951

I lay back in the chair, crossing my legs at the ankles and stare up at the ceiling, one hand holding my phone, the other holding my head up.

957

Talking to your boss is something most people dread. Unless of course you're a suck up or you're that one person sleeping with them in your free time.

The conversations really shouldn't last more than fifteen minutes tops. Unless you're getting fired. Then the conversation would be much, much shorter.

Of course, then there's the length of conversations you'd have with your parents. Depending on the topic those could last anywhere from thirty seconds, to a few hours. It also depends on whether or not you enjoy speaking to your parents.

Putting all this information into account, the conversation between R-sorry-Agent Stevenson, and his father, the FBI director, will take approximately twenty-six minutes.

Given that I've already been sitting in the world's most uncomfortable chair for 983 seconds, I've still got 577 seconds left till the doors finally open and I'm clued in to whatever the hell's going to happen.

992

I go back to staring at the ceiling, trying to keep my mind from drifting too much.

One large rectangular light spaced out every four feet on the ceiling. Each light exactly two feet from either end of the hallway.

One blue tile mixed in with the many white ones. One blue tile per every three rows, and each time the blue tile is in a different spot in those rows. The pattern is not hard to see...for someone's who looking.

1078

I drum my fingers up and down the length of the chair arm, tapping to a song in my head as I count.

1084

My finger slides across the screen on my phone as I double check everything for what feels like the fiftieth time today. My eyes scan over the documents. The Driver's license, the birth certificate, the school reports, and practically everything else that proves a person really does exist.

But Nicky Harrison does not exist..at least she didn't till about an hour ago when I was really bored.

Nicky Harrison. Born in the US. College graduate, straight-A student, works at a computer programming company, comes from a very loving family, only child, and has no criminal record what-so-ever. A perfectly model citizen.

At least that's what the FBI will believe when they do a background check on me and Nicky Harrison's model life I made up in ten minutes comes up. No way in hell I'd give them my real name. I can only imagine what would come up.

It'd probably look something like this: Nicolette Moore, dropped out of high school sophomore year to go to college instead. Straight A's part would stay the same, adopted into a loving but at times somewhat dysfunctional family and was not born in the US. Family was put into witness protection after her father saw something he shouldn't of.

After trying to fix it and only succeeding in making things much worse, Nicolette Moore disappeared and was later found out to have been working for the same people who were trying to off her parents...gold star, really. Nicolette Moore's...secret activities are broadcasted all over the world. She comes and goes but no one has a face to put to the name anymore.

Becomes known worldwide for her ties to the most influential and powerful gangs in the world, not country, world. Despite the fact that she left that life behind and did her best to right her wrongs, she is and always will be known as the greatest hacker and thief the FBI had ever come across...and she's kind of on the FBI's most wanted list.

My life's a thriller. No joke.

So how did I end up at FBI headquarters?

Good freaking question.

Probably has something to do with the fact I lost an argument with the world's most stubborn person.

Apparently, I need help...I ran away from witness protection for a reason. I certainly do not need an FBI guard dog.

1365

Now, normally I'd have already stolen a badge, a key card, and some car keys by now. I'd be out the door to the nearest airport flying off to Hawaii by now.

Why am I not you ask?

Because FBI Agent Ryder Asshole Stevenson must be a freaking mind reader.

He cuffed me to the chair.

The one day I decided not to pin my hair back with bobby pins. I could be using them to pick the lock and then I'd be gone. He treats me like a criminal...granted I am one but he doesn't know that.

1399

I take my glasses off and rub at the lenses with the end of my shirt, trying to clean off the smudges. I place them back on my face and everything comes back into focus.

1412

I brush my light red hair out of my face, wishing I'd really brought bobby pins...or at least a hair tie.

1417

I start counting the number of times I see the same people walk down the hall in front of me.

Blondie - 3

Glasses- 1

Pearls - 6

When that gets boring-and it does, it really does-I begin counting the how long they look at me every time they do. Pearls is winning by a long shot. I don't think she likes me very much.

Though in her old computer analyst eyes I'm nothing more than a kid. A kid who obviously got herself in more trouble than she should've. You have no idea lady. Don't ask me how I know she's a computer analyst. I just do.

1555

My timing and calculations are impeccable.

The door to the room next to me opens up and Agent Stevenson walks out, a grim look on his face. He wordlessly unlocks my cuffed wrist and leads me into the office he'd just walked out of.

"Sit." He says simply. I just raise my eyebrow and remain standing. He curses at me quietly before steering me forcefully to a seat by my shoulders and pushing me into it.

"Trou du cul," I mutter under my breath.

Agent Stevenson's gaze snaps over to me and he narrows his eyes. "What did you say?"

I look at him innocently. "I didn't say anything."

Someone clears their throat and I look up to meet the gaze of Director Jeff Stevenson.

Jeff Stevenson. One child, the infuriating idiot sitting next to me from his first marriage to Claudia Locette, before both of them decided to call it quits and filed for a divorce. Claudia went off and got remarried and had another child. Jeff remarried when Ryder was around eight years old, to Dina Wickers and they've been married ever since.

What can I say? I was really, really bored on the ride over here and figured I'd do my homework.

"Ryder here tells me you're in some kind of trouble." Mr. Stevenson says as he takes a seat in the big office chair across from us.

I just nod, deciding right here and now I'm going to play the part of the innocent and confused little girl who doesn't seem to grasp the entire concept of the what the word danger actually means. Plus if I can play this off like it's nothing then maybe he'll just let me leave and we can all pretend this entire thing never happened.

I'd like that very much.

"Would you care to elaborate on what kind of trouble it is exactly?"

I just shrug like it's no big deal. "I just saw something I shouldn't of...or at least I don't think I should have. It was dark and kind of hard to tell. I'm sure this entire thing is some big misunderstanding."

Half-truths.

That's the kind of thing to tell law enforcement officers. They look for lies in your tone of voice and your body language, and the biggest mistake people make is just trying to get away with lying...or starting off with the lie and then telling the truth.

But with half-truths, you are telling the truth, and there's nothing for the officers to pick up on. Granted you're not telling them the entire story, but starting off the with the truth is the best way to start a story. The further into it you go, the more lies you can add with less suspicion. Law enforcement officers tend to be less suspicious towards people who start off with the truth.

Yes, I'd seen something. Was it something I wasn't supposed to see? No, they trusted me enough to show me everything. Besides, it's not like there was anything they could hide from me digitally and they knew it.

I use to think I was doing something good. That I was making a difference. I use to believe I was helping my family...till the night Dad saw something on my computer screen that he shouldn't of.

Everything went downhill after that.

Dad still didn't know exactly what I had been doing, but I after I ran off from witness protection and totally vanished...he'd figured it out along with everyone else.

I was no good guy. I had been working with them.

It didn't matter that I'd stopped. That I'd left. They didn't care. Not the gang, not the FBI. A countrywide manhunt for the girl who'd deleted herself. For the girl who no longer existed.

I'd hear it all over the news from time to time. They'd talk about me. How I'd hacked into some celebrities' accounts and drained all their money and gave it to the gang.

Yeah, that wasn't me.

I'll take full credit for it if it was me, but that wasn't. I haven't done that in years now. Occasionally I help out some people by sending out anonymous tips or hacking into a serial killers' email and figuring out where they lived so I could send police to their doorstep, but I hadn't done anything...evil.

Not in a long time at least.

"Oh really?" Mr. Stevenson questions as he folds his hands together on the desk. His tone is doubtful. "I do believe it's much more serious than you'd allow me to believe."

I shake my head. "It's really not, honestly, I mean I don't even know why I'm here." I shrug innocently.

"I for one agree with her." Agent Stevenson speaks up finally. "Let's just send her on her merry way." He makes a shooing motion with his hands. I glare at him.

"Son." Mr. Stevenson says in a scolding tone and Ryder lets out a resigned sigh, seemingly already knowing where this conversation is going. "Since you seem so very concerned about Miss Harrison's safety-"

Concerned my ass. He'd throw me down the stairs just to see if I'd bounce.

"-I'm assigning you to be her personal bodyguard until further notice."

Ryder gapes before jumping up from his chair and spouting profanities at his father.

I glance at my nails like they're the most interesting thing in the world. Serves him right. Though it's not like I want to go anywhere with him any more than he wants to go with me. I'll be ditching him before we're even out of this building.

Mr. Stevenson holds up his hand to silence his son. "I'll have a safe house prepared for you and I expect you to be there, checking in with me the moment you arrive in oh let's say two hours tops."

I just nod mutely. There's no point trying to argue with him if he's anything like his son. Besides, arguing to try to get myself out of protection at this point, makes it seem like I'm hiding something. Which of course I am, but they don't know that, and it's not like they're actually going to see me in that safe house.

No freaking way I'm going...and there's no way they're going to stop me.

I follow Ryder wordlessly out of the room while he grumbles something to himself along the lines of, 'I was only supposed to drop her off' and 'oh great now I'm stuck with her.'

He just keeps grumbling to himself as he walks down the hall and I follow. I watch him carefully. He glances behind him to see that I'm still following him approximately every 14.7 seconds and immediately after we turn a corner.

I wait for my chance and the second after he checks to make sure I'm still behind him I turn around on my heels and begin to walk back the way we came, mentally counting down in my head the seconds till he turns around and notices I'm no longer there.

8...7...6...

I duck into an empty cubicle and take a seat at the computer.

4...3...

I hunch myself down low in the seat and stare at the computer screen, pretending like I belong and like it's just another day at the office for me. I hear Agent Stevenson's curses from somewhere up the hallway and I watch him jog by a couple seconds later, looking wildly in every direction.

I wait till he's completely out of sight before walking quickly back down the hallway and the stairs leading down. I pull open the door to the stairway and take the steps two at a time. Another 38 seconds later and I'm out of the building.

I walk casually down the street and to the nearest bus station, taking a seat on the metal bench. Granted I just left whatever luggage I had in the hands of the FBI but it's not like there was anything in there other than clothes. My really important stuff is all saved on my phone or kept in a secure location only I know.

I start to count the number of seconds till the busy arrives without even realizing it. Counting the number of cars that pass in between waiting for the bus. I stare at my phone as I begin to play Sudoku.

I hear the wheels turn and pull to a stop in front of me and I hear the people around me getting up to get on the bus as it pulls up. I stand along with them and put my phone in my pocket.

Considering the buses are supposed to arrive every ten minutes in this busier area of the city, this bus is late by at least 142 seconds. May not seem like much but eventually, the numbers begin to add up to a lot of wasted time.

I take a seat toward the back of the bus, in front of a man reading a newspaper with the ugliest brown hat on I've ever seen. This guy clearly does not have a wife or a girlfriend, because if he did they'd have burned that hat for him by now.

I watch as an elderly couple board the bus and sit near the front. A young mother sits with her two children all the way in the back in an effort to keep them from bugging other people.

I lean back in my seat and rest my head against the window listening to the man behind me rustle his newspaper as he turns a page, and the teenager across the bus try to silence his phone when the ringer goes off and plays a loud song...that's not too appropriate.

"So what was the plan after this? Just get off at some random stop and get abducted? You're doing really well if you're trying to kill yourself."

I whirl around in my seat to see those green eyes sparkling with amusement and devilish intent.

"How in the hell did you find me?" I growl at Agent Stevenson as he gets up from the seat behind me, leaving the newspaper on the seat and takes the one next to me.

"That's for me to know and you to never ever find out." He smiles mischievously and I feel the cool metal wrap around my wrist quick as a flash.

I glare at him as he holds up our wrists which have been handcuffed together. He feigns surprise.

"Well, would you look at that. It seems you're going to have a problem getting away now." He says smugly, pulling that horrible hat down to cover his eyes as he leans back in the seat.

"I hate you."

"That's cool. Just so long as you remember to wake me up when we've arrived at our destination."

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