I STROLL INTO THE office of the FBI director easily, pink pumps clicking and cream-coloured dress swaying. I think a few jaws drop as I pass, and I hear something clatter to the floor, but I keep walking.

"Director James," I say cheerfully. "What can I do for you?"

The director pauses in a phone call, his eyes widening at the sight of me. "I'll be right back with you, I just need a moment to attend to an emergency." Then he hangs up with the click of a button. "Please, Miss Sutherland, have a seat."

Technically, I'm on a first-name basis with Director James, aka Frederick James, aka my uncle. Well, not really my uncle, more of a close family friend, but they're close enough. But here, I'm also technically at work, since they have hired me as a consultant to work with the FBI on the Cavalli case. I just got back from tailing Antonio Cavalli and his girlfriend (poor thing!) to Monte Carlo, and to be honest, this jet lag has me beat.

"Well?" I fold my red-nailed hands in my lap, the blonde wig still itching my scalp. I prefer my natural brunette hair - the blonde stands out too much - but I didn't have time to change out of my "sister to an up-and-coming oil tycoon" outfit before leaving the airport. "What is it, Director?"

"I could feel the Cavalli case coming to a head," he says with a sigh. "We're closing in on him. Then, all of a sudden, Antonio Cavalli vanished, taking Katerina Steele, wife of business magnate Alexander Steele, with him."

"Alexander Steele..." I tap a finger on my chin. "He's the one whose sister was--"

"Kidnapped by the Cavalli's, yes." He breathes a heavy sigh. "Will this nightmare never cease?"

"It should soon," I assure him. At the end of the day, Uncle Freddie does treat me like an actual niece, doting on me the way any uncle would their relative. So it pains me to see the premature grey hair and wrinkles forming on his countenance. "Trust me. I've got it all under control."

He perks up to hear that. "Really?"

"Yes, I just made contact with Sebastian Cavalli," I respond, pulling out a prepared dossier on him from my Bottega Veneta tote bag. "At a bakery in Manhattan, where he was looking for a job. He's twenty-three, an international jet setter, and frankly, bored to death with his life of crime. I think he's the key to legitimizing the business. It's possible that he was the one who tipped off the FBI about the shipments."

Director James shakes his head. "No, it was Antonio's girlfriend, actually."

My eyebrows rise. I didn't think the girl was capable of such sabotage, but now I'm impressed. "Wow."

"Yes, well, Agent Black is working closely with her. Between you and me, that boy is in over his head investigating his ex-girlfriend's new boyfriend," he says with a shrug. "But, he volunteered for the position."

"Right." My head spins a little trying to keep up with the drama being flung at me. "Well, what else would you like me to do?"

"Continue the connection with Sebastian. He might be interested in giving up his family for immunity," he says. "And go change and shower, please. You smell like Chanel No 5 and you look like you're about to pull a femme fatale on every man in this building, which would leave me drastically short of agents."

I grin. "See you, Uncle Freddie."

His face relaxes a touch. "See you, 'Lilah."

On my way out of his office, I run into someone. According to the nametag clipped onto his suit jacket, he's one Rafael Santos. Floppy dark hair, molten brown eyes, and a quicksilver smile. I scan through my mental Rolodex for his name: friends with Lucas Black, 24, also working with Lucas on the case. He takes a step back, extending his hand to me. "Apologies for running into you. I'm Rafael Santos."

"Delilah Sutherland," I say, taking his hand and preparing to give him a firm handshake.

He kisses it, to my surprise. "A pleasure."

"Well, I've got to be on my way now," I say, quickly sidestepping him. I really can't wait to get this wig off of my head. "Nice to meet you."

When I walk past him, I feel his eyes on me. Grinning to myself, I keep going.

"DID YOU GET YOUR fun?" Lucas Black asks me, his voice harsh and acrid as the liquors in the bottles behind the bar, his face a scrunched-up rictus of anger. "Did you enjoy ruining that innocent girl's life? I haven't heard from Christina in a week, ever since she got back from Monte Carlo. I don't know where she is and I can't for the life of me find her."

I lean back in my chair, sipping my Manhattan. "Have you considered that maybe she's avoiding you in the way that girls avoid their ex-boyfriends by cutting them out of their lives?"

"This isn't about a personal problem. It's a professional one," he says, slamming his hand on the bar. "She could be hurt. Killed."

"Don't give me so much credit, Black." I knock back the rest of my drink. "We both know that if that girl ruined her life, she did it with her own two hands the minute she went on a date with Antonio Cavalli."

"Priscilla, please," he says. "Antonio Cavalli... the man is a monster. He could have her swimming with the fishes because he found out that she was working with me, or found out that you threatened her. We need to find her."

"We?" I ask. "There is no we here, Mr. Black. Don't be confused."

"Please," he says again. "I'll do anything."

"Anything?" My mind swims with favours from the FBI. "Fine. I'll see what I can do about finding her, Agent Black. But I promise nothing, unlike you."

"Fine." We shake on it, and he gulps down his water with shaky hands. "It's a deal."

As he gets up and leaves the bar, I spot a familiar face entering. Sebastian Cavalli.

He slides onto the barstool next to me. I turn to him, waving at the bartender. "Hello, stranger. It's been a while."

"Yeah, I've been away from New York for the past few years, huh?" he says with a laugh. "I'll have what she's having, thanks."

I eye the crisp dollar bills he slides across the bar. "Europe has been treating you well, I presume?"

"It's been alright, but i missed being home," he says with a shrug. "I missed the people. My family. Some other things..."

A few years ago, I almost could have married him. Not by my own choice, but by the machinations of those far above us. I'm not sure I would have wanted it. He's far too sentimental, too soft. "Have you thought about my offer?"

He sighs as the Manhattan is passed to him. "Priscilla, when I said I wanted to leave the Firm, the Outfit, I didn't mean I wanted to join yours. First of all, your father would kill me."

I shrug. "He'd come around eventually."

"Second of all, some days... I'd just like to leave this place, you know? Not just get out of this town, but leave this life that I lead. I'd like to find a new one, find something less... shady." He shrugs. "So thanks again for the offer, Priss, but it's time for me to chart my own path. Blaze my own trail, as it were."

He drinks the Manhattan, then, just as suddenly as he entered, picks up and leaves.

I rest my head in my hands and wait for my life to finish unravelling at the seams like a snagged sweater string.