Levi raised an eyebrow at the sight of the face behind Tony staring back at him. He might as well let the mask drop. His eyes darkened, a sinister grin pulling at his lips. He glanced behind the man once more time—then locked eye contact. "Seems like backup's here."

Tony's eyes flickered, a bit of color draining from his face. Levi could see the temptation to glance back etched in his steel blue eyes. He gave in for a quick glance—just the opening Levi needed.

He ripped the firearm from the gangster's hand—just as it went off—missing his bare foot by inches. Young's eyes turned void of emotion as a black-booted foot came into knockout contact with his head. His body crumbled onto the carpeted floor.

Levi found himself stunned, the unconscious form on the ground. Who had done that? As far as he knew, only two people were in the apartment—Tony and him. He'd been looking at his reflection in the mirror to trick the man into thinking someone else was in the room even though there wasn't—but then again, maybe there was.

His keen eye caught a dark figure flash past. He stuck his head out the doorframe, looking down the short hallway that led to the small living room and kitchen.

"Hey!" he almost screamed at the person escaping through the third-floor window of the living room. Someone had lost their wits! He cursed when the window's sash slid down, slamming on the hand. He hurried to the window, tightening the towel around his waist as he made his way over. He yanked it back up and closed his hand around the surprisingly delicate one. He pulled, almost frantically. The person dressed in a black one-piece outfit slumped into the floor like a wet noodle, long dark hair flowing down her back.

A woman.

He'd never uttered so much profanity in his life.

She rose to her feet, pulling her hair back out of her face. "Someone forgot to use mouthwash."

Levi stood several safe paces back. Was she a wannabe ninja? But she hardly had the looks of a felon. He was wary of the smile that crept on her pretty face—though she looked terribly familiar.

She made her way back over to the bedroom where Tony lay unconscious—like it was her territory. Levi followed her. Who was this? She went down on her haunches, injecting something into his neck. She rose, turning chirpily to face him. She placed her hands on her hips. "Smith gave me instructions to keep him alive."

She stepped out, brushing past him. She went back over to the window. She paused and turned to face him. A wide smile stretched across her face. "I'm Lisa Troy, by the way."

Oh. So D. Smith had decided to use the diner girl—the same one who couldn't pull a trigger. How pathetic. He made no effort to hide his thoughts. "Don't tell me you're the same woman who fainted at the sight of cops storming in."

He felt the fiery glare in her dark eyes. He returned it with a smirk. She tugged at the sleeve of her outfit, head held high. "I'll have you know that a lot has changed since then. And I always take my jobs seriously."

"Yeah, if knocking someone cold is the best you can do." He felt an inexplicable need to drive her cool away. He could've handled Young on his own. He had needed to for some reason—maybe to drive away some of his haunting thoughts. He needed to feel better about himself some way. Getting rid of the bad guys was the best way he could think of. The thoughts of Chris seemed to resurrect every other thing linked.

He felt pleasure in seeing her do her best keeping cool. "I gotta go." She didn't bother to suppress a grimace as she looked him up and down. "It ain't pretty fighting in a bath towel, anyway."

She was gone into the night before he could return anything about that.

Anyway, there was Tony to deal with.

William would take care of that easily. They shared the apartment.

.......................................................

Michael spread his arms out wide, head back, as though embracing his space. "Welcome to my office, Miss Hopper."

Chris couldn't help but grin and shake her head in amazement as her eyes skimmed over her surroundings. First appearances of this guy would make one think he was hopelessly disorganized. His domain claimed otherwise. It was terribly clutter-free! Nothing seemed out of place. A laptop computer, open notepad and pen, and a bottle of water were the only things he had on his desk. This would totally put the study she used to have in her apartment to shame.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Her eyes landed on him as he plopped down behind his sanitary-white desk. "I'll settle for five bucks," she said in the gravest business tone she could muster.

He snorted. "Nah," he waved dismissively, "I doubt they worth it."

She gasped dramatically as though greatly offended.

He gave her an eye-roll and smiled. He motioned for her to take a seat. She took it without a second beat. This was only her second time meeting him, and her first time seeing his face—but strangely enough, she felt completely comfortable and at ease. His grey eyes were pleasantly startling against his dark skin. He had a good build, too. Maybe he'd played basketball? She was suddenly curious about his former career. But that had to wait.

"I got no idea why Smith couldn't have just briefed you herself," he said as though half talking to himself.

"If you're that uncomfortable with talking to me, why didn't you just ask her to do it?"
He raised a brow at her. "That woman seems to be only half alive. I ain't about to talk to no possible zombie."

Chris giggled at his exaggeration. Apparently she wasn't the only one who got freaked out by her.

"The Stevens' guy is something else," he said while he busied himself setting something up on his laptop. Chris found herself more interested in what he'd say next. "You can actually tell that he thinks he's like Superman—invisible. Drives me sick." He spat out the last word. "And that Troy." Chris head snapped up. She hated the fact that the first thing she found they had in common was rather low opinions on two people—but she still was terribly interested in what he had to say about that rude, insensitive, hotshot woman.

Michael just shook his head.

She was a bit disappointed—her conscious pricked her for that.

As he placed his focus back on the present, he exhaled and turned the laptop to face her. "But we ain't here to talk about them." He leaned back in his chair. "This is kinda about you—and this guy."

Chris squinted at the picture on the screen. The blonde hair and baby-blue eyed guy didn't register as someone familiar to her. She searched Michael's eyes for an explanation.

"The Brit's name's Richard—Richard Greenwood."

Chris remembered reading an article about him while she was still in high school. Some sort of genius in chemistry or something. She'd never met him.

"Guy's filthy rich from his dead father's restaurants. Smith's boss was convinced that he would not have thrown his chemical knowledge away just to run several restaurants. Anyway, to shorten this whole boring story, something happened at one of his restaurants that caused a number of people to get seriously sick."

Chris shrugged. "It could've been food poisoning."

"Nah, tests showed that it hadn't—even though papers all over said it was. It was some sort of chemical compound—which turned out to be one Green had come up with in his college years. Fortunately, only a small portion had escaped into the air. It's quite obvious what would have ensued if a larger portion had been exposed. Donald, Smith's boss, has a hunch that the guy is probably getting rich over it. There's no telling whether what happened at the restaurant was a failed act of terrorism or an accident. One thing's sure—this is an opportunity to find out—maybe before it's too late."

Chris didn't know what to make up of what Michael Evans had just imparted to her. It was way too much and way too fast for her to process. What was she to do with this information? "How am I involved in all this? I don't know the guy."

Michael popped his knuckles and sat upright once more, his boredom mirrored in his demeanor. "Well, CIA needs a few snoops out there. Someone will have to work in one of the fast food restaurants. " He paused—then chuckled at some private joke. "Anyway, you'll have to get to know more about the whole thing. Get to know the guy."

Chris felt sudden apprehension fill her chest. She had no intention in getting to know a villain.

Villain?

This was ridiculous! His picture hardly gave that impression. He looked terrible—terribly nice. And as far as it went, he was probably innocent. Maybe someone was framing him, for all they knew.

But the thing was—she felt uneasy. Walking into this would without a question be dangerous. She knew she was hardly capable of keeping her cover intact. But the truth had to come out somehow. But then again, who said she was the one to go?

Michael cocked his head to the side as though assessing her. "How old are you, Christina Hopper?"

"Twenty-two."

"Sheesh! Well, if you do decide that you want to get out there, try not to get yourself killed at such a young age."

Chris willed herself to at least smile at that semi-sardonic joke.

"The guy has a history of being a bulldozer—don't get in his way or he'll run you over."

Then that settled it. "I'm not going anywhere near him," she said in a nonchalant tone—though she meant it with all she had in her.

Michael raised his brows, no concern or sympathy etched in any of his features. "Well, you got three days to sleep on it."

......................................................

Listening in on the conversation of two of her new interns had proved greatly informative. Although Hopper had not put in any impute, D. Smith was sure her true feelings were in near harmony with Evans'. She was also positive Evans knew their conversation was taped. He was smart. At times she worried where those brains would take him.

But that was the least of her concerns at the moment. Hopper seemed decided—she wasn't going anywhere. It would be risky to place someone onto the field if they were clearly against it. "What do you think?" she turned to her boss, M. Donald. "She doesn't want to go."

He steepled his fingers, leaning forward. "It's fear that's holding her back. If it is out of the way, she is the perfect choice."

D. Smith held on to her cool. "She cannot do it. We cannot force her to."

"She can."

His firm tone would have usually silenced her. "She can hardly keep her jittering under control when she senses danger. She'll be surrounded by danger."

He gave a faint shake of his head, it was hardly noticeable. "She can do this. There is no way Stevens can hold this up alone."

She was left to wonder at the great faith M. Donald had in the former school teacher. She wouldn't push him to choose Troy, because after all, "We need her consent."

He inhaled deeply and released it. "Now there lies the problem."

So what do you think? Ja, I know I have taken AGES to update, but this week I had severe procrastinitis and I just didn't take my treatment for it. And then to add to the havoc, I have been feeling dog-tired and the monster known as Writer's Block had me as his captive. It was dreadful! I moaned as he tormented me with a blank page.

Anyway, enough of that! Tell me what you think on this chapter! Yes, it went through difficulty so don't fear to be honest.

P.S. Procrastinitis is just my fun word for my laziness! Hahaha!