lot about Valencia Steele. The CIA had put a great deal of information out there about her. Valencia Steele was the newest and biggest diamonds buyer in North America. She was a Yale finance graduate who had stakes in numerous technologies and exploration companies.

Griff merely smiled at her and walked out of the café.

Later that evening, Griff promptly picked her up in his classic black Rolls Royce at 8pm and took her back to his spacious home. She was a little unnerved by him being so bold to bring her there but she wasn't afraid. No, Brenda Leigh Johnson could protect herself. But what raised her radar was the fact that he felt comfortable enough with her so soon to bring her here when no one else had ever even gotten within a few hundred yards of him. For a moment she thought about placing a listening device in his home but the surveillance of his operation would have to come from someone within. As paranoid as he appeared to be, a physical device would be detected right away and the whole operation would be blown. She needed to get in.

And as they dined on an exquisitely prepared cuisine and the most delicious white wine she'd ever put to her lips, Brenda understood a little bit more about the man. As polished and sophisticated as he was, he was also lonely and quite friendly. Had she not known that he was responsible for the murders of innocent men he might have been someone she could consider a friend.

Over dinner he asked about her business, revealing that he knew she was a diamonds buyer. She told him with as little specific detail possible about her business and why she did what she did. By the end of the evening, Brenda knew she was making great strides into his world. He wasn't unintelligent. He knew what he was doing and bringing in a buyer like Valencia Steele would spread his reach further and deeper into the legitimate and illegitimate diamonds societies.

For weeks after their initial dinner, G.R. Hawthorne courted Valencia Steele quite heavily. At first glance it might seem like he was just trying to get her business and contacts but Brenda knew Griff was interested in more. But she kept her distance. She had to keep her head in the game. But she also knew that she couldn't deny Griff what he wanted from her if she wanted to get what she needed from him.

Griff wined and dined her a few times a week until the end of November. She knew she couldn't be coy for long. She had to show him that Valencia Steele was in the game as well.

"I'd like to take you some place today." She announced to him from across the small bistro table at the café. It had become "their table". The look in his eyes almost broke her heart. There was a sorrowful glee to them. She knew instantly that no one had taken an interest in doing something for him in a very long time. She swallowed the lump in her throat and got her head back to the job.

"Oh?" The smile on his face grew bigger-like a mischievous kid on Christmas morning.

Slinging her black leather purse over her shoulder, she said, "Be ready at noon. Dress casual." She walked out of the café but looked back over her shoulder to where he was sitting, watching her intensely. His eyes widened when she winked at him.

Promptly at noon, G.R. Hawthorne was standing in front of the gate surrounding his home. As she pulled her silver Porsche roadster to a stop, she couldn't help but stare at him. His faded blue jeans hung loose over black leather boots. A worn black leather jacket was zipped up over a grey sweater.

"I didn't know you liked the biker look." She said amusingly as he slid his tall, lean body into the low car.

He laughed from deep within as he scrubbed his hands over his scruffy face.

Leaning his head back on the headrest, he turned and looked at her with questioning eyes and a smirk on his lips.

"Might I ask where we are going, Ms. Steele?"

Smiling, "well since you called me 'Ms. Steele' you'll have to wait and see."

For the hour and a half drive, Brenda learned more and more about G. R. Hawthorne, the man. He was an only child who was raised in poverty near Washington D.C. When Griff was 8, his father was killed by a group of illegal immigrants from West Africa. She connected that to his current life immediately. His mother instilled in him that he had to work and work hard for everything he needed and wanted. At 15 he started working at the Seltzer Jewelry Store below their tiny apartment. For a year and a half he saved every bit that he could and finally for Christmas he bought his mother a simple gold watch. It wasn't fancy or expensive but it was the only gift he had been able to give her. He was so proud and excited that he couldn't wait for Christmas day. Giving the gift to her 3 days early, he watched eagerly as she unwrapped the small box. Tears streamed down her face when she saw the delicate watch. As he clasped it around her wrist, he cried too.

Just as the sky darkened on New Year's Eve a few days later, a group of ferocious teenagers circled Griff and his mother just around the corner from their apartment. As they nervously and hurriedly walked to their building, one of the boys swung a baseball bat hitting Griff's mother in the back of the head. She died instantly. Griff was frozen in place, fearful that he would be next and in shock from what he just witnessed. The murderer took the gold watch from his mother's wrist and the group ran away. That's all they wanted-the watch. The watch he had given her.

Brenda couldn't help but let the tears fall down her own cheeks as she listened to his story.

He sat very quiet for a long time before she reached over and laid her hand on top of his. It was a simple gesture. Nothing else was said before she parked in front of a pub in Oxford. She looked at him for a minute. His face was dark…not in color but in spirit. But as fast as he put himself in that mood, he pulled himself out of it faster.

They walked into the pub and she guided him to a booth near the back. It was a classic Irish pub from its dark wood bar and walls to the stone floors. There were a few locals seated around the bar and a few tourists at a longer table on the other side of the room.

"You drive us almost 2 hours to a pub?" He was confused but she smiled as the bartender approached their table.

"What can I get you folks?" The bartender, a man who looked older than he was, asked them in a roguish Irish accent.

"Two Guinness's please." She ordered for both. Griff was a bit taken aback by Brenda taking control. "We would also like today's special."

The bartender nodded and walked away.

"Should I be afraid to ask what the special is?"

A different bartender than the first brought their draft beers to them. "I heard you're having the special. Must be Americans." This man, who looked a lot like the first but spoke with a clear American accent, said before walking off.

Griff looked confused again until Brenda told him the story. "This pub was opened by two cousins. Billy Doyle from County Cork Ireland and Jimmy Doyle from Boston, Massachusetts. And every Thanksgiving they serve a traditional American Thanksgiving dinner."

Griff looked around at the surroundings and the people. He laughed and shook his head.

She raised her glass. "So, Happy Thanksgiving, Griffin Richmond Hawthorne."

And just as they clinked glasses, Griff's cell phone rang in his pocket. He didn't excuse himself from the table like she thought he would since it was clearly business. So she pretended to be checking out the rest of the pub and the other patrons. But she was listening closely to everything he said.

Just as he started to talk about meeting a buyer, the bell over the door rang and in walked a brunette woman with sharp black-rimmed glasses. A tug pulled at Brenda Leigh's heart. She didn't need her mind distracted by someone who clearly wasn't the woman who occupied her thoughts at night.

She didn't know when things changed. She loved Fritz and at one time she loved Will. But they had both wanted something out of her that she didn't want to give up. Sharon Raydor didn't want or expect Brenda Leigh to be anyone but herself. And Brenda loved her for that…yes, she loved her. A lumped formed in her throat with that thought. Sharon was also the first woman she was attracted to physically. Of course she thought other women were beautiful but it wasn't the same. And every night she ached to hear Sharon's voice, to hear that dreaded pen clicking, to hear her office door slam. Anything.

Jimmy Doyle brought out their dinner of roasted turkey, sweet potato casserole, roasted vegetables, cranberry sauce. Anything traditional at Thanksgiving, they brought it.

They ate, talked and drank for a few hours before heading back to London.

"Val?" Griff asked quietly.

"Yes?"

He paused before continuing. "Thank you for today. It means more than you could know."

"You're welcome. I miss home too and I thought you might as well and that it would be fun."

"It was. Thank you again."

She was focused on the road ahead of her but could feel his eyes burning into the side of her face. But just then his phone rang again.

He didn't even say hello. He knew who it was and what they wanted. "I'll have them there at 2100 hours tomorrow to pick them up. Same arrangements as last time. Two to carry over and one to drop." She could tell he was still looking at her as he talked. Forcing herself to not give any indication that she was listening, she looked around the countryside. "Next time, don't screw it up. I'll need 40 beans." He hung up.

Beans? She knew now that he was testing her.

As she stopped the car in front of his home again, he turned and took her hand into his. Her first reaction was to be disgusted by the gesture since she knew he had just made arrangements to bring his diamonds in and have their carriers killed. She just couldn't prove it yet.

"I have to host my most important buyers in Los Angeles in a few weeks. I'd be very honored if you would be my guest. And perhaps I can convince you to buy some of my diamonds as well." He smiled his trademark smile before kissing the top of her hand.

LA? She couldn't go back to LA. There was too much history there and too much room for discovery.

"Can I let you know in a few days?" He looked at her skeptical. "I need to make sure I don't have any scheduled appointments." He was happy with that answer and exited the car.

Laying in her bed a few hours later, Brenda's stomach was in knots. LA meant returning home. LA meant Brenda Leigh Johnson. LA meant risking exposure. LA meant Sharon Raydor.