Chapter eight:

Sidney peeked out the curtain in the bay window and watched the black SUV back out of the driveway and roll out. The chill between her shoulders didn't ease. It seemed everyone knew something they weren't telling. First her old boss, Ted, and now her current boss, Jack. Behind her, metal clanked on the floor. In a single motion, she spun around and ripped her pistol out. Smoke sat on the hearth, undoing the cuffs on his ankles.

Freeze!

He didn't move a muscle.

Key. Toss it over to me.

He flicked it at her feet. You don't think I can work shackled and with this prison grab on, do you?

No. She holstered her weapon. But I won't have you playing pocket either. Just be still. She gave him a once- over. A moment ago, he'd been completely disheveled, and now he seemed perfectly fine. He should have been laid out still. Are you alright?

Smoke nodded. Maybe a little achy, but that's more from the vaccination than the taser.

I don't know what that's about.

Don't worry about it.

She cocked her head. You seemed pretty upset about it, and now you're not worried.

Nope.

So, that was just a show?

Yep. He held his arms out. Can you please unlock these?

So, you know what the shot was?

Yep.

And they don't?

That's right.

Are you going to tell me?

Are you going to take these cuffs off?

Answer my question first.

No, I'm going to tell you what the shot was for. But I will tell you I have a condition.

Nothing contagious, but I've had that shot before.

Who makes those shots?

Don't worry about it. He extended his wrist. It's just a thing. A private thing. I have my right to privacy, you know.

She tossed him the key.

What in the world is going on?

Smoke had been injected with something, and he was the only one who knew what. He had a fit and had a walloping for it. Someone beyond pay grades was overseeing this. Watching Smoke. And so far, everything that was going on made absolutely no sense to her.

Smoke unblocked the last set of cuffs and tossed them on the floor. He unzipped his jumpsuit and slipped out of it.

What are you doing, she said, averting her eyes. Her eyes revealed his lean body was packed with hard muscle.

Changing, he said, walking over and grabbing a duffel bag in the corner. He emptied the contents of his bag and slipped on a pair of jeans, a black t- shirt, and work boots. So, you and Cyrus have a past. He repacked the bag and threw in the jumpsuit. He doesn't seem like your type.

I beg your pardon?

Smoke tossed his duffel bag on the counter. Aw, come on. It's obviously you two dated. But I can't imagine why you broke it off. He seemed so... charming. Beady eyes and all.

You have wonderful powers of perception. She opened up the file and set it on the kitchen table. But if it's not relasted to this case, keep it to yourself.

Sure. He walked over and stood by her side. But tell me, why did you go out with him? Let me guess: you thought his drive and intelligence out- weighed his meager frame and uber- bland personality.

No. She kept her eyes on the papers in the file.

You have a short thing for short guys?

Mister Smoke-

Smoke. He smiled. Just call me Smoke.

Just grab a chair.

Smoke took a seat and hitched one booted foot on the table. It had the ankle tracker on it. They might as well have left the handcuffs on. Ridiculous. Sidney downloaded the application Cyrus had sent her. A minute later, Smoke's location was on the screen.

She showed it to him. Works great. Things are looking up. Now, let's discuss our current situation... First, whatever you have in mind, you run by me first. Second, you don't go anywhere without me.

I need to hit the head.

Third. She looked at his boot on the table. Keep it professional.

Alright, but I really do.

Make it quick.

He got up. I missed prison chow this morning too. He patted his stomach. I'd really like to have some pancakes.

She looked at. I don't care.

He picked up his duffel bag.

Where are you going with that?

If you don't mind, I'm going to shave. He rubbed his chin. This scruff makes me look dirty. Now that I'm out of prison, I want to feel clean again.

That really doesn't matter to me.

Smoke walked away and flipped on a hallway switch.

No bulbs.

She heard him checking switches until he finally stopped and a door near the back of the house closed. She checked the monitor on her phone.

Good. Inside the inside the files were more pictures of Adam Vaughn. He wore plain clothes and kept a personal network of goons close by. Most of the footage wasn't the best, as it came from security cameras and the location were erratic. Different banks. Restaurants- some expensive, others dives. AV seemed to have friends in high and low places. She became engrossed. There were pictures of weapons caches. Unidentified men slaughtered. There were pages of documentation with the letters blacked out.

What good is this?

There was an envelope inside she overlooked. She opened it. A brief letter was typed out on bureau letterhead.

Agent Shaw', due to the unorthodox arrangement of this assignment, you will need to keep the following items under consideration.

1= John Smoke is a convicted criminal with special skills. Don't underestimate him.

2= You have eyes on him. And we have eyes on him. Allow him free range. We'll let you know if he needs to be reeled in.

3= If any alien objects or circumstances or individuals are encountered, notify superiors immediately.

Trust your instincts and good hunting. The Bureau.

Who on earth wrote this? She glanced at her phone. Smoke's beacon hadn't moved. It can't be from the bureau. It was a first: a cryptic, unprofessional, unsigned letter. It made her wonder if Cyrus or Jack were playing a joke on her. But the bureau stamp. The make of the paper. She'd seen it before. It was nothing short of top brass bonding. She shook her head.

I guess there's a first time for everything.

She put the letter back inside the envelope and slipped it into her bag. Allow him free range, it says. She smirked. He doesn't need to know that. There was a squeak from down the hall. The turn of a faucet. The faint sound of water echoing.

Are you kidding me? A shower? Really? I thought he was hungry.

She glanced at the tracker on her phone. Nothing had changed. One by one, she entered the location coordinates into her phone. Ten minutes later she was done. Sidney brushed her hair aside. I need a map. Her belly groaned. Someone needs another shake. She gathered all the items up and stuck them back in the file folder. Calling out, Let's get this show on the road, she made her way down the hall and listened at the door. The shower was still running. She rapped her knuckles on it. Hey.

No reply.

She stepped back and delivered a heavy kick. The hollow door burst open. The mirror was steamed up, and the ankle tracker lay resting on the back of the toilet. She picked it up.

Damn. How'd he do that?