The Suit - Part 5 free porn video

THE SUIT - Part 5 By LJ "Where are you headed," Carl Taylor demanded as the two detectives left the precinct just as Allen slid the drawing of their suspect into his jacket's inner pocket. "Thought we'd make a donut run," Allen smiled facetiously. "You like plain, or frosted?" "I suppose you've already seen the lab results from your sergeant's apartment," the agent demanded irritably. "The most of it," Allen agreed as Carl frowned at Mike. "Should you even be out of the hospital," he demanded sourly. "Trust me," Allen told him, glancing at Mike's expression that could sour milk just then. "He's in better shape than he looks." "Whatever," Carl drawled. "So, you know that, judging from the evidence, your sergeant trashed his own place?" "We figured that out when we saw his cell," Allen nodded, having realized that the cell phone had not been shattered, it had been crushed. As if in a very powerful vise. Considering Jamie didn't have one handy, the two men both knew what that meant. He just couldn't figure out what had made Sarge trash her whole place. That card? Had it really done something that made her lose control enough to tear her whole place apart like an addict looking for a new fix? Something just didn't feel right to him. How was it not one of the neighbors saw her leave? Not one. And Sarge had some noisy neighbors. They both knew the police had been called to the apartment just the other night. Likely not long after Sarge disappeared. Not for Sarge, though quite a few all heard her ?fit,' as some described it. They just didn't see anything. ".....so I don't think it's a good idea for you to go walking around like nothing happened," the fed was saying as Allen tuned his own thoughts out. "We don't worry about good ideas," Allen flashed a smile just for his benefit. "Just great ones." "Let's go," Mike scowled. "Wait one damn minute," Carl moved in front of them. "If you have something you're holding out on me.....on us....." "Want to find out how good I'm feeling, mister," Mike growled irritably as he cracked his knuckles. His very large knuckles. "Besides, we're just going for donuts. Just like I said," Allen told him casually. "We get irritable without fresh donuts. You know how it is. Bad coffee; good donuts." Carl Taylor grimaced, then stepped aside. "Just call if you see, or hear anything." "Trust us," Allen said, Mike still not up to saying much with his bruised jaw, though his expressions were eloquent. "Sometimes, your attitude actually comes in handy," Mike admitted sullenly as the fed went back inside, though he looked back at them before the door closed. "Admit it, I grow on you," Allen grinned. "Yeah, like fungus." Allen chuckled. "So, how are we going to get anywhere?" "I thought we'd borrow an unmarked cruiser." "You don't think this guy bugged them all just in case?" "I know one he likely overlooked just because it's hardly likely we'd be using it." "Yeah," Mike grunted. "Cap's ride," he said, holding up the keys. "How did you....?" "Never mind," Mike grumbled as they headed for the distinctive gray sedan. "Let's just get moving. I get the feeling we've wasted enough time here." "You and me both, partner. "Thing I can't figure out is how he didn't leave prints when you said he didn't have gloves on in your place, but not one print was left." "Shells," Mike grunted as he sagged into his own seat as Allen took the wheel. Not that he would ever admit it, but even after four bags of saline in the hospital, he was still feeling a little wasted. With the adrenalin fading, he was starting to feel it even more. "Shells," Allen frowned as he started the car. "Damn, don't you read any of the memos?" "It's what they're calling surgical caps you can meld to your fingertips to blot out prints. Leaves a smooth surface, and no prints. "Not that many care, since DNA and retinal scans have pretty much taken the place of fingerprints in court these days." "Which proves not all progress helps. We still can't get those things without something to lead us to the guy in the first place." "If I'm right, we have more than a lead. We have the bastard's home address. Since we can't seem to find Sarge, or help her, then we go find the bastard that targeted her." Allen now looked more than interested as he put the transmission in gear, and pulled out into the street. "Okay, where to, partner?" "First, Benny's. I need caffeine." "And sugar," Allen added sagely. "We did say we were going for donuts," he grinned at him. "Imagine Taylor's chagrin when his tail back there tells him we went straight to Benny's." Mike glanced at his own rear view mirror. "You already spotted one." "These guys do stand out," Allen sniggered. "Don't worry. After Benny's, I'll lose him fast enough." "See that you do." "Hey," Allen protested with a wry smirk. "This is me." "I know," Mike groaned, and reached for his seat belt he had neglected until then. Jamie held his hands to his ears, and howled at the conflicting thoughts and emotions that seemed to be tearing him apart. His body was saying one thing, and his mind was telling him another. What made it worse was the memories of all he had done lately. The sex. The degradations. "I have to fix this," he swore hotly as he pulled his pistol from its holster at his side to check its load. He glanced at the shattered mirror again, and then down at the shards of his broken phone, and frowned as he slid the pistol back in place, satisfied it was loaded, and ready. He pulled his cell from his waist where it was snapped in place with a cutesy holder he couldn't believe he had picked out, and started to press the power button. Even as he did, he overheard a faint tick-click sound that he knew instinctively was not normal. He turned the phone over, pulling it apart, but saw nothing wrong. Nothing out of place. Nothing extra added. Still..... He snapped the pieces and battery pack back in place, and turned it on again. He heard the same sounds, and swore. Even as he did, he realized his hand had just crushed the phone in a fist that shouldn't be able to do such things. Especially to case-hardened plastic. He flung the debris down, and looked at his small, seemingly dainty hand. "Okay," he murmured, staring at his blunt nails he had recently trimmed after countless manicures in his recent salon case had nearly driven him crazy. Only, this whole situation was about to drive him right over a cliff. At high speed. With no brakes. Then he frowned again. Who the hell tapped, or monitored cell phones from a distance? Because that was the only explanation. He moved to his stereo, and switched the power on. His hyper-sensitive hearing detected the soft whirring of an internal motor that had no part of the device. He ripped off the face plate, and saw the small camera available at any electronics store in the area. His own personal dilemma faded from the forefront of his concerns for a moment as pure rage enveloped him. Anger that someone had been able to so easily, so swiftly infiltrate, and bug his home, his sanctuary angered him as he had never before been angered. It was as if every repressed, dour moment he had swallowed over all the years had simply been condensed, and given pure, fiery expression. Driven by fury, he simply snatched up the entire base station, and smashed it to the hardwood floor. He stamped a foot down on the disconnected camera eye he spotted for good measure. Then he impulsively swept through the apartment, smashing things, and tearing others apart as he used his newly sharpened senses to hunt every bug he could find. Then he paused in the bedroom, staring at the open closet, and realizing it was full of women's clothes. His clothes. He felt a rush of weird giddiness again, and growled as he focused on his job, his danger, his family, his partners. Anything except the ridiculously feminine shell he was wearing that wouldn't come off. He had enough recall just then to remember that. The stupid accident. The stupid serial killer. The stupid night of..... "No, no, no, no, no," he chanted, and shoved the women's clothes back to one side of his closet as he started to reach for one of the men's suits he found in the back. He paused. They felt wrong. Not just....gender-wise wrong. They felt wrong on that level that told him..... He pulled a jacket down and started tearing it apart as if it were made of rotted cloth. Hidden in the lining reached through a slit in the inner pocket, he found a small tracking bug. The kind feds used. He frowned at that, and focused on the clothes she was wearing now. He suddenly realized the nagging feeling of something bothering him all day had been the realization they felt wrong, too. He swore, and pulled off his jacket, and stripped right down to the bare skin, leaving nothing touching her body. She found the bug in her slacks, inside the waistband. Another in her left shoe's hollow heel. Another in her jacket. Wait. He wasn't a...... Why was she calling himself.....? "Damn it, think straight," he shouted at herself. Her sense of self changing like a neon sign blinking conflicting messages in his head. He. Her. Boy. Girl. "Stop it. Stop it. Stop it," he shouted at himself, banging his fists against her head. "Think. "Okay. Ducks," she told himself, bringing to mind his mother's favorite adage, and turned to look at the mirror over his bureau. "I'm a duck," he told himself grimly, staring at the lithe, stacked, brown-haired beauty in front of her. Her. Her. Her. "If it looks like a duck....... "Quack, quack," she said, and laughed a bit manically at the poor humor as she felt her mind slowly began the process of trying to right itself. Reason slowly began to return to her tortured mind, and she focused on the important matters as she fought that nagging part of herself that still thought she was a male. Forget the identity bullshit, she told herself. There's a madman out there trying to kill you, and he's going to make it easy if you don't quit screwing around. Then she realized she had an edge. For the moment, at least, she reasoned. The assassin fully expected her to go careening off the deep end, and do some serious damage to herself. Maybe even a few others around her. Looking around the bedroom, she realized it looked like she was on her way to a complete meltdown. "Later," she murmured calmly, and focused on that bit of reason that came of years of experiences and training that formed the core of what she was as she realized she couldn't contact her partners, but did have to warn them somehow. Somehow without tipping off their hunter, he had to leave a message they would understand. One they would know came from her, and wouldn't be intercepted by the wrong people. She eyed the blank, back wall of his closet as she smiled, and lifted her left arm. That done, she then considered she had to really disappear. Make it look like she went off somewhere, and yet not let anyone see her. How? To disappear, she had to be able to get out without anyone seeing her. Without anyone being the wiser. She could bet the place was being watched from the outside considering all the bugs she found in her apartment. So......How to get out without being seen? Or found? Even as she idly noted the gash in her left arm was healing quite predictably, without even a scar, her eyes landed on something her mother had left that she had been meaning to take over to her later as he.....she focused on all Sara had told her about the increasingly complicated project called Chameleon. She smiled, and a plan came to mind. It was so bizarre that she doubted even the ingenious assassin could have foreseen this one. It was the perfect cover. If she could pull it off. Mike nodded as Allen sat behind the wheel of the borrowed, unmarked cruiser. "So, you figured out what the words meant?" "Sure. Same as you. ?Royal Roaches,' could only mean government bugs. "As in either the bad guy has federal contacts, or the feds were stalking us themselves." "If not both," Mike muttered. "Well, they damn sure didn't bother coming to your rescue if that was the case," Allen reminded him. "And they got there so fast afterward I was sure they had to already be in the neighborhood." "Maybe they were waiting for the right fish?" "Since they had to guess our perp was involved, that means....." "I don't think these feds are after Adam. "I think they're after Sarge," Mike said grimly. "Yeah, I've been getting the same vibe lately, too," Allen agreed as he took the turn Mike indicated. Allen recognized the address at once. "You're certain," Allen asked not for the first time as they approached the innocuous house. "Positive. "The sketch didn't look exactly like him. But, of course, why would it? "But the eyes, and that smirk, he couldn't hide those. "Adam is Pete Carter. Dawn's husband." "Damn," Allen muttered as he slowed down a block away from the house. "This is screwed up on so many levels it isn't funny." "Tell me about it. "It may be how he got so close to Sarge without being spotted. "Why would he suspect him, of all people?" "Yeah, but....didn't you say he lost track of Sarge?" Mike nodded. "So he says. But he was getting ready to move on the Doc. Why would he do that if he hadn't already taken care of Jamie? Or thought he had. "He could have just been fucking with us, too. Remember what that fed said about him being a bit egotistical." "True. Maybe....Maybe whatever he did was enough that he felt Sarge had had it." "One thing I learned years ago, kid," Mike told him. "You don't count Jamie out until you see the corpse." "I hope you're right," Allen said with uncharacteristic grimness as they sat watching the house. "Trust me. "I remember the first case we worked together. Sarge went in the front of a bar after a robbery gone bad, and took three right in the chest." "Damn. Guess he was lucky he had a vest...." "No vest. We didn't use them that much back then. "Anyway, I came in the back, not knowing what had happened, but spooked since I had heard those shots, and nothing else. "I busted in the back, and saw this tweaker dancing with a dead woman, and his buddy pulling cash out of dead patron's wallets. "Yeah," he nodded at Allen's expression, "It was that kind of neighborhood. "Anyway, I spotted Sarge sprawled in the door, his chest covered in blood, and figured he was gone. "I lost it, and jumped in and shot both junkies without checking the rest of the bar. "I almost shot Sarge myself when the shot rang out, and I turned to see him kneeling against the door, his gun aimed right at me. "Holy shit," Allen exclaimed. "Yeah. A third tweaker came out of the storeroom with a shotgun, and had been about to blow my head off. "And, Sarge? He's kneeling there, bleeding half to dead with three rounds in him, and tells me, ?You damn, fool. Didn't you ever learn to clear a room first?'" Allen chuckled grimly. "Yeah. That sounds like Sarge." "Anyway, like I said, I learned you don't count Sarge out. He might have been short, and scrawny, but he.....well, she's the toughest cop I've ever met." "I won't argue with that," Allen told him thinking of what she had done to Simmons that night. "So, partner. How do we handle this?" "I'm going to slip around back. "Give me a few minutes, and drive right up to the house, and get out and knock on the front door. Whatever happens, I'll come in the back, and we'll try to take him by surprise without anyone getting hurt." "Sounds like a plan," Allen nodded. "I doubt Sarge would appreciate us getting his sister shot." "She'd shoot you herself," Mike agreed, and glanced at the house. "Three minutes," he told him, and slipped out of the car, and disappeared behind a large hedge to start making his way to his target. Allen glanced at his watch, and frowned. "Three minutes," he murmured, and hoped Mike really was up to hopping fences. Or anything else he might find. When the time was up, he started the car once more, and drove toward the house in question where they had already ascertained that Pete's car was in the drive. Pete Carter sat drumming his fingers on the table as he stared at the phone. Things had gone wrong. He couldn't believe it, because everything had been working out so well from the first move. It was like a chess game, at times, in its simplicity. Setting up pawns to fake a ploy, and putting the opponents off guard. Watching the other side react, and overreact. Or simply blunder. He moved deftly, with the skill of experience, and the daring born of familiarity with such methods. Then things started going wrong. First, the bitch went off his radar. Then the local feds blundered in, muddying everything, as was their usual pattern. He even failed to get that stupid cop to say a single word. Not one clue as to what had happened to the doctor, or her self- appointed guardian. He thought he had them both when he realized where the clown on the bitch's team was headed that night he panicked. Talk about right under his nose. Instead, Harding had detected his ruse, and called to alert them, sending them off to hide on their own. He watched the usual routes. Waiting for reports of any activity from his spies on the local front in regard to hotels, bus stations, or the like. The two women, who should have been panicked, and easy to find, failed to show. Just as the bitch herself had yet to show. He had little doubt she was a whimpering mass of confused, manic insanity by now considering what he had done. His little homemade sonic EMP had undoubtedly successfully obliterated all controlling mechanisms, and behavior mods that likely kept the detective from reacting to the genetic damage done by the allegedly malfunctioning camo-suit. Considering it was nannite-driven, the burst should have short-circuited every one of the little bugs linking him to the her of the suit, and blotted out all the electro-chemical behavioral patterns downloaded into his neural pathways. The sonic surgery, as he viewed it, should have created just enough of a schism to sent the macho detective inside the device into a true psychotic break. All he had to do was sit back and watch the fun. Only she had vanished. Completely. He had little doubt of his methods, but still, he needed a body. He needed proof. And he needed to find that doctor who had created the system. Only she was not showing herself either. Which led him to await contact with a resource he had preferred not to have to use. Which was why he sat drumming his fingers as he stared at the silent phone, waiting for it to ring. He jumped when he heard, not a phone, but a doorbell. Followed by a firm knock. Frowning, he rose from his seat, and headed for the door, feeling for the knife in his left sleeve, and the .32 derringer hidden in his right. No sense in taking chances. Allen knocked again, but go no answer. Frowning, he reached for the knob even as someone opened it from the other side. He jumped back, one hand on the butt of his .45 Colt he favored over the usual 9mm most carried, and just stopped himself from pulling it out when he looked into the wide, brown eyes of the young woman he knew was Sarge's sister. "Oh, uh, hi, Mrs. Carter," he smiled at her. "I was.... "Well, I'm.....Allen Harding. Detective Harding, I mean, and I....." "I remember, detective," she smiled. "James....I mean, Jamie, talks about you all the time." "Really," he smiled, then shook his head, hoping it wasn't too bad. "Look, I need to talk to Pete. Your husband? I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but it's really important." "Oh, well, he's not here," she told him. "He's been gone all week." "He has," he frowned, looking over at Carter's car. "Oh, he didn't drive. "He's a salesman, and had to fly up to the capitol. "It's really the only thing I don't like about his work," she sighed. "I didn't realize his job takes him away from home so much, but.....what can you do," she shrugged even as Allen spotted Mike behind her coming in from the dining room. "So, he travels a lot," Mike asked grimly as the slender woman yelped at the sound of his voice, and turned to face him. "Sgt. Parker," she exclaimed. "What are you...? "What is going on," she demanded as she turned to look from one to the other, and back again. "Ma'am, do you have a number where we can reach your husband," Mike asked, remaining formal with her. "Well.....no," she admitted. "He doesn't like cell phones." "Wonder why," Allen grumbled, thinking most now carried the GPS trackers for 911 emergencies. "He usually calls me every day or so, though," she told them. "Do you want me to have him call you when he does?" "No," Mike told her. "Dawn," he told her firmly, "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you." "Wait. He....He's not hurt, or something, is he?" "Worse," Allen said grimly, still trying to keep from eyeing the woman that still affected him in ways that he didn't want to think about. Not with Sarge's sister. Married sister, he corrected himself. "Dawn, we think....he's mixed up in something bad. Really bad." "Oh, no. Not Pete. He's the nicest, most honest man I've ever met," the young woman told them sincerely. "Then.....You won't mind if we look around? Check on a few things," Mike asked. "Well, sure. I guess," she told him. "Check the car," Mike told Allen. "And be careful." "Count on it," he nodded. "The keys," he asked of Dawn, trying not to look into those pretty brown eyes. "Okay, but I don't know what you expect to find," she told him as she leaned inside to take a key ring from the wall hook just inside the door. "We'll explain later," Mike told her as he turned toward the hall. "Want to show me where he hangs out? A den, or a workroom, something like that?" Dawn sighed, shaking her head, and led him back through the house. He staggered out of the apartment, still not quite able to believe this was actually working. The fact was, it was working like a charm. If he looked down, he looked just like the shadowy, brick fa?ade of the building he was hugging just then. Moving slowly, and concentrating so hard it almost gave him a migraine, he was able to move out of his apartment, into an alley, and all while virtually invisible. This suit obviously had a lot of untapped potential. Or, his more cynical mind suggested, someone was working on adding a bit of programming to the mix that the good doctor was unaware of from the start. He didn't have to think too hard about who it might be, considering that Dr. Harris was playing both sides, and sucking up a lot of military contracts from both sides of the proverbial fence out there. Still, if Harris was behind this, he had to have help. Ian Harris didn't strike him as the kind that would know much about nannite programming, epidermal camouflage, or the dozens of theoretical applications that all went into creating this symbiotic epidermal matrix that..... He froze, not only at the rush of knowledge he should not have rattling in his already confused skull, as much as he noted a presence just a few feet from him. He focused on it, and saw a faint shadow in the refuse around a dumpster. He was almost ready to write off the human shape his eyes managed to make out despite the near-stygian darkness when he realized homeless people did not have mini-binoculars with night vision lenses as part of their usual wardrobe. Even as the man lifted the glasses to his eyes, studying the darkness beyond the corner of his apartment building, James leapt from the side of the dirty, brick wall, and seemed to appear out of thin air as he landed atop the hidden body with just a dark sheet wrapped around his very female form. There was nothing soft, or feminine in the powerful hands that smashed the gun that rose in one hand of his stalker as he dealt a powerful blow to the man's jaw before he dragged him out of the paper, and cardboard he had used to camouflage himself. He eyed the man, and knew he was too lean, too tall to be his stalker. A lackey? He'd find out. "After we even the playing field," he decided with a grumble as he looked down at his bare flesh, and decided to exchange wardrobes. Fifteen minutes later he was wearing the man's dark green tee, and pants. His boots, however, were far too big for him. The two thousand in crisp, new C-notes in one pocket were a clue, and he tucked it back into a pocket until he could get to the lab to let Sara check them out. Sara. He wondered if Sara Eurilyn knew Sara O'Larken. They were both scientists. He lifted the night vision glasses, decided he didn't need those, and smashed them into the ground to shatter the lenses, rendering them useless. He then tucked the small .22 into his waist, well cinched by the web belt holding the cuffed up fatigues on his hips. He then dragged the man farther back into the alley, and using strips torn from the sheet he had discarded, bound the man hand and foot before he slapped him lightly, and repeatedly until the man came around. "Don't yell, or you'll regret it," James smiled coldly, having taken the pistol back out, and aimed it point-blank at the man's crotch. "Now, tell me everything you know about the man that hired you, and maybe you'll live to meet the police." "You are a cop," the man sneered. "You won't shoot me." "I am a cop having a really bad day," James told him just a little manically with a crooked grin. "Really bad. "Maybe you know something about that? Maybe not," he shrugged, ignoring the way the man's eyes went to his unhampered breasts as they moved with his casual gesture. "I don't really care," he said as he cocked the pistol. "The point is," he went on, and aimed the weapon firmly on the man's crotch. "I really don't care if you live, die, or if you end up a eunuch. "The question here is, do you?" The man's eyes rose from the full, jiggling mounds hidden behind his snug, olive drab tee taken from him that were right at eye level as James squatted before him as he sat naked in the alley, helpless in front of an obvious fruitcake. Because he had seen the look in the woman's eyes before a few times in his life. They were the eyes of a genuine lunatic. Someone ready to take that last step over the edge of a precipice right in front of them, and willing to take anyone with them down, too. "All right. All right. What do you want to know?" "Who hired you will do for a start." "I don't know. "I don't," he hissed as the finger started to tighten on the trigger of the weapon he knew well enough. "He....He called me on an unlisted number I keep for....for certain jobs." "So you are a mercenary?" "Yes," he nodded anxiously. "I just do....reconnaissance jobs for the most part. Following people, and establishing routines. That kind of thing." "You aren't a registered P.I., I'd have seen your file." "I....I do less....legal jobs, too." "Let me guess. Planting evidence, and incriminating people that someone wants found guilty." The man grimaced. "It's a living," he croaked. "Not anymore. "If I ever find you in town after tonight, provided I let you go, you will regret it for as long as you live. "However short that might be. "Now, next question. How do you report to the guy that called you?" "I....I don't. I have a cell. In the leg pocket of my....my pants," he gestured with his chin. "He calls at odd times to check on me, and see if I have anything new to report." "When was the last time he called," he asked as he put a hand over the cargo pocket, and felt the phone. "Just....Just this afternoon. "That's all I know, I swear." James sighed, and looked at him, then the gun, and then, to his horror, his shrunken genitals. "It's almost be a mercy shooting that twig off," James smirked. Then he grinned evilly, and asked, "Sure you don't want to join the genitally confused?" "No," he all but shrieked. "God have mercy, please! I told you all I know." "Yeah? Everything? "Did you know about the flowers?" "The....flowers? What flowers?" "Guess that answers my question," he said, and smashed the butt of the gun into the man's temple, knocking him senseless yet again. Pulling out the phone, he studied its history, but the guy was smarter than he looked. The ingoing, and outgoing calls were all erased. Likely an obsessive type, he decided as he dialed 911, and raised his voice to sound both younger, and more frightened. "Police," she rasped in a ?help, I'm all alone in the house' kind of voice. "There's a naked man outside my apartment trying to break in," she all but bawled as she idly tore off his bonds, knowing the unconscious man wasn?t going anywhere. She gave the address, then shut the phone off, pulling out the battery for the moment before sliding the parts into his pocket again just in case the phone had GPS tracking. Not that it was likely. He got the feeling this jerk wasn't the type to be going anywhere he could be tracked that easily. Still, why take chance? He was imploding mentally here, or that was what it felt like, and he was being hunted by a class-A hitman who might have federal connections. And he suddenly had the impression there was more to the big picture than he realized. In the meantime, he had to figure out a way to find the assassin, stay alive, and sane, and still save himself, and his friends and family. He realized just then he had been thinking of herself as a male again, and swore softly. "Remember the duck," he told himself, once more focusing on the reality he.....she faced before he considered how to best attack the situation at hand. And come out alive. Nothing major, she joked grimly to herself as she slid the pistol into his...her waist again before dragging the loser out where he would be easily seen. Then she went around the back of the building, and disappeared into the shadows. Sara eased the curtain aside to stare outside, and sighed when she saw nothing. Nothing except that tiny, old lady working her garden again. That scrawny, old woman seemed to live in her garden. Not that she would know what to look for anyway. It just made her uneasy when Penelope took that horse she called a puppy for a walk, or a jog, and acted as if everything was just fine when she was growing more paranoid than she had ever been in her life. Not that having the old woman around was any help. She had a hundred and one projects she insisted Sara help her with that had nothing to do with her life. Cooking. Sewing. Weird volunteer projects that had her far more exposed than she would have thought staying undercover, or whatever they called it, would have allowed. And Penelope Drake acted as if it were all just another day at the office. She let the lacy curtain fall back in place as she again pondered the wisdom of calling Nelly. Still, as much as she loved her longtime S.O., mentor, and colleague, she felt Penny was taking enough chances for the pair of them. She walked back to the couch, grimacing at the huge, flowery designs on the pale ivory background, and sat back down to wait her jailor. For so she had come to think of the old woman who acted very unlike any old woman she had ever met. She wondered if she would be half that energetic when she reached Penelope's age. Or half that blind. The woman didn't seem to realize, or care that they were in mortal danger. International assassins, Jamie had said, were after them. Someone that worried even her. And if someone like Jamie had become were worried, what did that say for an ordinary woman whose talents resided in her lab skills, and ability to manifest theoretical applications of things most people had yet to imagine. She sighed again, going to the couch to sit down where she could watch the door. And the windows. And had a good view of the hall. Not that she was growing paranoid. Not at all. She just wished that big Dane were still out in the back yard. While she didn't begrudge Penelope the animal's protection, such as it was while she did her daily exercise, she still would have preferred having Baby in the back to warn her if someone tried coming from that direction. Not that the animal would have been much good other than as an alarm. She had seen the big, black canine whimper and run when a squirrel ran across the yard. Baby, indeed. She glanced toward the direction of the kitchen, and sighed. She was not paranoid. Not one bit. Still, maybe she should see if that back door was still locked. Joe Kelsey stumbled into the hospital emergency room, whimpering in fear as he clutched his chest. If he was pale, it was not due to heart trouble. If he was sweating, it was not due to nausea, or the usual suspects. He was in shock, true, but it was because of what lay beneath his thick sweatshirt that could no longer hide the unwanted, and to him, unnatural changes in his body. "I need....a doctor," he groaned, the growing sensitivity in his chest the least of his problems just then. "You'll have to take a seat, Miss," the nurse told him as Joe as she cast a bored glance up at him, and then looked back at the computer screen she was studying as she tapped on the keyboard while transcribing charts. "Miss," he choked. "I'm a man, you blind bitch," he swore at her, pounding a small fist on the counter before him. A fist that used to be able to hold a football, and still touch finger to thumb. "A goddamn man." The nurse looked up at him, sighed, and gave a bored smirk as she told him, "Whatever you say, sweetie. You still have to take a seat. "Fill out that chart," she pointed at a clipboard, "And take a number," she added, pointing to the ticker that dangled three numbers. The lowest being one-hundred-and-ninety. He groaned, and snatched the number, and the chart, then eyed the nurse, saying, "I hope the fuck I'm contagious, and every goddamn one of you get whatever it is I have." "What do you mean," the nurse asked as she eyed him, conscious of several near epidemics that had swept the nation in the past few years with the growing Chinese immigration since the nation had finally opened its borders to the world. "Two weeks ago," Joe said, rising to his full height of five-eight, "I was six-two, and two hundred pounds. I was also lily-freaking-white," the caramel-skinned patient thundered in an increasingly squeaky voice. She eyed him, and realized he was very far from the person he described. Very far. "Just one moment," she told him, and reached for the phone at her side, dialing a number that blinked only twice before someone picked up, and she murmured into the receiver. In less than five minutes, three men in white appeared, and rushed him into a private room where they had him strip, gaping at his small, but obvious breasts, and the still present male shaft he had been born with, then began asking him questions so fast he could barely keep up with them. Then they brought out the needles, and the machines. Testing his blood, and taking hair, nails, and even skin scrapings before they disappeared, leaving him locked in the small, Spartan room that had only the exam table, a few charts, and nothing else that wasn't locked in the small cabinets. Far from feeling relieved after finally getting to the hospital, he began to feel even more worried. No one was telling him anything. Not even after they came for him wearing gloves and masks, and running him through more machines than he even knew existed. He was hooked up, run through them, strapped down, or even left in what felt like a bondage device made by a madman as he was tipped one way, then another, all while odd, burning serums were sent into his veins through IV's that were thrust carefully into his arm. In the end, a balding doctor came into his room he was eventually returned to after all the tests, and asked him a single question. "Mr. Kelsey," the older man asked him as he held up a photo of an adult promo banner. "Have you ever engaged in intimate activities with this woman?" "Hey, that's Evie. Sure, I seen her down at Evie Johnson's promo at Silver Lace. The guys treated one of our buds there one night a few weeks back for his bachelor's party." The doctor nodded, and looked at the one man with him. "Another one," the taller man in the suit under the doctor's smock remarked grimly. "What's he mean.....Another one," Joe demanded. Neither man answered as they left Joe alone in his room, and the unmistakable sound of a lock being engaged filled his ears. "Hey," he shouted, moving to try to the door. Then banging on it. "What did he mean? Hey, what's going on?" Naturally, he didn't get an answer. The door remained closed, and locked. Allen opened the trunk, and found nothing but a few greasy tools, and a spare in much need of a replacement. He scowled, and went to the car itself, carefully opening each door. He checked the floorboards, under the seats, and even behind them since the old sedan had a big, removable seat in the back. He didn't find anything. He looked into the glove box, and frowned as he saw it was completely empty. Not even registration papers were in it. Which made little sense. He thought a moment, reached up for the sun visors, and found the registration papers above the driver's side visor. Along with a duplicate pass key to a motel room in a nearby part of downtown. He grinned as he locked the car back up, and headed for the house with the pass key. "Hey, Mike," he shouted as he walked into the house. "I think I found us a lead," he exclaimed even as the concussion wave preceded the explosion that drove him to his knees just inside the house. Fiery shrapnel peppered the front of the house, and he instinctively hooked the front door with a foot and slammed it shut even as something slammed into the thick, wooden panel. He gasped as he sent a prayer for every contractor he knew about that it was not one of those thin, glassy things most people favored these days. He heard a few car alarms going off in the near distance, and someone screaming as he jumped up, and jerked the door open. "Cap'n ain't gonna like this," he grimaced as he saw the smashed headlights, and scorched and damaged front-end of the unmarked cruiser. One now also without a windshield for the most part. "You certainly still have a grasp for the obvious," Mike snorted as he appeared behind him just then with a pale, shocked Dawn Carter who could only squeak, "My car," over and over. "What happened?" "Short version," Allen told him as they Dawn in the door, and headed for the wreckage. "I searched the car. Locked it up, and headed in here just a half second before it went up." "You didn't see a bomb?" "I didn't look under the hood," he remarked sourly as they stared at the burning, charred hulk that was all that remained of the old sedan now as neighbors began moving toward the scene that had disturbed their usually quiet neighborhood. "You must have triggered..... "Tell me everything you did. In order." He did. Right up to the moment when he shut the front door last. "Time-delay trigger," Mike guessed. "That sounds like a classic." "Yeah," Allen murmured. "Make sure your target gets into the car, and shuts the door to trap them in the blast zone. "Only how did he know we'd be searching the car?" "He didn't," Mike said as he turned to stare meaningfully at Dawn. "Damn," Allen frowned as the sounds of sirens in the distance reached them as Mike turned to hold back a few people trying to get closer with their camera phones, and digital recorders. He didn't have much luck until Allen sauntered over, joining them as he added, "You don't think there are any more bombs planted around here, do you," he asked his partner casually. The neighbors suddenly couldn't back away fast enough even as the first squads rolled onto the scene, and they flashed their badges. "That makes me think," Mike murmured as he glanced toward Dawn, who was likely still babbling incoherently to the officer trying to get a statement from her. "Maybe we had better get Dawn out of the house, and someplace safe." "Got any ideas on where that might be," Allen asked sardonically after they had given a statement to the first officers to arrive. "Her mother's house. "You said you warned them out, so it should be empty, and safe enough. No one would be expecting her to be there since they left." "Good idea," he nodded. "Meanwhile, we'd better bum a ride off one of these guys," he said as he glanced at the captain's cruiser. "I don't think the captain's car is going anywhere for a while." "You think," Mike asked, rolling his eyes just imagining the chewing out they were going to get over this one. Even as they were considering how to best get Dawn to the house, a dark sedan rolled up, and two men in badly tailored suits appeared. "Terrific," they both muttered as a glowering Taylor climbed out of the back after the first two men emerged from the front. "I see you are still bumbling your way through this case," Carl told them as he walked over, his almost identical agents staring dourly at them from behind him. "Geez, they issuing bookends for you guys now?" The two men showed no expression at all behind their dark glasses. Carl only gave a disgusted scowl as he focused on Allen. "That's what? Three times you've gotten close, and three times you let this guy get away." "Yeah, well, you still got about a dozen on us," Allen shot back. "Give us time. We're still playing catch-up here." "You're not playing anything anymore. "As of now, you're both off the case, and I'm taking the lead. "Go home, try not to blow anything else up, and leave this to the professionals." "Fine," Allen retorted with a faint smile. "Tell us when they get here." "Clever," the agent grumbled, giving him a bleak look. "Now beat it. I'll be speaking to you again later about what led you here. "For now, containing this scene is more important than chewing you morons out." "Says you," Allen snorted. "We'd better take Mrs. Carter with us," Mike told him as he gestured to the woman now looking around somberly as she was kept out of her own house as detectives, and uniformed officers investigated the dwelling after being certain the cars weren't about to do anything else to add to the calamity outside the house. "Just keep your noses out of this investigation," Taylor told him with a dark look. "I am serious about you being off this case. I don't want any more interference from you clowns." "Hey, I'm the clown," Allen retorted as Mike led a still visibly shaken Dawn toward a police cruiser. "He's the straight man. "By the way, I think there's still a few donuts in the captain's car. They might even be heated up after that explosion," he suggested. Carl gave him a withering look, which didn't seem to bother him at all as he smirked, and followed Mike and Dawn to the squad car they were borrowing, much to the dismay of the officer staring at his car as if it were the last time he'd ever see it. The sergeant who had been driving the new Ford really liked his squad. "So, where are you taking me," Dawn asked quietly as she sat in the back of the squad looking miserable. "And what is going on? Is Pete really involved in something.....bad?" "It's really starting to look like it," Mike told her brusquely. "Until we find him, though, we can't be sure what is going on." "But....didn't that man tell you to leave?" "Actually, he told us to go home. He did not, however, tell us when," Allen smiled crookedly as he took a turn she knew. "Where are we going?" "Your mother's house," Mike told her. "It's likely to be the best, and safest place for you to stay just now while we chase a few leads." "Oh. Uhm, when can I go home?" "Not for a while." Dawn sighed, but didn't say anything else. "Did you notice Taylor's reactions," Allen finally asked Mike. "Yeah." "I don't think he's a typical agent. Something's hinky about him." "Why not?" "You ever see a fed that gets that hot under the collar over a little ribbing? "The bookends? Now they acted like feds. All stone-faced, and robotic. Taylor acted more like....." "He had something personal at stake?" "Bingo," Allen nodded. "Makes me wonder who he's really working for, if you know what I mean?" "I'll call a friend later. Maybe she had get something on him," he suggested. "You know a girl," Allen exclaimed in genuine surprise. "I know a lot of women, you.....jerk," Mike muttered, amending his insult when he remembered Dawn was sitting behind them. "Jeez, man, I'm just kidding," Allen growled back. "Yeah, well lighten up. I'm thinking here," he said as he scowled at him from the passenger seat. "Ouch, that's gotta hurt." "Isn't that usually my line," the burly detective complained as Allen turned down the street where the first thing they saw was a familiar woman in jogging clothes walking a huge Dane. Allen only groaned. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but.....isn't she supposed to be gone?" "Hey, she's a Drake," Allen sighed. "You know any of them that ever did what you expected?" Mike sighed as Allen pulled up beside the older woman with flushed cheeks beaming at them as she leaned over to peer into the car. "Oh, dear. Dawn didn't go and do something illegal, did she, boys," Penelope asked them as if she had not a concern in the world. "No, Mrs. Drake," Mike assured her. "But weren't you warned to get out of your house, and hide elsewhere?" "Of course, I was, young man," she smiled. "I'm not senile, you know." "Then why are you....?" "Well, what's the most unexpected place for me and Sara to be if they expected you to have warned us to leave?" "She's got you, Mike," Allen said. "Mom, Pete's car blew up. They think he planted a bomb in it himself.....for me." Penelope didn't look shocked, or all that frightened. She looked angry. "That little worm," she sputtered. "We thought it best to get her out of her house. Just in case," Mike told her. "So, do you know why....?" "They think he might be involved with the madman after Sara and Jamie," Dawn told her. "Damn, I keep forgetting she's as smart as Sarge," Allen sighed. "Is that true," Penelope demanded. "Pete may be working with.....?" "We think he may be the madman," Mike admitted. "Get her to the house," Penelope told them in her no-nonsense voice of authority. "I'll be right behind you." "Right," Mike nodded, and gestured to Allen as he put the car in gear again, and moved slowly toward the Drake house as Penelope turned, and followed them rather than finish her walk. Jamie fought a growing sense of uneasiness as she moved carefully into place. It had taken little skill to predict her stubborn mother was going to stay right where she was if she had the choice. In Penelope Drake's mind, the final choice was always hers. She knew that well enough from growing up watching the easy way the woman handled her father over the years. She could go to church, and have the minister doubting his own salvation before she was finished talking with him, she was that kind of woman. It had taken a few days, but she had managed to slip across town, and reach the one place where she could stay under cover, and keep an eye on both his mother, and Dr. Eurilyn, knowing that sooner of later the bastard would show up to finish up lose ends. And when he did..... Only the assassin didn't show. Mike and Allen drove up in a squad of all things, and dragged his sister into the house. Then his mother came jogging back in that limber, slow-motion manner she had, and headed for the house. Not a half minute later, a strange car pulled up. Her eyes fixed on the pizza deliveryman's car, and she knew it was time to move. Because if there was one thing she knew, it was that her mother never, absolutely never, ordered pizza when she could cook. And she always cooked. The man, stocky, and looking confused, sauntered up to Penelope, ignoring Baby who had loped toward her back yard, and joined her as she headed for the door. Easing forward, he....she!...checked both sides of the street, then dashed across toward her mother's house even as the door shut behind them, hoping he would not be too late. Pete stepped back, his left hand dropping from the door, his right ready to twist, and palm his pistol if need be as the tall, lean man in a tailored suit entered the motel room. "You've screwed up, little man," the slightly taller man told him gruffly. "Just hold on, I know where everyone is. Well, everyone but the rogue. She, however, is not your concern any longer." "Forget the freak. I scrambled enough of her head to leave her spinning in circles for weeks. By the time she comes down, she won't be more than a...." "I said, she is not your concern. I'm taking over that target, and have a new maneuver in place to neutralize her when she inevitably shows up." "You don't have much faith in me." "I have faith in the documentation I've recovered from Harris. There's a lot of untapped potential in that cop's clumsy hands. If she figures out how to use half what she can do, we're all going to be in trouble. "Now, as I was saying, she is off your radar. Forget her. She's now my problem, and I'll handle her. "You go to this address, and get rid of everyone you find there," the man told him, handing him a small piece of paper from a notepad with a familiar address on it. "You're kidding me," Pete groaned, staring at the address. "You've been outclassed from the start on this one," the visitor smirked. "You haven't exactly helped, keeping critical information from me all along." The man scoffed. "You've been wed to the cop's sister for almost a year. A curious coincidence, and yet you didn't manage to learn anything from her?" "She was a lark. "I picked up her up a club, and thought she'd make a good cover. Trouble was, she's smarter than she looks. I think she was starting to put a few things together, so by now....she's history." "She's at the address, too," the tall man smiled smugly. Pete frowned. "Just who is there? Numbers, and names if you don't mind this time." "The women, all three of them, and the cop's partners." "Are you sure she isn't there, too?" "I've had agents in place over a week. If she had gotten near that house, I'd have already intercepted her. "Just neutralize the lose ends. It's what you're good for, and it'll bring the bitch out of hiding." "From what I hear, she'll shred you like confetti if she figures out you're playing her." "She won't. "I'm playing her. Trust me. "By the end of the week, the CDC will have a warrant for her, and she'll be only too glad to give herself up into my hands." Pete stared at him. "I hope you're right. Nothing has gone right on this one. Not one damn thing." "Afraid you've met your match," the man asked him curtly. Pete laughed. "I haven't had a challenge this interesting in years," he said, and went over to the small dresser, and pulled out a black, leather pouch. "How are you going to do it?" "Remember Vicksburg?" "Ah," the man nodded. "I'll be waiting for the police call. Try not to screw this one up, or let anyone see you. "That neighborhood is full of cops. And ex-cops. And their families. "It's a freaking war zone if they think you don't belong there." "Trust me. I'm very good at getting in and out of places I don't belong. You should know that by now." "It only takes one mistake. You've been making a lot of them since you came here." Pete snorted. "You should have just let me take out Harris, and that cow from the start. We wouldn't have had half this trouble." "Maybe. As you said," he nodded, turning for the door. "It is a challenge. "Do not contact me again. I'll contact you. "I can't risk anyone tracing you to me at this critical juncture." "I know the drill, cop," Pete snorted. "I'm a federal agent," the man hissed. "A cop is a cop," Pete drawled. "Even you are just a glorified cop. "A bent one. But still a cop." "Just don't miss," the man told him before he left. "Do I ever," Pete muttered darkly, wishing the jerk would get lost, and stay lost. Okay, so his bitch of a wife was still alive. Bombs were imprecise. They missed. It was why he rarely used them. He never missed a target when he went after them, though. That was why he was absolutely certain the other cop was dead, or incapacitated, but good. Likely in a sanitarium, which would explain why no one had seen her. Making his preparations, he headed for the phone, and made a final call before he prepared to take out the lose ends that could endanger his cover. He should have just fucked that cow, and slit her throat, like all the others. He had thought she might make a fine cover, though. A cop's sister would have made him look real legit. He could play the traveling salesman, and no one would have a clue. Only the nagging bitch had a worse mother, and she was just too smart for her own good. She had been getting suspicious, and starting to catch him in a few lies, and that wasn't good for business. When the next knock came at the door, he smiled, and prepared to take care of business once and for all. Mike and Allen had been genuinely glad to see Dr. Eurilyn, even if she wasn't quite safe yet. They had greeted one another as Mike gave her the capsule version of what little they knew even as the door opened, and Penelope stepped inside. She wasn't alone. A stocky pizza delivery guy stepped inside with a pizza box in one hand, and a silenced .38 in the other. "Everyone on the couch," the man spat as he tossed the cold pizza to one side, smirking as the five moved at his cue, and he knew he had them even as he prepared to gloat. "You can't get away with this, Pete," Dawn told him. Pete snorted. "By the time anyone reports your bodies, I'll be long gone, and you'll be just another statistic." Which was when the knock came at the door. "Were you expecting someone," he demanded. "Well, since when did I ever sit by myself, young man," Penelope demanded of him. "You know I have a busy life here." "Whoever it is, get rid of them," he gestured toward her with his gun. "Or your daughter is the first to die." Penelope glared at him, but said nothing as she rose from the couch where she had settled, and moved toward the door. "Watch your mouth, you old bat," Pete reminded her, smug that he was in control as the old woman glanced back as him as he moved to stand behind the two women on the couch, his gun at Dawn's head. "Her life is in your hands." "Who is it," Pete hissed when the woman stared out the peephole, and sighed. "Mrs. Baxter, from next door," she said in a weary manner. "She's probably got some new complaint." "Wait. The old woman who lives next door is suddenly coming over here? "Go ahead," Pete smirked. "Let her in." "She's no harm to you," Dawn protested. "She's just...." "Shut up," Pete spat as he gestured at Penelope. "The old crow wants to join us, let her. "The more the merrier," he smiled knowingly. Penelope opened the door, and the older, white-haired woman squinted up at Penelope, and told her, "Oh, Penny, I'm sorry to be a bother, dear, but my puppy ran into your back yard again, and you know how I hate to be around that horse of yours," the woman shuddered delicately. "Just come on inside, sergeant," Pete told the old woman. "Sergeant," Laura Baxter frowned, and gasped as she saw the man in the pizza delivery uniform that looked a bit loose on him. The gun, however, was what truly held her attention. "Penny, what's going on?" "Get in here, you bitch," Pete snapped angrily, "And don't think....." The growl was one of pure rage. It came even as the kitchen door all but exploded off its hinges, and a thing out of Pete's worse nightmare came rushing at him so fast it was through the kitchen, across the dining area, and landing atop him even as he opened his mouth to scream. His gun went flying as the large paws of the canine thing that seemed to have no true form suddenly extended into long, powerful fingers, and a human face slowly emerged from that snarling visage that was now inches from his own. "Hello.....Pete," the low, menacing glower of Sgt. Jamie Drake met his disbelieving eyes as the muscular beast melded slowly into the no less powerful body of the admittedly beautiful detective. "Surprised to see me?" Pete could not help but gape. Not just at a monster that turned into a naked woman. But at the fact the naked woman sounded quite sane, and very far from insane, which she should have been by now. "I'm not surprised to see you," Jamie said as she lifted him easily to his feet, and stared coldly at him as he started to raise one hand in a small, hard fists. "Jamie.... "Move," his mother shouted at her. Instinct had her turning even as two quick shots sounded in the confined space of the living room of the Drake home. Laura Baxter stared at the bizarre gathering even as Penelope delicately set the .380 semiautomatic down on the coffee table before the two gaping detectives who had not even dared reach for their own weapons at the time, and fell on her face with a whimper of shock. Penelope was then using a pencil from the writing desk at the corner of the room to lift the .38, setting it beside her own gun. "Wouldn't want anyone to trip over that," the woman told the men as Sara stared back and forth at the dead man now sitting comically against the wall with one bullet hole between his eyes, and the other in his chest, directly in his heart. "And, you, young lady, should go get some clothes on before we call the police." "You want to tell us why you shot him when Jamie had him under control," Mike asked as Jamie took one look at the expression on her mother's face, and smiled before leaving things to her. "I suppose I could tell you I saw him trying to get to his belt, and it looked odd to me," Penelope sighed. "But the truth is, just between us," she told Mike as she went to check on Laura with Allen's help, "Is I just could not stand the idea of that vile, little man pointing a gun at my daughter." "We won't tell that one to the police," Mike nodded as he moved carefully over to inspect Pete's body. Then whistled. "What is it," Allen asked as Sara moved to let him lay the unconscious neighbor on the couch as she called the police. "The bas....Uh, jerk had some kind of small canister behind his back rigged to go off if he triggered a switch behind his belt buckle," he told them. "Call him a bastard, Sgt. Parker," Penelope snorted as she hung up the phone. "He was," she told them before reporting the police were on their way. "Yeah, well, you probably saved us all, Mrs. Drake. I can see he's wearing nose filters of some kind, so whatever is in that canister behind his back is undoubtedly lethal." "He must have thought Mrs. Baxter was Jamie," Sara realized, "And miscalculated." "Yeah, but since when did Sarge start turning into werewolf....dog.....monster-things," Allen asked, not admitting how shocked he had been when that creature had burst through the door that was all but splinters on the kitchen floor now. "My Jamie always was full of surprises," Penelope smirked, eyeing Pete, and wondering how long the coroner would be so she could her house cleaned back up before her dinner party tomorrow night. "Sorry about the door, mother," Jamie said right off as she came out of the back wearing one of her mother's jogging suits. "And I'll bring this back after I wash it," she promised. "Never you mind. You just sit yourself down, and start explaining yourself." "I would," he told her as he headed for the door. "Only I don't think we have time to rest. "Adam will be moving faster than ever now that his hatchet man is unable to tell us where, or how he'll strike next." "Isn't....Pete Adam," Allen asked. "No," Jamie told him. "Remember the voice? That confused me, too. The face I kept trying to picture didn't go with the voice we heard on the phone. Or the tapes. "Then, after I had.....time to focus on a few things, I began to put things together. "Pete was just the muscle. Adam is the brains. And he's going to be upset you're all still alive, and things aren't going his way." Mike frowned. "Who could it be," he asked as he put a few things together himself. "I have a few ideas," Jamie nodded at his companion. "But saying it, and proving it are two different things. He hasn't covered himself all these years by being careless." "What do we do," Mike asked as they all shared a grim look. "First, say nothing. Don't let anyone know you think Adam is anyone except Carter. "I'll be in touch." "Wait," Sara cried, jumping to her feet. "Jamie, how....? "You shouldn't have been able..... "I mean...." "Think about it, Sara," Jamie told her somberly. "Someone wanted Chameleon before you were ever finished. "Why would they want what was essentially a female bodysuit? Why think such a medical device would be useful to them? "Unless someone had been programming it all along with extras? "Making it a literal bio-weapon from the start?" Sara looked horrified. "Think about it, but don't talk about it. Right now, we're still in the dark as to who is really pulling the strings. "But I think they'll be coming out soon enough. "I'll be close," she told them, and ducked out the back door at a dead run before they could respond. "Did Sarge seem kind of....intense to you," Allen frowned. "More than intense," Mike agreed. "It sounds like we had better get our story straight, and keep it that way," Penelope reminded them curtly. "Frankly, I'm getting tired of these nuisances, and..... "Is something burning," she asked, sniffing the air. "My cookies," Sara shrieked, and raced for the kitchen. "Cookies," Allen and Mike exclaimed as one. "I'm really sorry I've not been here to visit lately," Sara told her niece as she sat by Donna's bed. The young college girl had been going places. Smart, athletic, and her whole life ahead of her, Donna had been a friend, as much as family to Sara. The brunette did not so much as twitch as she lay in the narrow bed surrounded by tubes and wires that monitored her condition as well as creating a bizarre cacophony of sounds that made Sara wonder how anyone slept, or was not distracted by the noise. She sighed as she started to reach for her niece's hand even as the door behind her opened. "Dr. Eurilyn," the tall man in a gray suit nodded as he entered the room. "Do I know you," she frowned. "I'm a federal agent on the case involving you, and the detective you transformed," he told her. "In fact, you could say ?she' is the reason I'm here." "Why? I thought the police stopped the assassin, and....." "I'm not at liberty to discuss an ongoing case, Dr. Eurilyn," the man told her as he walked over to stand at the bedside across from her. "However, I'm not here regarding that matter. I'm here on a far more important matter." "What matter?" "I represent some....concerned parties who require the full operating data, and schematics for your Chameleon project, Dr. Eurilyn," he told her. "That isn't going to happen. I've told those bastards I don't weapons, and I'm not changing my mind on that," she told him curtly, starting to rise. "Don't move, doctor," he spat, and produced a small syringe he pressed into an IV leading into Donna's arm on his side. "I assure you, you would not like what this does to this unfortunate girl." "Donna," she gasped, seeing only that needle. "Now, let's try again. "Let's start with the present location of Jamie Drake. "She's contagio