Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
"I can't believe you did this…" Ilsa was pacing up and down the bedroom of the Florida hotel suite they were still staying in. "She's a client, for heaven's sake!"
Her words rolled off Guerrero like water off a duck's back. He poured himself a drink and held out an empty glass at her. She violently shook her head. He shrugged his shoulders and offered it to Chance.
"But he did. Now would you sit down, please? You're making me nervous." Chance accepted the glass with a nod. Guerrero poured him a generous amount and retrieved another glass from the small lacquered cabinet by the window.
"Don't get me wrong, I'm the last person to agree with Guerrero's methods, but for him this is pretty much par for the course and you know him well, so…" Winston accepted a drink from Guerrero, too.
"You're making all of us nervous with your pacing around, Ilsa", Ames said, walked over to Chance, took the glass from his hand and drank a sip from it.
"Have you forgotten who just walked through the door? Accompanied by two heavily armed bodyguards? And we let him pass through, just like that? To talk to our CLIENT?" Ilsa grabbed Guerrero's glass and knocked back about a quarter of its content, twenty-five year old Scotch.
It was a very good hotel.
"You didn't want to help her in the first place, dude", Guerrero reminded her calmly.
"Not helping her and leaving her to TONY BELVILACQUA are two completely different things!" Ilsa reached for Guerrero's glass again, but this time he moved it out of her range.
"Didn't see a steamer trunk anywhere, don't think she's in immediate danger." Chance took a sip from his glass, then handed it back to Ames. "Now sit down and let Guerrero pour you a drink. It'll soothe your nerves."
"I don't need a drink!", she hissed, grabbed Guerrero's glass and emptied it completely.
Everyone except Guerrero stared at her. They had paid attention while she had been busy working herself into a frenzy about Belvilacqua's sudden appearance.
"Ilsa?", Ames finally spoke up, very cautiously.
"Yes?" Ilsa put the glass back down.
Ames hesitated.
"Never steal Guerrero's drink", Winston cautiously hinted.
Ilsa stared at him, stared at the empty glass she had just put down… "What did you do?"
"It's harmless…", Guerrero said and got himself a new glass.
For a moment Ilsa just stood motionless. "I don't feel anything", she finally stated rather panicky. "What…?"
"Check your tongue." He was still completely calm and unfazed.
She raced into the bathroom.
"BLOODY HELL!"
"You sure that was a good idea?", Chance asked Guerrero.
"Distraction", he shrugged.
"Can't believe you two are still together." Winston poured himself another drink.
Before Guerrero could reply, Ilsa came dashing out of the bathroom.
"YOU DYED MY TONGUE BLUE!"
"Yellow wouldn't have suited you."
Ilsa was speechless – she was used to a lot from Guerrero, but this? Now? How could he…?
The door to the adjacent room opened and out called Tony Belvilacqua. "Ms. Cleves and I have come to an agreement."
… … …
Penny Cleves was sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, pale and shaking. Chance did feel sorry for her, but he felt more sorry for the victims of the plane crash, the poor girl who had hung herself in the remains of the wreck, the member of the autopsy team that had passed on the shard and paid with his life for it, the French pilots… this case was about so much more than simply Penny Cleves.
"Ms. Cleves and I agree that a scandal as big as this just can't be kept under wraps", Tony Belvilacqua began. "It's a pity that we don't have more evidence to support the story so that court-wise justice will probably never be served. But the newspaper story will at least tell the people the truth, even though not everyone will believe it. It's the only thing that can be done."
Penny made a soft sobbing-squeaking sound.
"Of course that'll make Ms. Cleves a target", Belvilacqua continued. "If she could prove her story the military couldn't touch her, public interest would be way too intense, they couldn't afford putting her away, but without proof… they'll probably wait a couple of months and then… "
Penny sobbed louder.
"But no need to worry, I promised her lifelong protection by the Belvilacqua family. She discovered the truth about my niece's death, I'll make sure nobody touches her for writing the article that brings it all to light."
Penny was positively crying now. Everyone was well aware of what Belvilacqua was not saying: Should she not write the article, she'd become a target too… and probably fish food, served in a steamer trunk.
Did the team members feel sorry for her? Yes, with the exception of Guerrero, they did. But this was, as it dawned on Ilsa while she watched Penny Cleves becoming smaller and smaller on her chair, a no-win situation. Penny had played with fire and had gotten scorched. They had made sure she wouldn't be burnt, but that was it. There were more people affected in this game than just her, people who hadn't eagerly entered it for profit. Innocent victims. They deserved some sort of help, too.
… … …
On their way back to Florida nobody said much. Tony Belvilacqua had thanked them for their help – gratitude from a multiple murderer and mafia boss… while their original client sat in the back of his car, weeping. That did leave a bad taste…
Speaking of…
Halfway through the flight Ilsa poured Guerrero a drink and handed it to him. He knocked it down without hesitation.
"Aren't you in the least worried that I spiked it?", she asked.
"You're smarter than that", came his reply.
A minute later his tongue started prickling as if a thousand ants were crawling over it.
"It's harmless", Ilsa told him. "The sensation will die down soon. Just give it a couple of minutes."
Everyone on the plane held their breaths, awaiting Guerrero's reaction in various stages of anxiety.
Everyone except Ilsa, that is. She was giving Guerrero an outright challenging look.
Guerrero rested his eyes on her, not a single muscle in his face giving away what he was thinking.
Then suddenly he nodded.
"You've got balls", he said. And the gleam in his eyes spoke of pride.
Winston groaned. He still found it hard to believe that these two were together.
… … …
As the plane touched down in San Francisco, everyone was rather keen on leaving. It had been an exhausting week, although their client was still alive the case hadn't ended incredibly well… they all longed for some sort of distraction. Winston was thinking of food, while Chance and Ames, just like Ilsa and Guerrero, were thinking in a different direction.
Anyway, none of them was terribly pleased when Ilsa bumped into an old billionaire friend of hers and had to walk over to him for a chat. He seemed agitated about something and was pointing in the direction of one of the private hangars.
Guerrero leaned back against a wall, hidden in the building's shadow, watching Ilsa and her friend from a distance and waiting. "We'll take a cab", Chance shouted in her direction, already steering Ames in the direction of the taxi stand, one hand on her hip.
Just then Ilsa called out to them, signaling to come over and join her. "Someone left a graffiti on Dean's jet", she told them.
"Vandalism isn't exactly our main sphere of activity, Ilsa", Winston reminded her with strained politeness. He was hungry and a drink or two seemed like a good idea, too.
"You might want to see this", Ilsa said. She stepped away from the hangar's door she had been blocking so far, revealing her friend's spray-painted jet.
Ames gasped. The rest could do nothing but stare.
A green dragon was adorning the plane. The same dragon that was tattooed into Chance's and Guerrero's upper arm.