Chapter Two: Shaken, Not Stirred

Two days later . . .

"I'll have another of the same," Tim said, gesturing clumsily to the empty glass on the bar.

The bartender looked at him warily as she wiped down a glass. "Are you sure, sir?"

Tim nodded. "Absolutely. Hit me."

Sighing, the bartender put down the glass she was holding and poured Tim another drink. He reached for it and downed it, causing the bartender to shake her head.

"Maybe you want to slow down there," she suggested, putting a hand on her hip and flipping the tea-towel over her shoulder.

"Why bother?" Tim muttered. He was glad that his words weren't slurred. He wasn't drunk, after all . . . just a little tipsy. And after all, after the week he's been having, he totally deserved it.

"Something on your mind?" she asked.

"Something like that."

"Wanna talk about it?" she asked.

Tim shook his head. "Not really."

The bartender shrugged. "Okay then." She made a move to walk away.

"Wait," Tim called and the bartender turned around. "It's, uh, complicated."

She walked back over to Tim and leaned across the bar top. "It's a woman, huh," she said knowingly.

Tim shook his head. "Someone tried to assassinate me," he said in a flat voice.

The bartender looked shocked. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Tim nodded.

The bartender studied Tim's face closely. "Hang on . . ." Her face lit up in recognition.

"I thought you seemed familiar!" she exclaimed. "You're Thom E. Gemcity! Someone took a shot at you at that press conference."

"That's me," Tim sighed dejectedly.

"Well, you're alive, aren't you," the bartender said, trying to sound cheerful.

"I guess," Tim grumbled. "But have they haven't caught anyone yet so I'm stuck with men in black over there." He pointed to two men in suits and earpieces.

"Are they . . ."

"Protection detail, from the FBI." Tim shot them a look. "Agents Gibbs and DiNozzo. I swear Lyndi got them assigned to me so I wouldn't leave the apartment. Gibbs does nothing but drink black coffee and DiNozzo incessantly compares his protection assignment to every bodyguard movie ever produced."

"Sounds rough," the bartender said sympathetically.

"That's an understatement. I've been trailed for nearly forty-eight hours and I am already ready to hand myself over to the assassin," Tim replied.

"It can't be that bad."

"You'd be surprised," Tim sighed. "Could you pour me another?"

"I think you've had enough," she said firmly. "You should go home before your goons over there have to carry you home."

Tim paused. "That might be a good idea."

The bartender patted his hand and smiled sympathetically. "I'm sure they'll catch the guy soon."

"I hope so," Tim agreed and stood up. "I . . ."

"Leaving so soon?" an elegant voice cut off his attempts to leave.

Turning to his right, Tim saw one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen in his life. Her curly dark brown hair cascaded down her back. Her brown eyes sparkled as she smiled charmingly, gliding over in a dark blue cocktail dress. If she seemed over dressed, Tim didn't notice.

She slipped onto the bar stool next to Tim and daintily placed her clutch on the counter. It was, obviously, dark blue to match her dress. She gave the bartender an award-winning smile.

"Another for the gentleman," she ordered, saying it in a way that sounded like a suggestion, rather than an order.

Tim raised his hands and blushed. "Oh, no. No. I was about to leave."

The woman shook her head. "Why? The night is young; the stars are shining. It is a beautiful night."

"And that's why we're sitting in a bar," Tim snapped, sounding more snippy than he intended. The newcomer didn't even seem fazed by his tone.

Instead, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and said, "May I request a strawberry daiquiri? And for the gentleman . . .?"

The bartender shot Tim a warning look, so he answered reluctantly, "I'll have a lemon, line and bitters. Thanks." Now that he thought about it, he did want to go home, and not be stuck here with the bartender and the woman that made his heart beat faster.

He could feel a headache coming on.

The bartender nodded, satisfied. "One strawberry daiquiri and one lemon, line and bitters coming right up."

The woman nodded her thanks and turned to Tim. "I am Danielle. You are?"

"Timothy," he replied, colouring slightly.

Danielle smiled. "Timothy. What a lovely name."

"I like it enough," Tim shrugged. "It's a good a name as any."

"Well, I like it," Danielle declared. "And what are you doing here, Timothy, all on your own?"

"Trying to solve the meaning of life," Tim said casually and Danielle wasn't even fazed by the sarcasm.

"Many men have tried and none have found the answer," Danielle replied softly. "Perhaps when you do, you could tell me."

"That implies I'm going to see you again."

Danielle shrugged coyly and smiled flirtatious. "Maybe we will."

"Yeah . . . maybe," Tim echoed. There was something about Danielle Tim couldn't quite put his finger on. In the back of his mind, he was sure they'd met before. But that was impossible, unless they had met at a book signing. Perhaps that was it.

"So," Danielle cut into his thoughts, "have you discovered it yet?"

"Huh?"

"The meaning of life?"

"Beer, babes and booze," Tim replied immediately, wondering where on earth he'd gotten that sarcastic remark from.

Danielle laughed politely. "That does not sound like you."

"How would you know? You don't even know me."

Danielle shrugged. "Perhaps not, but I could get to know you."

"Is that a line?" Tim asked, blushing. While he wasn't unfortunate looking, he was a geek and girls, women in this case, did not gravitate to boys like him.

"Do you want it to be a line?" Danielle asked, leaning forward so that her face was only inches from his.

He was captivated by her perfume.

Roses.

"Should I want it to be a line?" Tim shot back, shocking himself with his boldness. This was not him. Something, most likely the alcohol, was messing with his mind.

"I do not know," she whispered, trailing her fingertips lightly along his wrist. "How are we to know if we do not let it happen?"

"Ahem. Your drinks," the bartender cut in, giving Danielle a stony look.

As though breaking out of a trance, Tim jerked backwards and nearly tumbled off his stool. Danielle laughed and reached out to steady him.

"I did not know I could send a man to his knees," she joked, blushing prettily.

Tim collected himself, straightened himself up and took a large sip from the glass in front of him. He sighed as Danielle daintily took a tiny sip from her daiquiri. Even a simple action like that was captivating.

Taking another sip of her drink, Danielle asked, "So if you have not discovered the meaning of life, what have you been thinking about?"

Tim shrugged. "This and that."

"This and that?"

"Drowning my sorrows, really," Tim said finally, after a moment's pause.

"A woman?"

Geez, what was with him and women tonight? Tim shook his head. "A threat to my life."

"Really? How awful," she said compassionately, gazing at his face. Tim could feel himself blush again.

"Awful is just one word I'd use to describe it," Tim replied bitterly, picking up his own glass.

Danielle looked at him intently. "What happened? If you do not mind me asking."

"Someone tried to snipe me at a press conference," Tim answered flatly and emotionlessly.

"Why on earth would someone want to assassinate you?" Danielle looked horrified.

"Your guess is as good as mine. Or the FBI's," Tim replied. Then he leaned forward. "Though the agents do have a lead."

Danielle closed the gap between them. It was like the room had shrunk and trapped him and Danielle in their own little world, making it hard to breathe. "Oh?"

Tim knew he shouldn't be talking about his case, but there was something about Danielle that drew him to her.

"Shadow," he said simply.

"A shadow?"

Tim shook his head. "No. The Shadow is the name of the assassin they think tried to kill me. He's apparently the best there is and the FBI are baffled as to how on earth he missed. According to them, he doesn't make mistakes."

"Everyone makes mistakes," Danielle said quietly. "Even the best of us."

"Well, I'm just happy that he did miss," Tim announced, downing the rest of his drink. "Though I don't like having the FBI follow my every move."

"It is always better to be safe than sorry," Danielle said firmly as she signalled the bartender. "Another for my friend."

Tim grimaced at the request. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

Danielle giggled. It was a soft giggle that reminded him of rolling green meadows and sunshine. "Of course not. And besides, you cannot get drunk on lemon, lime and bitters."

"You have a point," Tim concurred.

"I usually do."

"Are you sure you want another?" the bartender asked.

Tim nodded, distracted. Danielle had taken his hand into her own and was tracing the veins along his palm.

"My mother used to be able to read palms, you know," she said suddenly.

"Was she any good?"

"Very." Danielle looked sad. "She is dead now."

"I'm sorry."

Danielle waved away his apology. "It happened a long time ago."

"Still, it must hurt," Tim commented.

"Yes, I think it does."

"I'm sorry," Tim repeated. There was something about her, maybe her eyes, that made him want to take her home and care for her. It was the eyes, he concluded. His mother always told him the eyes were the entrance to the soul.

"Thank you." Danielle dropped his hand and suddenly looked very tired.

"You okay?" Tim asked, truly concerned.

Danielle flashed him a smile. "I am fine. You needn't worry about me."

It was then the bartender chose to deposit Tim's second lemon, lime and bitters drink in front of him. "Enjoy," she said, and Tim noted that she sounded kinda sour.

Tim took a sip and subconsciously thought it was a little strange that Danielle wasn't even half way through her daiquiri.

"You know, Timothy," Danielle started. "I do not think I have met a man like you before."

Tim spluttered on his drink. "Excuse me?"

Danielle blushed and brushed his cheek. "Most men I know of would have tried something with someone like me by now."

Tim shrugged. "My mother raised a gentleman."

"Your mother should be commended. If only more men were like you."

'A geeky author, you mean,' Tim thought to himself. 'A geeky author someone is trying to murder.'

"Where I come from," Danielle was continuing, "men like you are treasured."

Tim almost felt himself getting sleepy. Danielle's voice was . . . hypnotising? Nah, that was impossible. Wasn't it. And the fact that Danielle was now trailing a hand up and down his back wasn't helping. He'd be lying if he said it wasn't turning him on.

"You and I," she finished in a sultry voice, "could be so good together."

Then she kissed him.

It was like an electric jolt had shocked him. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't that. It took him a few moments to react, but then he felt himself responding to her kiss. He moulded his lips around her as she pushed for entry into his mouth.

It was nothing like he'd ever experienced before. Sure he'd had kisses, but this kiss started at his mouth, but rippled down his arms, down his legs to his feet. It was different, surreal and . . . wow. Her tongue brushed against his teeth and he hoped it would never end.

Then, it ended.

She pulled away, breathless and flushed. If he didn't know better, she looked slightly shocked.

"That was . . . that was . . ." Tim was unable to do anything but blush and stuttered.

Danielle, looking as though she was fighting internally with herself, said softly, "I have to go to the bathroom, would you excuse me?"

Tim nodded dumbly. Bathroom?

"Thanks," she whispered and slipped off the stool, clutching her purse. The bartender gave her an odd look.

Looking pained as she said it, Danielle murmured, "Wait for me."

She turned quickly and hurried over to the hall that led to the bathrooms, and Tim wondered for a moment how she even knew where the bathrooms were without asking. The moment Danielle had disappeared out of sight, the bartender cried out,

"I swear she put something in your drink!"

"What?" Tim asked dumbly as Gibbs and DiNozzo dashed over, and snatched the drink from under him.

"I swear she used that kissing trick of her's to distract you and obstruct the agents' view of your drink," the bartender continued.

"DiNozzo," the one called Gibbs yelled, "check the bathroom."

"On it, boss." DiNozzo was off and running.

Gibbs, meanwhile, grabbed Tim's arm and made an attempt to steer him away from the bar. "We are going, now."

"But . . . but . . ." Tim's thoughts were muddled all over the place. Danielle wouldn't have spiked his drink, would she?

"Going. Now," Gibbs ordered as DiNozzo came dashing back from the ladies bathroom.

"She's gone," he panted. "Completely vanished. It's like she wasn't even there."