“Seriously?” Briel sighed in exasperation as she spied the flashing lights behind her.

She had only moved to San Antonio a week before, but somehow a traffic cop had already honed in on her. Despite her irritation, she pulled over to accept the ticket from the offended SAPD. Placing both hands on her steering wheel, Briel rolled her eyes as she watched the female officer stroll confidently, almost haughtily, toward Briel's window. If the officer had been a man, Briel might have tried flirting her way out of the ticket – not that it ever worked, thanks to her brusque tendencies…No such luck anyway, she sighed. Keeping track of the officer in her side-view mirror, Briel entertained herself by imagining different ways to incapacitate the innocent, if arrogant, policewoman.

Briel could reach through the window, pulling the woman's head through and disabling her by pressing on her vagus nerve. Unfortunately, if the woman proved at all competent, she could counteract such a minute maneuver before Briel had time to accomplish it. Briel could just open the door when the policewoman faced away and knock the woman to the pavement, placing a knee on the back while twisting the arms into a submission hold. With the officer's dash-cam, though, Briel would suffer a worse punishment than a ticket.

If a regular person had considered such action, he would find himself suffering the wrong end of a policeman's baton, but Briel had years of intense and specialized training. Training used to defeat evil and vanquish criminals. Somehow, accepting a reprimand from someone so wholly unaware of Briel's current endeavor seemed banal. What was a stop sign in light of a girl's life? Briel wanted to unleash a lecture to the woman on just how unimportant her little traffic laws were at the moment.

Of course, Briel would never actually consider engaging in the actions she had played in her mind, not even the lecture. The woman had a job to do, like Briel. It just seemed that some force of nature had destined Briel to suffer more tickets than the average motorist for far fewer infractions. Her mental exercises exhausted, Briel waited patiently until the woman made it to the window. Smiling pleasantly, Briel asked, “Is there a problem, officer?” in cliched fashion. What else could she actually do? At the moment, Briel felt impotent on so many levels of life, and it frustrated her to no end. How could she avoid traffic tickets? Who cared? How could she overcome all the obstacles standing in the way of accomplishing her current mission? That question seemed much more relevant.

“I guess you missed that stop sign back there?” the officer stated sarcastically.

Gritting her teeth, Briel forced herself to respond graciously, “Yes, ma'am. I'm very sorry. May I have your permission to look for my insurance?”

“Sure,” the woman responded.

Briel restrained her thoughts of the pistol that hid in the console between her front seats as she reached down to grab her purse off of the floor of the car.

“Here it is,” she offered, leaning up and handing the folded paper to the officer. “And my license.”

Briel watched again, squinting against the late-afternoon Texas sun, as the woman sauntered back to her car and called in the information. Devoid of any real reason for her general sense of discontent, Briel chastised herself for the emotionalism. This life was supposed to satisfy me, she complained as she thought over the past several months. Ever since Briel could remember, she had craved excitement; she had gained motivation from the respect of others; she had sought to be the strongest, smartest, and bravest. Now she had achieved the pinnacle of her life's goals. At the ripe age of twenty-eight, she had passed several ranks of the FBI and, after mastering her skills, had left the Bureau to pursue her own ideas on her own agenda.

No one could force her anymore to overlook the nasty personal habits of the people she dealt with: the FBI held no qualms about making compromises with criminals if it fit with the “agency agenda.” Though Briel still had to make some difficult choices, she made the choices, not some overpaid bureaucrat trying to scratch the back of a fat-cat, loud-mouthed politician. Briel felt a sense of elation every time she thought about having escaped that life of relative slavery. Now, a year later, she still reveled in the freedom.

“Well, I can see you have a spotless record. That deserves some lenience,” the heavy-set blond interrupted Briel's reverie, reappearing suddenly outside her window. “So, I'll let you off with a warning.” The officer handed Briel a piece of pink paper past the glass.

Incredulous, Briel gaped at the paper. She steadfastly refused to remember the favors she had recently garnered at the FBI, i.e. expunging her record of traffic violations, and with a near-humorous sense of glee, Briel turned and smiled apologetically at the policewoman. “I'm very sorry ma'am,” Briel offered obsequiously. “I'll be more careful next time.” Briel couldn't believe her good luck. She had literally never been let off from a ticket before. I guess somebody up there likes me today, she smiled up toward the unseeing sky. Tucking the pink paper into her glove-box, Briel switched her car into drive and accelerated gingerly into the flow of traffic with a much more complacent attitude.

The ringing of the phone dampened her elation somewhat. When she glanced at the caller ID, her pleasure evaporated completely.

“Hi, Liam,” she managed cheerfully, drumming up as much enthusiasm as she could muster in light of her irritation. Though he obviously enjoyed dating her, Briel had long before realized that Liam Monroe could hold no real potential for a long-term relationship on her side. His conversation, at best, consisted of accounts of his most daring escapades or at worst, his most painful tortures. Briel only stomached his bluster because he bored her the least of all of her male coworkers. He, at least, had pinned her in three different sparring matches, a number equal to her own record against him. In her experience, her male coworkers tended to hold back against her – a result of her diminutive size. Liam, at least, held back less. Others often defeated themselves against her because they were afraid they would hurt her. How was she supposed to develop realistic fighting skills if she had never faced real combat? Of course, in her field work she could use guns, and that leveled the playing field. She kind of understood everyone’s dilemma.

Still, Liam tended to give her the closest approximation to a full-force fight that she ever got, and she learned a lot in the process. That fact had drawn her to him. And it doesn't hurt that he's hot, she admitted mentally. She wanted to deny the shallowness of her attraction, but she had recently decided on a policy of total honesty with herself.

Not that she could really complain about any of the other men she had worked with – she had even dated a couple of them. Most had come directly from serving in special forces in the military. Rather than return to the grind and take nine to five jobs, these men had opted to use their expertise in the world marketplace. Many times, Briel's security team had responded to a call to rescue some American who had gotten himself caught by FARC rebels or the like; sometimes, they had retrieved family members from human trafficking; and once, the United States government had hired them to find out the identity of a weapons dealer responsible for providing arms to the oppressive regime in the Sudan. Though Briel's team had an occasional failure, they proved almost entirely successful.

Briel and her coworkers didn't have a business card or an Internet entry, and therefore, their company had no real name that they knew of. The agents had taken to calling themselves simply “The Team.” If an ex-Bureau employee had not approached Briel personally, she never would have known about the Team - and the Bureau knew about most things. She had completely rejected the man's, Logan's, assertion when he had insisted that such a company existed.

Even now, Briel had no idea exactly for whom she worked. The clients just showed up on a case-by-case basis. She only knew that a girl named Sara contacted her several times a year to head up a mission. Most of Briel's other work came from being requested by other Team members to participate in one of their missions.

Her last mission had concluded several weeks before her traffic stop. Sara had called Briel to request that she retrieve information from a criminal company. On the surface, the company had traded in telecom stocks, with several side businesses involving other aspects of communications. In reality, the company had acted as a middle-man for all measure of criminal endeavors, the usual kinds that Briel dealt with. All in all, the mission hadn't proved too difficult. She had even finally kicked her rookie-year crush on Jase Hamilton, for the first time seeing his human weakness in a way she really couldn’t respect. He had always proven the charmer, and that had been good enough for Briel – along with his real-life bad-ass skills.

Of course, she had learned quickly how little faith she could place in Jase Hamilton or his charm. Four years her senior, he had stumbled across her during a training exercise in the Appalachian Mountains, and he had literally saved her life. Before he had found her, she had awakened from a stupor as she lay, dazed and disoriented, under a canopy of tuliptrees.

“Never forget this,” he had commanded, tossing something at her. At that point, she could barely see, and she really couldn’t remember what had made her so weak. When she realized what she held, her instincts kicked in, and she raised the bottle to her lips. “That will filter even the dirtiest water. You never know when you’ll be stuck in the middle of nowhere and have to survive with only minimal resources.”

When Briel tried to respond, her voice came out as a croaked acknowledgement, and she started to cough. She again guzzled some water, and a moment later, she found the bottle tugged gently from her fingers.

“You’ll make yourself sick, sweetheart,” came the deep voice from only inches from her face. She gradually grew aware that a very strong arm had encircled her waist and raised her to her feet. “You are in bad shape, honey,” the voice crooned, and Briel raised her face to one of the most handsome she had ever encountered. At the age of twenty-two, she had little exposure to a menagerie of humanity, and when Jase Hamilton introduced himself from only inches away, Briel stood transfixed and hypnotized by him.

Within a week, he had taken her under wing. He asked her out less than a month later, and not only did he bring insane amounts of excitement into her controlled little world, he taught her a toughness she otherwise would never have achieved. As she rose in the ranks of the class, though, Jase altered his manner toward her.

She had thought his approach to the physical aspect of the relationship strange, even from the beginning. If she went by his behavior – never spending significant time alone, never moving beyond a stolen kiss in a crowded room, treating her as a consummate gentleman but never holding her hand – she might think him a religious fanatic or not really into women. His reputation and his best friend, Terrence, spoke otherwise, but reputations could be wrong, and Terrence would definitely lie for his friend.

Not too much later, though, Jase started to hint that he would live up to his reputation; Briel credited Jase with inoculating her against Liam. It was her first lesson in the fact that intense affection, exchanged between commensurate partners, could develop sincere connection whatever the agenda. When after a few months, Jase withdrew from her, Briel realized that she had let her emotions go farther than she could afford, especially in a professional setting. He was still as nice and as charming as ever, but held himself aloof emotionally, like a taste of dessert but no fulfillment. He still kept their physical relationship strangely public, and she had to wonder if he ever intended to move forward.

“That’s not mine to tell, Bri,” Terrence would insist whenever Briel questioned Jase’s apparent indifference “It’s the Code.” She never knew if the phrase meant that the men would support each other regardless of the other’s veracity or if there was just a set of allowed claims that each could tap into and the other would confirm. Either way, Jase would bring Terrence along on far more dates than she could consider normal.

Still, Jase and Terrence seemed to have made an agreement never to let Briel have more than a few stolen moments alone with Jase. Terrence always found a woman to hang out with, either before or shortly after arriving at the locale. But Briel had to wonder if the man’s obstinate presence bore intention, but there was nothing particularly out of character with the general idea of a “wingman.” Maybe Terrence needed help getting dates, so he tagged along with the obviously successful Jase Hamilton. Within a couple of weeks, Briel let this be the explanation she accepted, and she began blindly to follow Jase pretty much wherever he led. He was older than she. He knew more about their business. He had lived the life she wanted to live.

Fortunately or unfortunately, within two months, Terrence began to hover around the couple more often, and Briel had to wonder if it was a device to separate her from Jase.

Of course, part of her believed Jase couldn’t handle the competition with Briel, couldn’t maintain a relationship with someone who challenged his competence. Another part of her, though, looking back at that time, noticed other factors that might have affected him.

Briel recognized a tension in Jase whenever he encountered his ranked officer, and the tension seemed higher if Briel were around. Had the higher-ups frowned on his fling with a recruit? Or on a more sinister note, had they tasked him to seduce her? Some kind of test either for him or her?

Whatever the cause, Terrence and Jase returned to the prior state of their friendship, and Jase quit calling Briel. She lost faith in Jase, and when he left the Bureau a few years later, she had celebrated her near escape. Jase Hamilton was a beautiful, brilliant, successful man. And Jase Hamilton held a self-serving agenda that meant he could never be trusted.

Several years later, though, and after how clumsily he had blustered through his affair with Felicity Miller, Briel had to wonder if he had lost some of his perfection. Ironically, the possibility made him less of a threat – no less interesting, but more attainable – and Briel didn’t mind asking if he might have decided to approach her through the anonymity of the computer. Not only had he crashed and burned with Felicity Miller, but Briel had heard of Terrence’s untimely demise, and she recognized that a loss like that would effect even the dispassionate Jase Hamilton.

Even with her compassion, though, she couldn’t escape the lessons Jase had taught her. If a man in her profession showed too much politeness, he generally did it to manipulate her, work some agenda that required Briel's cooperation. She saw little chance of finding an honest man in her immediate circle of acquaintance, much less a considerate man. True, she wanted a man who allowed her independence and treated her with equality, but she also wanted a gentleman. The two criteria did not often meet in one person – certainly not in Liam, not even in Jase Hamilton. She had known only a couple of men who might meet her expectations, and there were highly compelling reasons why that could not happen.

Of course, Briel recognized the cause of her ambivalence toward men, seeds of trouble sown even in her childhood. When her parents had forced her to move to the States, Briel had hated them for it, especially her father. In stereotypical female fashion, Briel's mother had always deferred to Briel's father, and in so doing, led to the upsetting of Briel's entire world. Briel, then, vowed never to let her happiness depend on the whims of a man.

“So,” the voice on the other end of the phone interrupted her, “are you going to talk to me, or what?”

“Sorry,” Briel replied a bit more petulantly than she had intended. “I just got stopped for running a stop sign.”

“Wow, that sucks!” Liam laughed. “When's your court date?”

“Actually, she let me off.”

“Right,” Liam countered skeptically. “You never get out of tickets.”

“Well, I did this time,” her pugnacity leaked past her usual stoic demeanor at his disbelief. Had she ever lied to him before? “The woman was very nice.”

“Did you threaten to pistol-whip her if she gave you the ticket?” he laughed again.

Such wit, Briel sighed disgustedly. “I honestly can't explain it. She just decided to let me off the hook.”

“Huh,” he dismissed the topic, apparently bored. “So, are we going out tonight?”

“Sure. Where do you want to go?”

“Let's try Mason's.”

Brilliant, she complained silently. Liam knew how much Briel hated his favorite sports bar. Always loud and crowded, Mason's kept an abundance of televisions tuned to multiple channels at all times - some even sported picture in picture. How did one carry on a conversation in such a place? Briel lost her appetite as she set the details for their rendezvous. She would meet Liam and “the guys” at Mason's at 6pm. Another night of burgers, fries, beers, and smelly men. Whoopee, she complained to herself. The telltale beep sounded in Briel's ear.

“Hey, Liam. I have another call. I'll see you tonight.”

“K. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Briel pressed the talk button.

“Hey, Briel.”

“Nessa.”

“What are you up to?”

Briel responded tersely. “Do you have a new job for me?” She didn't feel like small talk.

Nessa paused at Briel's brusqueness.

“No…I just called to say hey.”

“Hey.” Briel didn't know why she always treated Nessa so rudely, but in the past three months since Nessa had joined the team, the woman’s sense of compassion and insight had bothered Briel. Whether she wanted to or not, Briel felt forced into honesty with Nessa; Nessa always managed to discern the truth despite one's intention to conceal it.

“You wanna meet me for dinner in a while?” Nessa pressed.

“Sorry, I just made plans with Liam.”

In reality, Briel would have preferred Nessa's company to Liam's, but she couldn't exactly call Liam and cancel. No, nothing came up. I just don't like you as well as I like Nessa. Hardly a proper attitude for a dating partner.

“Oh,” Nessa acceded. “I'll just see you tomorrow then.”

Briel moved the phone from her ear and reached for the end button.

“Briel?” she heard just in time to arrest her finger's movement.

“Yes?” Briel responded, slightly irritated.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go on a double date.”

Briel almost laughed out loud. Even though she liked Nessa okay, Liam despised Nessa. Briel could never exactly figure out why, but she suspected that it had something to do with Nessa's intuition. Nessa had seen in five minutes what it had taken Briel six months to realize: Liam needed too much but gave too little.

“Um...I'm not sure Liam would...”

Nessa interrupted the refusal Briel had planned, “I didn't mean with Liam.”

Briel's shock befuddled her for a moment. “Well, I'm sort of dating him.”

“I know, but...” Nessa paused. “Please don't be offended...”

Briel slowly drew in her breath, ambivalent about hearing whatever dead-on observation Nessa would hurl at her. “Go on...”

“I just don't think he's good for you,” another pause. “I mean, he's not good enough for you, either. You're so smart, Briel. And nice. He doesn't respect you.”

I am hardly nice, Briel corrected. If Briel had not spent the past few minutes enumerating Liam's faults, she might have felt offended by Nessa's assertion. Instead, Briel had to shrug her agreement.

“So, not with Liam?”

“Well, you know I've been dating Andrew.”

“Yeah, talk about not good enough,” Briel murmured, her pride lashing out with her own opinionated exclamation before she could stop it.

“I know,” Nessa responded immediately, not sounding insulted. “But at least he's nice.”

“And smart,” Briel conceded. Drew might have compared to Liam in intellect.

“True. And Drew has a friend who's moving into town. According to Drew, he's a really great guy.”

Briel sighed, her dissatisfaction with Liam allowing her to consider the option. “I'll think about it. When?”

“This weekend. He's moving in on Wednesday, and Drew thought he would enjoy getting to know the neighborhood.”

“I'll let you know by Thursday.”

“Thanks, Briel.”

“No problem,” Briel hesitated. “And thank you.” Despite the officiousness of her friend, Briel could not dismiss her consideration. Somehow, hearing her own thoughts from Nessa's lips alleviated any misplaced guilt that Briel felt over her recent ambivalence with Liam. Her only claim on Liam lay in her dominance over him – she was smarter and better with weapons than he, so he wanted her. In truth, her attraction to him lay much along the same lines. Very few people really challenged Briel, but Liam did, in many ways.

Just as she heard the phone go silent, Briel pulled into the driveway of her sleek, modern apartment. Its white stucco with steel embellishments had at one time appealed to her sense of style; however, the contrast and coldness now struck her as harsh. Lately, she had tried unsuccessfully to soften its lines with as much lush vegetation as she could manage, but her brown thumb impeded her progress.

As she walked upstairs into her house from the garage, the beeping of the alarm welcomed her home as always. Other than her exchange with Nessa, the day had passed like any other meaningless day: no work, no pleasure, no companion. Briel had forty-five minutes until she needed to shower and start getting ready to go to Mason's. The television did not appeal to her, and she had read all of her books.

Please have a message from Sara, she pleaded silently as she turned to her computer. Briel needed to work, to find an occupation for her idle mind.

Two new messages. Briel clicked on her message app.

The first conversation started with a message from her liaison, Sara, just as Briel had hoped.

We have a follow up on the mission you completed last month, Sara began. Please report to me within twenty-four hours of receiving this message.

Briel checked the time stamp. Sara had sent the message two hours earlier. Rather than respond immediately, Briel minimized the app, sure to leave it visible on her desktop. She did not want to forget it, but despite her eagerness to begin a new mission, she really didn't want to start before morning.

The second message bore contact information she didn't recognize, and as the realization dawned on Briel, her heart-rate sped just a smidgen. The email address did not correlate with any of her contacts, and she saw no characteristic name in the address that would tip her off to its owner. When a thrill ran over her skin, Briel suppressed it. In her line of work, the unexpected usually promised danger. And Briel liked danger perhaps more than she should. Her instincts warned her to ignore the message and delete it, but her curiosity quickly overcame her discretion. Not only did she not recognize the email, it had somehow slipped past all of her filters. All messages not explicitly allowed should go directly into a special reserve folder, one she could open from a remote location. Yet there sat the message in her regular inbox. If someone had bypassed her basic security features, then that someone had both desired to contact her enough to go to the trouble and possessed the ability to do so. Fascinating.

She clicked on the message.

How's the coffee in San Antonio? it read.

For several seconds, Briel squinted at the message, trying to work out some contextual code she might find hidden within the text.

Who are you? she responded, hitting enter as she finished.

“Message failed,” came the frustrating reply.

Briel screwed her face up in exasperation. Perusing the email address, she racked her brain for some solution to who had contacted her. The address read “[email protected]” For some reason, the construction seemed familiar.

Her cell phone jangled again as she pondered the mystery.

“Hello?” she answered without checking the caller ID.

“Hey, babe,” Liam's voice came through the phone. “James called. We changed the date to Bouncers, same time.”

No, no, no. Absolutely not; under no circumstances am I subjecting myself to that.

“Um, something has come up, Liam. I don't think I can make it tonight.” She had not intended it, but his meat-headedness, compounded by her conversation with Nessa, just sent her over the edge. “Could you come over right now? Just for a few minutes.”

“Fine. See you in a few.”

The restaurant's name had lit a fire under kindling that had soaked in the kerosene of dissatisfaction for the past several weeks. Time to lose Liam. Honestly, she had mulled over the idea so many times in the past that it didn't seem particularly rash despite the suddenness of her decision. Typical, thoughtless Liam, so focused on his own pleasure.

Sitting tensed on the sofa, Briel tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the doorbell. Liam lived less than five minutes from her by car, so she anticipated him at every moment. Ding, the bell finally sounded, and Briel sprung to her feet before the dong of the doorbell replied.

“Hey, Briel,” Liam began enthusiastically, but something about her expression arrested him. She had said nothing, but he looked as if he sensed a threat as soon as he had seen her. Despite his lack of consideration, he always amazed her with his base intuition. Kind of like an animal, she decided.

Though she tried to hide it, she appraised him in return, not as a threat, but as a subject of study. She could not imagine how she had ever subjected herself to suffer his inane companionship. Little things bothered her immensely, like she hated the way he couldn't put his arms down to his side. It wouldn’t have bothered her if it had resulted from some physical handicap, but Liam had purposely deformed himself by spending hours every day at the gym “perfecting” his physique. His every feature and expression accentuated his troglodytic persona. And though she knew the true intelligence that lay inside his mind, Liam subverted it under an animalistic drive for dominance. As he screwed up his face in irritation, his square, rigid jaw tightened, muscles bulging even from this movement, and his eyes flitted accusingly around the room.

“You're breaking up with me,” he continued. For one moment, he stood riveted in the doorway, but he soon overcame his shock and crossed to stand uncomfortably close to Briel, snatching her hand in his closest approximation of tenderness.

Unfortunately, the action reminded her why she had dated him in the first place. So little drew her out of her general state of boredom, but Liam did. Over the years, Briel had developed a complete absence of fear, and her generally temperate nature precluded stimulation of any other kind. Liam rendered her, not afraid exactly, but alert, as if at any moment something could happen - something unpredictable. She controlled everything in her life, but she did not control Liam. Madness rested millimeters below the surface of his eyes, and Briel had never understood exactly what brought it out. Perhaps such courting of danger stemmed from some mental deficiency of her own, but Briel did not fear the fallout of her shortcoming. The fact that she sought to escape him now proved that she had no great addiction to danger, just a general thrill at its presence. Rather than gratify his bullying, Briel pulled her hand away, strolling casually to the other side of the room.

Why should I feel guilty about this? she wondered as she brushed her hand along the smooth velour of her sofa's upholstery.

“Look, Liam,” she glanced at him from under her lashes, gauging his mood. “You and I both know that this relationship is not going anywhere. We had some fun at the beginning, but fun is not really my thing.” Fun could not possibly describe the tenor of their relationship, but “sickly intense and one-sided” seemed a tad rude. “You're not looking for a long-term commitment – and I'm looking for more than a thrill ride.”

Liam paused in thought, picking up a figurine from Briel's sofa table and twisting it in his fingers. She wondered if he would crush it. “Do you want to move in together?” he asked, as if it were a good suggestion.

“You know me better than that, Liam. The only way I'd move in with you is if you commit long-term, and we both know that’s not your thing.”

In an attempt to keep the upper hand, Briel stared unwaveringly into his face, waiting for the anger, the blame, the accusations, but Liam just looked thoughtful again.

“That's true,” he finally answered, turning from her and replacing the statuette. An almost insulting expression of indifference painted his visage. “I mean, I like you and everything, but I don't do 'tied down.'”

Briel almost laughed. His reaction to her gave her a moment’s pause – maybe she had misjudged his ego. “I'm glad we agree,” Briel smiled, trying to match his nonchalance.

“Sure. That's fine.” He murmured, pausing and turning back to assess her. Just a hint of the anger she had dreaded shone through his eyes, and in spite of herself, Briel shivered. The madness had just edged closer to the surface, and he answered her expectations. “Just for my ego's sake, is there someone else?”

“No, Liam,” Briel shook her head, relieved despite herself. If jealousy had motivated him, and he honestly had no reason for jealousy, then he would not need any retribution. “I'm not interested in dating anyone right now.” Honesty kept her voice steady.

“Well, that makes me feel a little better,” he smiled warmly at Briel, stepping even closer to her. “Do you want to come with us tonight anyway? You know, just to have a good time.” He looked down at the desk beside Briel, brushing his fingers across the keyboard as he moved within a few inches of her. His arm crossed the plane of her body. Though there was no way he could have managed it, Briel tensed at the irrational thought that Liam might wake her computer and see her message with Ted. Why did the thought make her feel like she had lied about seeing someone else? I am not seeing a random computer stalker!

The distraction almost proved her downfall, because before her rational mind could take possession of her thoughts, Liam reached to take her hand. His sheer physical presence sometimes brought out the helpless in her. Still, she determinedly gazed into his eyes as she pulled her hand back, unwilling to let his proximity influence her. Not unless you grow some taste in restaurants, she mocked silently – a defense mechanism - but only said, “No, Liam. Thank you. I'll just grab something with a girlfriend. Don't worry about me.”

“Cool,” Liam shrugged, obviously desiring to portray apathy. “See you around, then.” He shrugged casually and, turning, walked out the door.

“Bye,” Briel called onto the patio after him.

For several seconds, she stood still, reclaiming her breath and her dignity. Then, after watching Liam's retreating figure down the steps, Briel turned back to her phone. A liberating elation swept over her, and she realized what a weight Liam had been for the past few months. She pressed the number, then waited for the voice on the other end. “Nessa?” she finally queried into the mouthpiece.

“Hey, Briel. What's going on?”

Briel felt a little sheepish at soliciting the proposal, but Nessa had invited her earlier.

“I was wondering if I could still tag along to dinner.”

“Did your plans with Liam fall through?”

“Um, well, actually, I broke up with him,” Briel offered in an uncharacteristically sheepish fashion.

“Oh,” Nessa responded slowly. “How did he take it?”

“Quite well, surprisingly. All I had to do was throw around the words long-term commitment, and Liam hurried out of my apartment as fast as he could.”

Nessa laughed, “You didn't!”

“I did,” Briel felt relieved at Nessa's levity, and fell into a more relaxed manner. “Seriously, I knew he didn't want anything substantive. I do. Easy as that.”

“Well, I'm glad he didn't get too upset. He's a nice enough guy.”

“Nice as a caveman,” Briel chuckled. “So, is dinner still open?”

“Absolutely. Meet me at Chez Nous in an hour?”

Briel could have sighed in relief. It was as if Nessa knew all about her. “That sounds perfect. See you there.”

Hanging up the phone, Briel turned back to her computer to respond to Sara. With the Liam dilemma solved, Briel felt free to concentrate on more important matters. She moved her mouse to wake up the screen. On the bottom, a flashing bar caught her attention, and she clicked on the message app.

You call that “quite well”? You need to watch out for that guy, the message read. He's not going to let go. And he's not as simple as you think.

For more years than she could remember, Briel had rarely felt any fear, so her suddenly rapid heartbeat and shallow breaths seemed unnatural in her body, and it took her a moment to process what it meant. The original message had intrigued her, but the new message spoke more than a curious occurrence. Though she didn't exactly feel fear, anxiety piqued her mind, and she began drumming her fingers nervously on the desk beside her. She didn't know how to respond. Did she respond? It seemed as if the person on the computer had heard her conversation. Had someone installed microphones in her house? Scared or not, Briel abruptly felt very vulnerable.

Still, years of training had taught her not to succumb to panic. As if on a mission, Briel swept the room for any sign of disturbance or breach in her apartment security. Nothing seemed remotely out of place. If someone had planted a microphone in her room, he had followed some entirely unknown procedure. Briel could find no sign of transgression in her system.

Curious and concerned, Briel considered exactly how she could winnow out the stranger's identity. She turned back to the monitor, realizing with irritation that her observer had already sent another message.

I didn't plant anything in your room. You may as well quit looking.

Briel glared at the computer screen. He could see as well as hear her?

Aw, c'mon. The words popped up in response. Don't be mad. It was a simple hack.

Who are you? Briel responded, ignoring the explanation.

Just a friendly acquaintance.

A friendly acquaintance who is spying on me? she accused.

’Is spying’ is the present progressive form, which would imply that this is an ongoing process. I mean, I only hacked your stuff after you answered my message a few minutes ago. I just happened to overhear your exchange with the cave-dweller.

Briel restrained a snicker. So you're a computer nerd and a grammar czar. What exactly gives you the right to listen in on my private conversations?!

I've just been trying to find you for a while now, and when I found you, I got a little excited. I had to say hello. Besides, you needed some advice.

For dealing with a man I have known for years? And someone I’ve dated for month? From a complete stranger?

I have sense for these things.

Briel rolled her eyes. Unless you’re going to tell me you’ve hacked his computer, too, and have evidence that he is secretly an alien, I don’t think you have any advice for me. “That guy” is brilliant, handsome, and could kick your ass, so I don’t think your “advice” would change my mind where my knowledge of him didn’t.

There are worse things than being an alien.

Briel almost laughed – that was the response to her comment? The guy was a nerd. Which drew her attention to the one thing she actually knew about him – his username. You're a Linux guy. I recognize the email.

Impressive. And maybe we can discuss computer lingo sometime, but don't you need to get ready to meet your friend?

It can wait. Briel huffed as she read the time on the computer. Between the base, egotistical pleasure of drawing such attention and the deepening mystery of her unknown “friend's” identity, she had lost track of the time. The hacker seemed strangely to make her comfortable, what with his geeky analyses and his sarcastic humor. Based solely on circumstances, alarm bells should have blared painfully in her mind, but she could only manage curiosity. She knew this guy; she just had to place him. You've got to tell me who you are if you want me to keep talking to you. Briel warned, trying to pressure him into revealing his identity.

Not yet, he insisted. I employed some pretty illegal hacks to access your FBI file. Until I'm sure I'm not being monitored, I'd rather not reveal myself too much. And I’m not a stalker, though I guess I wouldn’t admit it if I were. It’s just… my position is a little tenuous right now. Besides, not much danger that you’ll cut me off before you solve the mystery.

Briel couldn't contain her exasperation. At least tell me if you're a woman or a man!

Can't. I'll give you some more info when I can safely; I promise. Just go have fun with Nessa.

“[email protected] has left the conversation,” the message abruptly switched.

“No!” she exclaimed aloud. Yes, something about the person seemed too familiar, especially the maddening sense of effortless control. Control that should have been Briel's. All of her persistence and assertiveness could accomplish nothing. The sense of irritated but amused powerlessness definitely hearkened back to some time in her recent past, but she couldn't place her finger on the time or place – or more importantly the person with whom – she had felt so unable to manipulate her circumstances. …not much danger that you’ll cut me off before you solve the mystery… Yes, this person knew her well. She pulled up a C prompt, but she just stared at it. She knew how to read the source of an email, and with a little work, she could access phone records if the message had come over the phone, but the message had utilized her private messaging app provided by the team. Who could manage that but someone on the team?

Briel would have mulled over the situation more, but Nessa's phone call cut off all farther contemplation.

“Hey, Briel. I'm about five minutes out. I'll see you there?”

Briel glanced guiltily at the clock. “I'm running a few minutes late. I'll be there in fifteen.”

“Okay, I'll get us a table,” Nessa didn't seem put out at all.

“Thanks, Nessa. I'll be there.”

Briel hung up and, forcing herself to turn away from her computer, she grabbed her purse and ran out the door. Unlike her date with Liam, Briel did not feel compelled to spruce herself up for dinner with Nessa, though the tastefulness of Nessa's dining choice far outstripped Liam's. Briel merely threw her hair up in a pony tail and headed toward the door. As she set out in the late afternoon sun, finally free from Liam's sweltering oppression, Briel breathed a liberated breath.

Perhaps she did not know what to expect from many aspects of her future, but she looked forward to the idea of for once engaging in a friendship that promised some stability and predictability.