Weaving his way through the cluster of people dancing to the loud, head-banging techno song in the low-lit pub, Thomas was doing his best not to be distracted from his main reason for being here. But how he missed being here! Ever since Aunt Martha had given him a job as her driver, he felt a bit—a lot lower than usual. Not a single bottle of wine in that house was not accounted for. So if he so happened to take one, Aunt Martha's mole, Louis, would peep on and she'd go to the extreme punishment of emptying his bank account. He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration, trying to rip his eyes away from the bottle in one of the patron's hands.

He made his way to the secluded corner of the pub and slid into a booth. He tried acting usual and not darting his eyes to catch sight of the man he was here for. He raked his hands through his dreadlocks and groaned as the smell of alcohol filled his nostrils, begging him to take just one shot. He folded his arms on the black polished table and dropped his head into them, ready to whimper.

"Need something to lift your mood, sir?"

He raised his head at the feminine voice. Her provocative attire made him forget to respond. Her smile wasn't on for politeness to customers or kindness or sympathy. All it was on for was to draw people like him into whatever he was most susceptible to falling for.

Someone cleared their throat.

Thomas' eyes slowly moved to the figure of a man a head taller than the woman, muscular arms folding across his chest. Thomas felt dead knowing that if this guy was this girl's man he was no match, until he realized it was the man he was waiting for. The man slid into the booth and gave Thomas a dark glare that would kill before he turned to the girl with a suggestive smile. "Give us a few minutes."

"I'll be counting!" she said with a wink and left.

There were no names between them. All Thomas knew was the guy's face and it was the same the other way around. Just in case anyone panicked and decided to squeak, there would be no name to give. But so far everything was airtight.

"So when is he coming?"

He knew he was talking about his brother, Richard. "He'll be back in a day or two."

"And is everything going as planned? No leaks or suspicion?"

"Yeah," he replied—even though he wasn't so sure. No leaks, of course—but no suspicion? Ever since Pauline, neither he nor his elder brother could be so sure. Richard had even gone to the extent of falling for the chic! Nothing was suspected of the female MI5 agent until she made one slip up. Richard took care of that—the hard way. A disappearing agent raised plenty of suspicion. And now Kristal Thompson was on the scene. He wasn't sure what he thought of her. She wasn't like Pauline at all. She seemed to lack some characteristics of adulthood to some extent. But he liked her for some reason for the few days she'd been around. It wasn't just because she was pretty. She was beautiful—but in a different way than Pauline. It wasn't just from her features but from somewhere deeper. She even seemed oblivious to the fact. Besides, her presence kept Aunt Martha off his back eighty percent of the time. No. He couldn't see her as a suspect.

But it was stupid thinking that way. He knew it.

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

Levi cursed under his breath as he eyed the "Shadow" sitting at a table by the windows looking out at the street. Why did she have to show up while he was on shift? Despite himself he went over to take her order. "Good day, little lady."

Her eyes rose to his and she smiled, hers looking so real and Levi's looking plastic by the minute. "Good day, mister!"

"What're you ordering?" he asked before a beat even passed.

She threw her head back and laughed. "You are surely the most polite person I've met!" she said in a low voice. "What do you say I should order?" she said in a brighter tone.

"Nothing."

She chuckled, almost sinisterly. "Whatever. Anyway, I came to tell you that your crush is really hard to track down. She's hardly ever seen in town. However, I did see the guy she was with the other day entering a pub—but she wasn't with him."

Levi tried showing zero interest in what she'd said. Besides, the evening of the day he ran into Hopper, he'd contacted D. Smith for an answer. "This sort of thing is not meant to be done solo, Mr. Stevens," was all she said in her software, nonchalant tone in that matter. Now here Sally was telling him Hopper was hard to find! Having Hopper as his partner was going to be one of the most excruciating things he'd have to bear on his side, but he had to find her—to at least suppress the chances of her causing everything from backfiring—or placing the spotlight on herself. And the way D. Smith put it, he wasn't going to be able to get rid of her—but be able to get her out of the way.

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

This was the taste of freedom! She'd been sent on an errand for Madam Greenwood—even though she wasn't her maid—but so happened to be her servant instead. Errand or not, nothing could beat a drive in English country in a slick, silent engine convertible. How she'd needed it! Knowing every step you took was under surveillance and having a grouchy woman on your back more times than your own hair was almost unbearable. Having your faith seen as a crutch and something for the uneducated almost made her lose her Christian character all together. As she inhaled the crispy fresh air, she let every single thing that bugged her about being in this job dissolve and for at least an hour—forgotten.

Pulling into a parking space in the busy city, she chuckled at her task—ordering a midday meal of a large chicken burger with fried potato chips because Madam Greenwood was in no temperament for French cuisine. Chris knew it was a test, for why else was she ordered to get it strictly from the city? She tied her long blonde hair into a careless ponytail as she stepped into a fast food restaurant busy with the lunch-rush. Her eyes scanned over their back-lit menu as she patted the front pockets of her beloved jeans. As she took in her surroundings of the bright red walls and the colorful flooring, her eyes moved to taking in the people around her.

She gave a double take at one of the waiters serving a table of a family of four. She instantly knew who he was even from the back. He ran his fingers through his broad strip of dark brown hair, empty tray in one arm. Didn't his guy know how to blend in? His long-sleeved shirt covered the armloads of tats she'd seen on his arms a few days ago and didn't conceal his toned body, but his height and, in her opinion, disgusting piercings were making him stick out like a sore thumb! She failed to realize that most of the employees had the same sense in style. The line was moving quite well, but she hardly noticed. Sensing as though someone was watching him, his eyes found hers. She expected to catch the light of recognition—like the one she'd seen the other day. She was badly disappointed. She turned her head away with a flick of a stray strand of hair. He really was good. And here she was, barely keeping her emotions under control from showing.

Brown paper bag with her junk food order for her boss, she made a beeline for the exit. Someone ran into her. Her clutch tightened on the bag, knowing who it was—knowing it was intentional.

Stevens.

She cocked her head as she raised her head to look into his handsome smirking face. She narrowed her eyes at him, curious at the look in his eyes—nervousness, excitement, attraction? "I'm so sorry, ma'am." He took the briefest glance to the nearest booth. A teen girl around fourteen wiggled her eyebrows at them.

Chris finally got it. She played along with a shy smile. There was something he wanted to say—but it had nothing to do with his current façade. "So we meet again." Her British accent was polished.

"Yeah." It was such a short reply which sounded so sincere, she almost removed her gaze from her sneakered feet. When she did, he looked around nervously, and then landed on her once more. "Look, I don't have much time now that I'm on shift, but. . ." He handed her a slip of folded paper.

"Oh. . ." Chris guessed it was his phone number, knowing the gesture. She had no idea how to generate a blush. She just felt like throwing up after she gave the look of being totally flattered after the restaurant's door slammed shut behind her.

She unfolded it before entering her car for the errand. There was no phone number but an address. It wasn't familiar to her whatsoever. This could be scandalous if it wasn't a public place—but Stevens wasn't like that. But how in the world did she know that? Honestly, she knew nothing of him! She stuffed the paper into her back pocket and shut herself up in the driver's seat, hands on the wheel.

Her mind travelled to all that could happen if she did show up at the address. There were high chances he just wanted to talk to her. After all, they were supposed to be working together. But Stevens, from the very start, had not been one for teamwork. He was the soloist—and Chris had no doubt that he was great at it. And if it were for her, she'd let him have the whole thing and not be involved one bit. This would be her opportunity to tell him so—not that it would make any difference since she was already stuck in this Isle. She'd just watch out for any private areas—and remember her methods of defense if it led to that—though deep inside she doubted she'd need to use them.

God, help me to stay vigilant nonetheless.

On the refreshing ride back to the Greenwood estate, she resurrected the tasks of her job back to her memory. Honestly, every moment she'd spent in that house after a visit to the basement, she'd been racking her brain for a way to penetrate the secrets that place held. Maybe she'd cracked a nut open. She'd befriended Bart, the heavyset Scot who was based at the surveillance room every night. She'd seen the screens. Every place was monitored except the bedrooms and bathrooms—but the exits, such as windows and doors, were. "Why is this place so guarded?" she'd asked him once.

"Well, lass, there are a few nasty people out in the world, you know," he'd replied in his rich Scottish inflection. The middle aged man would smile as he gave the answer, his hazel eyes twinkling.

She'd pointed at one of the monitors. "But there are even motion sensors in the basement! Why?"

He'd shrugged. "I don't know, little lass. I'm not paid to know those details." His face had given way for a slight frown. "But at times I too wonder at that."

Chris remembered how her insides had filled with so much quivering yesterday as she'd approached him as his shift began and hers as a maid ended. She'd wiped her damp hands on her jeans, having dumped the white dress because she'd failed to keep it pristine. After polite greetings and inquiries, she'd admitted out right, "I've wondered at that basement for quite a while."

He'd nodded, encouraging her to go on.

She took a steadying breath as she'd seen that she had his full attention. "Maybe it's time to test whether the sensors are really worthwhile. After all, the only breathing things that set it off are vermin. Isn't that what caused the commotion last night?"

He chuckled heartily. " Ya, I remember that. But I have no clue what yer gettin' at."

"Turn off the sensors so we can all have a peaceful sleep tonight."

His smile had turned wan, the glow in his eyes shadowed by curiosity—thankfully not suspicion.

"Then turn it on at three a.m." She'd felt sweat beating on her back.

"Why three a.m.?"

She'd sincerely prayed that God would help her out with her expressions. "Dah," she'd said with an eye-roll, "that's the time criminals are really active. Not many vermin."

He nodded slowly, pondering—Chris pulse rate rising. "Okay—but just for tonight."

She'd rejoiced so hard in her heart that she'd been sure her feet had sprung. But she said rather coolly, "Wonderful! Now I can go set some traps for the annoyances around here."

She entered the garage turning over and over in her mind about the plan she had made on the drive back here. She found Madam Greenwood wearing a simple black dress and white sunhat in the rose garden plucking the crimson red petals with her slender, delicate fingers. She hated to have to approach her with a request, her steel blue eyes shooting darts at her. "You are two minutes late."

Chris felt her nerves beginning to get raw. "I was a bit delayed," she said instead of what she really wanted to say—that it was almost humanly impossible for her to stand time-freaks.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her red lips. "I was teasing you."

Chris didn't bother to giggle—even if it would be false. She turned her attention to the beautiful surroundings.

She heard a soft laugh leave the woman's lips. "I was always terrible at teasing." She waited for Chris to look into her eyes. She narrowed her sapphire eyes at her. "You want to request something from me."

Chris handed her boss the brown paper bag of her ordered lunch with an amused smile. "Yes, ma'am, I do."

The woman laid the bag beside her on the bench, not even looking at it. "Then get on with it."

"I kind of have to meet a friend of mine in town—a couple of miles from here." She snorted internally. Stevens as a friend.

"You are permitted to go as long as it doesn't interfere with your duties here," she said with a raised brow. Then she waved her off. "You may leave me to myself now," she added nonchalantly.

Chris turned on her kneel and left, the ability to breathe normally returning.

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The setting sun painted the sky in warm colors of gold, pink and rusted orange. One could still hear the birds chirping in the park and the gentler sounds of humanity. Levi made his way to an empty bench, his motorbike helmet in hand. It seemed mostly couples were out, strolling together hand in hand. He subconsciously let his eyes drift to couple sitting beside each other on a bench. He instantly grimaced and averted his eyes once their mouths met. He remembered being that guy one time in his life, witlessly in love. Why he was here under the false impressions that he was attracted to Hopper was beyond him.

He felt a bitter taste in his mouth as he unwillingly remembered the woman who trampled over his heart. He'd had so many relationships, he couldn't even the remember most of the names. But one day in his senior year in high school, he'd promised himself to change and be a better person. He'd kept her. He'd joined the military straight after college, only managed to stay two years until he was transported back home because of his injury. While he was in rehab, she'd visited to tell him she'd fallen for some else while he was overseas. He'd taken the blow with so much chill, they actually left on the "just a friend" basis. But at that moment he felt like his world had fallen around his ears. Chris was gone. Fiona was gone.

Perfect.

In his state, he'd considered slitting his wrists—but stopped when he realized that he still had a chance at something else—the army—fighting. That had failed. But here he was—an agent—his first dream. And no memory was going to make him mess it up.

No one was going to mess this case up.

And there she was, approaching on a rusted bike. From a distance, he watched Hopper chain the bicycle to the pole of a light along the path, not using the parking available for those types of vehicles. He approached her from behind, catching the warm scent of her cologne. Her blonde hair glowed under the light of the setting sun. She stilled. She slowly turned to face him, those magnetic green eyes rising to his.

Okay, that was a looong chapter, but you know how it goes: sometimes you got a lot to say! This thing was very roughly edited, so please bear or bare with me. (too lazy to use the dictionary)