Zaeed's eyes flicked back and forth between the two former Cerberus operatives. They sat beside him at the bar. He'd been leery of anyone with Cerberus connections—previous or otherwise. After his wild suicide mission with Shepard and the subsequent falling out with the Man's little band of misfits Zaeed never bothered with a greeting when an operative stepped into his line of sight. Not unless you considered a burst of disruptor fire to be a friendly hello.

"So. What do you want?" he queried. His voice as gruff as ever and his body language not altogether that inviting. The bartender, a slim blonde woman, arrived to take their order. Zaeed looked over to address her. "Margarita. Blended. No Salt."

The bartender gave a friendly nod and glanced at Miranda. "No thanks," the alluring woman said casually. Jacob shook his head as well.

The bartender turned away to fix Zaeed's drink and he called to her once more. "Hoy." She stopped and faced the old merc. "No salt. I'm serious." His voice was low and accusatorial, as if he'd been made victim of a bad order before. She rolled her eyes and returned to making his drink.

Zaeed eased back in his chair. "Bloody locals don't know how to make a proper margarita." His lips curled into a smile. He spoke reminiscently, "A long time ago I was in Tijuana- local authorities paid me to recce a drug production center down south near Rosarito. Cartels had the bastards scared shitless, didn't want to use any of their own people. Before I stepped off I asked the police chief where I could get a drink to help with the jet lag. He pointed me to a little hole in the wall a few blocks over. Best guddamn margarita I've ever had."

Miranda and Jacob exchanged glances. Miranda tucked a tress of hair behind her ear.

The bartender was back and served up Zaeed's margarita just as he ordered it. He took a sip and let out a grunt of approval. "Not bad." The words oozed out of his lips laconically.

"We need your help, Zaeed," Miranda interjected with some reluctance. She never liked to admit a need for help from anyone, least of all a mercenary.

"Yeah. You said that. What is it?" He was forced to raise his voice some, as a loud and boisterous knot of people flowed into the bar.

She unfolded the drawing that Jacob had shown her back in the home she once shared with her sister. She slid it across the bar.

Zaeed casually scooped up the drawing and regarded what was on it. For a few seconds no one spoke. "Where'd you get this?"

"A group attacked my home and kidnapped an old colleague. Most of their people had that symbol painted on their armor," Jacob explained. Jacob's fingers massaged the scruff on his chin while he spoke. "You've worked with more merc outfits than anyone either of us could think of. We wondered if you recognize this emblem. It's not in any database we have access to."

Zaeed's face crinkled in thought. He took another sip of his drink. "This doesn't make any sense."

"Why not?"

"I recognize this emblem. Grimm Angels. Outfit I ran with years ago," Zaeed replied nostalgically. "We were operating out in the Verge, got hired by a human colony that was being harassed by a nasty pack of krogan pirates."

"How'd that go?" Jacob asked interestedly. He'd had his own run-ins with such groups. Krogan were always dangerous, but a group of them was a nightmare scenario.

"Not bad. For a bit. Then the Battlemaster shows up wielding a dinky little peashooter," Zaeed's mismatched eyes glanced over at his drink. He took another lengthy gulp and rubbed his nose. "I'd have laughed if he didn't blow away half my squad. We worried for a tick, but we killed him and his mates after a good fight."

"So the Grimm Angels are still around?" Miranda asked curiously.

Zaeed snickered. "Nope. Didn't get all the pirates on the raid. Traced us back to our base and caught us with our pants down."

"And then?"

"Killed the lot of us. Well, everyone but me and two others. Bastards weren't counting on a few well-placed inferno grenades." A rusty chuckle rose up from the mercenary's throat. "After that we disbanded. No sense in running an outfit with three people. Am I right?"

"Well someone is using the outfit's emblem now. Any ideas?" Jacob inquired.

"I suppose one of the survivors could have started up again. New people, new contracts—that sort of thing."

"Where would they start?" Miranda asked.

"Hell if I know."

"Every outfit has a base of operations," Jacob pointed out. "You have no clue where they might bed down?"

"We were on Torfan when the pirates found us," Zaeed pointed out. He drew a single cigar from a case that sat idly on the bar. With a single match he carefully lit the tip and puffed a haze of smoke out in the direction of Miranda. She instinctively dodged the cloud, a scowl on her face.

"Torfan? The batarian slavers base that was destroyed by Alliance troops?" Jacob asked incredulously. He still remembered the shock he'd heard when Elysium was attacked during the Skyllian Blitz. There was an urgency to be a part of whatever counterstrike the Alliance launched against the batarians, but Jacob's unit wasn't given the task. Part of him felt relieved. Torfan was a bloody affair.

"The one and the same. Nothing like using a place previously thought to be wiped off the map. Doesn't cost much to renovate and you don't have pesky government types snooping around asking about income levels," Zaeed replied. He wrapped his lips around the cigar, inhaled again and savored the flavor of the smoke as the wisps danced around on his taste buds.

"That doesn't give us much to go on," Jacob said with a frown. He looked at Miranda who shook her head, apparently agreeing.

"What are the names of the two other survivors?" Miranda asked directly, arms crossed.

Zaeed regarded her for a moment, then his lips crumpled as he committed himself to remembering. "Breytenbach. Diego Breytenbach. Human type. The other… salarian by the name of Otom."

"Background?" Miranda asked.

"Breytenbach was former Alliance. Commando. N qualified, but never figured to ask just how far up the ladder he made it. Bloody handy with a gun, though."

Miranda bit her lower lip. She didn't like the idea of an N qualified commando running a mercenary band. It was worse if he'd been involved in the attack on Jacob's home in any way. Shepard had been an N7; an exceedingly skilled one at that. But every individual that made it through any training offered at the Villa would be a considerable threat.

"And the salarian?" Jacob queried.

"Don't know much. Real slick. Sneaky little salamander."

"It's still not much to go on," Miranda said icily.

"No, but I didn't figure it was important."

"I still have some contacts in the Alliance. I might be able to reach out to them and get some information on this Diego Breytenbach," Miranda explained. "The salarian is another matter entirely."

"Well we need to start somewhere," Zaeed expressed evenly.

"We?" Jacob asked, leaning back in his chair with a cocked brow.

"Yeah," Zaeed shrugged. "I haven't got shit else to do and I just pissed off the biggest crime boss in Southeast Asia by messin' with his son. Daddy Kovacs won't take kindly to that. Besides, I've got a new rifle and she's thirsty for blood."

Jacob cracked a grin. "Just like Jessie?"

"Nothing will ever be like Jessie."

"What's her name?"

"Fuckin' Irene. Sweet little bitch. She'll put a hole in you the size of a softball," Zaeed boasted proudly.

"How charming," Miranda added, deadpan.

The mercenary looked at her suspiciously. "I'm not here to charm your pants off, girl," he reminded her evenly. His eyes motioned toward his margarita- which the bartender just refilled. He cracked a sly grin. "That's what these are for." Another throaty chuckle.

Miranda rolled her eyes. "This is a waste of time." She looked to Jacob, waiting for him to agree.

"We've got nothing else to go on," Jacob told her morosely. "Unless you've got a different plan?"

Miranda felt her tongue instinctively course across the surface of her teeth. She looked away from the two men, as if she were ashamed for not having a better game plan. "No," she admitted sourly.

"Okay then. Let's do this," Zaeed blurted loudly. He took another heavy puff of his cigar. This time he blew it away from Miranda. Then, in one swift gulp, he finished his fresh margarita. "Bloody brain freeze if I'm not careful."

Miranda grabbed Jacob by the arm. "Give us a second please, Zaeed." She dragged her former Cerberus comrade away from the bar, through a clutch of drunken bar goers, until she was satisfied they were out of earshot. "This is crazy, Jacob. He's given us a name—a bloody name for a defunct outfit he worked with almost a decade ago. And now we're going waste our time investigating this guy?"

Jacob shrugged, a reluctant grimace pasted on his face. "I don't know what else to do, Miranda. It's really all we've got. Isn't it possible that one of his surviving teammates started the group up again?"

"Maybe, but why attack your house? Why kidnap Archer?"

"Who knows," Jacob confessed. "But if he's involved then we're going to find out."

Miranda took in a heavy breath of hair, one hand perched on the hip, the other dropped languidly at her side. She tapped her heeled boot impatiently. She looked over at Zaeed who raised his empty margarita glass as if to toast them both. "It's just some very thin intel to act on. And it's not easy to call in favors anymore. I might have smoothed some ruffled feathers by helping the Alliance out, but a lot of them still aren't too happy about my association with Cerberus. And the contacts I did have when we were with Cerberus are as likely to shoot me as they are to help me."

"We've acted on less. Before Shepard and with him," he reminded her. "C'mon Miranda. It's something."

It was something all right. It was clawing at the tiniest scrap of information. It could hardly be called a lead at all. Whoever attacked Jacob's home shared the same emblem as a decommissioned old group of mercenaries that Zaeed ran with. It was unlikely that anyone besides those three survivors would copy the exact emblem. Fine. But pawing around in the dark hoping that some information about this guy Diego Breytenbach would pop up just seemed pointless. She'd have to call around a lot, and even then there was no guarantee they'd know anything. But Miranda couldn't think of anything else to do. She sighed. She was going to be pissing off a lot of people by reaching out, but it didn't seem like she had any other choice.

"And what about him?" Her head gestured toward Zaeed who— upon getting impatient—was drinking a third margarita.

"He wants to help."

"With what?"

"If we find out this guy is involved then we're going after him. We could use the extra firepower."

"Do we trust him? We don't have the money to bankroll his services," Miranda pointed out. "Not to mention he's got a past with this guy."

Jacob shrugged. "Do we need to pay him?"

"Never trust a merc unless he's been well paid," Miranda said evenly. "And even then…"

"Okay, but we're not talking about the same guy Shepard picked up on Omega."

"You think because of the suicide mission- because of everything with Shepard- that Zaeed isn't a profiteering soldier for hire anymore?" Miranda seemed doubtful. Her eyes glided over to where Zaeed sat. He was casually smoking a cigar, sipping at his drink and conversing idly with the bartender.

"Hard to say," Jacob shrugged. "But why else would he ask to go with us if he didn't want to help?"

"A free ride off the planet?" Miranda suggested. "He did just piss off the most powerful crime boss in the region, by his own admission. And it doesn't sound like he's doing well in the personal funds department, either."

Jacob scratched errantly at the back of his head. "I don't know, Miranda. I think we can trust him, but it's your call. If you don't feel comfortable having him along then we can go it alone."

Miranda felt her eyelids twitch involuntarily. My call? Here she was filling that leadership niche once more. But this time it wasn't an elite team of brilliant scientists, or an unlikely band of reluctant heroes. It was just her and Jacob. And maybe Zaeed.

Had Shepard trusted him? The man had an uncanny ability to read people. But it was more than that. He made you want to be at your best. That was true for anyone that ever served the Commander. With his leadership, by his example, he could fundamentally change the way in which a person acted. Because making Shepard angry was one thing, but disappointing him felt like shattering your own heart into tiny little shards.

Zaeed had changed his tune on Zorya for Shepard. He'd seen the man that double-crossed him escape because Shepard took a detour to put out a fire that the mercenary had intentionally started. When the former Blue Suns members threatened Shepard the ever-influential Commander shrugged off the threat and through sheer force of will made Zaeed see it his way. The merc fell in line and as far as Miranda could tell he was just as loyal to Shepard as the rest of the team from then on out.

But Miranda Lawson was not John Shepard. That reminder left a distinctly bad taste in her mouth. It was that realization, which dawned on her shortly after her work began with the Commander that had made her dislike him— at least for a time. As they worked together the obvious jealousy melted away and blossomed into admiration. Shepard was a man meant to be in command. He deserved her loyalty. And his magnetism had garnered other- not entirely welcome- feelings.

She sighed again. "We can bring him," she said unconvincingly, apparently not overly thrilled about the idea. "If he betrays us I think we can both handle him."

"Hopefully that won't be necessary," Jacob commented.

The pair returned to Zaeed at the bar. He'd just finished his third glass. "So? Are we done chit-chatting?" he asked impatiently.

"Yes," Miranda said with barely-veiled irritation. "But let me make something absolutely clear—I'm in charge. This is not some half-assed operation. There's a chain of command and I'm at the top of it. Do you understand?"

The deep, aged fissures in Zaeed's face broke into a cunning smile. "I like a woman that knows what she wants."

"And the assumption is you're doing this gratis," Jacob put in. "We don't have money to pay you. So if that's an issue for you then you best walk now."

Zaeed feigned a look offense. "Money? Who needs money? I'm just helping a couple of old friends." His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"We're serious, Zaeed." Miranda's ice-cold blue eyes locked on his own mismatched pair. Shepard may have unearthed some humanity deep within her, but she still knew how to turn on the ruthless killer look.

"No problem," Zaeed assured them with hands held out as if he were trying to show them he was unarmed. "But these drinks are on you."

Miranda's brow rose considerably.

"Consider it a consulting fee," Zaeed grunted. "Besides, I'm still a bit strapped for credits right now."