As usual, Jase had awakened thirty seconds before his alarm clock sounded. He hated waking up alone in bed. Had he suddenly developed a conscience regarding women? Just because Felicity didn’t want him didn’t mean no one wanted him. His history told him better. Why did it matter if she would have recoiled from Jase's promiscuous ways? Why did her opinion still effect his behavior? And when had Jase become such a mindless, romantic fool?

Felicity had made her choice and had left Jase to deal with the repercussions. He should have bedded every woman he met within a ten-mile radius for therapy. Still, the recurrent dream of Felicity soured his opinion of any other woman he now encountered. Even his consort in crime, Amélie, had lost her allure, and Jase feared that he had offended even the Frenchwoman forever by his recent indifference.

Finally opening his eyes, Jase slammed his hand onto the clock with lightning speed almost at the instant it sounded, depressing the snooze button and cursing the cacophony. Why had he moved again? Jase hated Texans: cowboys who all thought they could play at cops and robbers. He especially hated the confusion of cultures in San Antonio where he had to remember not to offend the second and third generation Americans.

New York had more immigrants, but they all held so tightly to their cultural identity that Jase just needed to remember their country of origin, and he could figure out the rules of etiquette for conducting business. In San Antonio, though the people had proven friendly, he couldn't quite grasp the ethnic complexity. He was an ethnic trainwreck, so why did he care?

In order to avoid a second ringing of the alarm, Jase swung his legs over the side of his low bed and quickly pressed the button to disarm the next sounding of the bell. He yawned and stretched, roughly running his fingers over his close-cropped, dark chestnut hair, and glanced around his cavernous – empty – apartment.

Can’t buy me love, he reflected sourly, standing to his feet and dragging himself to the bathroom sink. He hesitated flipping the switch, wishing to avoid the blinding effect of the overhead glare; he debated whether to just wait until he walked into the living room and utilize the softer shaded lamps that wouldn't render him quite so much discomfort.

Don't be a wuss, he upbraided himself and abruptly flipped the switch that sent the intrusive fluorescent brilliance into his head. Glancing in the mirror, Jase glared at the image, irritated at the dark circles under its eyes and the unshaven mat of hair on its chin. He needed to pull himself together.

The banging on the door sent him trudging through his simple white living room with its simple white sofa and its simple stainless-steel fixtures. Not quite Eastern Bloc, he reasoned, but no frills - no luxury needed or desired for his temporary residence. He just wanted clean lines and cool colors. In such a heat-baked, miserable city, he had no plans for much entertaining. Moving from Phoenix to San Antonio was like moving from the heat of purgatory to the fires of hell. At least in Phoenix, he hadn't had to swim through the air.

Jase knew who summoned him to the door and didn't even bother looking through the peephole before he threw it open. If he had acted rationally, he would have at least checked before exposing himself in such a way, but for the past few days Jase had thrown caution aside, not particularly concerned about the outcome of any decision. Perhaps he was suicidal, he mused indifferently.

“Hey, Jase,” came the voice of his host, Drew Pearson, from the semi-darkness outside. “You ready?”

“Do I look ready? You're early.”

Drew shook his head and glanced down at his watch. “I would hardly call 7:28 early for a 7:30 appointment. You look like hell, by the way.”

The last comment finally wrenched a laugh from Jase, and he waved Drew in, turning his back on his friend and recrossing the living room to the kitchen.

“You want some coffee?” Jase offered, pulling out his grinder and the expensive French brew he always drank.

“That crap you make? No, thanks. Tastes like you forgot to add water.”

“Right, just because I don't drink coffee made for your grandma's knitting circle. You're a wimp, Drew.”

Not taking the bait, Drew settled himself on the couch and flipped on the television. “Take your time. We don't really have a schedule today; I just figured you might want to meet some people.”

“Fine. What kind of an idiot is going to be up this early on a Saturday morning anyway?”

Drew laughed good-naturedly, “Oh, you know the type. Up at dawn to sculpt his pecks. We have a few of those on the team.”

“And I'm supposed to care about meeting these people? You're not a very good salesman. I'm not sure these guys will compel me to sign up for your stupid do-gooders club.”

Smirking sardonically, Drew assumed an amused expression. “Don't worry, man. I know how to persuade you; I'm throwing my best sales pitch later tonight.”

“Women?” Jase finally smiled, knowing what his reputation would lead Drew to expect.

“Hot women,” Drew acceded. “You can't have the brunette, though. She's spoken for.”

Jase shook his head and huffed a laugh. “Am I supposed to shun all brunettes in San Antonio, or do you have a specific girl in mind? Besides, when has a girl's relationship status ever hindered me?” Of course, that was before he saw in close proximity the devastation that attitude wrought on people.

Apparently fully aware of his notoriety, the tall, blond man glared at Jase in warning, a muscle twitching visibly in the visitor's jaw. “That's normally fine,” Drew pressed through clenched teeth, “but this one's too soft for you. If you screw with her, you'll really mess her up. Don't do it, or you'll hate yourself.”

“Too late,” Jase quipped back at Drew. Jase had hated himself since day one of the Banff mission, his most recent endeavor into the ambiguous world of intrigue for hire.

Jase had known when he engaged on the mission that he would regret it. Without his permission, as he had observed her, he had grown enslaved by the mark he was supposed to help catch; now every night, she haunted his dreams. If Bill Henry had suspected Jase's weakness, the CEO would never have hired Jase for the job. Heck, if Jase had suspected his own weakness, he would never have signed up for the job. It had certainly screwed up his life.

ProtoComm was Bill Henry's small but powerful communications company. Unfortunately for its shareholders, Henry had decided to diversify, branch out into unrelated industries that set the company's future into dangerous waters. Bill, it seemed, found many ways to make use of the plethora of international contacts he had developed over the years, specifically those from countries not as considerate of human rights as Western culture. A clearinghouse for manifold illegal activities, ProtoComm's greatest portion of profit began to originate from Bill's clandestine activities, and those activities conveniently eradicated the bothersome issues of paying taxes or reporting to the corporate board. No, other than the pittance he paid to his henchmen, Bill pocketed the largest portion of ProtoComm's profits for himself.

Having dealt with some of the most unscrupulous characters in recent history, Jase did not particularly beat himself up over his dealings with Bill – at least, until Felicity Miller. Jase had worked for evil men before, though usually gaining from the company’s loss. As long as Jase himself didn't participate in the activities that bothered his own conscience, he wouldn't ask questions regarding the other activities of the organizations he worked for. Since evil existed and would transpire to its end by some means or another regardless of Jase's personal preference, why limit himself to only perfect companies? They didn’t exist. He would use the money better than the company anyway.

Rationalizations, he chastised himself the first time he had watched a video of the Miller family. Up until that point, he had interacted little with those who suffered under the criminal activities of the organizations whose money he had accepted. Of course, the first time he managed to notice the repercussions of his actions, he fell in love with the victim.

Even when he recognized the perfidy of his role in the Miller case, he did not correlate it to his past work, at least not at first. Before ProtoComm, Jase had never entered into employment for one of the organizations directly. Instead, he hired himself out privately for corporate espionage. He usually entered the group under an assumed identity and for a purpose determined by his client. Jase had recovered kidnapped individuals, valuable family heirlooms, rare and expensive goods, or stolen funds. If he went after funds, he allowed himself to keep whatever extra he could procure, and he had developed quite a nest egg from the resulting accumulation. His contacts in the legal community had as good as given him their blessing, just so long as he continued to muck up the works of the bad guys, and so long as he did not take too much. Fortunately, the government had such an unrealistic idea of the value of the dollar, the concept of “too much” provided a lot of leeway, and Jase had developed a very nice retirement for himself.

When Bill had tried to hire Jase as a private contractor, the job required tasks outside of his usual job description. How the CEO had found out about Jase's services he did not know, but Jase had not worried overmuch about the needs of a telecom executive. At first, Bill had hired Jase for “corporate investigation”: work within ProtoComm to find a man who was stealing information. Hardly as glamorous or dangerous as Jase's usual line of work, but promising a ridiculous payout.

How little Jase had known! Once he had entrenched himself in ProtoComm's community, Jase quickly became aware of its hidden money-making mechanism. If Bill had assigned anything but the Miller case, Jase would have extricated himself before he worked more than a few days. Fortunately for Felicity Miller, Jase had found her intriguing. In that, at least, Jase could feel satisfaction. If anyone else had accepted the case from Bill, she would no doubt have landed in the inhuman world of human trafficking, and Brendon, her ex-husband, living it up with his mistress. Not that Jase looked back on his actions with ProtoComm with any delusions about his own nobility.

In saving her from ProtoComm, Jase had spent most of his time lying to Felicity. So much time. Because of his history with women, Jase expected Felicity to fall into his arms without much coaxing. Felicity was a beautiful, intelligent woman, and Brendon had thrown her in the garbage. Even after the man’s betrayal, though, Felicity had managed to retain both her virtue and her value. Surely she would appreciate someone who recognized that value. Surely she would accept a man who saw her as desirable.

It should have worked, but it didn't. For the first time in his life, Jase's calculations had not accomplished his expected result. He had seduced women past their self-control more times than he could remember – had trained for the purpose – and Felicity had seemed primed for overcoming. Felicity, though, had resisted him despite all of his best endeavors – at least, in the end. He had her completely at his mercy for two weeks, yet she had not only refused him but had left him and not looked back. His conscience understood, but his ego didn’t.

Whenever he remembered the inscrutable expression she had worn before he kissed her, he couldn't believe her indifferent. Her words were not indifferent. Even her goodbye was not indifferent. They were all beautiful. A beautiful delusion that had changed him.

When Drew so casually appealed to women as a way to persuade Jase, Jase's ambivalence forced him to play yet another game. Now not only did he need to walk a fine line between his moral ambiguity and the ethical requirements of the team. He also had to maintain his reputation as a rake without really involving any flesh-and-blood women. He just couldn't stomach it yet.

Even Amélie Laurent, the only other woman who had meant anything to Jase, did not particularly appeal to him. What a difference between Felicity and her! Amélie hailed from a very different culture than Felicity, and not just because she was from France. Amélie Laurent had fascinated Jase for years because of her brilliance and her ability to bend others to her own will. Truly, she was a genius. Jase could not help but wonder at the difference between the two women, and what his different attractions said about him. When compared to each other, Amélie seemed entirely to exemplify his past; Felicity seemed to have forever altered his future. Perhaps a step up, but in reality, when he had left Amélie for Felicity, he had merely traded one charade for another.

Amélie's charade originated entirely with her – her personality, her manipulations, her facade - and all through her own meticulous crafting. No woman had more entirely remade herself than Amélie. Originally the daughter of a simple farmer in central France, Amélie had made a point to study successful women, noting with interest how women on the television radiated a type of power. Though differing in personality, each actress possessed several similar qualities. Each presented herself in a beautiful and feminine light that most flattered her particular traits. Whether delicate or aggressive, each threw her sexuality around to her greatest advantage. Each played on the emotions or urges of her audience with her dramatic expressions – sadness, anger, elation, intensity – whatever suited her purpose. Masterfully, Amélie transferred each of these characteristics from the screen before her into her heart. No person alive knew the reality of Amélie's heart, not even Amélie herself. Instead, anyone who met Amélie came to know the power of sexual manipulation.

In contrast, Felicity exuded an organic sensuality, the undivided essence of her entire being. She knew nothing of her own charisma, and any control she wielded stemmed from her genuine persuasion. Felicity, though restrained, showed more compelling sentiment than any dramatic actor could manage – all under the control of a rational mind. Where Amélie acted a role with Jase, Felicity presented unadulterated truth. In Felicity's case the charade had lain entirely within Jase's mind – she had roundly rejected his romantic delusion - after she left him, all the games lost their allure.

“Seriously,” Drew finally complained, flipping off ESPN and spinning in his seat to face Jase. “Are we ever leaving?”

Jase shook himself to dispel his thoughts. “Back off,” he barked a bit defensively. Then controlling himself, “My coffee just finished.” Grinning suddenly, Jase seated himself in his oversized leather chair. “You really should try some of this,” he encouraged. “That chest of yours is a little feminine without any hair.”

“Keep your eyes off my chest!” Drew commanded wryly. “You should have enough women in memory to keep your mind better occupied.”

Jase didn't particularly wish to discuss women anymore so, rather than cold-cock Drew, Jase decided to end the conversation and pressed forward with the day's plans. Chugging his coffee without tasting it, he nodded at Drew and set the coffee cup on the end table. “You ready?” Jase sneered. “Let's go meet some mindless meatheads.”

Rising, he led Drew to the door and almost shoved his friend outside.

“That's a little harsh,” Drew defended his coworkers. “These guys are really pretty good.”

“We'll see,” Jase contradicted as he crossed the driveway and jumped into his Aston Martin. “I'm driving,” he announced, not really giving Drew a choice. “I can't wait to meet my new associates.”

Reluctantly, Jase pointed his car down the flat, bare road toward the lackluster life that he had newly chosen for himself.