The cry of gulls and the salt tang in the air was familiar but the grey clouds and the fog clinging to the distant red bridge reminded Dr Laine too much of Seattle and the events a week ago. She closed her eyes as she half listened to her friend, Dr Mariana Jones, talk about her wedding plans and the honeymoon that was still undecided. She had every right to be excited, a woman in her mid thirties even as successful and beautiful as Mariana, naturally felt that almost instinctive fear of the biological clock ticking louder. She was marrying an Izod, what Laine called the type of man that dressed business casual even in his off time. Handsome and well to do, a realtor in San Francisco that had already made his first million in his mid twenties. Mariana would be fine, they would have an expensive town home and be painting a new nursery by this time next year. “Elephants...” “Huh?” Laine sat up, the last word she caught was unusual and it her attention was back on her friend. “I said, we are thinking of going to ride elephants in Thailand, and see the beaches and ruins of course,” Mariana said, her bright smile startling white against her dark skin. The woman was a perfect blend of Brazilian and African American, with hazel eyes. Any man would be lucky to have her. Chuck the Khaki pants better remember that. “Elephants stink. Besides, those poor bastards with tourists crawling all over them everyday,” Laine commented, tapping her manicured black painted fingernails against the table, “Why not Fiji? Or New Guinea, see the cannibals” “Oh, yes that’s on the list,” she said, shuffling through her phone then shot Laine a glance, laughing slightly, “Not the cannibals though.” Laine watched her a moment, intent on her friend’s face and the joy that radiated there. To remember it. “Fiji might be safer,” Laine added, then drank the last of her coffee, checking the time on her own phone. The air of distraction was not missed by Mariana who was a practicing psychiatrist. “So that Olympia Park case must have been rough.” “Hmm, as rough as any,” Laine said, shrugging her shoulders, her dark bobbed hair swaying. She sat back, crossing her arms over her Misfits t-shirt she wore over a pair of jeans, dressed down on her day off. “You don’t fool me so don’t even try.” “Mariana, don’t bring Dr Jones out.” The other woman leaned forward, “Then why aren’t you staying to make sure the killer is caught? I know you, once you got the scent you’re like a bloodhound. Do you really think your profile is enough?” Laine blinked, then glanced away, “I got another offer...I can’t talk about it but it could help with the Olympia Park case.” Mariana tilted her head, her eyes now focused and Laine saw the stubborn expression, one she was all too familiar with. “Are you leaving Quantico? The BAU?” “For a little while,” she admitted, then said quickly, “Not permanently, no.” “But you can’t talk about it.” “Right.” Mariana pressed her lips together then raised an eyebrow, “Oh, but if you’re not there at the training facility, maybe you and Alex have another shot?” Laine rolled her eyes, reaching up under her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose, “No, we don’t.” “But you’ll not be in a posi-” “It was never that,” Laine almost snapped, then gave her friend an apologetic smile, “Not just that anyway. Look, I know you’re happy with Chuck and god knows you deserve it. But Alex and I, no matter where I work, are over. I still care about him but I can’t give him what he wants.” Mariana blinked then reached her hand out, squeezing Laine’s hand, “Oh Heather...well, why didn’t you say so?” “Because I didn’t want to talk about it. He said he was fine with it at first but ...you know how it is. He wanted a family and I can’t give him that,” Laine said, cringing slightly at hearing her first name and then checked the time again. “I don’t like to talk about it.” “I’m sorry, I know that. You know you should talk about it, if it bothers you that much.” Laine sighed, “It doesn’t bother me until it becomes an issue with the man I thought I might marry. But it was, so now here we are. We’re still friends at least, I can count on that.” She put her hand on her purse, a black leather Prada bag, a gift from Mariana on her last birthday. Dr Laine pulled out a thick envelope and handed it over. “I need you to take care of some things for me, just for safekeeping.” Mariana looked over the overstuffed envelope, handwritten letters were shoved between documents. “Is that a will in here?” “Yes, I had to refresh all my official documents, I need you to put that somewhere safe, it's only a copy. The original is in a safety deposit box. There’s a key also in the envelope. For my place in Virginia,” she said, her deep green eyes holding no humor. “Don’t ask me why or anything. I just know I can trust you more than anyone.” Mariana met her gaze and nodded solemnly, “Of course, you’re my sister.” “From another Mister,” Laine finished their old bit of banter. The women smiled at each other but there was a sadness, a longing for times that seemed lost now. “I have to go, my Uber will be here.” “You should let me drive you at least,” Mariana said, standing up when Laine did. “I’d rather say goodbye here,” she replied, then moved to embrace her friend. They hugged tight and when she pulled back, Mariana had tears in her eyes. “You better not...whatever it is you’re up to, I know you’ll be fine. You’ve never taken a stupid breath in your life,” she said, wiping her eyes before her mascara started to run. “And you better be at my wedding! I need my best woman.” “Bridesmaid.” “No, you’re my best woman,” Mariana said, cupping Dr Laine’s face. “My best friend. You have to be there.” “I will,” Laine said softly, “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” Her phone chimed with the alert her ride was waiting outside. **** Dr. Heather Laine slept through most of the cross country flight, helped by a dose of Sudafed and a couple of tiny bottles of vodka. If she had dreamed, she did not remember it and was glad for that. The last week of nights had been disturbed by dark voices and the feeling of menace, something unnatural just beyond her grasp. The taxi ride in the growing darkness to her apartment seemed to take forever, the traffic between Dulles and Stafford County was always heavy and the driver seemed to rely too much on his GPS. They passed her street twice, the driver making a U turn to come back. Finally she leaned over, “Drop me at the corner here, I’ll walk the rest of the way.” “Miss? That store looks shady,” the driver said, eyeing the shabby convenience store, half the signs written some southeast Asian language and ads for Bollywood movies to rent. “Here? Yes, it is. Jakarata Mike is a shady bastard, never buy milk here,” she started to offer him her card then thought better of it, digging out a couple of twenty dollar bills. The door chimed as she opened it, giving a nod to the man people called Jakarta Mike. A scrawny Indonesian man missing his two front teeth and whistled as he spoke. “Miss Laine, come in. We gonna close in five minutes.” “You always are going to close in five minutes, Mike,” she countered, picking up a can of Diet Coke and setting it on the counter, “Got my blacks?” “For you, yes,” he said, his bones or the stool creaking as he slid off, she was not sure which. The old man waddled to the back, mumbling in his singsong language to his grandson to mop the sticky floor by the Slurpee machine. “How many?” Laine thought for a moment, normally she bought one or two and they would last her for about two weeks. “I’ll take the whole thing.” He slid a black carton across the counter, “Gonna be gone for awhile?” “Maybe,” she said, paying him cash, “Remember I was never here.” “And I never sell you krektek,” he said, flashing the gaps in his teeth as he laughed. “Goodnight, Miss.” Home was a French blue townhome with white trim, snugged between two other houses in the complex. It was quiet, no one was in the pool but she could see the lights on in the work out center and about half a dozen young professionals were working out or working up the courage to hook up. Dr Laine reached down to pet her neighbor’s cat, a black and white tuxedo who was overly friendly, wrapping himself around her ankles until he had enough scratches. It made her miss having a cat or even a dog, hell a hamster. Something living that needed her and waited for her to get home. But with all her travel, the poor thing would be lonely or spend half its life with someone else. She unlocked the door and went into the silent house. *** Dr. Laine left the airport in a rental car, a late model black Chevrolet Impala, a model she was familiar with as it was a favorite of law enforcement and rentacar companies. Pulling out onto the highway, she admired the rising green hills in the distance and turned up the bluetooth speaker, blaring a mix of her favorite songs and some dark southern gothic she had recently discovered. It fit the mood at least. The drive was an hour and a half by the GPS estimates and Laine made it in just over an hour, pulling into the gravel drive outside the cabin. She spotted the other vehicles, all local plates and nothing ostentatious. Bland and basic, that was the way someone hid in plain sight. Her own name was not on this car, it was rented by a thirty one year old ethics professor Diana Kelly, who was on vacation. Ethics. That had to be someone’s idea of a joke considering the nature of such secrecy. No doubt the taxpayers were clueless, but that was also something that came with the territory working for the Feds. She parked and waited for a moment, the motor ticking over as it cooled after being pushed hard on the hills. Perhaps it had been risky speeding, what if a local cop pulled her over? Laine reached for a black pack of Djarums and took one out, the black paper crinkling between her fingers. It would have been a test of her cover but a stupid risk. She mulled over her own behavior as she lit her cigarette, snapping the zippo shut and the Misfits crimson ghost grinned back at her. Maybe she had wanted to get caught, to end this before it began and go back to her office in the basement. Or maybe it was time she tested herself, pushed herself into the unknown. Her cigarette crackled as she took another drag on it, observing the man on the porch. Trim, muscular, older than she was by maybe a decade or less. Red hair and a facial scar from what she could see. He was looking at her car and the other that approached, an SUV. It was time now. After the song ended she turned off the playlist and stuffed the phone into her pocket of the trim coat. Dr Laine got out of the car, the clove cigarette dangling between her lips and her short dark hair tousled by the cool breeze of the morning until she tucked it behind her ears, the sunlight glinting off the silver skull studs in her lobes. She was dressed neatly in a knee length black pencil skirt over black hose with modest three inch heels. This was topped by a crisp white blouse with Victorian inspired lace at the collar and a trim, tailored dark gray blazer. She buttoned it up, and straightened out her skirt before dropping the cigarette onto the gravel and grinding it out with the toe of her shoe. She could see the clean cut man that just exited the SUV, another ginger but better dressed, approach with a confident stride. She looped her purse over her shoulder and marched across the drive, the gravel crunching underfoot. Dr Laine waited for their introduction to conclude, the whole time glancing at both and reading what she could from their faces and postures. Professionals, both of them but the man on the porch had an air of sadness that seemed to hang around him. For himself, for them? For the poor fools that took a blind offer for answers they sought. The other man was an agent, FBI like herself and that much was a relief. He looked like a lawyer. Once they concluded, she looked at the man that came out to greet them and held out her hand, “Dr. Laine, FBI Behavioral Analysis.”