(Thanks to Shawhollow for taking so much time to edit so many of my stories. Thank you.)

*Your private life and public life are never separate because the brain never stops thinking*

"Are you going to tell me what that was about?" I hint to Echo as my car pulls away from the charity event.

"I can't right now," she furrows her brow. "I need to think a few things over." There is a lull in the conversation for over a minute then, "Dominic, do you have any family?"

"Ah, no," I answer. "Dad did his drunk driver thing and Mom got septicemia after she got hurt on her job. There are no brothers or sisters. Why are you asking?"

"The world is a dangerous place, Dominic, and Michael Harrow is a dangerous man," Echo warns me kindly.

"The guy is a bully and a thug...a well-connected, rich one but I've dealt with his kind before," I grin, trying to put her at ease. You be a super-smart charity case at a prestigious school for the insanely rich then stack it on by jumping two grades at a time and see how often you get stomped on for the sake of amusement of kids who didn't know that lawyers existed in schools of less than three.

"And you just told him that you can prove that the man we met tonight is not the real Michael Harrow," she points out. I shrug; it isn't my problem.

"Dom, has it occurred to you that if he isn't the real Michael Harrow then what happened to that guy thirteen years ago and if he's not Michael Harrow then who is he?" Echo prods.

"It's not my problem," I inform her; an answer that doesn't go over well with her.

"I...forget about it," she groans. There is another long silence as I drive closer to her home.

"So, beyond the fist-fight, how did you enjoy our second date?" I inquire. Our first date involved her using police entrapment to force me to my place, tricked me into handcuffing her hands behind her back and stripping her before engaging in oral sex.

"Yes, beyond cold-cocking a woman who put you on your ass, fighting with your ex-girlfriend and watching you be molested by your boss while dancing the waltz, I had a good time," Echo gets snarky.

"That was a black tie affair," I give her a pained smile. "Wait until you see that crowd at Happy Hour."

"Is your life filled with working 9 to 5, parties, fast cars and whatever woman finds you attractive?" Echo shakes her head. "Don't you have any tangible attachments?"

"I care about Brad Pierce all the time and Rachel some of the time," I counter. "I tried to care about Stephanie but all we really were was a perfect couple with none of the fire. Then there is you; I haven't decided how I feel about Echo Ashaz yet."

"At least you are acquainted with honesty, but you still aren't having sex with me tonight," she informs me. I take a deep sigh because in my original plan I was supposed to have swept her off her feet by now.

I get back to her place and she's developed a good head of steam and is gone from my car before I'm even out of my seat. I still go after her because high-brow boarding schools teach you how to be polite on the surface, especially if you are a scholarship kid. After racing up two flights of stairs she slows down by the door to her apartment.

"Good night Echo," I say as I extend my hand. "I apologize for not showing you a better time tonight." She turns and regards my hand, following up the line of my arm and shoulder to my eyes and I can't determine what she makes of me.

"Why didn't you report me for that stunt that you refer to as our first date?" she inquires.

"Pity," I answer. That pisses her off terribly.

"Thanks," she bites off her curt reply.

"It's not what you think," I explain. "When I was young I was a really small for my age; add to that I was a dirt-poor kid in a school where the other students couldn't decide what continent they would spend Christmas on plus I was a 'freaking genius' and you can imagine how unpopular I was." Echo nods with some level of comprehension.

"Benjamin Corbin – I was getting my weekly beating in my dormitory bathroom when he walked in. He was sixteen, I was ten and my attackers were ten or eleven years old. He had no idea who I was and he wasn't even supposed to be there but he had come over to visit his younger brother and heard the noise. He beat the crap out of those five guys."

"We ended up in the Headmaster's office because some of those other kids' parents were richer than Corbin's and, well, I was a nobody. I couldn't figure out why he did it so I broke down and asked him. Did you know what he said when I asked him why he would put his neck out for me and taken on so much trouble?" I relate.

"It had better have been something important," Echo suggests.

"He said the world wasn't supposed to work that way – the strong tormenting the weak". He said that "it wasn't up to the weak to seek justice but for the strong to ensure it, I recall like it was yesterday. "I thought that was the dumbest, most naïve thing I'd ever heard. I thought he was mental."

"Oh," Echo sounded disappointed in my assessment.

"I helped his kid brother with his studies until I opted to go to college early; long after Ben left. He went to Annapolis and then flew aircraft for the Navy – not jet fighters but still. Since that day in the Headmaster's office I have never talked to him," I finished up, "but there are times in my life I ask myself what Ben would do. You were one of those times. I call it pity because I don't want to think about what else it could be."

"You never told him what an impact he had on your life?" she says in a different voice.

"Ben didn't do what he did for me. He did it because it was what he felt was right," I answer. "What could I tell him that he didn't already know?"

"Damn it Dom, why do you keep surprising me?" she now sounds both happy and upset.

"I don't know but now that you are in a better mood, can I talk you into going out with me tomorrow?" I press my luck.

"How about I call you tomorrow and see if we can do something for tomorrow night?" she counters.

"Cool; I can live with that," I grin. She steps up and gives me a tight hug, a kiss on my cheek before pulling out her keys so she can go inside. She's half way through the door when she looks over her shoulder.

"Dominic, if anyone asks about me, tell them my name is Aisha Bashir, a second generation Syrian-American and that Echo is a nickname you use for me," she requests.

That seems a weird thing to ask. I usually keep in reserve my long-practiced skills of deception.

"Are you going to tell me why?" I question.

"I can't right now," Echo assures me, "but it may turn out to be nothing." It is not lost on me that cops carry guns for a reason and there must be over a hundred TV shows and movies that show why undercover officers use false names.

I am still mulling that over when I get to the parking garage beneath my apartment tower. Only when I get to the elevator do I realize that not only am I not alone but the other person is walking toward me. Better yet, it is the ice princess that was on Michael Harrow's arm; the one he identified as his daughter.

"Mr. Umstead," she calls out once she realizes she's no longer sneaking up on me.

"Ms. Harrow," I give her a tired grin back. "How is the head?"

"I'm doing fine," is her chilly responses. "As pleasant as our conversation is, that is not why I am here Mr. Umstead. Mr. Harrow would like you to come by his mansion tomorrow morning at seven." The elevator door chimes open and I step into it.

"I am not sure that will be a good time for me," I confide in her. Her eyes flash and she steps up and interposes a hand to stop the elevator doors from closing.

"That wasn't really a request Mr. Umstead," she threatens.

"Please call me Dominic," I sigh. "What do I call you?" Besides annoying.

"I will pick you up at 6:30," she informs me then lets the door start to shut.

"Believe what you like," I chuckle, "but I'm locking the door and disabling the doorbell." Her hand barely wedges open the doors this time.

"Why are you trying to anger Mr. Harrow when your firm needs his business?" she glares.

"Get in or get out, but move your damn hand...Tara," I insist. She thinks about that along with whether or not to punch my lights out for a second time tonight, no doubt.

"My name is not Tara," she growls as she steps in and lets the doors shut. I punch the button to my floor.

"Okay Julia," I smile wickedly, "I'm not trying to anger Mr. Harrow but I don't work for him so I'm allowed to not present myself like a call girl whenever he desires my presence – unlike you."

"My name is not Julia and are you calling me a whore?" she says with lethal intent.

"Not really," I muse. "He owns you so that would make you more of a slave but I thought calling you that was rude." Yes, my sexual frustration is showing through. The door opens; she continues to glare and follows me to my door. "Listen Irma, or whoever you are, I have nothing personally against you or your boss but you have been lying to me from the moment we met. I put up with that from my ex-girlfriend but I've known her for a hell of a lot longer."

I unlock the door, keeping her in my peripheral vision because she's creeping me out.

"Come in," I allow. Surprisingly she takes me up on my offer.

"You will go out that door at 6:30," the woman repeats, "and stop trying to guess my name."

"You must have blown all your karma on looks because you are a lousy conversationalist and your personality only comes in two flavors: frigid and scolding hot," I explain. "Also, I am not trying to guess your name. I asked what it was, you didn't tell me, so I'm assigning you names until I find one that works."

"Not meeting with Mr. Harrow could be unfortunate," she changes tact.

"Mmmm, go away," I yawn. "I have no clue what your job description is and it is no longer important. Go tell Mr. Harrow I will never meet with him if he sends one more God damn flunky. Get out." She reacts by getting in my face.

"This is not how Mr. Harrow does business," she menaces.

"Show up at my door at 6:30 and I'll call the cops," I repose. I can see the wheels turning behind her eyes. "It is highly improbable he sent you here to succeed." She doesn't believe me.

"Fine; you are not my physical type, you have the diplomatic skills of a hormonal rhino and if I wasn't going to knuckle under to him, why would I bow to you?" I explain.

"I don't need to be diplomatic," she simmers. "I clarify things."

"Mission success," I exhale. "I got it; 6:30. You can go now." She gives me one final look then strides from my place. Maybe I should have 'clarified' for her that all I wanted was for her to leave – mission success.

(Saturday)

Someone has been beating on my door for fifteen minutes. I decide to get out of bed because they are obviously not going away. When I arrive what I see disturbs me; my door is a quarter inch open which could only happen if someone had a key...or picked my lock. Fortunately I had a rough time in school and I learned a little trick – to block your door, slip some forks underneath to wedge it shut. The harder you push, the more the forks dig in.

There is another 'knock' on the door which sounds much more like a kick. I think I've really pissed someone off and a quick look at my watch suggests to me it's the chick from last night. Maybe if Stephanie and I hadn't fought at least twice a week a neighbor would have called the police by now, but this seems to be another gift from my ex that keeps giving and giving.

"Good morning Karen Starr," I communicate through the intercom which I had disabled along with the doorbell last night before crashing. "What do you want?"

"Open the damn door," she seethes, "and stop making up names for me."

"I don't think that would be a wise course of action," I reply. "I think you are furious with me right now and I have no desire to spend this morning in an emergency room, a police station or with Mr. Harrow." There is another big kick against the door.

"You will regret this," she growls.

"Lady I've had nothing but regrets since I've met you. Now I'm going to dial 911 unless you get your ass out of here right now," I inform her. It is a lie; I don't call the cops, I call my boss, Brad Pierce. I bring him up to speed with my encounters with crazy ice princess. We both agree that Harrow is a nut job, though a filthy rich one. He tells me not to worry about it; he's going back to sleep.

Since I'm now awake I elect to wait a few minutes for the crazy lady to leave before heading down to the complex's gym for a good workout. Thirty minutes into it, my phone rings with a number I don't recognize.

"Dom, this is Michael Harrow," is the way he greets me in a calm cool manner. "My underling appears to have gone beyond the bounds of protocol. I find her actions in this episode very disappointing."

No, that's not an apology. I doubt he has one in him. I am not sure why I saw what comes next.

"Actually she was very convincing and I think we developed a certain level of trust and understanding. Unfortunately I retain a certain schedule that helps me in my work, including aspects of my morning exercise that I hate to deviate from. A man has to be the master of his own fate after all," I finish up.

"That was not communicated to me," Harrow sounds displeased.

"I would blame the undeniable sexual tension between Ms. Danvers and me for any miscommunications. I was lonely but she was certainly getting sexual satisfaction elsewhere and I was keeping her from such a liaison," I fib.

"You should have taken advantage of her," he taunts me or someone else close by. "She would have performed well and she has some skill."

"Sir, I don't even know where to begin with how wrong that is except to say you are only saying this because she's somewhere close by," I am deeply disappointed.

"We went down that road last night" I continue. "Dr. Morse clearly has affection for you; terribly loyal and willing to violate the law on your behalf. I won't abuse that devotion – it is not manly." Slap! Take that you asshole.

"As you will learn Dominic, Men take what they want," Harrow sneers.

"You are a super-rich, super-successful guy but still feel compelled to prove yourself to everyone you meet. I have a lot less but I possess the confidence that says I have nothing to prove to anyone, especially you. I've said it before and I'll repeat it now; you don't matter to me. Your money doesn't matter, your legion of employees doesn't matter, and all your trappings mean nothing to me," I sigh.

"If you find me difficult to work with, please feel free to stop calling, if you want my services contact my boss and if you punish Ms. Blake remind yourself that leaders take responsibility while incompetents find someone else to blame for their failings," I attempt to help somewhat. There is another long pause.

"Why all the different names for Ms. Harrow?" he inquires.

"I pick the name of a random blonde super-heroine each time since she won't give me her real name," I answer.

"Oh...I'm not familiar with Dr. Blake," he redirects the conversation.

"Lady Blackhawk – DC Comics; she's a superior human as opposed to super-human figure – really good with planes," I inform him.

"You have time for comic books?" he chuckles.

"Mr. Harrow I remember everything I've ever read, seen or heard. Quite frankly, I treasure these workout sessions to let my brain slow down for a while and that is why I don't normally take phone calls from strangers at these times," I hint.

"Why did you take my call?" Harrow pries.

"I want Ms. Lance to fix my door; she damn near kicked it down and I don't seem to have a mailing address to send the bill to," I lie once more.

"Lance?" He questions.

"Black Canary," I roll my eyes. Some of these aren't even hard.

"The door will be fixed," Harrow allows. "We may meet again. Good day." With that the connection is severed and I can get back to my workout. Three hours later two guys show up to fix my door and floor. Saturdays? Unions? Work permits? I know jack about home repair but I am a wizard about costs, billings and this job isn't looking kosher.

"Dominic, it's Echo, do you want to do lunch?" last night's date asks me as I answer the phone.

"Do you want me to pick you up or are you coming by?" I reply.

"I'll meet you at the Fat Burger on Cilantro," she says. "See you soon?"

"Actually I have two mystery men fixing my door and floor because Mr. Harrow's daughter came by last night, was really annoying and then came by this morning and tried to kick her way in," I chuckle.

"Are you okay? Do you want me to come over?" she requests with some urgency.

"If you promise to wear that white yoga suit of yours, sure, we can sit around and wait for them to be done," I grin. She hesitates but not for reasons most people think. As far as I know she doesn't have a white yoga outfit or even any color yoga suit.

"Sure thing," she tries to sound sensual but comes across more as anxious. "See you soon." I'm a twenty-first century yuppie, pretty self-absorbed and blasé. That doesn't mean I'm stupid.

"Hey Brad," I greet my boss over the phone next.

"Hey Dom, don't tell me you're at the office," he yawns. "What happened to that amazon I saw you with last night?"

"I meeting her for lunch but I thought I should tell you that I've got two guys who have magically shown up to do some home repairs on my door and floor," I snicker. "I know oddities like this interest you."

"I didn't know you had any home issues but it is good to know you can get someone to come out on a Saturday morning," he yawns again. "You've woken my companion up so I need to go; you understand."

Come on now, I handle billions of dollars. What kind of moron would allow his home security to be violated by two unknowns? Sometime this afternoon Brad is going to have a few of our security contractors come by, change my lock and sweep my place for illicit electronic devices. The first time Brad had them do it for me I thought it was James Bond-cool.

Now it is persistent, a little annoying but necessary, though learning that Stephanie had a spy cam installed to record our bedroom antics was actually fun. They still had to remove it; pillow talk being what it is. That was okay; if Stephanie was feeling kinky we went to her place upstairs.

Forty-five minutes later Echo shows up at my door while my two new buddies are cleaning up their work area. I'm pretty sure her yoga pants and leotard are brand new in the same way I can tell Lydia's have some wear and tear because she actually does yoga. I walk up and give a quick kiss to Echo. It is time to start selling their cover story and treat them like bimbos.

"Hey Bunny Ears," I smile. Before Lydia can do more than snicker once, I wrap Echo's smaller partner up and start some forceful foreplay.

We include kissing, licking, hands all over her front and back ending in grabbing two handfuls of ass; Lydia keeps pace, catching on pretty quick. She's the social chameleon of this crime-fighting duo.

"Damn I've missed you," I smile down at her. "If you weren't my sister we would be making babies right now," I add a playful pant. Lydia nearly collapses in hysterics.

Lydia pats my crotch affectionately and with feigned familiarity.

"That's why we always use condoms Bro," she winks.

"She's my sister, not yours," Echo joins into the act with a playful swat to my shoulder, "and shouldn't you be over here?" motioning me over to her side, joining in the con job Lydia and I have been playing for benefit of Harrow's men.

"Half-sister," Lydia clarifies, "and it isn't like I'm planning to steal your new boyfriend."

"Where's my previous boyfriend?" Echo teases Lydia right back. Lydia shrugs innocently. We keep up the play but the physical aspects quickly get put on the back burner.

When the craftsmen finally figure out that I'm not leaving until they leave though I think it is Echo's suggestion I get a pair of pit bulls from a fighting ring to be my pets and she's going to get them real, real soon. They leave and we head out to place right south of downtown. I think I impress both Lydia and Echo by rummaging through my bathroom for a nail file and breaking it off in the lock...in case it mysteriously develops the desire let a stranger in.

"So Dominic," Lydia says once we are on the road, "is there a car in your garage worth less than $50,000?"

"With depreciation, that white Beemer is only worth $28,000, if that helps," I shrug.

"How much is your toy worth?" Lydia teases.

"$127,000 but I had some extra puts on," I informed them both. Echo had a sharp intake of breath.

"You understand that is more than I make in two years," Echo finally says softly.

"I can give you all kinds of crap reasons for that but I think you are making a wrong assumption that is perfectly in-line with your career," I tell her.

"In-line with my career; what would you know about my career that doesn't come from a spreadsheet?" Echo growls.

"You deal with corruption, moral compromise and an insane desire for money and the things money buys, drugs included," I relate. "I had to weigh at a very early age that I could market my talents for money or I could struggle and own my life."

"How did you do have a clue?" Echo gets angrier, "Were you tempted to sell term papers?"

"Precisely," I agree. "All I had to do was hope I didn't get nailed for an honor code violation. Except, when you think about it, they were rich and if I broke down once I would never get out because they were rich and I was poor. One compromise and I'm their bitch forever. So fuck you if you think I don't understand. Greed is a drug too."

"Yet you chose to work in finance?" Lydia intervenes.

"It is what I'm good at," I say followed by, "stop at that store please."

"Umm – okay," Lydia gave me a glance she then shared with Echo. She grabbed a spot and I was out before she could cut the engine off or ask me what I was doing.

I was back in the car two minutes later – pre-paid disposable phones are always by the counter; its smart marketing. I hop back in and get to work on the phone.

"Sorry for the mess," I mumble as I pop the phone open.

"Fine Dom but what are you doing?" Lydia inquires.

"What is the trash pick-up at the place we are getting lunch at?" I ask instead.

"How is that relevant?" Echo rumbles.

"Before we go to the meeting where I will agree to help you guys I'd like to spoof my GPS," I explain. "On the off chance someone as paranoid and criminally inclined as Michael Harrow takes an interest."

"Where did you pick up that trick?" Lydia sounds impressed.

"Drug Kingpins: LA," I answer. "They gave out dozens ways to beat surveillance."

"You picked it up from TV?" Echo is incredulous. "It is a Reality TV show but still."

"It works," Lydia laughs.

"The science is accurate," I add.

"Anyway," Echo turns in the seat and regards me intently, "what makes you think we are doing anything more than saving your ass from little Ms. Harrow?"

"Really?" I look up from my work and study her eyes. I guess she needs me to beat it into her.

"Fine, first it is the both of you, not you alone, Echo," I begin. "Second; last night you said you would call me about doing something tonight and here we are, the three of us, driving to lunch. Don't bother telling me something about protection – you ask a patrol unit to come by – they come by and you aren't the one to misuse your authority," which is an amusing thing for me to say considering our history, "outside of our first date."

"Third; you nearly had a fear orgasm when you met Mr. Harrow last night and finally you were terrified that you would get me killed when I dropped you off last night," I tell them.

"First date?" Lydia picks the kernel out of all the facts I've put forth. "Tell me, Gloomy, or I'll make up lies for the wardroom."

"Why doesn't Dominic tell you?" Echo glares back at me.

"We met at a traffic light; she scowled, I waved and after I made a nuisance of myself we got a cup of coffee. She wanted to see how a rich, stuck-up playboy lived so I took her to my place - we failed to talk because she sucks at it and we became a little physical before we broke it off and she left," I totally lie.

"Did you get her clothes off?" Lydia quizzes me.

"You will have to ask Bunny Ears about how far we went," I grin.

"I will shoot both of you," Gloomy mumbles as she sits facing forward and crosses her arms.

"Someone finally got some!" Lydia crows triumphantly. She's almost right.

Lunch is uneventful but Lydia and Echo show me their vastly superior perception abilities and street smarts. Apparently you can learn to discern between new tourists, veteran tourists, new residents, seasoned residents and natural-born Los Angelinos with nuances I can barely understand.

They even find a good place to stash my 'burner' phone with the added bonus that only Echo is tall enough to stash it there. I know that Lydia has chosen the spot for maximum exposure of Echo's breasts as she stretches up to get the job done. Echo knows it and sighs but smiles when she thinks we can't see.

They call their 'Boss' to make sure everything is ready, whatever that means. Brad gives me a call to inform me that Harrow has requested a 4 o'clock meeting. Much to Lydia's and Echo's surprise I plead for him to cancel the meeting or at least postpone until he and Rachel can go over my analysis.

Brad reminds me this is a boatload of money and will move Pierce and Pierce into the big leagues. He also tells me he's landed the Malay Investments account – more money. Of course it is. All I can imagine is that Aya Yen is really great in bed; Brad is normally smarter than this. I tell him I'll make it but it will be tight; I'm with 'that' girl.

I'm not prepared for what I meet but I've never worked for the government in any fashion, much less a task force. A piddling little thing called operational security has never occurred to them, or at least to any one whowants a place at their table. The introductions go around and my experiences in prep school dynamics serve me well.

Captain Tayshanna 'Tay' Freeman is the top dog but only because she's LAPD; every other entity 'tolerates' her being in charge. I want to nut-kick the bunch of them and not because they are a threat to me but because if they screw up, they will kill Lydia and Echo, two people I like and I don't like too many folks.

"Before we begin," I request, "shut off all recording devices and never – ever use my name or make a record of it."

"We don't work that way," Captain Tay lectures me, "We are governmental agencies."

"Oh – I understand," I shrug. "Have fun losing the largest pipeline of heroin in US history as it gets shoved up your collective asses."

"What?" about four different voices mutter. Fuck these civil servants, I want to live and my projection studies lead me to believe that a losing side that doesn't' change things up keeps losing. An 8th grader can tell you the same thing.

"Please," Echo asks me. "Give us a chance. Show them what you can do."

"What do you mean by 'heroin pipeline'?" the guy I think is DEA inquires intently. They haven't done what I asked for so I take it in a different direction.

"Lydia and Echo, can I have your phones?" I request. I take the three phones over to the closest computer and fiddle around for a bit.

"What are we doing here?" FBI girl grumbles irritably. Maybe she's pissed about missing her early Saturday afternoon time spent bitching at her significant other.

"Done," I announce then, "Cover your ears," and I hurriedly do so because I only have a three second delay. The computers flicker and a triple-harmonic high pitched whine rattle the windows.

Five seconds later it's over and I get back to re-connecting the receivers on Echo's, Lydia's and my phones. People are all looking mostly at Captain Ty when I'm done.

"Oh, you will all need to repair your computers and buy new phones now," I inform them. "I've fried your receivers and your computer RAM is toast. Your hard drives should be fine."

"Listen up, you little bastard!" FBI girl starts coming at me.

"I warned you," I roll my shoulders. Now she's right in my face.

"Lady, I don't need you and I don't need this," I stare her down. "You have nothing on me, I've done nothing wrong and you can't afford my services so you can suck it up and grow a set, or you can consider the fact I might be able to be of some help."

"We were told you have some information on the Harrow Group," some guy I think is LA Sheriff's Department.

"I will get to you in a second," I tell him politely. "Rule One..."

"What delusion makes you think you make any rules here," FBI chick just won't shut up.

"Being rude will earn you nothing while wasting fifteen minutes talking to me will earn you at least nothing and perhaps something useful, so I'm going to wait for you to decide if you want to be an adult or a Prima Donna," I say. "Hurry now, you are burning through what little patience I have for civic responsibility."

"At least let me find out what this guy knows about the rumors I've been getting about the heroin," DEA guy pleads.

"Fine," FBI girl backs off.

"Rule One: when it comes to me, Captain Tay Freeman is the ONLY authority – period." I could tell that all three LAPD were surprised while most of the rest were irritated.

"Rule Two: my name is never spoken, written down, or recorded – no exceptions."

"Rule Three: I am not about convictions, laws or national sovereignty. I am not going to break the law but you may not inquire how I get my data. Keep this in mind."

"Rule Four: I have no illusions about my risks or survivability. A sane man would be in his car, leaving the state if not the country as fast as he could. There are two people who can question me, my motivations and most of you are not them."

"That being said," I take a breath, "Four things happened recently that spell huge trouble for you. Sixth months ago a joint RCMP-Interpol-Mainland Chinese effort slammed a door on the main heroin network moving the product into North America from Shanghai to Vancouver; this was on BBC. A month later, one of the leaders of the three largest Chinese Triads in San Francisco was in a hit and run and a gang war has broken out; HLN."

"The Sinaloa-Tijuana Cartel war broke out five weeks ago, which is only relevant in the fact that five Chinese businessmen were killed by the Sinaloa's; Azteca. Probability would suggest they were Triad agents attempting to open heroin and opium trade to the US through Mexico which would have been highly cost effective," I explained.

"You sound like you admire them," FBI girl comes at me.

"How about this; for over a month I have been aware that the Harrow Group's major sources of income are, in order, arms trafficking – mainly French, Italian and Chinese; human trafficking from North Africa and Eastern Europe, and all manner of illegal drugs," I shoot back. "I told no one."

"I am not a law enforcement agent; I'm not much of a moralist, and God knows I don't have anything invested in this fight," I meet her gaze. "I'm rich enough to afford my own private security so if this city becomes a war zone, I'll get by. This is the only reason any of you should think I have a chance of surviving; because I don't give a crap and Michael Harrow knows it."

"That's cold," Captain Tay grins, "but he's right." She shoots a look of approval Echo's and Lydia's way.

"No offense Captain but this leads us to LA; you are losing the war here. That is not insult – it is mathematics. You have an increase in population density but a lowered economic potential. Factor in the increase in subsistence government aid instead of infrastructure improvements plus a lower per capita law enforcement budget and you all are boned."

"And the cherry on top is Michael Harrow and a second tier player in the Triads by the name of Aya Yen will be completing a deal in my boss's office at 4 o'clock today," I frown...and the hush is biblical.

"I guess this is the obligatory moment you give us your threat of vengeance if we mess you over," FBI girl says softly.

"No, that is pointless. If you guys screw up, my introduction to my inevitable death will be my only clue. I have given a damn about the world outside my own personal life four times before in my life. This will be my fifth act of blatant stupidity," I relate. "See, I am the only person in this room not under the delusion that we are not all wasting our time."

"When Harrow goes down there will be another Harrow," I sigh. "We will shut down the pipeline and there will be another pipeline. You are all going to die or burn out and end up wishing you had taken another career path. I am the only one here who will wake up one morning, decide yesterday was enough, take my millions and vanish. All that being said, can we work together?"

"One thing," Echo says into the murmuring. "Why do it at all?"

"What would Ben do?" I reply. She nods and though they don't understand my answer, Tay and Lydia nod as well.

"You are unreliable," FBI Lass keeps crawling up my ass; "you are a Brainiac but you have no experience in actually combating organized crime."

"I am not Bruce Wayne, Oliver Queen or Tony Stark, Miss, and I'm barely smart enough to know it. Two of LAPD's finest took me to school this afternoon with their 'simple' ability to discern who was a criminal and who was going to be a victim," I tell the Fed. "I don't know your jobs and I don't want to do your part. You wouldn't be here if you weren't really good at making the arrests."

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't good enough to make Mr. Harrow want my services," I remind her, "and you wouldn't still be here if you didn't think I represented an opportunity. I don't know why you are choosing to be so aggressive but we can talk it out, you can tell me what's wrong, or I will go digging in the next few days and tell you."

"Don't threaten me asshole," she stabs my chest but the three LAPD's come to my assistance.

"Calm down," Lydia intervenes first. "He's not going to tell anyone but he needs you to understand how vulnerable we are to someone like Harrow. Interpol has been running at this animal for over a decade with zero success. Let's try something different."

"I'd also like to remind my Federal colleagues that punching their finger into a prospective contractor – who is working for free – is really stupid," Captain Ty states.

"Considering Dominic's martial arts prowess, assaulting him might prove to be truly unfortunate," Echo growls. FBI chick is proving pretty fearless.

"Air Force Academy Ring from 1998, from your build, height and weight plus general weathering that only comes from high altitude desert climes, I'm guessing that you were an Air Rescue officer – that's an elite few and fewer still are women, which explains your natural aggression and your unwillingness to back down or disregard procedure."

"With that information, I'll know who you are within a few hours and figuring out your social security number will be made easier by your marriage then divorce filings," I lay it out for her. "Bank records I can get. You live within thirty minutes of here so I have your utilities, paper delivery, mail schedule and a dozen other tidbits – that's day one."

"So?" she grounds out.

"Profiling isn't even his thing," Echo gives a shark-like smile. "Harrow wants him because of his financial forecasting."

"I don't know how I'm going to sell this to my superiors," FBI chick grouses.

"Tell them this is LAPD's operation and they don't need to know," Captain Ty gives her own wolfish snarl. I can only imagine how many times she's been on the receiving end of the NTN bullshit – in her own city. Now it's her turn to have her hand on the font of knowledge, which is why I chose her to protect Echo's life as well as Lydia's and my own.

(Saturday Afternoon (The Office))

I took fifteen minutes to bring my system into data-crawler mode and synch it with my phone. My encryption isn't NSA but is pretty top notch and I'm going to need my wireless for the calamity that's coming. Brad calls me to come over for the meeting in his office; I wave good-bye to my cactus (it's been sole and loyal companion since Prep School) and put my room in lockdown.

Indira, Rachel's PA, is on duty for the meeting but the undercurrent of nervousness in the Pierces has gotten to her. She was barely out of college when she joined the firm twenty years ago. Back then it was five people and she was office manager. She still knows everybody. I still don't know what secret deals were cut for Rachel to get Indira in the divorce. I hope that neither regrets that decision now.

"Go get them, Killer," she smiles.

"If you feel like taking a coffee break, I'd highly recommend it," I am inspired to say.

"Are we in trouble," Indira whispers. I nod and she taps my elbow. "Come behind me and give me some cover."

I do so and she slides a panel in the left side under her desk. She pulls out an Uzi between her legs and double checks it, flipping the safety and chambering a round.

"When the time comes, go to dinner with the Brad and Rachel," I warn her.

Brad and Rachel haven't eaten socially in over a year.

"Okay; we didn't always work in a safe neighborhood, you know," she winks at me. "Good luck." I join the awkward gathering in Brad's office but don't bother to sit down.

"You may want to ask the Snow White to leave the room," I suggest to Harrow, "or do you plan to dispose of her in the next forty-eight hours?" We lock wills. He waves his hand dismissively and Blondie takes a powder. I start working on my phone as I will for the entire meeting; it's important for what is to come.

"You can thank me for saving your life later," I give her a weak smile, "maybe on your 21st birthday. Now, Mr. Harrow, you wanted to rate the quality of our services."

"Let me see; you are clever not brilliant," I began as I kept eye contact, "you have exceptional instincts and you've learned to trust them so you like to take risks which means you were in a hierarchy but hated it and you were often insubordinate in ways that didn't get you fired but would have stymied your career."

"Since the maximum leg bone extension is 4 inches – you would go for the max - that would put you at five foot eight inches in height before and since you are proportional now, that would mean you were stocky then. Everything points to you being physique obsessed so you worked out fanatically then as now – it was never a casual thing with you," I continue and if he can prove I have missed the mark I'll swallow a kitten.

"You keep your hair blonde all the time and you are proud it so you were born with black hair," I work out.

"Why not brown or red?" Rachel gulps.

"Oh, he's obviously from Germany or Russia," I explain. "Only they would have an intelligence apparatus big enough to train such a successful foreign operative and the likelihood of red or brown hair is low and our guy was 'average'. He is very familiar with information services but he's not a programmer. He had the resources to statistically meld into another person's identity and as well as reconstruct his entire body."

"We are certainly paying our intelligence officers a whole hell of a lot of money these days," Harrow huffs.

"Your brother – your stance in videos indicates favoritism toward bonds of brotherhood – was a criminal and he died – check that; he was murdered. Criminal financing is the source of his reconstruction and Harrow's initial phantom cash infusion. You took his one-shot lump of money both of you were planning to use for him to disappear and created a far more elaborate disappearing act."

"Why would I go through all that trouble?" Michael chuckles. "That's very James Bond."

"You could never get close to your brother's murderers but Michael Harrow could go into business with them and when the time was ripe and they had every reason to trust you, you wiped them out," I conclude. "It is called repositioning and positing of assets for a hostile take-over; it is standard practice. Seven years ago, according to Interpol, this is exactly what you did."

"Dom, how many men has Mr. Harrow murdered?" Rachel whispers.

"Do you want me to go and find out? I doubt I could give an accurate figure," I say, "and it has ceased to be a relevant negotiating point. We are all dead anyway."

"This had been a nice theoretical discussion," Michael grins wolfishly, "and it is only a theory. Amusing flourish by the way," he chuckles, "'we are all dead anyway'; Nice."

"This is why I want Ms. Yen in the room, but not your bodyguard. The rest of us are culpable and here by choice. Anyway, I will have your true identity inside six hours," I respond to his wolfishness with a bored yawn.

"I highly doubt it," he sneers. This man never backs down or gives up.

"Listen Michael, I said you were clever, not brilliant," I lecture just to piss him off – and keep his ire aimed at me and not Brad and/or Rachel.

"The real Michael Harrow disappeared thirteen years ago. Consider two years for reconstructive surgery and healing has a German Intelligence Officer dying in such a way that made DNA confirmation impossible," I tell them. "Within a 24 hour time period before that, a mid-level criminal 2-5 years older was murdered fifteen years ago."

"So?" Michael is becoming more and more fascinated.

"So, over the next two years that criminal's friends and contacts slowly die off or vanish – you would have had to use your brother's people during your infirmity, but like the surgical team, you couldn't leave them alive," I reason out.

"All fanciful theory," Michael persists but now no one truly believes him anymore.

"I'm looking to for a man who would be 52~54 years old today because your ego would drive you to pick a younger identity – 18 year old models will sleep with a 42 year old faster than they will a 52 year old. With those criteria we can have this cleared up soon and answers beyond a doubt within three to four days, depending on the German Government's cooperation."

"You are imaginative," he chuckles with obvious menace.

"Germany has a consulate in town," I shrug. "Let's go down there and give a blood sample. When I am proved wrong I'll pay for the billboard that says 'Dominic Umstead is an idiot.' You are bold and brave, so what's the hold up?"

"What would it prove?" Michael snorts. "In this fairy tale all it proves is a German civil servant didn't die. This is hardly the first time I've had to fend off vicious rumors."

"Who did the German's confuse with that guy and there is the piddling matter of the death of the real Michael Harrow?" Brad chimes in. "Maybe you weren't so careful with those first two cases of premeditated murder."

"And I'm sure the British will be intrigued about a German Intelligence operative murdering a British citizen so he can assume that guy's identity," I add.

"Fascinating," Michael stands up. The Valkyrie wannabe opens the glass door from the other side and holds it for him. "You missed your calling, Pierce and Pierce. You are not a financial establishment; you are a publishing house for science fiction."

He walks passes me but stops at the glass door.

"What makes you think she isn't 21?" he questions me.

"Unless you were terribly poor and desperately far beyond hope you wouldn't understand," I explain.

"In my case there was this kind public teacher who lifted me out of my miserable life. Your girl was given a hand too. That hand tossed her into a pit of blood-hungry dogs. The eyes don't lie and I don't forget anything I see. That's how I know; just like I know you don't give a crap."

Harrow laughs as if I just mimicked Billy Crystal parodying Mel Brooks.

"Oh, and ask her what name she wants to be called by and use it or next time we meet I'm going to clobber you with the biggest thing I can lift and hit you in the head, you misogynistic bastard," I threaten.

"It is not going to happen so why wait," he taunts me.

"Parking Garage beneath the building," I suggest. I have lost my damn mind. This man is going to kill me. I am a weekend warrior while this guy does the 'Insanity' workout daily.

Brad moves to follow the three of us – Frosty the Snow Bunny isn't going to miss this fight either.

"Brad, take Rachel and Indira out to eat," I plead. "I call you once I've taken him to the emergency room." Brad chuckles and I've cleverly planted the idea of a hospital being the final destination of this calamity – as opposed to me going to the ocean as chum or a landfill as body parts.

"Dominic, I'm never going to have children of my own but I've always been proud to call you Son," he pats my shoulder paternally.

"Oh – I thought it was because your penis had lousy aim," I smile affectionately. Both Brad and Michael laughed at that and the Glacial Lass had a quick bout of global warming before the Little Ice Age kicked back in.

The three of us get in the elevator, each person putting their back to the corner and Michael at the controls of course.

"This isn't New York but do you want to fight with Roxbury Rules?" I joke.

"Real combat doesn't have rules," Harrow sneers my way. I doubt he's been in a real combat situation his entire life but then neither have I.

"You must be a barrel of laughs in a firefight Mike," I observe. "In combat I like to observe a few simple rules like – don't shoot someone on your own side, don't kill the only pilot when your plane is airborne, when you pull the pin on Mr. Grenade he is no longer your friend – stuff like that." Snow Cone is about to bust a gut, she's fighting so hard to keep it together.

"Your joking bravado does not impress anyone," Michael mocks. "You are clearly terrified."

"Terrified, fearful, doubly-glad that I drained my bladder – I am all that and more," I smile. "You are going to beat me badly, maybe even kill me but no matter what happens I will always be the better man because you are an ape and a throwback and I will always be smarter too."

"In five floors we will see who is smarter," he growls. I look at my phone. "Contemplating 911?" he asks.

"No," I regard him evenly. "In just over two minutes a distress call will be made to 911 and they will be informed that 124 kg of high quality heroin and a badly wounded and bound Airport security guard are onboard your Gulfstream G550."

"What?" he snarls.

"Since you don't have a flight plan, your pilot isn't on board and since there is a wounded law enforcement officer missing and since the Airport has the third highest rate of overtime in the city they can't be sure who is and isn't on duty they are going to board the plane," I smile. "It is okay because two other sources will make similar but not identical calls."

"I don't have any heroin," he state cautiously.

"Yes, but a paranoid egomaniac like you has a small illegal arsenal on the plane which will lead them to impound the plane," I continue. "Now, I know the plane isn't yours – it belongs to a business you control through a shell company."

"I am passed saying 'so' Dominic," Michael allows.

"Until the Blizzard Bunyip gets a name, you haven't earned the right to call me that," I snap back. "Human beings call me Dom or Dominic. Things that ooze out of the dark underbelly of the human experience call me Mr. Umstead."

"Now, as I was explaining; I – me, Dominic Umstead – originated those phone calls from my office, which means they can get a search warrant for my computers and all the data on them, thus everything I have on you including our conversation and the directive to initiate a search into your true identity."

"So much for your data being the sole property of your bosses and your clients," Michael accuses me of duplicity – that's rich.

"That is why I have explained the situation and will explain your options – besides I don't work for you," I pointed out.

"What's to stop me from taking the phone and making you end this program?" he grills me but in a way I think he is thriving on the implicit threat that I care – I file it away for future use; implying I have a future.

"I have little doubt you can break me and have me tell you everything – given time and that's what you don't have," I grin; yes, I am enraging him on purpose. This is part of my hare-brain scheme.

"So you have experience with pain, do you?" Michael asks smugly.

"No," I confess, "but if torturers are anything like assholes, I've got this covered."

"Back to joking, are we?" he says as we are almost to the end of the ride. I shrug and hand Ice-flake my phone and take off my jacket. They both look surprised.

"If it breaks I have nothing to bargain with," I bother to explain.

The door opens and Michael steps out. It would be too much to hope Snow Globe follows him. I can always get a new phone but I only have one life to live. I step out and she is right at my back. I do get the dubious joy of seeing two security guards coming our way at a jog. Brad must have called them. If I escape this without a concussion I'll have to remind him about the wisdom of providing Harrow and Henchmen with two Tasers.

Michael leads me to an open spot and throws his jacket to the ground.

"Why didn't you send Aya Yen out of the room too?" he starts to circle.

"She's a willing participant of a brutal, homicidal criminal enterprise and she deserves whatever you end up doing to her," I tell him. "Besides she just might get you first." Michael laughs; he is a misogynist after all.

This projection is based on these conditions; he has mastered Krav Maga, I was top of my 'college' class at Aikido and I have 5 meters to play with. He is taller, stronger and has greater reach. We are both familiar with each other's style and my strategy allows me to give ground while he has to play the aggressor – something we are, again, familiar with.

He's a lot faster than I recall him being last night but that was his ego was making decisions back then. This time he's pure predator and I'm the prey but Michael should remember some of the hardest things to kill in the animal kingdom are the hunted. To the untrained eye, our combat looks like a 2nd grade slap-fest at x5 speed. It is really him trying to get close without being thrown and me trying to throw or lock him up without letting him inside my guard.

I flip him but he manages to get a partial connect with his heel to my throat. I stagger away as he breaks my grip on him. He rolls up, I block, he pile-drives through into my left side, and I lock his arm up and put the back of his head into an SUV. Michael damn near introduces my sternum to my spinal cord.

I twist my lock and something gives painfully in his wrist but I can't hold back his head-but and palm strike. I do my level-best to make the fall become a roll; even so I'm not back to my feet before his foot comes in, snake-like and takes away my wind. I'm closer to twenty and he's past fifty but training counts for more at this moment. I can block his feet, he's got one good functioning arm but he puts an elbow from his bad arm to my temple and I know I'm fucked.

I take several more strong kicks and more of the power is getting passed my wards. His sudden mistake is giving into his raging ego. He uses his advantage to grab the back of my head and pull me up so he can spit his wrath into my ear. I can't see him but I have excellent hearing.

"You are going to regret crossing me you pathetic pu-," he almost finishes before I drive the back of my head into his face. His quick reflexes save his nose; I drive his teeth into his tongue, nearly cutting it off and flooding his mouth with a hot spray of blood.

This time when he kicks, I catch his foot and spill him on his ass. I'm back to my feet when the taser hits me. If I was 6' 8" and 280 lbs. I might walk this off too – but I'm not so I don't. My lips contort in soundless agony as the proscribed amount of Mother Nature's Wrath courses through my body. When the device stops crackling I'm a puppet with his strings cut.

Michael Harrow, always the sportsman, proceeds to kick me repeatedly when I'm down. My rubberized, 'good to 300 feet underwater' watch chimes success to my battered eardrums.

Though I can't see the action, I am pretty sure where the White Rabbit disposes of the security guards; it was her with the taser pulling the biased referee bit.

"Sir, are you sure you want to kill him? Too many people know and you've worked too hard to let this idiot stop you now," White Horny Owl pleads.

I use the respite to force myself to a kneeling position but before I can make it to my feet, I catch Michael's shoe just below the diaphragm and almost collapse backwards. The second kick doesn't come though Michael is cursing up a frothy, slurred storm.

"Sir – sir, the phone," Snow Babe is shouting at him and since I'm not catching another kick, I can assume she's pulling him away.

"Let go of me you whore," Michael snaps. She does so and Michael grabs me by the front of my shirt and shakes me vigorously. "Make that program go away." I take the phone.

"How many Dwarves were there?" I groan.

"What?" Michael snarls.

"Seven," the girl answers; I hit the seven button.

"If you fucked this up," Michael snaps at his servant – not me.

"Fuck Dude, have a little fantasy in your life and pay attention to who you have standing around you," I cough up some blood. "There isn't a girl in the English speaking world that doesn't know Snow White and the Seven Dwarves."

"That's what you called her at the start of our meeting," Michael observes. "Which means you planned all this," he kicks me in the ribs again. "I don't like being used."

"You happiness is not something I worry about," I mumble once I can right myself. I'm essentially defenseless now and Michael is still very angry.

"Why do it, you moron?" he grumbles.

"I had to buy the time necessary for Rachel and Brad to get free of this building," I sigh painfully.

"How sure are you that they have left the building?" Michael glares at me with his twisted smile. "Ms. Yen may have taken exceptation to the whole game and acted in her best interest."

"No sounds of gunfire and no building-wide alarms," smile a bloody smile. "Because I know something you don't – again." Michael kicks me yet again, though I roll with this one and don't get something broken.

"I should feed you your phone," Michael seethes, pulling out his own. "I could have them killed right now."

"Listen up, you Neanderthal," I groan and groan louder when he kicks my arms I've blocked with. "There was no threat – it was a bluff. Such an investigation would have destroyed Pierce and Pierce; I would not destroy my home; I had to convince you I was to get you out of the building."

"What is going to save you now?" he gloats over me. "You've lost your leverage."

"The response time of the LAPD and the fact this has all been on camera," I point out.

"That's a lie," Snowy Owl denies me. "We are outside of the camera angles."

"Yes, but this area is infamous for the young mothers that all park here on Saturdays. All their SUV's have rear angle cameras, which ARE pointing right at us and have been broadcasting to my systems and the security desk since the beginning." I get a kick for my troubles and I'm feeling weak and woozy.

"Sir, you need to get going," Snow Grouse," is becoming insistent. Michael howls out his rage, gives me one more swift kick then punches me as I topple down to the ground, defenseless and prone. Michael moves to his Lamborghini and races away while I crawl to my phone and call Echo, telling her what hospital she can come get me at. Sure enough, three patrol cars arrive too late.

I claim a cloudy vision and an uncertain memory which allows the paramedics to take me away. At the emergency room they determine I don't have a concussion, internal bleeding or broken ribs but it wasn't for lack of trying as I have a fracture to my skull, three ribs and both ulna bruised. They give me some kick-ass painkillers so that I'm nice and toasty when Echo and Lydia are shown in.

We are pretty quiet as we get into the car but then my phone rings. It is Brad, who is remarkably upbeat considering – we have the Harrow account - $22 billion. We are in the big leagues now and Brad doesn't know the half of it. He wants a rundown but I tell him I'll be in the office real soon, which the ladies don't like.

I un-lockdown my office, find Harrow's true name and share it with Brad. Brad is catching up with Rachel and they both have some local, top-notch security for the next few weeks. Aya Yen has left for her home but will be back in a few weeks. Harrow is going to Western and Central Europe for a few weeks but will be back as a semi-resident soon enough – and he expects results.

I make a note to put Michael on my Christmas bomb list. I reformat my external systems before heading home. We sweep the car for bugs as a standard precaution but the girls explode with questions when we exit the parking garage. The first and dumbest thing they do is ask me if I want out.

"That would make the beating I took pointless," I groan as the pain-killers hit their limit and the low-scale pain becomes a constant. "I expected and planned for this; as you recall I told you I needed to drag Harrow in. Now, he's not going to kill me until I admit he's the better man – this will not happen."

I have them stop by Keystone Security where I pick up a few things before heading home. "Ladies, I have something to help us all out in this," I tell them between flashes of pain from the body blows Michael landed on me. "Here are the cars you will need to use if we are going to work together; Echo you get the Continental GT Speed and Lydia you get the Range Rover L405."

"We can't accept these," Echo insists even as she's salivating over one of the fastest cars ever built. If she likes that, she's going to love the fact that it is not street legal – it can reach speeds in excess of 300kph, not that anyone would admit to that.

"Oh fuck yeah!" Lydia goes the other way. "Is there anything I need to know about this model?" she giggles.

"We can't keep these," Echo refuses to budge.

"Lydia, yours is the security model," we ignore Gloomy though I can't ignore how much standing and breathing hurts – breathing hurts all the time right now. "Bullet resistant glass, layered Kevlar panels on all four sides, the roof, hood, and undercarriage."

"Run-flat tires," Lydia claps joyfully, "onboard electronics detector and well as chemical sniffers." Lydia is starting to salivate. "Can I keep this at home Dominic? Please, please!"

"Sure you can," I look at Echo's partner become very happy. I produce the two cards I had picked up as well. I hand one to each officer.

"We can't accept these and we can't accept the cars – Lydia," Echo is still very stern. "Police officers can accept gifts."

"The kids will love this," Lydia pleads. "Consider all the skanky cars we've had to drive, let us live a little Echo."

"Besides, they are not a gift, they are your covers because you can't hang out with me if you look like – excuse me – middle class wannabes," I explain. "Your speech and mannerisms are fine, but you've got to look like you are flaunting wealth, thus the cars and the cards."

"What about the cards?" Lydia smiles at me in a way that says I've made her New Years, Easter, her Birthday, 4th of July, Thanksgiving and Christmas all at once.

"It is a credit card except it is tied to ten different accounts at ten different banks. These accounts transfer money between them to cover purchases and to conceal your buying history. It is virtually swipe-proof and is pretty common at the executive level. I'll handle the balance so don't worry unless you go hog wild."

"What is the limit?" Echo asks hesitantly.

"$500,000", I answer. "Remember, I just landed the Harrow account so that put $22million into my checking. If Captain Tay asks you what your war chest is, you now have your number."

"You are going to use his money to fight him," Echo starts to smile for the first time in a while.

"Did you seriously think I was going to rely on your anemic budget to make this work?" I smile weakly. "International monsters like Harrow and Yen aren't going to go down by regular means or one overwhelmed municipality's government. We need to fight them internationally; which means we need to travel and look the part. We may need a Gulfstream of our own and that could mean bringing in a third agent."

"Damn," Lydia sighs, "Dominic, I'm not really assigned to this case."

"So Echo is guarding my back 24/7/52?" I point out. "That doesn't work. If I don't provide for my security, Michael Harrow will. I couldn't take that – I need to sleep in a bed that isn't going to sprout blood stains in my sleep. Tell Tay that we need you and tell FBI girl she can come along too."

"Why do you want to work with Special Agent Saberhagen?" Echo looks at me suspiciously.

"She has an Air Force Academy ring on and her shirt under her jacket says 'Air Force Academy' and that's what she casually wears around the house – her empty house," I relate. "She rubs the place where a wedding band used to be when she's stressing, so someone left her."

"Are you sure you don't profile for a living?" Lydia muses.

"My powers of perception are limited by my experiences," I grin despite the pain to my jaw, "and today you both skunked me when we had lunch. You know so much more about human interaction than I do and your instincts are trained to classify levels of threat that are truly impressive."

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said about the police since I've known you," Echo chastises me.

"No, the nicest thing I've ever done is show up, Echo," I answer. "I trusted you two and then I decided to trust your Captain because I trust you. That doesn't happen often."

"He's got you there," Lydia smirks. "Here we were thinking he'd bolt when he got the bad news on Harrow and he ends up having more Intel than we do; including his real name and blood sample (from my hair) which we need to run by the Captain."

"I'll do it," Echo looked at her card as if she expected it to explode and tear her hand off. "I'll get some stuff too, water the plants and be back." She looked at her new car keys, shook her head and left." The door shut and she started grinning.

"Oh...back undercover," she smiles. "Ever since the birth of my daughter I've missed it. It took all of Echo's juice to get me on the task force but that isn't really 'in the trenches' kind of work I joined the LAPD for."

"Husband, son, daughter," I guess to her. "I need a shower," I attempt and fail to have a pain-free deep breath. "You are going to have to do some washing, if it doesn't make you uncomfortable."

"After the mugging at the door this morning Dom," Lydia laughs, "I know what you've got and the Polish Sausage company wants their flagship salami back."

"Thank goodness," I snort playfully and find an action I can make that doesn't hurt. "I thought you were going to say 'Children-sized Chicken franks' or something like that."

"Well, you need to pump Echo a few hundred times to set her straight," Lydia hesitates. "Between her fiancé and her family, she's had lousy male experiences to date – except for you."

"By the way," Lydia studies me, "she didn't play 'Bad Cop' with you, did she?"

"Yes – a baggy of baking powder she tricked me into touching then she had me drive back here but lost her nerve," I confide in Echo's partner and friend. "I knew when I told Echo that this was the way I first hooked up with my husband; she would emulate it – poorly. Sorry about that."

"Oh, when she began pulling up all that stuff on you and Stephanie, I was worried she had gone all 'stalker' on you," Lydia relates her worries. "Then she shows up with cuff marks on her wrists and a sort of wistful smile; I thought something nice had finally happened to her. So – what did you two do," Lydia prods.

"You will have to ask her," I evade. It is the right thing to do. Lydia knows me but Echo is her friend; maybe her best friend. Lydia's phone rings and she makes a motion for me to be quiet. I quickly figure out that it is her husband. Thirty seconds later, I can tell that Lydia's tone is getting bitter then accusatory and finally furious; there is something about a 'brother-in-law' and the city of Barstow and my conjecture is divorce and custody battle in the offing and Lydia's been blindsided.

I have to finish cleaning up and drying off before I frailly pull a towel around my waste and wait for her to accept my hug. She finally hangs up when the bastard on the other end won't let her talk to her children then storms into my arms.

"Towel," I whisper, "You need to hold up my towel or this will move way past awkward."

Lydia sobs and giggles which is a really odd sound but she keeps my towel up. She doesn't unload on me and that's fine because she hardly knows me. Flirting is fine in her book but trust is something else. The intercom goes off but it isn't Echo, it is Snow White. Lydia gives Echo a quick call to update her.

"Hello, Mr. Umstead," she speaks in an even tone, "I brought a peace offering from Mr. Harrow. He wants you to know there are no hard feelings over the stunt you played." Yes, right – it was my entire fault but he is big enough a man to forgive me for having a common sense and a spine.

Lydia secures my towel snuggly then draws her service weapon and holds it behind her back. I walk up to the door but before I open it, I ask one thing.

"How did you feel about the risk you took answering the question?" I inquire.

"I was confident," she replies. "The clue was so obvious I knew I was right." I open the door and Blondie looks at me for permission to come in. I nod and she strides over to the kitchen counter to put down a food basket.

"He didn't figure it out," I give her a lop-sided grin.

"You enraged him – the gambit was well played," she grins really for the first time and the muscles on her face show it. Someone taught this girl to be happily unhappy. "So is your friend going to shoot me with that gun, or what?"

"Or she is waiting for back-up," Echo comes through the door Snow left open.

"My name is Eloise," she addresses the room.

"Come in and take a load off. I think some introductions are in order," I say then wince. Breathing still hurts. Echo is torn; she wants to keep Eloise surrounded but I'm clearly in pain.

"My girlfriend, Echo, you have already met; her friend and mine is Lydia, Echo's half-sister, and on the rare occasion, bed buddy," I make the introductions. "This is, hopefully for all time, Eloise, who saved my life today." This takes my two cop buddies off-guard.

"That's okay, you saved my life first," Eloise nods then sits. "You went through a great deal of pain and anger for your friends," she adds, looking my way.

"What did our buddy do?" Lydia sees in a far more dangerous voice than I am used to hearing from her.

"He made me leave a room when discussions turned to more 'privileged' nature; knowledge I was not allowed to be privy to," she gives a tip of the 'hat' to me.

"Also... (long pause)...he was fucking hilarious before he and Mr. Harrow dueled in the parking garage," she now tries smiling again. It is not as agonizing to watch this time around. "Did you really grow up poor?" she ambushes me.

"Dad was a drunk and then a dead drunk pretty early in my life. Mom was borderline mentally handicapped so all she could do were the easiest manual choirs. I had problems in Kindergarten and then in the first grade a fourth grade teacher caught me reading his text books," I think back. "He figured out my problem right away. On his own dime, he took me to the closest college with a Psychology department; they tested me and I blew them off the charts. He and one of the professors shopped around for a private boarding school to take me in. They gave me some choices and that was that – I am the man you see before you today."

"Was it easy?" she questions.

"Hardly; my intellect was as much a curse as a blessing because it made kids hate me," I mutter. "I was small and weak with no money whatsoever save the small allowance the school gave me. I had no social standing in or out of the school so my word was worthless and I took the blame for anything tossed my way; the so called 'Honor Code' was simply another hammer to be used against me."

"My first year there were four scholarship cases; the rich snobs broke down two of them and they went home. The third actually stole and broke the Honor Code so he got what was coming. He stole $2.50 to call home and talk to his sister so he was expelled forever. Two weeks later the kid of a State Senator stole a $300 guitar and was forced to recite the school song for one whole lunch period ~ 45 minutes.

45 minutes of minor humiliation compared to expulsion to East St. Louis. That seemed fair,"

"Fuck," mutters Lydia. She's starting to understand me and how much of what I said about me not being invested in this fight is true.

"How did you strike back?" Eloise leans forward from her seat.

"I didn't Eloise; I got out," I correct her. "I got out – I went to Stanford and earned three bachelors and one Master's degree in seven years. I graduated two years ago and I've made a total in stock, salary and other benefits in excess of $5million. I don't give a crap about them because if I hated them I'd still be that hurt little kid crying in his bed. They had their chance to ruin my life and they failed. Now they have ceased to matter to me."

"Why did you help me then; when you weren't making me look stupid in front of Mr. Harrow, that is?" Eloise is trying to figure out.

"Mr. Harrow means nothing to me in any positive way; if I have a choice I wouldn't deal with him at all. He is a bully and disrespectful of who I am and what I do. He has nothing that interests me," I point out.

"He gives me no incentive to hang out with him or work for him; he has nothing I need or want and to pre-empt the next argument, there is nothing left in this world that would make me bow down to that man's wishes," I insist. "No possession and no person. I'm not built that way."

"We all know our relationship with Dominic will end someday," Echo shrugs. "So be it."

"If that jackass that Echo and Dom met last night ends this sooner than later, there will be repercussions," Lydia tries, and in my estimations succeeds, to sound 'street'.

"Their bullets fly in the same trajectory as everyone else's," I get ahead of Eloise's snobbery. She was floored by Echo after all.

"Dominic, why do you hang around with women from the lower strata of life?" Eloise still gets around to the pimp-slap. Echo takes two steps forward and Lydia's gun is now in plain sight. The intercom buzzes.

"Dominic, I just heard you were hurt," Stephanie sounds truly concerned. "Can I come in?"

I judge my place too small for anything more than an intimate gathering with a few close friends and I've never had one of those.

"Would you please," I ask Echo.

"One cheating whore coming up," Echo gives her snarky response. She opens the door and Stephanie's look flashes from concern, to confusion, to anger and when she finally looks past my bevy of beauties, concern over me once more.

"Who are all these women?" Stephanie inquires of me as she works her way through the living room/entry area.

"The woman next to you is Aisha Bashir, but she goes by her nickname Echo. The woman closest to me is her half-sister Lydia Bashir, or it will be when her divorce is finalized, and the woman on the sofa is Eloise Harrow, who you should also recognize from last night. Pierce and Pierce are still in negotiations with the Harrow Group," I finish up.

Stephanie welcomes them but Eloise makes her social and business naiveté clear.

"Actually, Dominic you have accepted the Harrow's Group contract," Eloise corrects.

"And you don't talk about that until the deal is finalized with people outside the perspective business," I take Eloise to school. She might as well have tattooed 'Hi, I'm a leg-breaker' to her forehead.

"You threw the man down some stairs last night," Stephanie stammers to me.

"Yes he did," Echo jumps in, "and while some of – you – were mocking him, some of the people he is having a relationship with came to his defense."

"It is the matter of 'our' relationship that brought me here tonight," Stephanie growls at Echo.

I am wondering how bad Stephanie's eyesight is because Echo has all the advantages in this showdown.

"Oh, suddenly he makes $22million and you're interested," Eloise grumbles then Lydia starts chuckling. This is not even Eloise's fight so where is this coming from?

"Huh – what - $22million...Dominic," Stephanie turns on me and nearly shouts, "you were lead on the Harrow account and you didn't tell me?"

"Because it was business Steph and I don't discuss confidential business outside the workplace," I remind her. "By the way, why are you here if it wasn't because I beat Mr. Harrow black and blue until he cried like a little tranny whore begging for a tip?"

"What?" Stephanie and Eloise exclaim.

"You are good Eloise, you almost looked human there for a second," Echo snarls. "Get your food basket and leave."

"Wait – what – what is going on here?" Stephanie begins to babble.

"It isn't what you think," Eloise stands and waves her hands defensively toward Echo and myself.

"Eloise, I am not angry but with you the job is 24/7 and combined with the business ethics of the Ebola virus," I shrug, which hurts. "I don't doubt you had your sincere moments but as a whole you are too fucked up to ever be trusted again.

Go back to him, congratulate him on the plan, admit your failure and he will give you what he thinks you deserve. Good-bye." I hold up my hand for silence before pointing to the food basket, then Lydia and finally to the food chute. She nods and does as I directed. I then point to Eloise.

"Dominic," Eloise pleads, "you don't understand." She takes a half-step toward me and Echo and Lydia take half-steps toward her.

"Hold on everybody," I raise one pained hand. "Stephanie who told you what happened to me?"

"Nancy Rydal in Billing," Stephanie informs me. I called Nancy and, surprise – surprise; she hadn't been into work on a Saturday.

"Stephanie, I was in a fight with Mr. Harrow today – he kicked my ass – an now he was checking up on the people in my life to see if I had talked about my work with anyone close as well as trying to determine which people I was emotionally attached to. He sent Eloise here to spy on me. I saved her life at the meeting and she pulled Mr. Harrow off of me once I was essentially helpless," I relate.

"Please let me explain," Eloise tries again.

"No." I am adamant. "I don't care if he really is your father; he is holding your mother, baby sister, baby or best friend hostage. That's not my problem. You are dying of a disease and he has the only cure; not my problem. I gave you an out and you chose to stay with him and do his will."

"An out?!" she screams, "What out did you give me?"

"I may be small and pathetic, but I fought him," I weave my deception; I need Eloise distracted for a few more seconds. "Sure I lost, but I think you know there are worse things than death he can put you through. You are so clearly dead no matter what you do; it is almost as if he has a stable of young ladies out there just like you. In fact, that makes sense but for reasons I don't need to get into now."

"You lost and he would have killed you if I hadn't held him back," Eloise insists.

"That is what he wanted to look like; I was supposed to see you save me and he wanted to see how far you would go to save me. It was a win-win for you," I grind out through the pain. I barely track the food going the apartment's organic waste chute but that is what I've been waiting for.

"Stephanie, did Ms. Rydal call you, or did you call her?" I inquire. I have to sit down and thankfully Echo comes over and supports me. Stephanie comes in and shuts the door which leaves her uncomfortably, for me, close to Eloise. Eloise is half way to the door when she stops, her fists curled in frustration.

"She called me," Stephanie relates with some confusion.

"Take a deep breath," I tell Eloise. "You have about a minute before your tracking gets wonky."

"Wha-what?" Eloise turns on me.

"Your boss is a paranoid egomaniac, so we can assume you are not bugged – he doesn't want to bug himself, but his peace offering was," I inform her. "I only wanted you to know I'm not giving up on you but if he knows that he'll use you against me. It isn't pity; it is your ability to see through the bullshit and keep thinking clear when others don't."

"Oh," she blinks in surprise, "you were leading me on – because Michael was listening in?"

"I doubt Michael is listening in, but someone you know he is close to will check up on it at some time," I correct her. "Him giving anyone an ounce of sympathy to anyone is laughable." Eloise nods her head. "Take off and we'll talk later."

"How?" Eloise looks at me.

"How do you feel about girls?" I smile, which reminds me how much my lip and cheek hurt – which is a lot.

"Oh," she makes that little 'o' with her lips, cans the three other women and smiles. "I'm okay with that," she finishes up before turning and leaving.

"I won't sleep with that woman," Stephanie announces. Lydia raises a hand and checks out where Eloise was sitting then makes sure the door is shut and locked before giving me a 'thumbs up'.

"You'll do it Stephanie if you don't want to end up dead in some criminal haunted alleyway, victim of an unintentional drug overdose," Echo explains to my former girlfriend.

"I don't do drugs you gutter-trash," Stephanie struggles back. Echo hits her then returns with the back-hand, both a great deal softer than anything I received so far today.

"Listen carefully," Echo squeezes Stephanie's face into a fish-shape. "Dominic is trying to keep your skanky ass alive. Before you go whining about this being his entire fault, this is your rich buddy Harrow's fault and Dominic's just trying to keep us alive."

"Steph, this isn't about him doing something stupid like going to the cops and you end up dead," Lydia jumps in. "This is something bad happens to you if his weekly numbers are bad. I take you back to how happy you were a moment ago when you heard he had the Harrow account – now how do you feel about the fact he has been forced – I say 'forced' – to work with such fine people?"

"They are drug dealers?" Stephanie whispers.

"Don't know and don't care because my sister and I are in the same boat," Echo says. "Dominic was a fun time after someone ripped out his heart. Now we are stuck with him too. You will get an obituary; my sister and I won't even get a police report," Lydia sits on the arm of my chair.

"That's because you are little people," Stephanie rubs her cheeks and glares at Echo. "I...ripped your heart out?" Stephanie suddenly rediscovers her compassion for me. "But why did you have to turn to these whores? You could have come over and begged me to take you back."

"That's it," Echo growls to Lydia. "Get a drop cloth. I'm popping a cap in her ass and feeding her down the garbage disposal!" Lydia jumps up and rushes Stephanie out the door, not giving into laughter until Stephanie is truly gone.

"Pop a cap in her ass?" Lydia chuckles to Echo, who grins evilly.

"With a personality like that, I have to guess she's home several nights a week watching bad TV cops shows," Echo shrugs. It hurts too much for me to laugh but I am amused.

"I have to bolt guys," Lydia returns to a serious note. Her life is spiraling and she needs to deal with family stuff before jumping into the riptide that my life has become.

"You be careful Lydia," Echo gives her partner a hug which is returned with strength. "I've got Dominic until you can come back."

"What is our handle on Eloise Harrow?" Lydia sighs.

"You should assume if you meet her without me being around that she's going to try and kill you," I rasp. Not moving is only making me sorer.

"What is that based on?" Echo turns her head to inquire.

"Not so much data a gut instinct," I confess. Echo and Lydia seem to agree with me because that is the end of that. Lydia is soon gone and Echo is taking me to the bedroom.

"Dom, I don't' think we should engage in a physical relationship while we are working this case," Officer Echo tells me.

"Is this your professional opinion, or fear of a personal nature?" I challenge her. She doesn't come right back with a comeback. "Fine, do what you like but you know the first time Harrow asks you about how good I am he's going to burn straight through your lies."

"Because you've slept with her," Echo means the when/if I sleep with Eloise.

"Absolutely," I counter. "If he thinks I gave a crap about you, I wouldn't sleep with her but since I do, he is going to ferret that out and you are going to suffer as a matter of him reminding me he is in control."

"So I'm going to sleep with you solely to maintain our cover, not because I am attracted to you," she studies me.

"If that lie works, I'm all for it," I try to grin without it looking like my liver hasn't suddenly burst.

"As long as it is clear," she pulls my t-shirt off. "We don't care about each other."

"Honestly I find you totally repulsive," I relate. She strokes my cock through my gym shorts.

"Oh, I can tell," she rubs with slightly stronger strokes, "you are clearly un-responsive."

"Maybe if I saw your breasts one more time things might change," I suggest. Echo starts pulling down the sleeves of her leotard until her overly-frail bra is revealed. Her arms are pinned by her sides so the onerous burden of pulling up her bra falls to me. She still is able to make continuous hand passes over my cock though.

I roll her bra up and latch on to her excited nipple and areola.

"You are sure you are not enjoying this?" Echo gasps.

"Mmmm – slurp – I'm trying to maintain rigidly professional," I mouth around her bountiful breast.

"I am not sure you are 'rigid' enough," Echo smiles at me. She gets off and peels out of her leotard and yoga pants. Her underwear vanishes as well. She removes my pants with much more care. I'm naked and she's left with her rolled up sports bra.

"Oh God, Dom, you were worked over by a real pro with a hate-on for you," Echo sounds so sympathetic and endearing in her concern for me.

"How did you hold out?" She murmurs as she pushes me down and straddles me. I like the view sans handcuffs this time around.

"Who says I held out? I could have cried like a baby," I answer.

"Oh please," she smiles broadly. "I think I really like you, Dominic Umstead, and I think you like me yet you feel compelled to drive me crazy half the time.

"I can only imagine how much you enjoyed pissing off someone you really disliked," she teases me with smug satisfaction. She has the roadmap of pain that is my body to use as evidence against any denial.

"I wish I made you happier," I try instead.

"You are working hard at making me happy Dominic which is more than I can say for every other man in my life," she keeps on going and going trying to make me think that 'having my ass thoroughly kicked' is the best thing to happen to our relationship.

"I've never wanted to cause pain to men I've never met before in my life," I cough slightly.

"I regret not decking Stephanie the first time I met her," Echo leans down and kisses me. "I'm surprised you can get it up with all the pain-killers you are on," she adds tauntingly.

"Spoken like a woman who does not appreciate how beautiful she really is." I tease her right back.

What follows is thirty seconds of lustful agony; I try to grab hold of her and she tries not to make me pass out. Echo decides that only by taking control of the matter can I be spared further injury. By that I mean she rises into a half-kneeling position, coddles my penis into the warm embrace of her juicy cunt lips and slides her way down.

"Did I hurt you?" she worries because I've been moaning the whole time.

"Yes," I grimace, "and I insist you make it up to me all night long."

"You drive a hard bargain," she softens. I don't.

"Please stop teasing me," I beg. "Just fuck me because it hurts worse than laughing."

"Poor Baby," Echo wiggles her hips. "My poor baby is going to get his ass kicked twice today it seems." My love thinks she's funny. It is going to be a long night.