"Fuck!" Jeisa yelled as she doubled over. She was sure she'd heard something crunch that time.

"You're not focussed," the dojo master yelled, backing away from that last heel kick to Jeisa's midriff. "You're leaving yourself wide open!"

Of course, she wasn't focussed! It was more than a week since she'd dropped off the red dragon at the Police Captain's house and the captain was still walking the Earth. Despite everything she'd done, Jeisa couldn't get the woman alone. It was like she was reading Jeisa's mind, pre-empting every move she made. Did she know about Jeisa? Not that it mattered if she did. What mattered was that Jeisa was failing on too many fronts. She was sparking again and now she wasn't even able to do her work as the Enforcer. It wouldn't be long before her father called her out on it, and Jeisa wasn't sure how she was going to deal with that.

"You didn't have to hit me that hard!" Jeisa spat back, more bile than she'd intended colouring her voice.

Coach chuckled, softening considerably and shattering the tension between them.

"Payment for the permanent markers, as promised," he said with a grin. "Those ten-year-olds were vicious."

Jeisa laughed, then quickly doubled over again with a groan, a hand against her right ribs.

"You definitely broke something!" she said.

"They're bruised, not broken," he replied. "You're strong. You'll heal fast enough."

"Right, thanks." Jeisa sighed and groaned again as she walked to the changing rooms. "Well, I'm done for the day. I'm going to work."

*

Jeisa secured the last button of her custom made, black, double breasted, chef's tunic that wrapped around her perfectly. She dusted off imaginary lint from her black jeans, which reached into the tops of her black, steel toed, leather, work boots. She took a moment to sit down and breathe through the pain radiating from the left side of her torso. She considered leaving and going home to down an unreasonable amount of pain killers then sleep for the next twenty four hours, but this job was yet another thing she'd insisted on having against her father's guidance. Like her never-ending volunteering gigs and the music lessons, this job kept her grounded and gave her structure.

Gave her a taste of normal life.

She got up and made sure her reflection was perfect. This job demanded nothing less than perfection.

Jeisa rocked her chef whites, or rather, blacks. No one else was allowed such liberty with the uniform in this kitchen. She didn't like the toque though. No one rocks a toque. It was, however, better than the hairnet that she'd be forced to wear if she refused to wear the silly, hundred-pleated monstrosity of a hat. As a compromise, she'd had hers done custom with less pleats and a sexy slant to it. It didn't take away from the fact that she knew how to cook eggs in one hundred different ways, which is what the original, fashion-challenged, head gear was supposedly meant to symbolise.

When she finally walked into the kitchen, five minutes before she was officially supposed to start, her mentor shoved a tray of shallots into her hands. He smiled at her and Jeisa sighed. He was being nice. This was bad. You wanted Roger to be barely holding on to spittle as he screamed profanity into your ear in decibels that warranted the same warnings that came with headphones that could be too loud. It was a total executive chef cliche, but it was how you knew he was having a good night at the restaurant. If, however, he handed a tray of shallots to you with a quiet smile, he was not having a good night at the restaurant.

"I need those peeled, washed, roasted, and prepared for your special. Table ten. Thirty minutes." said Roger.

Roger was down with the whole hundred pleated travesty of cloth being on his head and wearing all white apart from his black and white pants and apron. He was as traditional a French chef as one could possibly be. One good thing was that he didn't force you to say his name in French. That would have been a pain. A few wisps of his blond hair had escaped the toque, and the smoky eyeliner that ringed his stunning ice blue eyes was slightly smudged. His pale pink, full lips were free of glitter studded, fruit flavoured, lip gloss.

Damn. No gloss? He was definitely not having a good night.

Roger gave the tray a little extra shove, right into Jeisa's bruised ribs. Jeisa struggled to hide her wince and keep down the grunt of pain that was mountain climbing up her windpipe.

"Now." he said.

"Sure, Roger." Jeisa said through her teeth. She had never done the 'Yes Chef!' thing in all the six years she'd professionally worked here, and she knew that it got to him. From the look on his reddening face, it annoyed him just a teeny bit more tonight. She was pretty sure, though, that the smirk she attempted to put on her face looked more like a grimace, which kind of watered down the whole victory look she was going for.

Jeisa gingerly touched the right side of her tunic where her bruised ribs were on fire. It hadn't just been the situation with the police captain that had pulled her focus away from her training. She also hadn't been able to keep her mind off Cass stripping down to her underwear at the edge of that pool the night before. That and the amazing time they'd had together. This was going to hurt so much more than she'd thought, and it scared her a little that she was ready to ratchet it up a few notches between them – to torture herself even more.

She took in a deep breath and looked down at the softly perfumed shallot bulbs on the tray. She smiled. Ninjitsu training couldn't hold a candle to the kitchen! A couple of nights a week as sous-chef slash culinary protege made post-apocalyptic Mars missions while fighting venomous tentacled aliens seem like a nice peaceful hobby you could do on the side. And with Roger in a super funky mood, this night promised to wipe out the image of that smooth flat stomach, that sinfully seductive gold, belly button stud and the start of that softly defined V that dipped down from the edges of her hips to disappear into those simple black bikini briefs.

Jeisa shook her head.

She needed to start peeling shallots right now!

*

It was finally closing time. Jeisa wiped down the chef's knife and placed it into the last slot of her custom made, hand crafted, earth brown, leather knife bag. She rolled the bag closed and pulled it against her, ready to leave this crazy back of house.

"Jeisa, you're needed." called out Tom, one of the interns. After being awarded its third Michelin Star, the restaurant had opened its doors to young, vagabond, self-taught, world-travelled chefs like Tom. Roger liked their head strong and fiercely open-minded innovative streak. It added a much-appreciated depth to the restaurant experience. "Table ten."

Jeisa sighed. Sometimes this happened. The chef was called out to the floor to either be scolded for letting the award-winning, foreign-named, slab of beef on the plate get a touch too close to medium or to be showered with praise for combining bacon and chocolate in a way that wasn't totally disgusting. Jeisa straightened her tunic, rubbing at a spot of hollandaise sauce on her sleeve, then she pushed some escapee hair strands back under her chef's hat.

The occupant of Table ten explained Roger's horrid mood that night. It was Claudia, the restaurant owner and all around acrimonious human being.

"Jeisa!" Claudia called out upon seeing her.

The woman had been hitting on Jeisa for years. The first time Jeisa had met her was on her eighteenth birthday. Ever since then, the woman would insist on calling Jeisa from the kitchen when she visited. Roger had stopped telling Jeisa when the woman visited because it completely messed Jeisa's focus in the kitchen.

"Hello, Claudia," Jeisa said, hoping the smile on her face was convincing. "How's the husband? And Mercy must be eight by now. How is she?"

The woman laughed and began to speak, but Jeisa zoned out, as always.

Jeisa's eyes fell on the occupants on the table behind Claudia's. That table's occupants included an elegant middle aged woman doing justice to a silky, sparkly little black dress. Very few people looked as svelte as she did in the perennial Little Black Dress. The man sitting with this woman had his back to Jeisa and her breath caught when she finally figured out why he looked so familiar, even though she hadn't seen his face.

She knew that wide, muscled back from somewhere. Right now, it was covered in a tailored silk jacket that looked like it would probably cause an irresistible purr from even Jeisa if she ran her hands over it, but she'd seen that back somewhere. Naked. It was the hair that did it – that completed the picture. Shoulder length, dark, silky, and looked gorgeous pooled across a white pillowcase.

It was Mr. 29th floor apartment.

That's when Jeisa noticed the purple clutch purse on the table that was way too boxy and large to be a clutch purse. About ten inches long, half as wide and about two inches thick. Jeisa was starting to think that it was the same case. First the Captain, then the man, and now he was giving it to the woman?

"...Would that work for you, Jeisa?" Claudia said, catching Jeisa'd attention.

"Um... yeah... I guess." Jeisa replied with a shrug and smile.

"She just asked you out to eat with her. Are you sure?" Roger discreetly whispered to Jeisa.

"Oh, that's right. Thanks Roger," Jeisa suddenly said, her stomach dropping at the awful thought of having dinner with this woman. "Roger just reminded me that I'll be busy that night. I'm sorry."

"I didn't say which night," Claudia replied with a raised brow and half a smirk.

"I'm busy most nights," Jeisa shrugged, hoping it was nonchalant.

"I didn't even say it was going to be at night." Claudia returned.

Fuck.

"I'm sorry, but I promised my dad I'd be home before my curfew tonight, and I'm running late." Jeisa replied, hoping she was properly emphasizing just how out of reach she should be from the woman's reach, especially after they'd just celebrated her fifty fifth birthday only a few weeks ago.

"Well, then I'll let you be, sweetheart." Claudia finally said.

Jeisa smiled and turned to walk away. Before she walked away, she caught the snippet of conversation from Mr. 29th apartment, her third target.

"...messed up his dogs and now he's dead. And now I got that dragon! I'm dead!" he was saying.

Jeisa wished she could stay and listen to more.

"Oh, and Jeisa?" Claudia called out.

Jeisa smiled, taking a second before she turned.

"Yes, Claudia?" she said, having turned to look at the woman.

Whatever Claudia said went over Jeisa's head. All she heard was what the woman on the table behind Claudia's said.

"...case is useless without the girl. Bring me the girl and you'll be home free. Rich enough to disappear off the face of the Earth."

"...well then, I guess that's all I had to say for tonight. Goodnight once more, Jeisa. Until next time." Claudia finished.

Jeisa pulled her focus back to her. "Until next time. Goodnight, Claudia."

Back in the kitchen, Roger stopped Jeisa.

"Are you okay?" her mentor asked, concern dripping from the words.

The case is useless without the girl.

What girl?

It couldn't be Jeisa, could it?

Jeisa looked up at Roger. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just tired."

Roger nodded. "You bust your ass tonight. Well done. Go get some rest. You deserve it."

"Thanks, Roger," Jeisa said, giving him a genuine smile. He always went into 'over-protective' mode when Claudia decided to harass her. Jeisa appreciated it. "See you later."

When her dad was talking about Weapons of Mass Destruction, Jeisa's mind had automatically gone to missiles, dirty bombs, nuclear launch codes and other similar bad-news items. But what if it was something smaller? Something that could fit in a purple velvet case? An object that Jeisa had let slip through her fingers more than once? Was it a bioweapon? A syringe filled with some horrible, world-ending, fatal virus?

Jeisa stopped moving.

She was in the restaurant's staff locker room, changing from her chef's gear. However, she'd abandoned the task and was now standing on a bench, reaching out for one of the fluorescent bulbs overhead, her technopath tendrils almost fully drawn out. Her heart was pounding painfully against her chest. She pulled the tendrils back, a task that felt impossible and stretched out the seconds into what felt like hours. She got down from the bench and sat with her head in her hands.

What was happening to her?

She had never felt this intense before.

She forced herself to slow her thoughts down. With her need to spark being this strong, she was dangerous. There was a reason her father had stopped her.

Jeisa closed her eyes and relaxed until those thread-like nanofibers that had been ribboning out from her fingertips went dormant again. She couldn't see them, but she could feel them. Could feel their itching need to spark.

She'd short circuited their house's power the first time that she had found out about them, when she was about seven. Her father had taken it in stride. He began homeschooling her then. They had even tried practicing control of her technopathy. It hadn't worked. She would get desperately out of control when the charge she was connected to became inadequate in giving her the buzz she wanted, forcing her father to stop her heart to keep her from taking down the whole town's power grids. Then he'd restart her heart and she'd be back to normal. Her dad always joked that he was rebooting her.

You'd think that having to kill your daughter several times a year would get you to rethink things, but that wasn't what did it.

Finally in control again, Jeisa finished changing and packed up to leave the restaurant. She walked out of the back door that led to the alley behind the restaurant, more than ready to get home to wash her hair and stop it from smelling like deep fryer oil and think about everything she'd learnt tonight.

"I'm sorry, but I have to hurt you. No hard feelings, okay?" said the girl, just before tackling Jeisa from the shadows of the alleyway behind the restaurant. At the end of the tussle, she held Jeisa in a nicely done Judo style submission hold.

Before letting her get comfortable in the hold, Jeisa relaxed her muscles then quickly tensed them, carrying out the counter move to the hold. The girl was now in Jeisa's hold.

"Hey!" she cried out, struggling against Jeisa's hold. "You're supposed to be a cook!"

"And you're supposed to be hurting me." replied Jeisa. "I guess we both get to go home disappointed tonight."

"Let. Go!" the girl said, struggling in the hold.

"You shouldn't struggle. It only makes this worse." said Jeisa, tightening her hold. "What's your name?"

Jeisa released her pressure slightly when the girl couldn't immediately answer. She didn't want her to pass out. Not yet.

"Robyn." she said, gulping a lungful of air.

Robyn couldn't have been older than seventeen. She was lean, but wiry. Her pixie cut, blood-red hair was unruly beneath Jeisa. Jeisa let go of the girl. She knew that name. That red hair. She wanted to see her face. Robyn's brown eyes glared at Jeisa and her thin lips were pursed in anger.

"So, exactly why do you want to hurt me, Robyn?" asked Jeisa coolly.

Robyn jumped Jeisa again. She threw a right hook, distracting Jeisa into blocking, then countered with a back fist punch that would have caught Jeisa in the jaw if she hadn't snapped her head back in time. Robyn followed with a front kick that Jeisa caught in her hands and pushed away, unbalancing Robyn.

Jeisa noticed that Robyn was stronger at holds and probably grappling than actual hits. Robyn was Judoka – the one martial arts style that Jeisa liked the least. Jeisa would have to keep from getting too close to Robyn for any length of time. Especially with her bruised ribs.

Robyn threw another punch, but Jeisa grabbed that hand, twisted Robyn around and pinned the girl's hands against her back. Then she pulled Robyn against her and locked her other arm around Robyn's neck. It was a dangerous position to be in with a Judo fighter.

"I'm trying to send a message to your father." said Robyn, struggling against the hold. Jeisa quickly let go of her again before Robyn threw her off. Robyn rubbed at her wrists as she looked at Jeisa, eyes blazing with hatred. "Him and his stupid Enforcer."

"Enforcer?" asked Jeisa, feigning surprise.

"Yeah!" said Robyn, almost spitting the words. "I want to make it clear that I can reach them too."

"Through me?" asked Jeisa, this time genuinely surprised.

"Your dad's not above playing low handed tricks to threaten my mother." said Robyn. She attacked Jeisa with a furious melee of kicks and punches that Jeisa worked to block. They stood apart again as Robyn attempted to hide the fact that she was trying to catch her breath and nurse the bruises from Jeisa's hits. Jeisa resisted touching her burning ribs.

"No clue what you're talking about." said Jeisa.

"Your father's Enforcer stole a deck of cards and a velvet case from my mum's safe, then he left that stupid red origami dragon with a warning for my mother to leave town." she said as she rushed to tackle Jeisa. They grappled for a while before Jeisa had her on the ground in a hold again. Robyn was good on the ground. Jeisa was slightly better. Only just.

So, someone had stolen the velvet case right after Jeisa had left her warning behind. There it was. Proof that it was the same case!

Jeisa let Robyn go again.

"Seeing as you know so much, have you ever heard of anyone coming after me to get to my dad?" Jeisa asked, her voice dark, no longer holding any humour. The technopath tendrils begged for freedom. Jeisa couldn't afford to get on the ground with Robyn again.

"No," spat the girl, standing up slowly, evidence that she was now properly bruised. "That's why it's going to work."

"Correction: that's why you shouldn't have dared to try it." Jeisa replied.

Before the girl could attack again, Jeisa side kicked her squarely on her solar plexus, catching Robyn by surprise and pretty much incapacitating her. Robyn crumpled to the ground landing on her knees, clutching at her chest and gasping for air. Jeisa reached down, placed her fingertips on Robyn's chin, having succeeded at suppressing the technopath fibres once more, and lifted the girl's face to her.

"You're cute." said Jeisa, letting the girl go and walking away. "Work on your punches. Let them borrow the power from your hips."

Jeisa picked up her knife bag, dusted it off and walked to her truck, her mind churning.