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THE SUIT: Part 3 By LJ He moved carefully through the shadows, a gun drawn in his left hand, ready to fire with his thumb on the hammer to hold it back. It was more convenient, and didn't necessitate pulling a trigger if he had to move suddenly. He just dropped the hammer, literally, on anyone in his way. He heard movement just ahead, and froze, the mini flashlight in his right hand switching off even as he raised his left hand, and aimed the pistol's snub nose toward the corner just a foot ahead of him. He waited, but the sounds faded, and nothing happened. No one came around the corner, and no one walked by where he stood. Despite years of experience, he felt his heart hammering as he eased closer to the corner, and to the lights the street beyond the immaculate yard spilled around him as he lost his shadows for the moment. He turned to the nearest shrubbery in front of the four bedroom ranch, and visualized the floor plan as he knelt beneath the window of the living room. He glanced around the large bush that hid him, saw nothing in the night that concerned him, and decided to consider the earlier movement a stray animal. Still, he kept his guard up as he slid his flashlight into his side pocket, and pulled out a short knife to ease the screen out of its track, giving him access to the house inside. He easily popped the lock open, thanking lazy contractors for keeping such an easily released design in these houses. A moment later he was sliding into the still, dark house, and this time pulled down a small, opaque lens over one eye that was held in place by an elastic band. The night-vision lens let him see everything around in him day-glow green. He slid the gun back into its holster behind his back, no longer needing it. He moved across the living room, found the stove, and reached behind it work the gas line back and forth a few times. The gloves kept him from leaving any prints. Not that it would matter in a very short time. He stopped when he heard a faint hissing rise from behind the stove, and moved to the table where a decorative ornament sat, bright green holly leaves wrapped around a small, scented candle. He pulled out a lighter, and lit the candle. He closed his left eye as he did, keeping the sudden flare of light from blinding him. He stood and listened to the gas, catching a faint scent of it already rising around him Moving quickly now, he headed back the way he had come. Sliding out the window, he pulled it back down, and while he couldn't lock it, it hardly mattered as he pushed the screen back into its slot. He removed the night-vision lens back up on his brow under his dark, knit cap, and waited another precious minute to ensure nothing had changed in the brief time he had been inside the house. He heard a rustle in the leaves around him, and looked to see a small, gray shape slink past him just beyond the shrubbery lining the front of the house. A cat. Figures. He allowed a faint smirk, and then loped across the front of the house, backtracking himself, purposely moving fast to keep his prints light, and faint in the grass. Prints that would soon fade. He moved back into the shadows at the side of the house, and sped up as he moved down the side of the house to the rear where he was soon lost in the thick forest that rose just a few yards beyond the house. He moved confidently to the path that led him to the house in the new neighborhood, but stayed just to the side in thick leaves that had fallen earlier in the season. His breath was easy, and his heart rate smooth, and even as he jogged to the back road he had taken up from the gravel lane that would soon lead to another subdivision just being built. He was just climbing into the small, nondescript sedan acquired for this job when he heard the not too distant whomp of a sudden explosion. Loosening the gas pipes under the house first had certainly done the trick. He didn't bother to glance back. Even as he drove back the way he had come, headed for the anonymity of the expressway, he opened a cell phone, and pressed a preset number. "It's me. Tell Mr. Valachi his leak, and the fed's witness, are both plugged. "Remind him to have the balance of the payment in my account by noon tomorrow, or it won't be the feds that he'll have to worry about." He hung up, then casually tossed the phone out the window to shatter on the pavement as he sped toward town. He would pull into the worst part of town where he would ditch the car, take a train to his own current residence, and wait until he was certain all was clear before he made another move. That would give Valachi's people time to pay him the remainder of his fee for the job he had just finished. He had little else to do until then, or after, if truth be told, so he might just relax, and enjoy the day before he considered another job. Not that he needed work. In his profession, he had already become so wealthy, he could retire and never have to worry about making ends meet. His pride kept him going. There were few others of his caliber in the world, and he enjoyed watching the big wheels squirm when they came begging to him to help them fix their messes. That was a rush in itself. Penelope Drake sat perched on the edge of the couch, staring at Jamie. She eyed Jamie as she sat in her favorite chair the entire time she had calmly, and quietly told her what had happened over the past few weeks. The older woman would sip her coffee now and then, but otherwise said nothing. Dawn sat in silence, just gaping at her brother turned sister, as Pete kept sniggering now and then, though he also gawked the entire time. Mostly at her breasts, with less than covert glimpses at her lap as if she wore nothing, rather than the tailored slacks. Now, after she had finished, Jamie kept studying her mother, and wondering what to expect. "You know, if your father weren't dead, this would kill him for sure," the older woman finally said in a bland tone. Jamie tried hard not to giggle. "So, I'm to understand this....mask....suit-thing....is really you now? That you can't....make it change you back?" "I tried. We tried," he told her. "I can look mannish. But the kind of mannish a butch tomboy might affect." He didn't add that nothing brought anything remotely resembling the man he had been back, either. Not in ways that counted. "Well, that has to suck," Pete sniggered again. Penelope's glare shut him up. "All right, you," she turned to Mike. "Can go. You're not needed any longer, are you?" Mike glanced toward his partner. "It's cool, Mike. I'll catch a ride in, and see you in the morning." "Call if you need me," the stocky man told him bluntly as he climbed to his feet, shot a look of pure displeasure at Dawn's husband, and headed to the door. He glanced back once more, and then was gone. "You two," Penelope told Dawn and her obviously less than polite husband, "Can go clean up the kitchen." "Now, Penny...." "That's Mrs. Drake to you," she retorted, giving him a look so less cool than Mike's as Dawn rose without bidding. "You don't argue with mom, sweetie," Dawn told him softly as she gathered the empty mugs to carry to the kitchen. "You know that. "We'll talk later," she told Jamie as she sat back, waiting for the fireworks. "I just want to know one thing," Penelope said as she eyed her after the others had gone. "Yeah," she asked, tensing as she awaited the worst. "Can you get pregnant," she demanded of her. Of all the questions, that was not the one she was expecting. "Mother," she groaned, blushing a deep crimson as she fidgeted on the couch. "Well, can you?" "Sara....That is, Dr. Eurilyn....." "The idiot that created that....thing." "Yeah," she smiled ruefully. "She thinks it is possible. I have had....well, a menstrual period already," she admitted, not exactly fond of that memory even if her new mindset did make coping easier than he expected. "So.....I have to assume her theory is likely valid." "Then, young lady, we'd better have a very serious talk," her mother told her as she put on that infamous motherly expression she knew all too well from her younger days. "Mother, I'm a big.....girl. I know all about....." "Nevertheless, you grew up as a boy. You might have known the mechanics, but you had no sense of real responsibility, and I doubt that has really changed just yet considering your job, and all its distractions. "No, we're going to have a serious discussion about woman's rights, and health, and you are not going anywhere until I'm satisfied you understand it all." "It," she echoed with a grimace. Her mother smiled. "You're going to find life as a woman vastly different from walking around with your plumbing hanging out between your legs," she told her bluntly. Jamie grimaced again, asking, "Could I get some more coffee first?" She had the feeling she was going to need it. "Sit," Penelope ordered. "So.....You're convinced this is me, though," she asked. "You're.....ah, okay with this?" Penelope eyed him with as level a gaze as any authoritarian she had ever known. "I think it's a disgrace what happened to you. "Not because your female, but because you took such a chance with your life. And let others do the same. Still, I understand your motivations, and I'm just glad you're healthy, and alive. "Now, you're going to listen to me. So that you stay that way. "Because, young lady, I doubt you have all that much experience handling men on your new side of the fence." Jamie groaned again. Off in the kitchen, she heard a faint snicker that sounded very much like Pete. "So, how did the inquisition go," Allen asked as they gathered in the office the next morning. Jamie rolled her eyes. "You do not want to know." "Sure I do, Sarge," the sandy-haired detective grinned. "Mike told me you had a regular family reunion thing going last night. "I wish I could have been there." "No, you do not," Mike told him. "Although, I have to say that Dawn took a real step down with that guy she married," he directed toward Jamie. "I have to agree, but she fell in love with the jerk at first sight. Or so she says." "Maybe he hypnotized her," Allen suggested. "Remember that stage magician they busted out west for running a private show for those interested In that stuff? He hypnotized all those babes into....." "Dawn isn't hypnotized," Jamie sighed as she sifted through the reports she still had to finish. "A bit na?ve, and easily influenced, but not hypnotized." "You never know. You can learn that stuff pretty easy, I'm told." "Maybe I should learn it," Mike responded with a gruff scowl. "Then I hypnotize you into becoming a mature, responsible adult." "Never happen," Allen grinned. "He's right. You have to have a mind to start with, and we both know he doesn't have......" "Hey," Allen complained as he signed off his last report, and tossed it onto the corner of his desk. "So," Mike asked as they began organizing the reports into appropriate files. "What's on for today? I mean, we got all the bad guys, and gals de jour, as they say...." "Sgt. Drake," a young rookie poked his head into the office just then. "Captain Douglas wants you, sir. Said it was pretty important." "Okay, thanks," she waved at the young officer, and noted his obvious hesitation in leaving. "Anything else," she asked him with a raised brow. "Well, is it true that.....?" "Get out of here," Mike growled at him. The rookie left so fast he didn't shut the door. Allen chortled. "Did you see his face? Damn, Mike, you must have been a bear in another life. You got the personality down pat." "I won't bother to say what kind of personality you don't have," Mike retorted as Jamie stood up, smoothing out her slacks as she pulled her jacket back on over her blouse. "Play nice, boys," she told them as she headed for the door. "Try not to leave a mess, and I'll be back as soon as I can." "Sure, mother," Allen quipped. Mike bounced a wadded up sheet of paper off his head as Jaime rolled her eyes on her way out of the office. "You called, Cap," Jamie asked as she let herself into the man's office after having endured a very long line of gaping men, and even a few women. Apparently, while his ?accident' was hardly new to him, or rather, her, the precinct was just now getting around to actually seeing James Drake as a female. Then she noticed the man in the stiff, gray suit standing off to one side of the room. "Who's the fed," she asked as Bill waved her inside, and she closed the door behind her. "You here for Harris," she asked him directly. "Harris was taken into federal custody last night after you left," Bill told him. "The state's D.A. will be handling Teales, and our locals from your vice bust." "And the missing contractees?" "They've been put on a federal watch list. I'm told that we've already located five of them in the past ten hours." "Good." "Captain," the fed said grimly, giving him a sharp glance. "Yeah, Cap," Jamie picked up on the expression, and tone. "Wanna tell me what you have this morning? Cause you don't act like it's good news." "It's not. Agent Carl Taylor here has some news you might want to hear." "Okay, Agent Taylor," Jamie turned to nod at him. "What's up now?" "You took Dr. Harris into custody yesterday afternoon," he began brusquely. "He arrived in holding at your precinct at just after two. Just shortly after, we intercepted this call he made from your precinct," the dour man told him as he produced a small tape recorder. "Hold it. I thought tapping calls was...." "It was made to an overseas exchange, noted for suspicious contacts with known splinter groups that support terrorist activities across the globe. "Trust me, you'll want to hear this," the fed told her as he pressed the button. "This is Dr. Harris," Ian's voice rasped in a low whisper at the first. "I need your services." "In regard to what matter," the somber tone asked in an abrupt manner. "Project Chameleon is rogue. I want it....terminated. Do you understand?" "Perfectly. Consider the rogue neutralized." the speaker replied in the same emotionless tone. "On a personal note," Ian's voice added after a brief pause. "Yes," the man asked, sounding impatient now. "I want Chameleon's creator dealt with as well. I will, of course, finance the additional venture." "Understood." Jamie listened to the hiss that announced the end of the call. She looked from the fed to the captain, then back. "You're kidding me. Tell me you're kidding? That pencil-pushing sonuvabitch just happens to have his own hitman on call?" Captain Douglas said nothing as he looked over at Taylor. "We think it's a man we've been after for almost fifteen years." "Fifteen.....Years? "And you haven't got him yet?" "He's the best out there. All we know for sure is that he's male, possibly European, and calls himself Adam." "Adam?" "As in the first and best," Carl Taylor explained as he put the tape away. "He's known to be an arrogant bastard, too. Takes great pride in his work." "Wonderful," she glowered. "I don't suppose you've squeezed that maggot over his knowledge of the guy?" Carl's thin brows rose in tandem. "Sorry to step on your professional toes," Jamie shot back, "But I'm not just thinking of me here. Dr. Eurilyn should be apprized of this as well. If anything, she's in more danger than I am." "We already have men watching her place." "Has that ever helped," she asked moodily. "I mean, you did just say this guy was good." "To be honest, we've never even gotten close to him. He makes most hitmen look like amateurs. Most of the time, we're never sure if he's been on a job, or if a perfect accident didn't happen. He's that good." "Then how do you....?" "He likes to crow, too. We occasionally get hints that certain accidents weren't accidents after all. "I don't suppose you heard about the Valachi case just last month?" "Yeah," she frowned. "Dirty lawyer got off after the only witness died in a gas explo..... "Him?" "Him. We only figured it out after Valachi himself ended up dead himself with a very public, and ugly suicide. Or so it appeared. "Turns out the guy couldn't pay for services rendered." "So, how does Harris rate a guy like this," she asked abruptly. "He's supposed to be a research director in a think tank, not a....." "We've been watching Harris ourselves for a while, too. He has contacts in certain....unfriendly governments that we've been monitoring. "He likely picked up his connection with Adam from one of his overseas patrons. It seems Dr. Harris has been taking quite a few unauthorized trips to various hot spots over the past six years. Along the way, he acquired quite the client list," the fed told him. "Then why did you let him go so long?" "No evidence," the dour fed admitted. "When you brought in Harris, and his files, you opened a real can of worms. "Now, we've finally got the proof we need to start stomping on some of them." "Great. Wonderful. And where does that leave Dr. Eurilyn, and myself?" Carl Taylor actually grimaced, and then he squared his shoulders, and looked her right in the eye. "We want you to stay in the open. I understand you're experienced in playing bait. We'll let you dangle out there, and see if we can get Adam to come to you. In the meantime, we'll have the good doctor under protective custody, and....." "In other words, we're both targets, and you plan on sitting around until someone shows up to take potshots at one, or the other of us?" "We intend to hide the good doctor out of sight until this is over," Carl told him. "Priding himself as a professional, he will come after you first. When he does, we'll be able to grab him if you think you can handle the spotlight long enough to draw him out." Jamie cocked her head, eyeing the man, and finally drawled, "You must think I'm an idiot. "Wha...?" "First of all, over fifty-four percent of all federally protected witnesses have been killed in the past few years. Not a good statistic. "For a job like this, you're bound to have a mole in the background just waiting for the chance to blow the whistle on whatever you plan to earn a few extra dollars." "Detective," Carl smiled uneasily. "And one more thing. If you think I'm going to paint a big bull's eye on my ass, and then stand around waiting for someone to target it, you're out of your mind. "I want everything, and I mean everything you have on this character. Then I'll help you, and only you, come up with a game plan. "In the meantime, I'll handle Dr. Eurilyn's security personally, and you will not poke your federal nose anywhere near me while I do." She crossed her arms under her still ample cleavage, and smiled coyly at him, asking, "Now, how does that suit you, G-Man?" Carl could only stare at her furious expression, and unyielding stance. Then he finally looked back at Captain Douglas. "Is she for real?" "Detective Drake is my best undercover operative on the force, Mr. Taylor," Bill told him with a faint smile. "His....Ah, her success rate at closing cases has been nothing short of phenomenal at times. And she has always gotten those cases convicted." Carl drew a deep breath, obviously running things through his head as he slowly let the breath back out, and then narrowed his eyes. "And how has Detective Drake's work been since ?his' accident?" "You tell me," Jamie shot back. "I was the one that broke an international vice ring, and exposed your traitor for you." "All right. You're a professional. I'll accept that. Still, I have to stress that Adam is not your usual lowlife. He's smart, and he's professional. We suspect he's likely some sort of ex-military." "Maybe even a spook," Jamie asked pointedly. "We don't know," Carl admitted. "As I said, no one has ever even gotten close to this guy. We don't even know what he looks like, to be honest." "Great. So anyone could be coming after us, and we wouldn't know it until he pulled the trigger." Carl only nodded. Jamie shook her head. "Then if I'm in his crosshairs anyway, we do it my way. I'm not letting a bunch of feds likely to be more worried about their paperwork screw up this one, especially since this is my life we're talking about." "All right. As long as you stay in touch, and keep me informed....." "I'll let you know what I'm doing," she nodded. "Sure, no problem. Now, anything else?" "No, that's....about it." "Good. Cap?" "That's it, Jamie. You might want to brief the others. I assume you'll be bringing your team in on this one?" "I wouldn't trust anyone else," she said curtly as she headed for the door. "Wait a minute. You're worried about crooked feds, and you're trusting beat cops....?" "Go ahead." She smiled sweetly as she paused in the door to smirk back at him. "Put both feet in." Carl shook his head as Jamie left the office, the slight slamming of the door a good indicator of her state of mind. "Drake has been working with his...ah, her team for almost five years now. They're as straight as arrows, and are practically family. You almost messed up there, Agent Taylor," Bill advised him. Jamie smiled a little timidly as he looked from one woman to the other. When he showed up on Dr. Eurilyn's door, the last thing he expected to find was Dr. Nelly Elliot lounging in the living room in a very provocative nightgown. Sara wore a slightly more modest robe, but only just. The two women were a little uneasy, too, but she had told Sara it as important, and she had stood back to let her in without another word. "Is it that bad?" the older woman asked as she boldly put an arm around Sara as the brunette sat down beside her as Jamie drew a deep breath to calm herself before going on. "Worse. The feds tipped us off that Harris contacted a top hitman to kill Sara and I before he goes to trial." "You're kidding," Nelly sputtered, almost dropping the glass of juice she had picked up. "I wish I were," Jamie said grimly as he walked past the couch where they sat, and closed the curtains that looked out over the city. Sara turned pale, and looked back at her as she walked back across the room, and chose a seat on the single chair in the cozy living area of Sara's spacious apartment. "What do we do, detective," she asked. "I assume you have some plan you came here to relate." "Yes. You're going to have to disaapear for a while. And I mean disappear. "The thinking is, you're collateral. That is, a personal aside for this man. I am the primary target. "So, playing off his apparent professionalism, we believe he'll come after me first. I want you out of the way to ensure he does, since I'll be staying public. "But that puts you in danger," Sara exclaimed in horror. "Doctor, that is the nature of my job. Remember?" "And you almost died the last time." "That was before I got my little...upgrade," she smiled. "I think I should be more than a match for this guy, whoever he is, when he shows his face." "I hate to say it, Sara, but he's right. "Why don't you come stay with me," Nelly asked. "I'm afraid not. She has to disappear, Dr. Elliot. Go someplace where she won't be expected to go, and cut all contact with anyone that knows her, or is expected to know her. I'm afraid that means you, too." "Oh," Nelly murmured with obvious disappointment. "Do you have any idea how long this will take," she asked. "I wish I could tell you," Jamie told her as she pulled out a long envelope. "And, Dr. Eurilyn," Jamie told her. "When you disappear, that means no net, phone, or other public activity whatsoever. Any of it might be used to track you." Sara grimaced as she took the envelope. "What's this?" "On the off chance your place is already being monitored, I took the liberty of making arrangements for your cover. "Pack a small bag, or tote, something not likely to be noticed, and then leave your apartment, and follow the directions inside. "The only people that will try to contact you will be one of my boys. You know who I mean. If anyone else, and I mean anyone at all, tries to contact you, consider it a trap, and use the emergency number I have also included. "Now, I have to go. "I know this is....an inconvenience, ladies," she told them, "But this is to keep Sara safe, and alive until we can get this lowlife, and put Harris away permanently." "I knew that little jerk was no good," Nelly spat, glaring at her juice without drinking it now. "I don't know. Jerk, maybe, but he's not so little," Sara smiled thinly as she clutched the letter she had been handed. "I have to go," Jamie said as she rose, adjusting her jacket over the pistol, and badge at her side. "Work to do, and all that. "Be careful," Sara told her. "I know it may sound funny, but....I kind of feel like you're family now." Jamie hesitated, smiling blandly as she nodded, and then pulled out a card, handing it to Nelly. "Just in case, Doc," she winked. "You are a known associate of our girl. If anyone suspicious contacts you looking for either of us, give me a call at once." "Count on it, detective. "Just do me a favor, and catch this guy fast." "I'll do my best," she promised as he headed toward the door. "Well, hello, dear," the surprisingly fit graying, brunette addressed her as she opened the door. Sara frowned as she stepped into the small, but cozy house that was located in the suburban clutter that surrounded the city. She had followed the directions Jamie gave her, taking one bus to a subway, and the subway to another bus, and back and forth until she was lost herself. By the time she stepped off the last bus to walk the three blocks to the small, yellow house, she was sure Jamie was playing games with her. As she looked at the house that had only an address on the mailbox, no name at all, she wondered if this was one of those mysterious police safe houses she had heard about on television programs. She walked into the house clutching her small, nylon tote bag that contained fresh lingerie, her favorite sweats, and a few notebooks with notes concerning her most recent ideas, and just a few sundresses. She was, at heart, a pretty simple person when it came to day-to-day living. "Are you a policewoman," she asked as Sara stopped in the middle of the living room, noting the immaculate nature of the house in general, and the faint odor of fresh bread that was either baking, or just been removed from the oven. "Oh, heavens, no," Penelope Drake laughed as she headed past her to the kitchen. "I'm Penelope Drake. I thought that boy.... "Ahem. Sorry, that daughter of mine would have told you something about me." "Only that I'd be safe here." "Of course you will be, dear," the woman smiled as she gestured for her to follow her. "Oh, and drop that anywhere," she added when she saw the bag she was carrying. "I'll show you a room you can use later. Right now, I have to get this bread out of the oven, or we won't be having any for supper." "So.....You're Jamie's mother," Sara asked a few minutes later as she sat at the table as Penelope finished clearing away the bowls and pans she had been using to make her supper, including the bread that smelled quite good. "Yes, and you would be the lady that gave me a daughter rather than a son," she smiled with a soft chortle. "Oh, don't look so troubled. I was married to a police officer for forty-three years," she told her. "Franklyn, it's better than him coming home shot up again, or something of that nature. "Considering how he, that is....she handled this introduction, though, I'd have to say she hasn't changed that much," she added with a roll of her eyes. "You....don't think so," Sara asked her quietly as the woman turned from the sink to set two cups of steaming tea she had not even realized was being made before her. "Oh, I know so. Jamie was always so wrapped up and serious even before this change in her," she told Sara. "Frankly, I almost dared hope she might finally be shaken up enough to actually live life, rather than stay so darned busy she forgets what she's working for out there." "His....That is," Sara blushed, "She does seem quite earnest in her approach to her job." "Yes, and it's all Billy's fault. "I loved my husband, but he tended to take that work and devotion part of his life all too seriously. It ended up killing him in the end. "No, he wasn't shot, or anything. He just faded away after they retired him. He literally felt he had nothing to live for without his job. I was hoping Jamie would smarten up after a few years, but it hasn't happened yet." "I guess.....some of us do get wrapped up in what we're doing, and forget the reasons why sometimes," Sara admitted as she took the tea, and sipped it cautiously. "Drink up, sweetie," Penelope grinned. "It's green tea. Very good for you. "Of course, I like a bit of lemon and honey in mine." "This is....fine," she nodded, choking at the bitterness of the tea. "I try to stay away from anything too sweet." "That's probably smart of you. They say sugar is actually a very potent drug these days, you know? It might explain why some people get such a dreadful sweet tooth growing up. "But honey, now that's a natural sweetener, and it's very good for your complexion." Sara smiled as the woman preened, obviously feeling very certain of her belief in the diet she chose. "I've never really paid such things much attention," she admitted. "Trust me. Some day, you will. "So, tell me, what do you do? Jamie didn't say much beyond you were a science teacher, or something, and had developed whatever thingie turned him into that lovely female she's become." "Actually," Sara grimaced at the artless description the woman had of her. "I'm a research scientist, and I was testing a nannite based camouflage bodysuit that would allow....." "I understand all that, dear," Penelope interrupted. "I'm just surprised that you got James to try it at all. He's always been a bit sensitive about his size as it is. Or he was. I'm not sure how she is handling it now." "Mrs. Drake," Sara sighed. "It sounds as if Jamie left a few things out when he explained what happened to him. Or her. Perhaps if I....." "Plenty of time to chat, dear. Sip your tea. Then I'll show you to a room you can stash your things, and you can go with me to help out this afternoon." "Ah, help out?" "Of course. I volunteer down at the local mission cooking, and serving lunch for the less fortunate." "I'm....not much of a cook," Sara admitted. "And I am supposed to be....laying low, as Jamie put it." "Well, you don't have to actually cook, dear," Penelope waved dismissively as she finished up her own tea. "But you can help serve. "As to the rest, why, goodness, you can't get much lower than some of these poor souls," the woman informed Sara as she began lecturing her on social responsibility, and the poor example most leaders made after all their fine talk of helping those in need. Sara finished sipping the tea in silence, wondering if she should admit she preferred coffee, and promised that somehow, Jamie Drake was going to hear about this one. A lot. "Three days, and nothing," Mike grumbled. Jamie came in behind him, throwing down her jacket as they prepared to finish another day at the office, as she viewed it. "Considering what little we know of this guy, Mike, it's not that surprising he doesn't jump out first thing. "He strikes me as a very careful, very meticulous person. The sort that is likely to plan every move weeks in advance before taking a single step." "That's wonderful," Allen exclaimed sardonically. "Meanwhile, we have to keep our eyes peeled twenty-four/seven, wondering which skell out there is really getting ready to blow you away." Mike glared at their colleague as the sandy-haired detective sank into a well-worn chair, and jerked open a bottom drawer in his battered, metal desk. He studied the mound of junk food he had stashed in the back of the drawer, and pulled out a colorfully wrapped power bar. Unwrapping the bar, he bit into it with relish, and sighed blissfully. "Granola," Mike exclaimed in disbelief. "You?" "Hey, me and the doc talked a lot during that stakeout, you know," he grumbled in return. "Even I can learn new stuff now and then. "This here is tasty, and nutritious. Said so on the box." Jamie chuckled softly as she sat down, pressing the message box on her phone, and heard a familiar voice. "Jamie, I'm in trouble," Sara whispered frantically from the speaker as all three of them stiffened. "You have to get me out of here. "Your mother is trying to teach me to cook," came the anxious voice of the usually calm scientist they all knew. "If you get this message, please.....please find me someplace else to go. Please." Jamie giggled. Both men stared at her as she began to snigger, and then burst into laughter. "Knew it," Allen nodded thoughtfully as their partner and friend began to laugh even louder. "The sarge finally snapped. "It was the hair salon. That would drive anyone crazy," he nodded knowingly. "You," Jamie laughed weakly as she sucked air for breath. "You don't know my mother," she chuckled weakly now. "My dad used to volunteer for extra work shifts just to stay out of the house whenever she found a new cause. "Because she invariably wanted to drag everyone she knew into it with her. I think that is the real reason Dawn got married so quickly," she snickered. "She just wanted out of the house." "So, what are you going to do," Mike asked her. "The doc sounded pretty upset." "I know. I'll have to try to calm her down, because there is no place else I can think of safer than mom's house." "Your mom's house is safe?" "She lives in a neighborhood surrounded by other cops. No on in their right mind is going to bother her. "Even if they got past all the eyes, and cameras out there, mom sleeps with a shotgun by her bed." "Whoa, Sarge," Mike said in amazement. "Your mom has a shotgun?" "Yeah, and she's a dead shot. "Used to win all the contests when dad took her to the police picnics, and stuff like that. The commissioner finally convinced her to give up shooting in the matches to give everyone else a chance." "Wow, Sarge," Allen grinned. "Guess you got all your skills from your mother, then, huh?" "Watch it, Harding," Jamie muttered as he sifted through the rest of the messages that had accumulated while they were staking out hair salons that had been hit lately by a group of women who were posing as customers to get inside, and then robbing everyone before leaving. Said women were now in booking, being processed before they faced trial. She, meanwhile, had sworn never to even think of a permanent, or another manicure for the next few years. "What'd I say," Allen protested. "Hello, girlie," the raspy voice on the last message started. "Hard day? Don't worry. They'll get shorter soon enough. "Real short. "I like the green skirt best, by the way. You should keep it for your wake." The tape went silent, and the rest of the message was a long hiss of static. All three stared at one another before Jamie stabbed the repeat button. "It has to be him," Mike said in a hard tone as Allen merely nodded. "Take the tape to forensics," Jamie told him. "Allen, you're coming with me." "Where? This guy could still be anywhere." "I heard that voice this afternoon. And his mentioning the green skirt was a dead giveaway. I only wore it when we stopped at the saloon down on Brown Boulevard." "They have street cams there," Allen realized. "We can get the security tapes, and put face to voice," he said as he jumped up from his chair, adding, "Let's go, Sarge. What are we waiting for?" Mike rolled his eyes. "Maybe there's hope for the kid yet." "Unlike you," Allen quipped as Mike took the tape Jamie had removed to hand him. "I want the results ASAP, Mike. Hand deliver them at Ryan's," she told him. "Don't tell anyone else." "No problem, Sarge. If we can find anything distinctive, or even a match, you'll know as soon as I do. "Just be careful. This might be a trap." "I know," Jamie answered grimly as she checked her pistol before she pulled her jacket back on that matched the slacks she had changed back into for comfort. "Let's go, Allen." "Hey, I'm ready," the younger detective assured him, looking more than ready. "There. That's him," Jamie pointed as they watched the tape reversed to the time stamp she recalled just before entering the salon on Brown. Just before she had entered the fifth salon of the day, a nondescript man had bumped into her, excused himself, adding, "Nice skirt, girlie," before disappearing into the crowd. "Damn," Allen muttered for her as they watched the video for several minutes. "He knew the cameras were there. "The bastard keeps his face turned away every time he moves past one." "And the cap shadows his face. His features remain occluded so we can't get a clear reflection from one of the shop windows," Jamie scowled as she watched the short man in the nondescript jacket and ball cap turning to walk away from her, and keeping his face carefully occluded each time he passed either a camera, or shop window. "Yeah, and he keeps blocking his face, too," Allen added as the film paused again only to show another blurry image of the man with his hand raised in apparent innocent manner to scratch an ear that kept his silhouette completely obscured. "That's all we have, detectives," the man operating the camera for him told him. "We need this tape all the same," Jamie told him. "Maybe our lab boys can do something with this that we can't." "Sure, detective," the security guard that operated the remote cameras in the area. "I'll need you to sign it out, though. "The city's gotten real particular about equipment lately. Even extra video tapes," he shrugged. "No problem," Allen said, pulling out a pen. "What now," the sandy-haired man asked as they left the office building that housed the city's remote-viewing security. "We let the forensics lab see what they can do. It's not like we have any other choice." "You don't remember anything else about this guy? Nothing at all," Allen asked as they walked down the block toward their parked car. "I've been getting comments like his since I.....changed," Jamie muttered in disgust as they climbed into the car. "I've tried to ignore them for the most part." "I'll bet," Allen grinned. "Maybe you should go for the schoolteacher look," he suggested. "You know, the hair in the bun, saggy....." "Allen," Jamie hissed, staring at the wheel of the car. "Sorry. I just....." "Allen, get out of the car. "Now," she shouted as she opened her own door, and ran for the cover of another car even as Allen jumped out, and followed. They barely got behind the bed of a pickup when the sedan went up in a ball of flame, the explosion almost deafening them as they hunkered down behind the truck, hands over their ears as flaming shrapnel rained down around them. "Holy God, Sarge," Allen wailed as he stared at her with hugely rounded eyes. "How did you know?" "I heard the fuse ignite when I closed the door," she admitted. "You what," he frowned as they peered over the edge of the truck's bed, staring at the burning remains of their sedan. "I heard the fuse, and somehow....I knew what it was when I heard it. "You're getting scary again, Sarge," Allen remarked as he thumbed his cell, and called in the appropriate help to contain, and control the scene as people stumbled out of a nearby coffee shop, several with bloody gashes on their heads, but otherwise in fair shape. "He suckered us," Jamie realized as she stood to stare at the ruined sedan. "And just think of how the captain is going to like us losing another car this year." "The last one wasn't our fault," she frowned. Then shook her head. "Of course, neither was this one." "I really liked that car, too," Allen glowered as they moved toward the gathering crowd, flashing badges, and trying to maintain order until the uniforms arrived to hand traffic, and spectators. Jamie's mind was on something else just then. She had put the voice together with the man on the street, and it had led them back here to check the video of the street surveillance. In the time they spent sifting through the video, their car had been booby trapped, and almost killed them. "We have to go back to the street-cams. We might get lucky this time if we can confirm his general build if we spot him planting the bomb." Both of them looked down the street as fire engines, and two squads came speeding toward them, sirens blazing. "You want the honors, or do I go," Allen asked him as his usual smile was strained just then. "Go on. Just get the tape, and bring it back to the department. We'll review it ourselves this time." "No problem, Sarge. If I miss you, I'll catch a ride with one of the uniforms." "Just move your butt. I think we can safely say I'm definitely on borrowed time now." Allen didn't reply to that, but he left without another comment. When the emergency vehicles came to a halt, effectively blocking the street as they left room for the one ambulance that had shown, Jamie stepped forward to help them understand what had just happened. She amended her report to leave the why out. She didn't need the press hearing there was an international hitman in the city targeting cops. She just hoped this jerk showed his face next time. She'd like to test her fighting abilities on a real opponent again. The guys in the precinct tended to take it easy on her, still only seeing a young woman. The fact she could bench press more than half the precinct didn't seem to take with some of the guys. "Round one is yours," she grumbled to her stalker as she let the uniforms and paramedics take over dealing with the crowd with some relief. The bitch was good He'd give her that much. He had thought a bomb would do the job, and no one would be the wiser. After all, cops made lots of enemies. Especially good cops. The bitch was supposed to be one of the few good ones in this precinct. A regular goody-two-shoes from what he had learned. Couldn't be bought. Couldn't be bribed. A bomb made sense. After all, who would they suspect? Lots of enemies when you were straight. Lots. Only she had figured it out in less than a heartbeat. She hadn't even shut the door before she was bailing. Even saved her scrawny partner. That annoyed him. A lot. He was a professional. He never failed. Ever. Because he was a professional, he wouldn't get upset. Wouldn't be distracted even by his own pride. He would learn from his mistakes, and try again. After all, he had been lamenting the lack of a real challenge in his work of late. This might be just what he was looking for of late. A chance to match wits with someone who might just be his equal. Unlikely. Still, she had figured out the car was bobby-trapped. This might just be fun after all. "I don't care," Bill Douglas told her as she glared at him. "It's one thing to put yourself in front of a bull's eye, and hope to draw this slime-ball out of the shadows. It's an entirely different thing when cars start blowing up on public streets, and you can't even give me a suspect. "The feds are back in this." "Great," Allen muttered as he cast a bleak glance at Jamie. "We're all going to die." "Don't be an ass," the captain told him. "I'm not saying we cater to their whims. But we need the extra manpower, and eyes, if we're going to stand a chance at catching this guy before he does.....do something." "I'd say that he already did do something, and like the Sarge told us, these guys had fifteen years, and haven't done squat. Why do we want to invite them in to muddy the waters now?" "Because the commissioner, the mayor, and half the press in the city seem to think we're sitting ducks for lunatics of late. I have to assure them that we're taking every possible precaution to get this matter under control, and I mean by yesterday." "Yesterday, we had squat," Jamie told him after a moment. "Today, we have a potential profile." "I thought you didn't get anything off the security tapes." "Nothing definitive. However, we do have enough to narrow the field considerably. "He's Caucasian, heavyset, perhaps in his thirties, or early forties, and has an affinity for ball caps," she added with wry smile. He speaks with a local accent, but I wouldn't put much stock in that, but we do now have tape analysis that will be handy in voice-matching any suspects we come across. "And there is one more thing we know." "Yeah," Bill grumbled. "The feds definitely have a leak." "What do you mean," Bill asked her pointedly. "The only people that knew we were going back to the security archives were you, my team, and Agent Taylor. "Who he told, I can't imagine, but they obviously tipped someone off." "Unless the guy is just so good he knew we'd try going back to identify him if you remembered his voice." Jamie glared at Allen. "That's...uh, unlikely, though," he amended quickly. "Real unlikely." "All right. You have one week. If you're still alive, and haven't found anything by then, I will call Taylor in and give his people the green light. "I'll call them anyway if anything else happens. Understand me, Drake," Bill demanded of him. "Sure, Cap. I'm sure he won't try anything like that again, though." "How can you be so sure"" "Just a hunch." "A hunch." "You've trusted me with less," Jamie reminded him. "I said one week. Dazzle me. "And watch the temper. I don't need another cute stunt like you pulled with Harris in his office." "What," Jamie frowned. "Let me put it this way. If the feds hadn't advised him of his rights when they took him out of here, he might well have walked on a technicality. "It seems someone got cute with the rights they read him, and he was just waiting to throw that up in front of a local judge before the feds got involved. "Now, you wouldn't know who would do something stupid like that, do you," Bill demanded." "Can't imagine," Allen spoke up quickly as he and Jamie shared a blank expression. "Must have been one of the uni's. You know how they get when they have to play backup." "Right," the captain grumbled. "Just make sure it doesn't happen again. Like it or not, these scumbags do have rights." "Too bad their victims don't have any," Allen grumbled. "This isn't an ethics class, Harding. "Now, get out of here, you two, and don't let me hear you lost another car this year," he shouted after them. "Well, that was pleasant," Jamie muttered as they left the captain's office. "Hey, I'm not the one that shrugged off fatboy's rights." "I honestly don't remember doing that," she grumbled. "You were kind'a hot under the collar when you stormed his office," Allen reminded him. "Just be glad the feds snatched him up. I doubt they're gonna let him walk off very easily." "No, they'll probably cut a deal with him, and set him up somewhere in a whole, new life," she grumbled as they walked through the outer offices, doing her best to ignore the others that still looked at her oddly when she passed them. "Maybe not. They're not real fond of people selling their secrets on the open market, and Harris was doing that, and more," Allen reminded him. "Remind me to enroll you in a government history class sometime," Jamie muttered. "Class? Jeez, why not just open my skull, and pour it in. It'd do about as much good." "Wise up, Allen. I need you on top of your game for this one." "I know, Sarge," his smile faded slightly. "This guy is plenty cagey. "But we have the advantage." "How do you figure it?" "He don't know what you can do. Right?" "I don't know. If Harris put him on me, he might have let him in on the outcome of this little experiment. Maybe that was why he didn't try anything up close, and personal," she told him. "I guess we'll find out the next time he tries something," he said ominously. "Let's just try to find something before he tries," she suggested. "I'll go see how Dugan is coming with those tapes," he nodded as she stopped in front of the office. "You do that." "Hang in there, Sarge. We're the good guys. We always win," Allen assured him as he flashed a trademark grin on his way to the stairs. She shook her head, and stepped into her office where the usual day's work still awaited her attention regardless of any death threats hanging over her head. Then there was that less than cryptic call from Sara he had to answer soon. Like it, or not, she was still safer at his mother's place than anywhere else. Especially if this guy turned his sights on her before he finished with her. She had the feeling he was just good enough to figure out anything they might try. So she had to think outside the box. Only just now, it was a damn big box she was looking at when it came to a faceless hitman with foreign connections. Jamie waved Mike off as she headed for her apartment, refusing to take him up on his offer of staying at his place for the duration. Innocent, or not, she was still not ready to start sleeping over at a guy's house. Even if a part of her new biology did insist she was missing some of that wonderful fun she had experienced with Tom before he had revealed himself as the killer he had been looking for all along. She trudged up the steps, feeling the long hours in spite of her newly augmented physiology, and wondered if Pete had left anything in her icebox when he had mooched off him when the family had shown up unexpectedly earlier that week. She reached the door, found the small piece of tape she had put in the upper corner of the door still in place, as was the piece close to the floor. That meant no one had tried coming in the door today. Of course, she still had a window with a fire escape to be concerned about, but it was unlikely, she hoped, that anyone had tried that approach in broad daylight. Switching on the light, she blinked at the sight of a silver-wrapped package with a white bow on it sitting on the table before his couch. "How the devil....?" She walked around the table, noting the florist card on the side, and walked around again. She heard no ticking, or anything obvious, but she could smell the scent of roses. Sweet ones. Frowning, she went through her apartment, and found the window cracked that had been locked. Okay, score one for this guy's daring. She closed, and locked the window, although it had apparently done little good, not even considering he might have left prints. He wasn't that sloppy judging from the files the fed had finally given him. She walked around the apartment, checking everything, but found nothing out of place, or obvious that might indicate a threat. Nothing but the box of roses. Or so she surmised from that cloying scent. Finally going to the couch, she sat down, studied the box for a long time, and checked it carefully before daring to open the top that didn't seem tied down, or wired to anything. She pulled the top all the way off and looked down at a dozen long-stemmed black roses. "Cute," she grimaced, carefully checking the flowers, and even avoiding the thorns in case they might have been poisoned. It was a thought. Finally, she pulled them out, and a part of her had to admire the stark beauty of the bleak arrangement, even if a part of her still thought flowers were a bit gauche even for a hitman out to end her life. She found nothing else in the box to concern her, and that left only the card. Carefully pulling the card out of the envelope still attached to the top of the elongated box, he studied it, and saw only a standard sympathy card. It was a little bulky toward the bottom, and for a moment she considered it might be something dangerous, but then she recognized it was one of the new musical cards still trying to catch on, and she slowly, and carefully opened the card. "I'm sending roses, because you'll need them before the week is out," the over-elaborate handwriting claimed. The signature was just as exaggerated in a flourish sure to be meant as a disguise of his usual handwriting. "Adam," she read the given name aloud as a tinny, grating version of the prayer for the dead played on the tiny speaker embedded in the card. "Why give a timeline," she frowned as she closed the card just to stop that grating tune. Even as she did, the tune stopped. And another began. The shrill, discordant sound that emanated from the card tore into her brain for a few seconds that felt like an eternity as she tried to block out the sound. Finally, mercifully, a raspy squelching sound sputtered out of the card she had dropped, and a small puff of smoke curled up from the hidden speaker as the sound stopped completely. "Jesus Christ," she hissed, shaking her head as it swirled madly as if she had been spinning in circles for the past hour. Or so it seemed to him. Her, damn it. No, him. He was a man. No, he was a..... James stood up, frowning as the dizzying rush of utter revulsion of what had befallen him slammed into his completely masculine brain like a Mack truck through a glass wall. "Sonuvabitch," he howled, clutching his head as he tried to understand what had just happened. And looked down at the firm, round breasts beneath his blouse, and wailed in disbelief. "What the hell is going on," he demanded of the walls as he tried to calm his addled mind. Which was when the card began to screech again. No, the telephone. He stumbled forward, awkward, and off balance as he almost killed himself even in the low heels he had been wearing that day. His center of gravity was skewered, and so was everything else. He felt.....wrong. Very, very wrong. "Hel....lo," he croaked, even the sound of his voice chafing against the expectation his very masculine mind insisted was not right. "Hello, detective," a smug voice drawled. "Did you enjoy your present?" "What the hell did you do to me," he demanded. "Why, can't you figure it out? "You'd better. Or by the end of the weak, I expect you're going to be driven just mad enough to put a bullet in your own brain. "Enjoy the flowers. "I'd stay and gloat, but.....I want to visit your mother," he taunted him before he hung up. "Damn it, damn it, damn it," he screamed, ready to fling down his phone, but reason calmed him enough to make him realize he still needed it. "Mom," he rasped, knowing somehow the asshole had figured it out. Figured it all out. He dialed Mike, hoping his cell was still on even as he felt a rush of impatience, and a greater sense of urgency from within that he should be doing something. But he was doing something. He was calling Mike. He had to get help to his mother, fast. And he had to get Sara out of there before she ended up on a slab, too. "Answer," he growled in that singsong voice that made him crazy every time his ears heard it." Come on.....Come on....." "Crap," he spat, and dialed Allen's cell. "Yo, it's your dime." "Allen, where are you," he snapped. "Sarge? "I've over at Benny's. Thought I'd run a few things by....." "Allen, he knows about my mother. He's going after the doc now. Get over there, and get them both out. Now." "Jesus, are you....? Never mind, I'm on my way." "Try to get hold of Mike, too. I couldn't reach him. I...." "Sarge? You still there?" James was staring into a mirror he had only just noticed. His wide, blue eyes and pretty oval face were all wrong. He knew they were wrong. "What the fuck," he squeaked. "What the fuck is going on," he whined, banging his phone into the side of his head that started spinning again. "Sarge? You still there," Allen shouted, his voice sounding as if it was coming from a long way off. "I....am not.....a girl," he shouted, and flung the phone at the mirror. The glass exploded on impact, the receiver shattering as well, and only afterward did he realize he had not hung up on Allen. He didn't care. "I have to fix this," he said, glaring at the few pieces of the mirror still in the frame that showed a fractured image of what he had become. "I have to fix this," he echoed, his high-pitched voice determined, and just a little crazed as he pulled his pistol from its holster to check its load. TO BE CONTINUED.........