Frea's A/N the First: Still in Croatia, but I'm coming home tomorrow, and I look forward to seeing your smiling faces again! Hopefully we've all healed up somewhat emotionally from that punch Sarah left. Ouch, Sarah. What the hell? Oh, wait, there's more to come? Fantastic. Thanks to everybody that's reviewed, thanks to my intimidating and frighteningly talented cowriter the great mxpw, annnnnd I have to stop and take a minute to thank our beta readers. I mean, not only are they marvelous people with dry wit sharper than Andúril, but their fashion sense is stunning, they can open coconuts with their teeth, and quistie64 once punched me in the face. It was awesome. Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

mxpw's A/N the First: Well, Chapter 6 was the second least reviewed chapter. I can say in all honesty I wasn't expecting that, especially after so many people mentioned Sarah in their earlier reviews. I can only assume you guys aren't actually interested in Sarah being part of the story. Good news, then! You all should really like this chapter. :)

At the Sheridan Hotel

Sitting in a dark hotel room all alone made me feel like the hero of one of the dime novels I'd read growing up, but I didn't want to leave the lights on and let Carina Miller know something fishy was up. I wanted the element of surprise, to confuse her and see if any part of her story would shake loose.

Thankfully, waiting gave me time to think. Not much of what I had learned over the last twenty-four hours made sense. There was still too much I didn't know, and too many people with shifting motives. But one thing I did know: Miss Georgia Peach wasn't who she said she was. So I waited with my legs propped up on the desk in her hotel room.

I left my suit coat open and my pistol in easy reach. I didn't much relish the thought of drawing on Miss Miller, but growing up around Ellie had been proof enough that women were just as dangerous as men. I wasn't about to take an early dirt nap because I'd underestimated a dame. Searching and scanning the room had turned up nothing. I was either very wrong, and Miss Carina Miller was exactly who she claimed to be, or she was very, very good at keeping secrets.

My instincts said it was the latter, but I'd been wrong before. For one thing, I never thought Sarah would leave. And maybe I thought that if I saw her again, I could convince her to come back, rather than making it even worse.

The scrape of a key in the door broke my reverie. My hand drifted to my hip as the door slowly opened. All I could see was the square of light cast from the hallway: the doorway was empty.

Warily, I sat up, and nearly fell right back on my rear end when a body appeared suddenly in the doorway, silhouetted by the hall light. In strode Carina Miller in all of her Southern Belle glory. Her eyes cut to me right away as she reached over and turned on the lights. Then she stood there, hands on her hips, and gave me an unimpressed look very similar to one I had seen on Sarah's face many times before. It was more than a little unnerving.

"Oh, it's just you," she said. "I was worried you might be somebody dangerous."

I wanted to take offense, but considering that she had managed to get the drop on me even with all of my careful planning, I merely tried to regain some of my dignity. "We need to talk, Miss Miller."

Carina pulled off her overcoat to reveal a dress very similar to the one she had worn the day before. This one was a deep, rich crimson that spoke of sultry nights rather than cotton fields and old money. "It took you long enough to find me, Mr. Carmichael."

Her syrupy sweet accent had disappeared. "You're not really from South Carolina are you?"

Carina batted her eyelashes and a slow smile grew, the kind of smile that could make a man forget his own name if he wasn't careful. "Why, Mr. Carmichael, I have no idea what you mean."

I shook my head at the reappearance of the accent and let out a little chuckle. I had no idea who Carina Miller really was or what was going on, but I couldn't help but admire the act. That didn't mean I appreciated being lied to, however. "I'd have appreciated the truth from the start. There was no need for the dog and pony show."

"The truth is boring," Carina said. "And maybe I wanted to see what you could figure out on your own. To see if you were worth all the trouble like she claimed."

I filed this away. This was the second time that Carina had mentioned another woman. Was this part of her act or did I really have a mysterious benefactor out there sending damsels in distress my way? Maybe they knew how much of a soft touch I was for a good sob story. Or maybe they just thought I was an easy mark.

"Why am I here, Miss Miller?" I asked.

Carina sat down on the edge of her bed, posture perfect, one impossibly long leg crossed over the other, just like she had in my office, the very picture of propriety and class. I felt like such a mope sitting across from her. "I don't know, Mr. Carmichael, you tell me."

I swung my legs back up onto the desk. I watched with some satisfaction as her eyes narrowed. "Wasn't this what you wanted?"

"What I wanted?"

"When you left me that clue at the Broken Monkey? And I guess I have you to thank for the docks?" It had been dark, and the gunman had been running, but I had been sure it was a man. But if it was Carina who had sent me on the wild goose chase in the first place, maybe I had been wrong. Maybe the person who had saved me was the same doll sitting in front of me. If so, I owed her my thanks. Maybe she'd let me buy her a drink.

"I—I have no idea what you're talking about."

I frowned and felt my frustration mount once again. This was getting too much. It was bad enough having Karpazzo's goons lean on me, and a crazy Hooverman gunning for me, I didn't want to deal with even more of Carina Miller's lies. She was involved with everything up to her incredibly graceful neck and I wanted some answers.

"Come on, Miss Miller, stop with the lies, please. We both know you're not who you say you are, so let's just put all our cards on the table."

"Fine," Carina said, her voice clipped. "But I didn't leave you anything at the—what was it?—the Broken Monkey." She leaned forward, and I narrowed my eyes. "I thought you were here to tell me you were on the case."

"Why do you want me to take this case, Miss Miller, if that is even your name?"

"It'll do." Carina's lips curved, but there wasn't a whole hell of a lot of humor to the look. No, it was a viper's smile, a snake who knows she's slithered all the way around her prey. Problem was, I didn't much savor the feeling of being prey. "And I already told you why I wanted you to take this case. You're not a very good detective, are you, Mr. Carmichael?"

"Then it's a good thing you aren't paying me." I tapped a finger on my hip, thinking it over some. Carina's eyes cut to my gun, which I'd left in plain sight, and I realized the move could be seen as threatening. The instinct to apologize arose; I swallowed it back. "Be straight with me. Who are you, and what do you want with Bryce Larkin? Who is he to you?"

"Nobody important, I assure you. Not to me." Her eyes flashed and danced with life, and I pitied any man who truly did sit across her during a hand of poker. "But he's important to some, and that's all you need to know about it."

"Bryce wasn't the only one I was askin' about," I said, and I kept my voice smooth, like vanilla. It was a trick I'd seen Anna use a time or two at the Broken Monkey, when a couple of japes wouldn't pay their tab. It probably worked better for her than it did for me, though Carina did shrug, daintily, as if imparting the information to me wasn't any skin off of her nose.

"I guess you could say I work for some old friends of yours, Mr. Carmichael," she said.

I quickly racked my brain for who she might mean. The only person I'd ever worked a case with was Sarah, and she hardly ever left the office. My confusion must have shown on my face for Carina chuckled. "From the War, Mr. Carmichael."

My eyes widened and I sat up straight in shock. "You're one of Wild Bill's men? Er, women?" I couldn't believe it. What did the OSS—well, I guess they were the CIA now—want with me? Why were they interested in Bryce Larkin? Things were really starting to feel like I was in over my head with this case.

Some might call me lucky, though I wouldn't necessarily agree. In '42, I took shrapnel to the leg and spent a couple of months recovering in the company of some very fine English nurses (who believed that tea should be strong enough to get up and dance, and that biscuits should be weak and tasteless). It wasn't enough to write me a ticket out of the War, though. Instead, Wild Bill and his boys at the OSS took an interest in my brain and instead of heading back to Chicago with a hitch in my step and a chip on my shoulder, they'd shipped me off to Area C for communications training. And then it was back to England for more strong tea and tasteless cookies when I wasn't busy decrypting enemy communications.

I'd even met Wild Bill once or twice, but I had definitely never met any operatives in the same ballpark as one Miss Carina Miller.

"Why, yes," she said, chuckling a little at my shock. "Don't tell me you believe the objective was fulfilled just because the War's over, Mr. Carmichael—can I call you Chuck? I feel like we're going to be such good friends."

"Lady, I pick my friends a lot more carefully than you think I do."

"Yes. At the…Broken Monkey." She sniffed a little and dug in her clutch. "Mind if I smoke?"

"As long as it's not a Lady in Red, knock yourself out."

"I am going to assume that means something to you, and move on. Bryce Larkin is one of, as you call us, Wild Bill's boys."

He was? What in Sam Hill did an operative of the former Office of Strategic Services have to do with a bunch of Chicago lowlifes and a crooked Fed?

"Or he was. He took something. Something very valuable, and we'd like it back."

I scratched the back of my neck as I thought it over. It made sense. As pretty as he was, I couldn't see Bryce Larkin himself creating such a demand, and certainly not with somebody like the Bishop, who had his own legion of pretty boys. But if he had the inside track on whatever it was Carina was after, I could see how that might be worth the thousands of bones the Bishop was willing to drop for his location.

"What is it?" I asked. "What did he take?"

Carina clucked her tongue in obvious disapproval. "Now, now, Chuck, you know better than to ask a question like that. I've only told you as much as I have because you used to be one of us." There was a twinkle in Carina's eye that made me nervous. "And because of your reputation."

"Look, if you want my help, you need to tell me everything. I've been working on incomplete information since this case started and it almost got me killed last night. I don't relish the thought of that happening. I'm not a cat—I don't have nine lives."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Chuck, I really am, but that is the nature of our business, is it not?" Carina took a long drag off her cigarette and I watched the smoke unfurl from her mouth. "I will give you what information I can, but I'm afraid the particulars of the device Larkin took must remain a mystery for now."

"That's not going to fly, toots."

"My heart breaks for you, it really does." Carina rolled her eyes, the utter portrait of a complete lack of sympathy. When she blew out a cloud of smoke, it seemed to give her a hazy aura.

I was barking up the wrong tree if I was expecting this dame to tell me anything. Frankly, I'd had enough to give me permanent heartburn in the past twenty-four hours, and that wasn't even counting the colossal louse I'd made of myself in front of Sarah that morning. But a private detective's not without resources, even if his pockets seem empty of all tricks.

So I crossed my feet at the ankles again and leaned back, pulling my hat off my head and toying absently with the brim. Carina watched the movements through the smoke, seemingly amused. "Fine, if you're not going to tell me about this device, tell me about Shaw."

Her head tilted slightly in pique. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with this Shaw."

"He wanted to make my acquaintance real bad, if you catch my drift. He's one of Hoover's men. What's he doing in Chicago and why does he want to arrest me?"

"I don't know." The frown on Carina's face looked believable. That wasn't actually encouraging. "I've not heard anything about any G-men in town, but Hoover always plays things close to the vest."

Carina rose from the bed and walked over to her desk; she ground out her cigarette in an ashtray. "I'll see what I can find out. This is my case, after all."

"Our case," I said.

"Does that mean you're going to help me?"

"For now," I said, which was an impulsive decision at best and at worst would get me killed. Carina's eyes lit up briefly, which wasn't very reassuring. "But this is a two-way street, sister. No more lies and no more games. You don't want to tell me about the device, fine, I probably don't want to know anyway. But anything else, you share with me, got it?"

"She always said you had a thing for honesty," Carina said.

"All right, I give, lady. Who are you—"

I didn't get a good chance to ask about the elusive female Carina kept referencing—another of Wild Bill's people?—because I was cut off by the sound of a body hitting the door. Trust me, it's not a sound you can mistake for much else.

In an instant, I'd pulled my M1911 out of its holster. Carina reacted just as quickly, like lightning she had a knife in one hand and a revolver in the other. The knife was no dainty lady's knife, either.

She looked at me, tilting her head slightly in invitation. I know I'm supposed to be a gentleman, but I let her take this one. It wasn't my hotel room people were throwing bodies at, after all. I covered her back as she crept to the door, stabbing the knife into the wall to hold it while she put her hand on the knob. I could see her counting down from three with her eyes before she yanked open the door, gun whipping up to face whatever would-be attackers waited in the hallway.

There were none. Instead, a man in a suit fell through the door, flopping around a bit like a landed fish in the entryway. His suit was nicely cut, his hat unremarkable. Actually, nothing about him would have been worth remarking about, really, had it not been for the fact that he was trussed up like a prize turkey, with a gag stuffed between his fat lips.

Carina peered out into the hallway. "Nobody there," she said.

I stared down at the man on the floor, who was gazing at the both of us in panic. "Huh," I said. "Looks like she left me another present."

"She left you…a present?"

"My guardian angel. Sometimes she leaves me presents, helps me out of a jam."

"Your—guardian angel? Who is she?"

"I have no idea."

"So you're telling me you have a secret admirer that sometimes leaves you trussed up thugs?"

I grinned and pulled the man farther into Carina's hotel room. It was obvious he'd been eavesdropping on us. She wouldn't have intervened if he wasn't. "Yeah, beautiful, ain't she?"

Carina just looked perplexed, but the professional, distant mask quickly slipped back into place. She shut the door to her room and peered down at the tied up man. She reached behind her and pulled the knife out of the wall, the light reflecting off the blade.

"Seems a shame to let such a thoughtful gift go to waste, don't you think, Mr. Carmichael?"

mxpw's A/N the Second: Alas, this is probably the last time I will be posting the chapters, as Frea should be back from her trip by the time the next chapter goes up. So it's been fun, everybody. I know you'll miss me. Please note that I don't think we'll be posting three times a week any longer, either. We really only posted as fast as we did so that we could get to Sarah's appearance as soon as we could. Likely future posting days will be Monday and Wednesday/Thursday, so keep a look out! I think it's only fitting I leave you with this:

"Always knew that mouth of yours would get you in trouble one day, Carmichael," Colt said in his deep basso.

"Yeah, you and everybody else," I said, and tried to wrench my arms free. All I managed to do was earn a cuff upside the head from Colt and a warning not to try it again from Delgado.

Finally, it seemed we had moved far enough down the alley, for the two men carting me around stopped. Delgado reached into my coat pocket to pull my gun free when suddenly there was a blur of darkness in the corner of my vision.

Just like that, she was there.