I would never have imagined you ignorant. The only way to interpret this is that you were willfully so. – Meg, speaking to Jase in his dreams

One of the first signs of the beginning of understanding is the wish to die. – Franz Kafka

As Jase angled on foot across the eight lanes of traffic, he managed to avoid the honking of too many horns to give away his presence. Rain barraged his trenchcoat and dripped off the rim of his hood, but he had no doubt as to what he had seen. Though he had arrived early, the sun had since risen behind the clouds and lent a generically dingy aura to the concrete and steel of the Manhattan streets.

Jase again caught sight of the lanky figure just entering a deli on the ground floor of a fifty-story skyscraper. Though the rain had darkened the man's hair, Jase knew too well the golden-blond shade it would appear when dry.

Rather than approach the deli, Jase took up a perch across the street with a good view of the door. He felt grateful that he had decided to arrive in New York early for some reconnaissance because now he had time to observe this new, unexpected development.

Initially, Jase felt little shock in encountering Drew Pearson on the streets of New York, though the coincidence did strike him as unlikely. After a few minutes of observation, however, Jase saw something that either opened up a new can of worms or completely explained Drew's presence. Another, lighter-blond head rounded a corner a block from the deli, and the gait seemed immediately familiar. As the man came closer to Jase's perch, his identity grew clear: Liam.

Why would Liam and Drew meet in a deli in New York? They lived only a few miles from each other in San Antonio. Apparently, they shared some mission in Manhattan. In most cases, Sara didn't disclose missions beyond the involved parties, so perhaps these two had undertaken a common assignment. Just because this doesn't make sense doesn't mean anything bad, he assured himself.

Though he could easily believe Liam guilty of many things – Jase's modicum of experience with Liam had more than communicated the blond man's unscrupulousness – Jase had known Drew too long to suspect the easy-going op of underhanded business.

Jase glanced at his watch. He hated sitting still when he could find something to do, but his curiosity ran strong enough to anchor him to his post. After about an hour, Liam slipped out of the deli and headed back in the direction from which he had come. Drew made no move to leave, and following a hunch, Jase sidled down the sidewalk and stared directly through the glass at his friend.

Completely unconcerned, Drew tapped away at a laptop and sipped casually at what appeared to be tea. Jase grinned to himself; a tea drinker. Figures, he chuckled. Still, Drew's behavior hardly equaled that of someone wishing to conceal himself. Unable to restrain his curiosity, Jase entered the deli, considering the possibility of treachery from Drew as highly unlikely.

“I'm shocked to see you here,” Jase smirked at his friend.

For a moment, Drew merely seemed befuddled, but as his eyes honed in on Jase's face, several emotions flitted through Drew's eyes. Of course, Jase saw a moment of shock, then, unexpectedly, an angry glare accompanied by a clench of the jaw. Very unlike Drew, Jase realized. Finally, Drew settled on amused curiosity, fixing his eyes on Jase's with a squint of humor.

“I, however,” Drew offered, “would never be too surprised to find you anywhere, especially where you can find action. New York fits the bill. So, what is this trip? Business or pleasure”

Despite his suspicion regarding Drew's reaction, Jase fell into the familiarity of their friendship. “You know me. I never saw the need to make a distinction.”

“Okay, so, then what brings you to New York?” Drew asked with unfeigned interest.

“I'm having dinner with a former associate,” Jase answered noncommittally.

“On which side of the legal line?”

Jase couldn't help but grin. “It's unclear,” he admitted. He enjoyed having one friend who knew enough of his past that he didn't have to pretend saintliness. “What are you two doing here? Trying to break into the black market? I could hook you up with some contacts.”

Drew smirked. “Yes, I'm sure you could, but while my associate might take you up on that offer some day, we are both currently here on a mission. Did Sara send you to help?”

“Uh, no,” Jase drawled. “I really am meeting a friend.” As far as anyone but himself knew, this was the truth. “I'm curious, though,” Jase continued. “Are you the only two on this mission? Two men is a pretty small team.”

For an instant, Drew tensed, and Jase's eyes narrowed instinctively. What nerve had Jase hit with his casual question? After a pause, Drew responded with apparent indifference. “Yeah, Sara called me with a mission, and I only need one other op. I suspect that Liam is adept at what I need him to do here.”

“What? Stalk his ex-girlfriend?” Jase mumbled under his breath. Though Jase could find no overt issue with Drew's explanation, his instant of tension had raised Jase's radar, and he decided to probe a little deeper. Jase really didn't think his friend capable of illicit motives, but something didn't add up.

“So, why aren't you telling me the whole story, Drew? Is it too top secret? You don't trust me? I can understand that.” Jase pressed on. “But you're dripping with irritation that I found you here. Of course, I know you well enough to know you're not here to commit some crime with Liam as a partner, so what gives?”

Drew's shoulders drooped imperceptibly, and Jase sensed his friend's resignation almost immediately. “It's Nessa,” came the stunning admission.

For a moment, Jase couldn't respond because of the stab of anxiety that ripped through his gut. “Nessa?” he tried to answer in a normal tone, though it came out slightly choked.

“After the incident with Briel and Liam, I decided that Liam couldn't be trusted, and I wanted to spend some 'quality' time with him, check him out. Since Nessa had handed the situation with Briel over to you,” Drew glared at Jase, and Jase understood the earlier hostility that he had sensed, “I decided that any investigation I might undertake would have to fall outside of Nessa's observation. If I can help Briel, though, even without Nessa's blessing, I think that will raise me up in Nessa's opinion, which I need, since – apparently - I'm in competition with you. Besides, if Liam is involved in some scheming toward Briel, Nessa might end up in the way, which may put her in danger, and I want to know about that.”

Though Jase wanted to pause on the thought of being in competition with Drew, he couldn't ignore the reference to Nessa's danger. “So, what do you think? Have you found out anything interesting?”

“Not regarding her per se, but I know Liam well enough to believe him capable of pettiness. If you and Nessa hadn't interfered after the fire, he might have used that opportunity to press his advantage with Briel.”

“So, Nessa told you about all that,” Jase lamented, though he kept his tone casual. “If Liam thinks Briel would have gotten back together with him, he's delusional. I've never seen anyone so intent on escape as Briel when we found her in Liam's apartment. I think the only thing holding her back was that Liam seemed to be taking care of her out of concern. She didn't want to hurt his feelings, believe it or not.”

Drew shrugged his shoulders, “I can't begin to explain Liam's reasoning, but I wanted to have the chance to talk to him, and he doesn't do social stuff. I had to make up a mission to get him to spend more than a few minutes with me.”

“You should have called me. I could have helped you with this. Obviously, I'm already involved.”

That angry expression flashed through Drew's eyes again, and Jase grew even more curious. “I'm fine; I didn't need any help. It's not that difficult, and I think that I've already accomplished what I set out to do. Liam is completely unconcerned about Nessa. He's still a little obsessed with Briel, but he doesn't seem dangerous to anyone at this point.”

“How did you manage to concoct a mission for him?”

“I didn't,” Drew explained smugly, obviously pleased with himself. “I called Sara and told her that I needed a little extra cash. I asked her if there were any small missions that hadn't met our company qualifications that she thought I could pull off. She had several that Committee had rejected that she said she could release to me.”

Though Jase admired Drew's ingenuity, the shrewder man worried that if Liam somehow found out about the deception, Drew's safety may suffer. Despite Drew's reassurances, Jase felt no security in the idea of Liam's indifference. From the first time he had laid eyes on Liam, Jase had sensed an aggressiveness and coldness in the white-haired man's demeanor.

After a moment of silence, Drew threw a couple of dollars down on the table.

“So, have fun on your date,” Drew stated slyly, obviously fishing for information. He shoved his chair back and stood to his feet signaling the effective end of their interaction.

“Not a date,” Jase insisted, indulging his friend. “A social engagement. My friend needed someone to accompany her to a work event, and I owed her one.”

Despite Jase's reassurances of the platonic nature of the proceeding, he saw a flicker of satisfaction cross through Drew's eyes when the word “her” left Jase's lips. Jase almost sputtered out more insistence, concerned that Drew might mischaracterize the “date” to Nessa. Of course, she already knew his purpose in New York, so any protestations would only increase suspicion. A rational man would maintain as disinterested a manner with Drew as possible. And I am a rational man, Jase assured himself.

“Be careful with Liam,” Jase warned his friend, choosing not to address the situation with Amélie. Drew only smiled and turned to walk to the door.

“See you back home,” he offered over his shoulder before strolling onto the sidewalk.

Resigned and not entirely pleased, Jase, too, exited the building and made his way to the hotel room he had rented for the night so he could prepare for an evening from which he expected to derive little pleasure.

The tux felt good despite Jase's recent shunning of formal events; he knew the figure he presented when attired in such a way. With the rich black of the material, Jase's own near-ebony hair shone blacker, if possible, yet the vivid russet streaks that disappeared with lighter attire seemed accentuated by the darkness. His sable eyes reflected any hint of light, and the tailored cut of his suit emphasized the power of his physique. Jase knew perfectly well the effect that his appearance produced on people, and he truly felt in his element at a formal affair.

Though he couldn't put it off forever, Jase waited as long as possible to arrive at Amélie's hotel. When he did, he prepared himself to portray, upon seeing her, an eagerness he did not feel. She wore a coy expression on her face when she opened the door to him, her eyes gazing at him through half-closed lids and the corners of her full lips raised into the hint of a smile. For an instant, Jase balked, unsure of his ability to feign true excitement. Deciding that the feat would prove impossible, Jase defaulted to what he could most effectively utilize under the circumstances.

Sex.

If she took the bait, he would have to find a way to avoid the ultimate conclusion, but as a diversionary tactic, sex worked wonders. He stared at the woman for a moment, taking in her tiny waist, the complementing curves of her body. He studied the long lashes, the crimson of her lips that accentuated the paleness of her skin and the blackness of her hair. At least, if he restrained his better self, he could manage some sensual tension. Instead of strolling through the space beside her, he pressed into the very spot where she stood, forcing her to move back against the wall behind the door. Once inside, he stood in the parallel inch from her form, and he pressed the door closed behind them.

“Hello,” he thrummed as he leaned in to pin her with his eyes.

“Jase,” she offered coolly, turning her head in a coy expression of indifference. Challenge accepted, Jase smirked.

“I've missed you,” he asserted in a near-whisper, leaning his lips toward her ear to let his breath run over her skin. Despite his emotional disinterest, he could feel the physical effects of the woman with whom he had shared a very intimate past.

Betraying his attraction would, ironically, elicit the very reaction he desired – a postponement of physical interaction. Jase knew one thing about Amélie: she insisted on maintaining control of every situation. If he pressed her, Amélie would push back, thinking by resistance to increase his desire. As Jase leaned in to kiss her, she turned her head, directing his lips to the soft lines of her neck. Jase smiled at his success.

“We don't have time for this yet,” she insisted softly. “When I informed Jack of your attendance, he requested that we attend a private meeting before the party. We must appear in the teleconference room in fifteen minutes.”

Her business-like tone communicated a presence of mind that Jase didn't like; it meant that Jase did not hold quite as much power over her as usual. Still, he noted a pleasant hint of breathlessness in Amélie's silken lilt. He leaned away from the wall, dropping his arm and stepping back to offer Amélie the lead out the door. Smiling with self-satisfaction, she sauntered out, every inch of her movement as calculatedly sexy as she could manage.

After a short limo ride, Amélie led the way to the Georgian building on the Upper East Side, the top four floors of which comprised the location of the evening's event. Once they reached the penthouse level, the pair climbed up three flights of suspended stairs before Amélie turned to the right and entered a large, sparsely furnished room. The walls angled in on two sides following the architecture of the roofline, and massive windows almost filled the width and length of them both. This effect gave Jase the feeling of standing under a distorted sky, sable air punctuated by shimmering stars throughout. Against one upright wall sat a clean, modern black sofa which contrasted against the white walls and the light grain of the wooden floors. When Amélie turned to her left inside the room, Jase controlled his shock as her assertions rose up in veracity before him. Jase had known to expect the man, but seeing Jack Buckley in the flesh still struck Jase as slightly unreal. When ProtoComm had crumbled, Jase had relegated the unctuous executive to the realm of the undead, not yet in hell, but living in a close approximation. To see the man attired in his usual swank attire and smiling his aggressive superiority felt like an unwanted haunting. The executive rose from a modern desk and approached the pair.

“Well, Jase Hamilton,” the man susurrated, his voice as oily as the profits he had made over the past few years. Jase couldn't help but note, as he always did when faced with the pudgy, wispy-haired man, that Jack Buckley more closely resembled a wildcatter than a swanky businessman. “We weren't sure our business still appealed to your sensibilities,” he continued.

Making sure to maintain eye contact, Jase smiled. “Now, Jack. You know me better than that. I go wherever the money is.”

“And the women,” Jack added, leering appreciatively at Amélie. Unabashed, the luscious French-woman glided to Jack's side, placing a very sensuous kiss on the man's cheek before returning to Jase's arm.

“True,” Jase agreed not glancing at Amélie. The pair had perfected the act years before. She would play the warm ingénue, he, the cool rogue. “I'm surprised to see you here, honestly. Have you garnered some undeserved political favor?”

At that question, Jack guffawed heartily. “No one can risk pulling that many strings; however, it's not difficult for them to ask a few customs agents to overlook a special visitor to our country. I merely received a convenient escort from the private jet to my residence. My housekeepers have maintained the place while I was gone, and I've been rotating which mistress lived here each week. Keeps the neighbors from being too shocked by the human presence if I choose to return, which I have for now.”

“Brilliant, of course,” Jase offered, stroking Jack's fragile ego. “I don't want to take you away from your business, though. Feel free to monopolize Amélie for a while. Once the party starts...” Jase shot a meaningful glance at Jack and then a suggestive gaze at Amélie, “she is mine.”

Jase pulled Amélie to him and just brushed his lips slightly on the line where her jaw met her neck, swallowing her figure in his well-proportioned arms. Laughing, Jack seated himself back behind his desk and opened up the laptop before him.

“So...” Jack began as Jase turned and strolled out the door. Jase did not listen to Jack's conversation with his French companion, but started down the stairs, assessing as he descended.

Every floor consisted of a window-lined balcony surrounding a large four-story opening in the center of the penthouse. The third floor appeared largely to be sleeping quarters, the second held a massive theater, a couple of offices, and a vast bedroom which Jase assumed belonged to Jack.

On the ground level, the entire floor seemed to consist of a large living area, empty except for several leather benches that lined the window-filled walls. A few surreptitious doors divided the walls into sections, and occasionally, a suited man or black-clad woman would exit one of these, carrying food or drinks. In one corner, a barman stood behind a sleek stainless counter, organizing and arranging various bottles and glasses in preparation for the coming party. A cool light illuminated the entire home, just a shade brighter than dusk, and the resulting atmosphere felt a tad sleepy or drugged.

Finally, Jase made his way back through the only visible hallway, the one through which he had entered. This time, he assessed closely what surrounded him.

To his right, a glass French door opened into a massive dining room devoid of human activity. The evening's enterprises would not center in this deserted room. In the back corner of the room, Jase spotted a door which stood slightly ajar. Shooting a covert glance back up the corridor, Jase slipped into the empty dining room and canvased the walls to discover any hidden outlets.

The open door in the corner led from the dining room into another corridor, this one plain and ugly. At the end of that hallway, he encountered another threshold and stopped. Placing his ear to the rich wood grain, he listened as the clankings and bangings of a busy kitchen rose up to his hearing. He also noted a marked absence of cameras in the hallway. He made his way back to the first hallway and glanced into the room on the opposite side.

Through this door, an intimate room held a small oval table which seated at most twelve people. Various servers prepared linens and dishes, plates and food, obviously readying the room for the coming guests. Jase returned to the great room. Though the party would not start for another hour, various domestics had now entered the space, fretting over and organizing trays of food onto carts which rested behind the many giant pillars.

“Jase,” Amélie's voice lilted from beyond the corridor.

“Bonsoir, ma belle,” he welcomed her, wrapping his arm behind her waist as he turned to her.

“Bonsoir,” she replied in kind, reaching to plant a kiss on the underside of his chin.

“It's going to be a small party tonight, isn't it?” he queried.

“Oui, just a few friends. In honesty, Jack at first requested that I not bring you, but he seemed to change his mind. Perhaps he would like to get his eyes on you,” she raised an eyebrow as she accused him gently. “You have proven rather elusive lately.”

“Have you ever been able to pin me down, ma chérie? I think not.” Jase smiled mysteriously, and Amélie could not help a smirk in reply.

“Jack does not wish us visible when his guests begin to arrive. We are the only non-customers in attendance, and Jack doesn't want the 'hired hands' to associate with the clients until after a few drinks.” Amélie smiled at him. “We will have to find something to entertain ourselves in the meantime.”

Grabbing Amélie's hand, Jase led her back upstairs to one of the living areas off of the second-floor balcony. For almost an hour, they spoke of her plans with ProtoComm, Jase's intention to enjoy the profits he had made, and various travel destinations that neither had visited, but both intended to see. Though he poured his interest into the conversation, it really consisted of largely insignificant details. Jase had worried that Amélie might feel offended at his lack of sensual interest, but she seemed as intent on refraining from anything that might muddle her senses as did he. Instead, they both engaged in only the lightest conversation, listening for any information they could gather from the sound of the arriving guests. Jase had chosen the location because of the acoustical resonance from the room below – every sound floated in through the large open doorway.

Finally, the guests' vociferous greetings settled into the relaxed hum of conversation, and Amélie rose unceremoniously from her perch on the couch. For over an hour, the pair melted into the background as the gathering dined and conversed, and he and Amélie only spoke when directly addressed. For all the customers knew, the pair comprised a covert security team for Mr. Buckley, though the premises teemed with conspicuous security as well.

After two hours and several courses, the largely foreign collection of faces meandered into the waiting great room and began to engage in copious imbibing. Most seemed to worry little about their ability to withstand the effects of alcohol, but as Jase stayed sober, he held a distinct advantage over even the stoutest guest.

Finally, Jack led the tipsy congregation up one flight of stairs to the theater that Jase had detected earlier. He felt a sudden twinge in his gut, as if he would regret participating in proceeding events. Now I find out the truth, he lamented.

After seating themselves in the leather theater chairs which faced a large blank wall, the guests riveted their attention on Jack Buckley who had strolled to the front of the room. Jase sat with Amélie in the last row of seats as far to the side as they could and partially hidden behind a pillar.

Within thirty seconds, Jase longed to flee.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,” Jack began formally. “I'm looking forward to presenting some very interesting merchandise to you today, and I am sure that whatever your need, we can meet it.”

Though Jase had ascertained by this point that the meeting comprised, not a social gathering as Amélie had claimed, but some sort of commercial enterprise, until the screen lowered before the room, he had not recognized why Jack wanted Jase's there.

The nature of the subsequent images made Jack's intentions clear: Jack intended to test Jase thoroughly. If Jase could withstand the presentation, then Jase would still serve nicely as a ProtoComm consultant. If not...

For several months - even before the Miller case - Jase had grown increasingly selective regarding which assignments he would accept, shunning anything that he thought would prick his aggravated conscience. He had thought that he concealed his growing discomfort with ProtoComm's businesses, but Amélie's reaction to his earlier question about human contraband revealed her opinion of his current state of mind. Jase had suspected, but he had never known. As long as he held any doubt, he had made excuses for himself, but apparently Jack and Amélie held no confidence in Jase's loyalty.

So, noble, Amélie had said. Does your amante insist that you give up every source of self-support? Obviously, Amélie had noticed his ambivalence. It seemed Jack had as well.

“This is Ganika Saxena,” an image flashed across the screen as Jack spoke. The woman's deep brown skin seemed to glisten under whatever lights the photographer had utilized. Immediately, Jase glanced down at his hands, unable to stare into the obsidian eyes that gazed into the camera lens. “They're the same,” Meg posited as she peered up at the screen from the seat beside him.

I don't have time for this, Jase insisted silently.

“It doesn't really matter, does it. You can't go backwards; now you know the truth.”

Jase glanced back up at the screen. Somehow, even before he had seen them, those familiar eyes had haunted his dreams.

“Her parents are Harvard educated and returned to India to take advantage of the booming capitalism in their homeland. Ganika has training both in elocution and in etiquette. As you can see, she provides not only an aesthetically pleasing countenance, but also a strong physique capable of more menial tasks.”

Trying to breathe evenly, Jase suppressed the fire that raged inside of him lest he betray himself.

“Are you one of them now?” came the curious voice beside him. Meg's question held no censure, and the fact almost made her uncertainty more condemning. “One of those men you were always trying to protect me from?”

Of course I'm not, he denied with grumbling ire.

“But you're here, and she's on the screen, and these men have her. Maybe if she had fought them like I did, she'd be dead, too.”

As he glanced back up into the face that now filled the screen, Jase could not ignore the constricting sensation unleashed within his chest. He recognized the sensation of the stone-filled lungs from his nightmare.

I'm not one of them, he reiterated.

Jase tried to excuse his past indifference, a primal instinct for self-preservation. If he hadn't work for Jack and Bill, someone else would have, he rationalized. That didn't make him one of them.

“No one would have been as effective as you,” Meg assured him.

He had never participated in this aspect of the business, he argued, had never even known. You kept Bill's business afloat, his conscience agreed with Meg.

Unfortunately for Jase's peace of mind, his thoughts would not remain dormant. Jase had never lived very long in denial; the possibility would equal death for him. Faced with the truth, his justifications didn't fly anymore.

Fine, Jase conceded with aggravation.

“Ganika Saxena,” Meg insisted. “Remember her name.”

Jase knew that Meg had left again, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Still, she left behind her the gaping wound of his conscience. The stirrings of his unease, though, had not started with the night's events. No, they had begun as misty vapors of conscience several months before. From his first meeting with Bill, Jase had suppressed his mind's counsel.

Jase could still smell the cigar smoke from Bill's Colombian special and could vividly recreate the dim foggy air in the Caribbean bungalow. With his strategic genius, Bill understood how one's environment affected his mindset. Of course, Jase knew that Bill didn't really smoke, but Bill believed the impression gave him power: the mysterious, cloaked figure of ascendent authority. Everything from the low roof of the room to the late hour of the meeting attributed to Bill's desired image. For a few minutes of the meeting, Jase had pretended that he saw no difference between Bill and the small-time mob types Jase usually worked for. He had made the mistake of working for a true mafioso once, but he found that his conscience bothered him more when he sense the depth of his employer's evil. Even the mafioso, though, held some type of morality, however strange and depraved it might be.

With Bill, Jase sensed nothing. No warmth, no passion, no desire. Only a cold, empty vacuum of greed. Jase had met many great men who could have worn the title greedy, though most of them were more ambitious than greedy – driven men who strove for excellence. Not Bill. Bill publicly wore the mantle of the typical, success-driven CEO, but his true motive seemed darker, something beyond Jase's comprehension. Jase literally could not fathom a man devoid of morality, a psychopath without remorse. Like every other time Jase had subverted his conscience, he internally wondered if he could maintain a working relationship with the man. Hating weakness, though, Jase determined to push himself forward. His lack of direct interaction with Bill ensured that conscience would not torment Jase too often.

Never again, Jase realized as he stared at the screen. The picture of Ganika Saxena had stripped the cloak off of Bill's true nature, an obscurity that Jase had willfully perpetuated. Now, though, Jase needed some absolution. By concealing the true nature of ProtoComm, Bill had lied to Jase, and Jase hated being lied to. Perhaps Jase had lied to himself, too, and that fact drove him even more intensely to rid himself of the deception and the weakness it belied.

Ghosting silently from his position beside Amélie, Jase glanced down at the woman he had called compatriot. The glassy coolness of her visage as she observed the women on screen disgusted him as much as the cruel gathering of buyers that ogled the women as if they were cattle. Amélie had inured herself to the putrescence before her so much that she could not sense the stench of horror and misery that necessarily accompanied such corrupt vulgarity; yet, she insisted on the treatment of a princess for herself. Her hypocrisy completed her descent in Jase's opinion.

After lithely sidestepping the guard before the door to the theater, Jase ascended the stairs to the fourth-floor office where he had previously accompanied Amélie at the beginning of the foul evening. He had nothing to prove to the ghostly remnant of his conscience that masqueraded as his dead sister. Still, he had to direct his frustration somewhere, and Jack had asked for Jase's interference when the executive had decided to check up on his erstwhile contractor.

Of course, a guard stood post before the office, and Jase needed a diversion to enter the sacred sanctuary of Jack's most secret information. Taking advantage of the wrap around balcony, as well as the huge amount of space between the two facing ledges, Jase crept stealthily to the opposite side from where the guard stood. Gauging the angles, he popped up in such a place that the guard could not help but spy him and aimed his gait toward a short hallway on the south side of the apartment.

As soon as the guard began to follow, Jase fell back to his haunches behind a pillar and headed the opposite direction, back toward the office door, protected from view by the half wall of the railing. He could hear the chattering and squawking of the guard as the man communicated with the other security personnel to seek out the mysterious figure.

Upon reaching Jack's door, Jase sidled into the niche that held the door, pulling out the lock kit that he always carried with him. He knew from his time with ProtoComm that the door would have not only a lock, but an alarm that he must disable lest he betray his location to the searching guards. Fortunately, he had studied the schematics of the alarm systems on both Bill's and Brendon Miller's personal residences and could disable either. Jase hoped that Jack's door would sport one of these same systems.

After easily picking the lock, Jase hurried directly to Jack's desk and began pulling out the drawers. As he had hoped, he encountered a keypad in the bottom right drawer and proceeded to disarm the alarm. Just like Bill's, he realized.

Safely ensconced in Jack's office, Jase unplugged the laptop that rested on the desk and repositioned himself on the floor behind the sofa. Fortunately for him, Jack had left a desk lamp on, so Jase did not need to worry about the guard's seeing the light from the computer.

When he had seated himself on the ground, Jase huffed a sigh of frustration. All his effort, and for what exactly did he need to search? Jack acted as the frontman, but he would, in reality, do the bidding of his employer. Jase clicked on the search utility; he typed in the name Bill. After several seconds, a couple of files and a calendar entry pulled up in the results. Jase glanced at his watch. He had broken into Jack's office a full minute and a half before, and he felt sure that the security would soon make its way back to Jack's door. If he wanted to make it out, he had around a minute more to find something.

When Jase tried to open the files, he ran into password protection. With more time, he could have broken through them, but he had no more time. He gave up on the documents and moved to the calendar entry. What he saw definitely piqued his interest. Every other entry contained a title, a time, pertinent contact information, and links to documents and web pages involved. On the entry for October 20th, however, Jase read only one word: Shan. No links, no contacts, no time.

Strange. The name definitely held East Asian tones, but Jase couldn't deduce from such a simple word the specifics of the language. He fingered the sliver of wood in his pocket, an involuntary compulsion he had begun to find annoying. Though he did not hold a complete grasp on the more obscure Asian dialects, he felt that he should recognize most of the more commonly spoken lexicons. He clicked on the entry.

It opened to a detail that revealed little. It said: Bill. Aung San.

Jase had no idea the meaning of the entry, but Bill's name gave the cryptic words significance. Now Jase had a general direction, though little immediate enlightenment to specifics.

Staring at the date, Jase committed the strange names to memory before exiting the programs and returning the laptop to the desk. He had nothing definite on which to pin his plans, but he could spend the next few weeks filtering through whatever information he could uncover. Too, now that he had the names of the files, he could access them remotely from his own laptop when he could spend more time deciphering them.

Before leaving the office, Jase laid his face on the floor behind the door and peered under the threshold for the shadows of the guard's shoes. Hearing and spying nothing, Jase carefully opened the door, prepared every moment to encounter the guard or some other personnel.

He descended two flights of stairs, dodging the scurrying attendants, and proceeded unhindered until he reached the living room where he had wasted the hour with Amélie. He had intended to explore a door that lay directly above the corridor to the kitchen on the floor below. Perhaps it, too, held a conduit into the kitchen. When he turned from the entry into the living area, however, he had to stop. As if the fiasco in the theatre had never occurred, Amélie sat on the couch, legs crossed, and stared irritatedly toward Jase where he rushed through the door.

Rather than betray any frustration, he smiled confidently at the angry expression on her face. “So when can I expect Jack to join us?” he smirked, hoping by his accusation to arouse her pride. Knowing Amélie, she would not have betrayed him to Jack just yet, wanting to retain the cards of power to play from her own deck.

As he had expected, Amélie threw her shoulders back defiantly. “You know he will not. Don't insult me! I excused us from the business meeting so we could entertain ourselves in a more private location. Fortunately, your reputation provided an apparent motivation for our exit, but Jack expects us to reappear in a few minutes.”

Jase smiled disdainfully. “Feel free to return to Jack; I won't be with you when you do.”

This statement propelled Amélie from her perch and into Jase's path. “You will not leave me here to lie for you,” she insisted.

Pushing past her, Jase opened the door he had sought the moment before; it led into a staircase that he hoped would take him down to the kitchen. He didn't really care what she thought of him from this point on, and he wouldn't indulge her neurotic need for control. “Feel free to tell the truth, if you want,” he threw back over his shoulder.

To his utter surprise, a blow fell upon him, hitting him on the back of his head. Spinning, he threw his arm up in self-defense, pinning his beautiful, long-legged assailant against the wall beside him. For one moment, he considered striking her in return - Amélie knew how to fight as well as or better than most men, though she chose persuasion over force in most cases. Force put her beautiful facial features at risk of temporary distortion. Instead of returning blow for blow, however, Jase paused for a moment; perhaps he could convince her to continue her assistance rather than betray him.

“Amélie,” he whispered into her ear. His left arm held her right, his right forearm pinned her to the wall by the chest. Both Jase and Amélie panted from the exertion of the struggle, but Jase controlled his words carefully. “You have a choice here: you can either betray me and suffer my unending censure, or you can protect me and hold my eternal gratitude. I understand how my actions must appear, but you might want to reconsider your assumptions. Perhaps you are mistaken. Maybe I have a very good reason for what I do, something that will prove lucrative for you in the future. Make your choice wisely.”

With these words, he leaned further toward her, removing his arm from her chest and noting her increased rate of respiration. He smiled, fully aware of what her physical symptoms implied. Not a response to the altercation; instead, a response to Jase. More than anything else, Amélie loved excitement, and Jase had dangled the bait just beyond her reach. She couldn't resist.

Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he pulled her to him wildly, crushing his mouth onto hers for several seconds before pulling away and striding out the door and down the stairs. He had no doubt that the shock would buy him several seconds before Amélie would recover enough to alert Jack, regardless of her choice.

As he had expected, the stairs led conveniently to the kitchen which emptied into another corridor and out into a neglected hallway: the servants' entrance. Pressing the button on the elevator before him, Jase waited patiently until the telltale ding announced its arrival and provided Jase's egress. Though he hoped for the best, he did not know whether Amélie would give him up to Jack or would perpetuate a lie on his behalf. As long as he made it out of the building, Jase really didn't care. He fell out the back door of the tower onto a garbage-strewn alley and hastened to a less conspicuous location from whence he could hail a cab. Whatever happened, Jase had made his choice; he wouldn't let himself look back.