August, 1998

Weighing her admittedly few options, Renata contemplated throwing a punch at the man squeezing her shoulder. He was bald, a few years younger than her, but he was very muscular and Renata doubted she would be able to fight him off, especially when he had backup waiting.

Realizing she had no other choice, Renata relented and went quietly with the man toward the sedan. He guided her gently but deliberately into the backseat before sliding in next to her. The woman from Argentina sat in the front seat while the ponytail joined them in the back, effectively sandwiching Renata between the two huge men. The interior of the vehicle was plush and luxurious, the soft leather of the seats harmonizing well with the warm wood accents. Whomever had captured her obviously had excellent taste. The dark haired woman nodded to the driver who immediately started the car and took a short turn around the block. Renata looked confusedly toward her condo building as they exited the vehicle. However, instead of going into the high rise, the associates led her into the equally lavish hotel across the street.

After a quick elevator ride up to the penthouse, Renata found herself handcuffed to an armchair in the lounge. The room was beautifully furnished with rich mahogany furniture and plush oriental carpets. If the man was going to kill her, Renata supposed it wasn't a terrible place to die. It was certainly better than the alley she had been chased into. Yet Renata had the distinct feeling that if this mystery player had wanted her dead, he would have one of his associates take care of it outside.

'Less messy.' she thought.

Instead, there she sat, waiting for her captor to appear.

Upon hearing of his team's successful capture of Renata Alder, Reddington headed to the lounge where Dembe stood sentinel outside. "No problems, I trust?" he asked, looking his associate over for any sign of injury. Red still wasn't sure if he liked the idea of Dembe working for him. He had taken great lengths to secure an education and a life for Dembe, far from the horrors of the boy's past. However, the young man had insisted on coming to work with Raymond once he finished his schooling.

Dembe's eyes were the only thing that gave away his amusement. "This one is very clever. She came quietly once we cornered her, but I still recommend staying out of arm's reach."

Raymond chuckled to himself as he opened the doors and strode into the lounge.

When the young woman's head lifted at his entrance, Reddington understood why Scottie Hargrave would feel threatened by her. She was truthfully, very pretty. Her eyes were a deep turbulent grey with just a flicker of mischief behind them. Her characteristic blonde locks were tied back into a loose French braid and a few tendrils had fallen loose to gently frame her face. Her skin was sun-kissed from her time in South America, and a delightful little smattering of freckles showed on her face and chest.

"Ms. Alder! We haven't met yet, but you, my dear, have been quite a difficult catch. I'm Raymond Reddington."

If she was disconcerted about being handcuffed to an armchair, she didn't show it. In fact, she looked perfectly confident and comfortable, perched in the seat as though it were a throne.

Raymond liked her already.

"Well Mr. Reddington, I'd be of no use to anyone if I couldn't outrun another fugitive." Renata supplied with an air of innocence, eyeing him warily.

Reddington did not look like an average criminal. He wore an impeccable suit and occupied the space with an air of studied nonchalance that intrigued Renata. No tattoos marred the skin visible at the top of his shirt nor where his sleeves were rolled up. In reality, he was the type of criminal Renata would normally do business with. As she examined him, he simply peered at her with an expression of polite curiosity.

"I don't deny you're exceptional at your craft, Ms. Alder. You've evaded me for nearly a month without so much as stepping ifooti off this continent." He added, "Had you left South America, I don't doubt you'd be more elusive than a spare bedroom at a house party."

Renata's mouth gave an almost imperceptible twitch. The man's undoubtable charm and brazen confidence amused her.

Reddington poured himself a drink from the bar cart and tilted his head expectantly, "Why did you run?"

Renata shifted her features into one of polite surprise, "An associate informed me that your fixer had been sent after me… I've been a criminal long enough to know that sending one's cleaner ahead to a destination tends to be the proverbial shot over the bow before a nasty altercation."

The man shook his head and laughed, "Well, I can't say that you are wrong there." He smirked as he took the armchair across from her. "I'm terribly sorry, this has been a rather magnificent misunderstanding. I have no intentions of killing you my dear; I'm here to do business."

Renata's head tilted in ill-disguised incredulity, "Then why am I cuffed to a chair?"

"You have a propensity for bolting." Reddington quipped, staring her down.

"You have a propensity for sending the wrong message." she countered with a soft smile.

Reddington looked bemusedly at the woman. She wasn't what he had expected. To have outrun some of his best associates for nearly a month took a certain level of cut-throat intellect. Yet the woman occupying the chair had a distinct warmth and gentility to her that he had not expected.

Making his decision, he called to the outside guard, Dembe.

Renata recognized the young black man who had cornered her in the alley minutes earlier. He reached forward and began removing the handcuffs securing her to the armchair. She looked ruefully at the red marks on her wrists, rubbing them gently to ease the ache. Reddington felt suddenly abashed for imprisoning her in a chair. Normally he tried to be more of a gentleman where women were concerned.

Red utilized the distraction to change the subject, "I love an alias with a good backstory." He nodded to her, "'Renata' for example, meaning reborn, and 'Alder' is considered the goddess tree in Celtic traditions. I'm curious, why did you choose the name?"

The woman became suspicious at this request. "I took the name when I first became a criminal."

Reddington shook his head slyly, "No, you didn't. You took a different name when you set up a trust for your ailing mother and laundered the rest of your family's fortune through a sea of fake non-profits. Renata Alder only became active last year, and she has only ever been seen in South America. Rosalie Øllegaard, however, has been a little globe-trotting real estate mogul these past three years."

The careful gentility of Renata Alder was quickly drained from the woman's countenance, and the cool, calculating persona of Rosalie Øllegaard appeared to take the reins. Someone had betrayed her name to this man, and she was going to damn well find out who that was.

Reddington, on the other hand, was enthralled with the change in the woman's demeanor. Now he could see a hint of the personality underneath. This was the woman they had chased for weeks.

As Dembe stepped back and headed toward the door, Rosalie slipped a switchblade from the sleeve of her blouse. Quick as a flash, she was perched on Reddington's knee. The tip of the blade pointed deftly against his throat.

He chuckled darkly as he met her eyes. Finally, he spotted the spark of the criminal in their depths. "There you are." he purred.

Rosalie smiled benignly at him, "Uh-uh-uh," she tutted at Dembe, who had made a move towards them. "Your boss and I have a little business to discuss first."

Reddington's voice was impossibly low as he turned carefully toward his associate. "It's alright, Dembe. Ms. Øllegaard is just establishing our ground rules." Reddington's hand waved carelessly, "I handcuffed her to a chair, it's only fair that she takes a moment to threaten my well-being and various body parts should I do it again, which I won't." He turned pleasantly back to her, "…Unless she asks nicely."

Dembe reluctantly stepped back to stand by the door, watching the woman carefully as she turned imperious eyebrows back to her now-hostage.

Reddington continued in a purr, "You know, I don't think I've ever been threatened by a woman as she sat in my lap. It's quite intoxicating. Were I a lesser man, you'd have me stammering like a hormonal teenager asking someone to prom."

"And just think, if you had chosen the sofa I'd be straddling you right now." she teased.

Reddington sighed and looked at the piece of furniture with mock disappointment. "Well, it's still early. If negotiations go sour, we may have to kiss and make up on the sofa." He flirted, waggling his eyebrows and placing his large hand on her knee.

Rosalie swatted the hand playfully with the flat side of her blade, but the man responded by nabbing it from her and tossing it to the floor. He turned triumphantly only to see her wielding yet another one.

Reddington shook his head and took a sip of his scotch, "I'm curious how many weapons my men failed to confiscate from you." He groused, throwing a sidelong glance at his bodyguard, who looked sheepish.

"Too many." Rosalie said, her tone chiding, "I could have been an assassin, you know."

He scolded her right back, "Instead, you're a very ill-behaved inn keeper."

"Says the kidnapper who…" she faltered, "Honestly, I don't even know who you are."

"I'm not as unknown as you might think." He intimated, an eyebrow flitting towards his hairline.

Rosalie carefully avoided rolling her eyes at this display of the male ego.

A pristine straw fedora caught her eye from its place on the nearby writing desk, making her eyes narrow at the man whose lap she was in. "In Paraguay I heard a rumor…" her eyes scanned his carefully, "they spoke of the man in the hat."

Reddington's eyes followed hers to the fedora in question. "See? Not as unknown as you thought."

The vibrant blonde in his lap suddenly burst into peals of laughter. "You're the one Robbie Vesco left penniless in a whore house?"

Reddington's mouth gaped with open incredulity, 'Robbie' Vesco my ass, he thought. That swindling jackass.i He was not yet over this particular transgression.

Rosalie's eyes were dancing with suppressed mirth, "Oh, don't look so sullen." She smirked, "The man's a terrible cheat. Besides, I see you've recovered just fine." Her switchblade left his pulse point long enough to gesture pointedly at the beautiful room they were in.

The man's wounded vanity was partially soothed, and he opted to change the subject rather than open hostilities over his former mentor. Raymond leaned to place his glass on a nearby side table, invading the chortling woman's space enough to derail her amusement. He cocked his head, allowing his eyes to bore into hers.

"Like any good criminal, my empire is highly diversified to suit my skill set and financial needs," he drawled, "and as you so amusedly surmised, to insulate me from 'terrible cheats' like Robert."

Rosalie schooled her expression into something more amenable, "You're a criminal jack of all trades."

Reddington's head lilted back and forth, "I deal in the commodities of information, misinformation, people, and identities. The success of my business depends on my ability to manipulate those commodities to the benefit of myself and my clientele. I'm a merchant of both people and contraband, a broker, a contract killer. However, the lifeblood of my business is as a concierge of sorts. I provide a very specific service for criminals who have either gotten in too deep and need a way out, or are struggling to move freely throughout the world."

The woman nodded in understanding, "You provide the necessary documentation to meet their needs."

"As well as transport, introductions, the occasional facial reconstruction. I provide a variety of accoutrements."

"I see, and what business would you be expecting from me, Mr. Reddington?" Rosalie asked pointedly.

"An acquaintance of mine has been partaking of your safe house network. I would like to utilize it for my day to day business, and, if you are willing, I would also like to forward my clientele to you. Most of them need safe harbor while I complete the necessary documentation for their new lives."

Rosalie examined him for a moment before reaching up to close the switch blade and toss it onto the coffee table. Reddington watched avidly as she crossed one beautifully toned leg over the other, giving him a tantalizing peek at her upper thigh.

"Mr. Reddington, I've built a life and an empire that demands a certain level of craft and cleverness. I will not permit myself or my operation to be abused. If you want access to my network, there is a set of guidelines you must follow, understood?"

Reddington smiled genially, "I take it the foreplay is over? That's a shame, I was looking forward to getting you hot and bothered. Please, dear, call me Raymond."

"First things first, Raymond," she purred, "I have a variety of associates that are vital to the continuity of my business: maids, bell hops, room service, property managers… These people are not to be harmed or harassed in any way. They are employed for your comfort as well as your security. Your people saw evidence of their usefulness when they came to kidnap me." Her thoughts flitted briefly back to the young bell hop.

Reddington nodded without argument.

"Secondly, I need at least 4 hours' notice on your intended whereabouts so I can have a location ready. I will also require a list of the countries and cities you most often do business in, so that I can confirm I'm able to accommodate you."

"What happens when I need lodgings in a location you don't have access to?"

"At that point I will either purchase a property, or if there isn't enough time, I will place my people at your disposal in a hotel penthouse." Rosalie answered confidently.

Reddington nodded his approval and waved her on.

"Thirdly, I am not responsible for your safety and well being should you act impulsively. My network, when utilized appropriately, is impregnable. However, if you don't take the necessary precautions when accessing my network, i.e. – making sure you haven't been followed, that is your problem, not mine."

Rosalie sighed irritably, "Lastly, no prostitutes in my homes. I'm in the business of safe houses, not brothels."

This earned a throaty chuckle from Raymond.

"Well," he said, his voice rumbling pleasantly against Rosalie's skin. "I find your terms to be agreeable. I would like to sample the merchandise, however, before committing my entire operation to your network."

An ambitious smile curled at the woman's mouth, "Certainly, Raymond. What is your next destination?"

"Bulgaria."

"Varna?" she asked, her smile widening.

Reddington found himself smirking back at her, "I take it you aren't opposed?"

The young woman was positively brimming with confidence, "I have a lovely boutique property in Euxinograd that you will positively adore."

Somewhat reluctantly, Reddington placed a hand on the small of the woman's back and guided her up out of his lap. He pulled his firearm from the holster on the small of his back, snatching the abandoned switch blade from the coffee table.

The young woman held her hand out expectantly.

Reddington shook his head, firearm aimed at the ceiling. "That'll teach you to bring a knife to a gun fight." he teased, still holding the blade close to his chest.

Rosalie leaned into his ear, "Who said I don't have a gun?" she purred, snatching the switch blade out of his grip.

Her burning eyes convinced him that, yes, there was a firearm hidden somewhere in that damnable skirt.

She twirled the blade between her fingers as she swaggered from the room.

"I'll see you in Bulgaria, Mr. Reddington."

Dembe led the woman from the lounge to the exit, providing her with the necessary contact information before escorting her outside.

Back in the lounge, Red leaned back against the door taking deep, steadying breaths.

Eightyears in Raymond Reddington's skin and he had never had such an encounter with another criminal. The woman's tactics had been terrifying and yet incredibly arousing. He could still feel her tight little figure perched in his lap as she crossed her gorgeous legs.

Red shook his head and cleared his throat. He would have to talk with Dembe and Baz about checking every nook and cranny for switchblades…