Author's Note: This retcon is of the Top Cow Character The Magdalena and Lara Croft. All rights are reserved to Top Cow Comics. Thank you ahead of time for any comments, questions, or critiques that you might leave afterward.

Chapter One

“Again!”

I growled at her in anger as I blocked her thrust with my side sword and sent my main at her neck for a clean decapitation. The resulting block sent a vibration down my arm that sent my long sword flying.

“Dammit!”

“Hold,” Lara said with disappointment in her voice. “You’re letting your anger get the best of you again, Patience.”

I flinched at my full name. “It’s these damn breasts, how do you do it?”

Sheathing my side sword I cupped the monstrous protrusions on my chest. “They’re impossible.”

“Thus one of the main reasons you approached me.” She swung her side sword in an arc to loosen her wrist. “Are we to go again or are you through with your whining.”

My teeth ground together. Closing my eyes I took a deep breath and tried to find my center, but there was too much anger and adrenaline pumping through my body. “Ten minutes, please. I need to use the restroom.”

She a perfectly arched eyebrow at me. “Take fifteen. I’ll make a call I’ve been postponing.”

With a nod I went over to pick up my main sword to sheathe it and then uncoupled the both of them to set aside.

I really did have to use the restroom; that wasn’t just to get away from having my butt handed to me for the hundredth time by my mentor.

When I retreated to the ornate bathroom, I stopped to take a look in the mirror. My auburn hair was slick with sweat and I was losing the curl from the permanent that she insisted I have. It was to honor my mother her best friend at one point; my mother that had been dead for the last ten years.

I was the disappointing child, in case you’re wondering.

My mother was Rosalia Marie de la Croix. If you don’t know who she is then count yourself lucky.

Every single day since my mother’s death I prayed to God that I could grow up and take her place. I suppose God had more important things to do than listen to a failure.

Looking at my breasts brought a frown to my face and an overwhelming yearning that they would magically be real, not made of silicone and glued to my chest.

Yeah, I’m a guy. Patience Martin de la Croix. Mom named me Patience because she knew everyone would be disappointed in me, the Church, Cardinal Innocent, my trainers, the world… and God.

I come from an almost immeasurable line of women who bore only one child and that child was female; always. For two thousand years it had been that way, and with my birth, I’d broken the line and sent hope spiraling down to Earth.

You think I’m overreacting don’t you?

If you knew who my mother was and the role she and her ancestors played in history then you wouldn’t think so. For now, that’s a secret. The only person who knows the whole truth about me is my mother’s friend, Lara.

Turning away from the mirror I untied my training pants and dropped them before sitting down to do my business.

I had fake breasts glued to me. I also had other things done to mask my appearance. Unless someone got close up and performed an examination, nobody could ever tell that I wasn’t born a woman. Well most people anyway.

There was nothing to be done about my large hands and feet. My waist was very trim for a man, but still too muscular, in a masculine way, for a woman. The plastic surgery performed on my face was my only saving grace; Lara saw to that. It was very feminine. My nose was half the size as it was originally; the cheekbones were more prominent, the chin shaved, and my jawline thinned. Minor work was performed on my lips. I was lucky there. I already had feminine lips with a pronounced cupid’s bow and a nice pouty bottom lip.

Why all the trouble, you may ask?

I was on the run, in hiding, from the Church in Rome.

Their only solution to the problem of my birth gender was to breed me in hopes of the mother bearing a female child and thus continuing the line. Pardon me if at the age of fifteen, I wasn’t honored to become a stud for some hapless nun they chose.

A nun for God’s sake! Just the thought of it made my testicles pull up inside me and hide away.

They explained it all quite well. I would be doing God’s work by being the cause for a nun to break her vows, impregnating her, and then abandoning her to live in Australia, far from my child.

They thought I’d be all for it. I mean a sixteen year old guy should be jumping at the chance to have sex with a virgin, right? Wrong. The thought of kissing a girl made me sick to my stomach. There was no way I could even get an erection with a woman, much less inseminate one.

The Church frowned on gay people, but with social order being what it was, they couldn’t outlaw it anymore, so they just said, sure, you can be gay, you just can’t act on it. No banging the same sex, and make sure to ask forgiveness for your impure thoughts. Don’t forget your tithing.

Me being me, I still went to church, and to confession, professing my sins. I had to say so in general terms, because why would a girl say that she wanted to be a girl, and that she had impure thoughts about one of her male trainers?

The Church was looking for me all over. That would have been a sure giveaway and my butt would have been cooked.

In public, I was Marie Ferro, first ward and heir to the 11th Countess of Abbingdon — that’s Lara by the way.

When I showed up on her doorstep, in Buckinghamshire, she nearly stormed the Vatican herself in retribution for my treatment. Believe me, if anyone could have performed that impossible task it would have been Lara. Instead, I talked her down and asked her for an unusual favor.

Thus began my journey into femininity.

She hid me at the manor and brought in several of her trusted friends to remake me over the next year. The facial surgery was the first and most important thing. I couldn’t look like Patience de la Croix any longer.

A voice coach was brought in to rid me of my Italian accent and instill a Wiltshire one it its place. Since I already knew French, English, and Farsi, this wasn’t too hard. Proper accents come with each new tongue, you see. Another coach was brought in to train me in a feminine voice and proper vocabulary usage.

Then the real training began.

This was what I’d originally asked her to help me with. I knew her reputation; Lara was a master of a number of fighting techniques, weapons, infiltration methods, and general all around puzzle solver. It was exactly what I needed in order to fill my mother’s size eight shoes.

Regardless of what the Church wanted, I was going to take what was rightfully mine by birth. I would don the uniform my mother wore and take her place.

But first I had to learn how to deal with D-cup breasts.

~O~

“If you don’t keep your guard up, I will leave you a painful reason to do so.”

My lips firmed and I raised my side sword two inches higher. “Sorry.”

The clang of metal forced me back yet again to avoid an untold amount of stiches she threatened me with.

“Quit saying you’re sorry. If you were actually sorry, my dear, then you would simply correct the problem and not forget a second time.”

“Sorr…” Her main blade blurred through the air and cut through my shirt and deep into my breasts.

“Enough!” Lara swirled around and sheathed her swords in a dramatic move while I looked down and my prosthesis cleaved in… four.

I cringed. That was the eighth pair I’d gone through and those things weren’t cheap.

Her tone hardened on me. “Patience, return to your room, clean up, and join me in the study. You have one hour.”

Looking at her back and the tense muscles rippling along her shoulders, my head dropped. I worked the swords into their sheaths and returned them to their place on the wall. Frustrated tears fell down my face as I ran up the stairs to escape Lara’s disappointment in me.

I tried, I really did. But I was never good enough.

When she took me on it was with the promise that I would devote myself to my studies and training. I was failing miserably.

Don’t blame her for the treatment she just gave me. Lara made it abundantly clear that she would hide me, make me disappear from the Church’s eyes. I could live in peace, if I chose to, without ever having to lift a hand in anger or defense of others. She actually tried to talk me out of moving forward with my plan, but I refused. I needed to make my mother proud of me even if she wasn’t around to see.

The look on Lara’s face when I turned her down was determined, and prideful. From then on she only referred to me as my mother’s daughter. She never looked down on me for wanting to be a girl and figuratively smacked me upside the head when I had my doubts or when I didn’t feel I could go on.

Lara gave me hope. If I could just learn to be like her then I could be who I was meant to be, at least in part.

When I closed my door, I wiped at my face and tried to regain control. I’d never seen her so angry or disappointed with me and my performance.

Some things I did well with. Pistols came very naturally. I spent two hours a day with those, strengthening my hands and forearms, improving my aim, shooting in the oddest of positions. I’d made her very proud with those weapons. The shotgun, I was pretty good at, but I still couldn’t shoot one handed as of yet.

The P-90 was… okay, at best.

My main weapons, the ones that were a signature of my heritage, were the swords, the knives, the shurikens, and various other sharp pointy things, I was abysmal with.

My face was burning with embarrassment as I tore off the sport’s bra and applied the solvent to what remained of the breast forms. They came off in pieces about ten minutes later and I jumped in the shower. By the time I was out again I checked the hip pads to make sure they were still attached properly, then I glued on new breasts.

After a year on feminine hormones I’d developed a little, enough to order special breast forms that accommodated my growth. My hips hadn’t changed that much. They were a little fleshier but that was about it. It was all blamed on my activity. If I stopped working out so much and just lazed about the manor all day then I’d probably be a lot more developed. As it was, I burned through calories like an Olympic gymnast, and had the body to match.

I didn’t see how Lara looked so womanly. Granted, you could name the major muscle groups on her back and arms, but everything else was pure woman. Good genes I suppose.

Shorts and a tank went on soon after my lingerie and I made my way down to the study with a few minutes to spare. She wouldn’t mind my showing up early, I’m sure, but there was a reason I didn’t want to look her in the eye.

Every time I failed at a lesson, I was sure that she was going to give up on me and send me packing to some remote spot in Switzerland or something so she could get on with her life.

So I waited.

Seven minutes later I tapped on the door and let myself inside to find Lara in the hidden room behind the bookshelf to the left of her desk. I’d seen it a few times. It was my mother’s. One of many around the world that contained several uniforms, armor, weapons and supplies needed for her job.

After the first time I entered the room, I swore that I’d never return until I was ready. It seemed like Lara had other plans for me.

When she saw me at her desk, looking warily at the tools of my mother’s trade, I winced.

“Patience, come here.”

Gone was the anger and disappointment that I witnessed earlier and in its place was a blank slate.

I approached and stood at the entrance to the room.

Lara sighed slightly and waved me in. “I know what you vowed to yourself, but if you want to get any better then you need to listen to me. I have something to show you.”

With a little interest I took a couple of steps in and she moved to the wall and a keypad on top. She typed in a number and I watched as the wall opened and a tray extended out.

My eyebrows furrowed and I neared even closer.

“What’s that?”

Lara looked back at me and gave me a soft smile.

“When your mother was reported… killed. I took it upon myself to retrieve her weapons and personal items at the convent.”

My eyes widened. The convent where my mother trained was a fortress second only to the Holy City itself. How she got in there and out again with her life, much less all of her limbs, was astounding.

I looked down at the container on the shelf as she opened it. My mother’s swords were there along with five other knives.

My eyes started burning at the thought that she most likely died with those in her hands and scattered around her body. Reaching out, I let my hand hover over the longest blade set in protective foam. It shined like nothing I’d ever seen before. The grip was white with the emblem of the Holy Church inset at the middle.

“I have a suspicion, Patience, that the reason you are having such good results with the modern weapons and such poor results with the blades is because the ones we are using were not meant for you.”

I couldn’t tear my gaze off of the blades. There wasn’t so much as a blemish on the business end; they were perfect, like the day one of my ancestors took them up for the first time.

Never was I one for the cliché Katana, that according to the internet and most Hollywood producers could cut though anything, merely because it was cool looking. However staring at that beauty, I could almost believe the hype.

The lid closed on the weapons and I had to snatch my hand back lest Lara leave me with another bruise to nurse.

Her stare was filled with compassion, but a firm hand was backing it up, as always.

“From this day forward, you will be using your mother’s tools while training; her uniform, her armor, and all of her weapons. Use your own gloves and boots until I provide those with a better fit. Get dressed. If you need any help, I’ll be right outside.”

Contrary to popular belief in the transgender fiction community, which I frequent now and again on the internet, one size does not fit all. This meant that my mother was smaller than I was.

You may be asking yourself why Lara chose the D-cup breast prosthesis. There’s a reason for this, but I’m not going to go into it just now. Suffice to say I had tremendous breasts and leave it at that.

The top fit fairly well. Mom was a double-D, so I had some give which was taken up in the shoulders. The one problem was that it showed a little more of my midriff than I was comfortable with, especially since that portion of me was obviously masculine. There was no hiding that little fact.

The bottoms slid up compressing my pads into an attractive shape in the back and hugging everything else nicely.

What I thought was thigh armor turned out to be for my shoulders, forearm canons with a hinged mini-shield, and shin armor followed. They didn’t completely cover all exposed skin, that’s probably the only reason I was able to adjust it to fit my slightly larger body. All of this had the symbols of the Church with gold inlay on top. I was a walking advertisement for Crosses ’R Us. There was a reason behind that as well. I was very familiar with my mother’s armor. All of it was blessed by the Pope himself, time and again. When it came to facing off true evil, those crosses became deadly weapons.

I tried on my mother’s fingerless gloves and went ahead and wore them. They were a tad tight, but I wanted everything that had ever been close to her.

Even the gauntlets had little crosses on each of the knuckles.

My brown hiking boots looked ridiculous with the black outfit and red and gold armor, but they’d have to do.

The sword and utility belt went on next, but I left the actual weapons for last. Pouches all around the belt were already stocked with blessed communion wafers, vials of holy water, and numerous types of shuriken and kunai. Apparently Mom was big on Japanese nastiness.

Each one was tipped with silver, dipped in holy water and blessed by various holy men from the Pope on down the line. Even without the swords and knives I felt like a walking deathtrap for the undead.

They’re out there, by the way. Vampires, things that go bump in the night; you just don’t see them. They’ve gotten smart over the years.

The last part came and I watched as my hand faltered over the weapons box that held my mother’s blades.

With a whispered prayer to her I opened the top and took out one knife after another and slid them into their sheaths around my body. The Wakizashi or side sword was about twenty inches long, shorter than the Katana which looked to be about thirty.

The Katana went on my left side and the side sword on my right, both ready for cross draws when needed.

I closed the case and looked at my Mother’s traveling cloak. That, I would leave in the room. Inside the manor I had no need to cover my weapons.

Moving around a little, I was sure I’d put on thirty pounds. It probably should have been more than that total, but the armor was special, very lightweight and strong.

Lara was waiting for me, leaning against her desk, when I emerged. Her brows lifted and there was a slight smile on her lips.

“You look very dangerous. Now, let’s go see if I was wrong.”

~O~

No, I didn’t magically improve and kick Lara’s butt to the States and back, but I did put up a better fight, and I didn’t lose my new breasts this round. The mini-shields on my forearms came in very useful, and I was able to get in a lot closer than I normally do.

Maybe it was the thought of wielding my mother’s weapons, or maybe it was that I didn’t want to disappoint her any more than I already had, but I was better. Not great, but better.

Target practice with all the throwing weapons was a minor improvement. I actually hit the target once and it didn’t bounce back! It was nowhere near the center or on the silhouette even, but I tossed a throwing star and it stuck on the paper portion.

By the time I was through I was soaked in sweat again, but in relatively good spirits.

Everything got polished and oiled before being returned to its place in the secret room. Lara let me keep one of the daggers though, only if I promised not to stab myself with it. I would have agreed to anything just to have a small piece of my mother with me at night.

The next morning brought a pair of new boots new gloves and a harder training regimen. In fact the next year brought a harder training regimen.

~O~

After two years on female hormones I felt pretty much about as girly as I could be. Somewhere around the sixteen to seventeen month point I blossomed out a little to almost a full B-cup and the hip pads were a thing of the past, though I still maintained a very manly midriff, much to my chagrin. Instead of the breast prosthesis, Lara made adjustments to my uniform. Little pieces of Velcro were put in and silicone padding kept my shape right. On the plus side my real breasts were protected, which was the reason for having them so big in the first place; on the downside they were just as obtrusive as before.

Winston, Lara’s octogenarian butler, shuffled through the door of my bedroom without knocking one morning. On the cart he was pushing, with great difficulty, was a cupcake with a single lit candle on top. It would have made a lot more sense to just bring it with a serving platter, but Winston always had to do things the hard way.

He groaned a little as he pushed it to my bedside while I sat up. When he finally stopped, he relaxed and passed wind… which always happened when he relaxed.

Hurriedly, I blew the candle out before it ignited the intestinal gas polluting my bedroom.

The man meant well, I swear, but sometimes I felt like locking him in the pantry downstairs with a candle of his own.

“Thank you, Winston.”

He groaned again and turned around to push the cart back out. I grabbed the cupcake before he made it too far.

“Ahh, breakfast in bed.”

Before I had the chance to take one bite, the door opened again and Lara wrinkled her nose before striding to the French doors to let some fresh air in.

“Happy eighteenth birthday, Patience. Prepared for the big day?”

On my seventeenth I’d received an orchiectomy, for my eighteenth, I was going for the entire change in plumbing, so I nodded and went for a bite of my cupcake. Lara snatched it out of my hand and waggled her finger at me. “No food or drink before the operation. You know better.”

I made a pained noise as my treat was promptly tossed in the trash.

“I told Winston to save it for tomorrow, but he loves to dote on you.”

My frown spoke volumes. “If he would take something for his gas I would consider it a life—long present that keeps on giving.”

“Don’t be bitter, Patience. I’ll have some ice cream for you when you awaken from the anesthesia.”

Rolling my eyes, I tossed the blankets to the side. “If what I’ve read about the procedure holds true, I’ll either be hurting too much or so stoned that I won’t care if there’s ice cream or not.”

Before I had a chance to stand, Lara sat down beside me and took my hand. “This is your last chance to bow out. You don’t have to do this.”

I smiled at her rather sleepily then leaned in for a hug. “I’ve been wanting this for as long as I can remember. I was meant to be a girl, Lara.”

She grabbed my shoulders and gave me a light push away. “Damn the Church and damn your destiny. You don’t have to go through with this.”

With a resigned sigh I shook my head. “Being a girl has nothing to do with my training. I could do that just as well as a guy. This is something that I want just for me. It’s why I suggested it to you when I first came here.”

Lara stayed a little quiet after that, until I returned from the bathroom. “Remember dress simple. Nothing fancy.”

“Yes, Mum.”

While Lara was technically old enough to be my mother she was still a few years younger than the real thing. Though anyone that thought Lara was thirty-five had to be insane. The woman didn’t look a day over twenty-eight.

“Don’t get cheeky. I’ll tell the doctor to raise you up four cup sizes.”

My eyes bulged. The thought of being an F-cup coming out of GRS was like something out of bad web story.

I just opted for a simple sundress, even though the sky was overcast.

Lara drove me to the private clinic where she arranged for some high muckity-muck masterful surgeon to perform the procedure. I couldn’t imagine what that must have cost, but simply put, she was loaded and nearing the end of her adventuring career. What else was she going to spend it on?

I spent an hour in bed while everyone and their brother came in and asked me fifty questions before passing me on to the next person who did the same, while Lara sat beside me holding my hand in a vain attempt to keep my nervousness at bay. At one point I saw her get a weird look on her face as I went through yet another round of personal questions.

When that particular nurse left Lara was on her feet.

“Get dressed and please be swift.”

I blinked at her, but having Lara as a personal drill sergeant for two years instilled the reaction to obey everything she had to say. With a wince, I pulled out the line for the saline drip and pressed a swab over the wound left behind before rushing to the closet where I’d hung my dress.

“What happened?” I whispered.

She cracked the door open slightly and peeked out before frowning and closing it back.

“You didn’t notice that she asked about your bout with chicken pox when you were twelve?”

I shrugged in confusion. “Yeah, so what?”

“Patience, I’m disappointed. Since when have you told anyone about having chicken pox when you were twelve? We’ve always said it was when you were thirteen.”

Something in the pit of my stomach dropped and I felt a decidedly cold chill down my spine. “The Church… they’ve found me.”

A received a brief nod. “My guess is that they would have put you under and wheeled you out of here. I wouldn’t have found out about it until hours later.”

I slipped my sandals on and fastened the buckles. Luckily they were flats so I could run in them. “What do we do?”

Lara licked her lips and a feral grin appeared on her face. “We welcome them to London, of course.”

Slipping on my jacket, I reached into one of the inner pockets and withdrew the knife Lara let me have that day that seemed so long ago. She smiled appreciatively and withdrew an ASP from her bag.

“Just follow my lead, darling. If we get split up, we’ll meet again at the airport in the hanger.”

She flipped open her cell and punched one of the keys. “Zip, we’re going abroad. Have the jet ready for takeoff in twenty minutes, please.”

There was a brief pause. “The Orient, I think. Shanghai. I’ll make all the other arrangements when I arrive. Ta.”

When she dropped the phone in her purse the door opened and the nurse made it about half a step in before Lara clocked him across the side of his head.

Ouch.

“Ready to go, Patience?”

I nodded.

“Quickly now. No need to raise an uproar if one isn’t necessary.”

We got two steps into the hallway before I heard the sound of an automatic weapon being jacked.

“Run!” she yelled.

I was in the lead. I heard the sound of her dealing with whoever chose to make the poor decision to draw down on Lara. Before I’d made it to the first juncture and what I thought was a break room, I saw the barrel of a submachine gun spinning out. I dropped to the floor and slid on my butt for three feet before kicking out with my feet at the knees of a guy in blue scrubs. He dodged to the side avoiding my attempt at dislocating his knee. Instead I took advantage of an exposed ankle and let my blade slice through his Achilles tendon.

You really never know the kind of tension there are on those things. I heard a pop and then a scream of panic and pain all at once. Bullets ripped across the ceiling as he fell and I scrambled to my feet. His head made a resounding crack on the tiled floor a second later.

“Oh, nasty business. Off we go.”

I squinted at Lara, mainly because I was half deaf from the automatic weapon going off in such a small enclosed place.

“What?”

Instead of repeating herself, she grabbed my free wrist and pulled. In less than ten seconds we were in the lobby looking at the receptionist cowering behind her desk. Lara threw her a wary eye before we rushed outside and jumped into the car.

Then I experienced such terror as I’d never seen before, Lara’s driving when she thought she was being chased. My seatbelt went on and I shut my eyes, before muttering an Our Father.

~O~

For the next ten minutes I heard the plaintiff wails of two-tones in the distance, but they never caught up with us, and I had serious doubts that they ever even saw more than a gray blur. The only thing that stood a chance of actually capturing us was the CCTV cameras that were virtually everywhere, but since half of them were regularly down for maintenance issues, I felt safe enough.

Instead of thinking about how close I was to dying at every turn Lara made, I tried to concentrate on how the Church found out about me. They obviously knew about my mother’s connection to the determined driver of the car I was in. The appearance of a new ward shortly after my own disappearance had to be enough for them to examine my background and find inconsistencies.

What I couldn’t understand was why they waited to act until the day of my operation. Were they actually afraid of Lara?

Individually, any one person in the Church would have a lot to fear from her, but as a whole, they were massive. No one person stood a chance.

“What do you have on them?”

Lara spared me a tick of her eyes before making another turn and the straightaway that would lead us to the airport.

“Finally put it all together, have you?” At my determined silence she broke her own. “I made a bargain with the Pope.”

My eyes widened at that revelation. “You talked to the Pope?”

“I believe that is what I just said.”

I couldn’t believe it. “What did you do?”

She shrugged. “I offered him a trade. Your freedom from the machinations of the Sisters of the Order of Magdalene for a treasure I came upon in my youth.”

My teeth ground at the mention of the Order. Its head, Cardinal Innocent, was the one who was responsible for every bad thing that had happened in my life. He was the one that sent my mother on her last mission. He was the one that decreed that I would get a nun pregnant on my sixteenth birthday. He was also the reason I was on the run, having to hide my true identity under a new face.

“So the Pope changed his mind,” I said.

Lara looked thoughtful. “I don’t think so. He was very interested to acquire what I have. Seeing as you are biologically male, you would have no chance to ascend to the position as your mother.”

I flinched and she held out a hand to comfort me. “Patience, you know as well as I that it is the truth. You can still be a force for good, but your mother and those that came before her were gifted in a way that neither you nor I will ever understand.”

With reluctance I nodded. “I know.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t do our best to make a difference.”

We blew through the gates to the private section of the airport and I saw Lara’s jet on the runway with Zip standing at the base of the retractable stairs, armed.

Zip was Lara’s gadget guy. He made and operated almost everything that she took with her on her adventures like James Bond only with breasts and a lot better body. My kudos go out to all the guys from Sean Connery to Daniel Craig, but Lara could kick your ass from here to Jamaica and still have time for tea after before she discovered some ancient relic of some sort.

When the car came to a stop inside the hanger, I popped my seatbelt and jumped out. Lara was already in front of me as she checked the front gate to make sure nobody had followed us in. Then it was a leisurely walk to the jet.

“Are we all packed and ready to go?”

Zip smiled and gave her a short bow. “I think you know better than to ask, Lara.”

I stopped and gasped. “My swords!”

There was no replacing those priceless heirlooms. Zip shook his head. “They’re on board along with everything you’ll need for New York.”

I couldn’t help it, and I nearly jumped on Zip to give him a hug. He knew of my status and no matter how much I wanted to run my fingers all over his chocolate colored skin, he was a staunch heterosexual. That didn’t mean I couldn’t hug him though.

“Thank you, Zip. You’re the best.”

It wasn’t until I was seated with my belt on that it finally clicked what Zip had said. “We’re going to New York? I thought you said it was supposed to be Shanghai.”

Lara smiled. “Patience, it is always best to work up a few code words with those you trust to take care of you in case you are in the midst of the enemy.”

“You think they had the place bugged?”

She clicked her belt closed and looked up at me. “Perhaps. If it was, then we have pointed them in the wrong direction. If it wasn’t, then we’ve lost nothing by taking precautions.”

Leaning back, I sighed. New York. I didn’t look forward to seeing the city, but Lara had gotten me this far. I’d be damned if I didn’t trust her to see to my safety a little further.

TBC...