The author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Last Updated: 2/8/2024 to smooth out the beginning of this story.

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March 8th, 10:46 a.m.
I had my head buried in briefs all morning and totally spaced on the time, so it wasn't a surprise to look up and see Lisa standing outside my office. I tried to smile at the questioning face she was giving me and mouthed, 'Sorry...' She just gave me a look that said, 'Girl, get your ass out here!'

I smiled, and so did she, opening my office door to complain in earnest, "We're late... I'm gonna to miss me some Bryant time downstairs! Sheesh!"

I shook my head still smiling, "Not like you're ever going to ask him out." I instantly regretted saying that; it just sort of slipped out. I hoped she knew I was kidding.

"I'm working up to it. He’s my marathon, and honey, I do not sprint for any man; I told you that," she replied with a hearty laugh.

I felt relief from her blowing off my comment, and we wasted no time heading toward the elevators. If we made our exit from the office any faster, it would look like we were trying to escape a prison or something.

March 8th, 10:58 a.m.
Bryant was the UW graduate student who worked the morning shift at the espresso stand in the lobby of our building. His shift ended at 11, and we were generally down there by 10:30 so Lisa could do her flirting thing. He was a couple years younger than she was and played along like a champ. It really was entertaining to watch them both, and he certainly added fuel to the fire with his own form of flirting back at her. If they ever did go out on a date, they would probably just sit there awkwardly, wondering what to say to each other. Lisa was bold in a crowd of friends—not so much alone, she'd told me once.

We rode the elevator down from the 18th floor to the lobby, making faces at each other behind the backs of a couple guys in suits talking about their upcoming fishing trip to Ocean Shores this weekend. I had to stare at my phone more than once to keep from cracking up at her hilariousness behind their backs. I thought for sure they were going to figure out that she was being all goofy as we made our way down to the lobby.

Lisa and I met on our first day working for Brandt, Wentz, and Larson during our HR indoctrination. We were both hired at about the same time, and it just so happened that we got through that first day with HR together, along with two others who’d been hired by the firm. I'm not sure that day could have been any more awkward for me having to listen to rules for everything from conduct to office romances and even which bathrooms to use based on our own gender identification. She might not have felt uncomfortable, but I certainly was through the three-hour presentation, which sure seemed to spotlight the ‘T’ in LGBTQ+ individuals.

Lisa figured out what was going on with me quickly enough over the next couple of weeks. Thankfully, my being Trans was totally a non-issue. Surprisingly, or maybe not surprisingly, for left-leaning liberal Seattle or a law firm, my situation was pretty much a non-issue for everyone I’ve had the opportunity to work with so far. I felt blessed to finally have a friend, though, even if our friendship was during work hours. My first break, a bit of normalcy, in just over 6 years, this transition journey had been for me.

In the lobby, we wasted no time getting in line for coffee, and as Bryant's last customers of the day, he said he was going to make our drinks extra special. Lisa whispered to me when he’d left us to start our drinks, "I know I'd like something extra and special." She had a devilish grin and a twinkle in her eye. I smiled and turned away, trying to hold in the giggles.

The rest of their bantering, when Bryant had finished our drinks, was relatively tame. They tried to drag me into their flirting routine, but I declined to contribute. We all laughed, and our mid-morning break ended on a high note as far as Bryant was concerned. Lisa had gotten her daily Bryant fix, I got some laughs, and we both got our mid-morning caffeine fixes.

Lisa was crazy fun to hang with, and I really did love her for how she treated me. I was just one of the girls as far as she was concerned, and that’s all I ever wanted to be.

Typically we would find a standup table near the atrium to drink our coffee so Lisa could ogle Bryant, but she said she was working on something for Janet Larson, one of the partners in the firm, with a deadline by lunch, so we cut our time short for this coffee break. The ride back up to the 18th floor was all talk about what she would like Bryant to do to her—nothing too graphic, but she sure laid it on thick, and she had quite the sexually charged imagination.

She eventually began complaining about this being the longest ‘dry spell’ she'd had in a couple years, and I just rolled my eyes back at her. We hadn't exchanged much in the way of my lifelong emotional desert when it came to men, friends, or even my family, so I wasn’t about to compare ‘dry spells’ with her. My life was certainly more complex than hers. I almost wished there had been others on the elevator ride back to the office, since I had already heard her spiel a few times before.

I wondered if she knew how much easier she had it than I did. I was sure everyone at the firm knew my basic story by now, and on the one hand, I should be happy no one treated me with kid gloves or like I was fragile. Then again, I wished they could grasp the extent of the struggles I’d fought my way through to be where I am today, given society's hatred of anything Trans. It had been crushing more times than I cared to admit, and I'd thought many times about checking out for good. Dysphoria was a fucking bitch! People didn’t seem to understand that or the crushing struggle it could be.

Yeah, nothing about how I got to this point in my life has been easy. Augh! Really? Get off the pity train! Why do I do this every time?! I should be thankful for where I am today, here, right now.

What had my psychiatrist always said? "You make your own happiness; own it; be thankful…"

March 8th, 1:24 PM
I had just entered another RCW (Revised Code of Washington) search and was pouring through references when my phone rang. I could see it was originating from the large conference room near the partner offices.

"This is Elizabeth; how can I help you?"

I felt a little self-conscience about talking on the phone, and this being an internal call, I knew I needed to sound extra professional in case there were clients in the room with whichever lawyer was initiating the call. Not that this call was handled any different from the dozens of others I’d answered, but I was determined to focus on being professional. I found my voice sounded more feminine if I talked slower and deliberate in my pronunciations of my words, which seemed to make my tone sound more relaxed and less strained. It also helped to keep my sentences short, but I think it annoyed some people because maybe I sounded overly calculated or just plain stupid.

Seriously though, everything action in my life was calculated in some way to mitigate the risks of appearing to be someone I wasn’t.

"Elizabeth, do you have a couple minutes to come meet with us?"

I knew the voice: Janet Larson. I had no idea who the 'us' was or whether I was on speakerphone. It didn’t matter.

"Yes, Ms. Larson. I'll be right there."

"Thank you," was the reply before the line went dead.

Having battled extreme bouts of anxiety for many years, mostly due to the stresses of the path I chose for my life, I have a prescription for Xanax. This medication works incredibly fast for me when taken right away or before I know I will be in a stressful situation. It's not the only drug I've been prescribed to control or balance my being, but it was a wonder drug I could have used from the time I hit my teens.

I could feel the telltale tightening in my chest and fear of the unknown roiling in my stomach because of the call that brought on my panic attacks so I knew I needed to act. I reached for my purse, grabbed the prescription bottle, tapped out a single.25 MG white pill, and downed it with a gulp of cold coffee. Work quickly, please!

I stood, straightened my skirt, and buttoned my sweater up. I caught my reflection in the glass of my office door and thought I looked the part of a legal secretary—now to execute that role like I’d done many times before. Don't panic; you got this!

I grabbed my fully charged voice recorder, two pads of legal paper, three pens, and two highlighters, and I had confidence in that little pill I'd just swallowed to get through whatever was waiting for me in the conference room. You can do this! Breathe...

When I rounded the corner of the hallway leading to the partner’s conference room, my heart skipped a beat. Each of the three partners of the firm was in the room, and there was no one else with them.

My first thoughts, naturally negative ones—because what could be easier—were that maybe I wasn't past my ninety-day probation period and this gathering was for my termination. I walked at least ten steps without taking a single breath. I could hear my skirt brushing against the slip under my skirt, the slip whishing against my pantyhose, and my toes were unusually cold for some reason. Could others hear these sounds? Was it that cold in here?

I felt tunnel vision coming on, and I tried to study the faces of the partners, noticing they were not looking at me and looked to be in deep discussion about something as I approached the door to the conference room. Was one of them arguing to keep me on and not fire me? What was I going to do if I was fired? Would unemployment cover at least a portion of my monthly bills? I owed my mom a couple thousand dollars still, and she needed me to pay her regularly.

Wait, where is the HR representative?

My hand reached for the door, and I pushed it open, forcing a smile at the serious faces now quietly watching me as I walked in. I felt unsteady and quickly went to the nearest chair, setting down my supplies and slid heavily into the chair, none too ladylike. My hands came together on the conference table in front of me, posture perfect—maybe a little too rigid, but I couldn't relax.

"Thank you for joining us, Elizabeth."

"Happy to... assist you, Mr. Wentz." I barely got that out, worried that if I said much more, I wouldn’t be able to breathe afterwards.

My nerves were getting the better of me, and I could hear it in my voice, the thumping in my temples. When I felt like I was losing it, I would play the 'What do I know' game to focus my mind on something other than how I was about to totally die, be riding in an ambulance, or stop breathing and pass out in front of people.

Jacob Wentz, managing partner, 56 years old, married to Elisa; she was a pediatrician at Seattle Lutheran Hospital. They had two children: Jacob Jr. was 8 years old and Mirabella was 10. Jacob lived on Mercer Island and was very active in the community. He founded the firm 29 years ago and interviewed me twice. I have a signed letter from Jacob offering me the job as a legal secretary/paralegal investigator.

Why was I being called into the conference room? I started on January 3rd; I was past my 90-day probationary period. This has to be something else, right?

"We appreciate you coming down to talk with us. To put your mind at ease, we all think you are doing a wonderful job. Everyone says you are incredibly organized, resourceful, and aren’t afraid to think outside the box. We hope you are enjoying your stay with us."

Martin Brandt had just spoken. He was a partner, 42 years old, and the lead litigant on the firm's highest-profile cases. He was single, divorced his wife Michelle three years ago, and had one child, age 3, named Charlie. He lives in a high-rise condominium in the downtown core, likes to play hockey, and travels to lecture at colleges around the country.

What did he mean by 'stay with us'? I was confused. Do I answer? The pause seemed uncomfortably long. Say something!

"Thank you, Mr. Brandt. I really enjoy working here, and everyone has been so wonderful to me," I rattled off quickly.

I was praying the weight of the ten thousand-pound gorilla on my back would be shifting off me based on his compliment. Okay, happy happy thoughts now!

Why did this room feel so warm?

"Elizabeth, did you happen to catch the news today?" Janet Larson asked.

Janet was a senior partner, 41 years old, and the highest grossing partner. She was partnered with a woman named Angela and they had no children. Why didn't I know what Angela did for a living? Janet was dressed impeccably, so much so that she looked like she could out model many of the top established models out there. It would be a lie to say I didn't try to incorporate her design and style cues into my own Target, Wal-Mart, and Goodwill-based wardrobe for work.

She had interviewed me twice, and whether it was on purpose or a nod to my struggles, she mentioned being very involved with the local LBGTQ+ community. It was a bright spot during the interview process, if there was such a thing.

She was the most thorough interviewer, going over my paralegal community college curriculum degree in greater detail than I thought necessary. She was also the only one to ask what my future plans might be. Janet had asked me to tell her what the opportunity to work here would mean to me. I was prepared for that question, and I think I answered it well, given her smile afterwards.

Janet scared Lisa, but I never felt that way around her. I wasn’t sure why.

Did I catch the news today? I had. I knew the weather forecast: rain, high today: 46; low overnight: 39; winds should be light and out of the east. More to the firm's concern, though, would be the news that the mayor was trying to limit the Port of Seattle's union bargaining power in future negotiations with the city. Since we represented the union—this is likely what we were going to be talking about—maybe I was going to assist Martin somehow—a twinge of adrenaline hit.

"I saw the report about the mayor's new union bargaining stipulations and how she wanted to get it before the City Council…" I stopped speaking when Martin looked over to Jacob, who nodded ever so slightly. Had I overstepped? Did I sound cocky, arrogant, or anxious to work with Martin? Augh!

"Yes," Martin began, "We've got that issue handled. What we were wondering is whether you had heard about anything outside of Seattle, specifically news from Phoenix and a connection to the firm."

Phoenix? What does a case in Phoenix have to do with Brandt, Wentz, and Larson? We didn't practice in Arizona. I guess we could if someone had passed the uniform bar exam there. I think if any of our lawyers were practicing on the federal level, there would be an opportunity to try a case in another state, right? Augh! Answer the question!

"No, I did not hear anything on the news about Brandt, Wentz, and Larson in regards to Phoenix." I'm sure the confusion on my face was evident from the answer I’d just given them.

Jacob looked uncomfortable, picked up his pen, and pointed to something on the pad in front of him. Janet nodded. He looked at Martin, who also nodded. I just watched the three of them, wondering what was going on. Was I going to be fired? No, something else is going on...

"My younger sister," Jacob began, "lives in Phoenix. She's happily married, a stay-at-home mom, and has three great kids. Two years ago, after a few rough years, her son came out as not wanting to identify as male. He was fifteen, and it was a rough transition for everyone." His voice was breaking, and he stopped speaking.

I could feel the air being sucked from the room while listening to Jacob speak—from my lungs as well. Was that even possible? My feet were freezing, my fingers were clenched tighter than I realized, and I could see my knuckles were white. I felt an instant ache for Jacob. I wasn't sure I could speak and managed only a feeble nod of my head.

Janet reached over to Jacob's hand and patted it. "Elizabeth, we won't pretend to know how something like this affects a child brave enough to make this decision or the family that tries to make its way through the new family dynamic. In an effort to get past some of the awkwardness, we need to remind you that, as part of your employment agreement, you signed an NDA, or non-disclosure agreement. You understand your obligation in regards to the agreement as it concerns this firm, correct?"

There was a buzzing in my ears. I looked from Janet to Jacob. Did they not think I knew what an NDA was and the implications of signing such as document as part of my employment?

"I understand my obligations to Brandt, Wentz, and Larson under the confidentiality agreement I signed," I replied.

I don't think I sounded very confident, but it was the best I could do at the moment. I could feel the knot in my stomach tightening. When was that Xanax going to kick in?

"Thank you. Last week, Amber did not come home after school. She was reported missing after her third period class at Collins High School. Stephanie, Jacobs’s sister, was notified within an hour to see if Amber had an appointment or permission to be absent; she did not. The police were brought in immediately. That evening, her computer was scanned, and they found a number of leads. Her phone was traced and eventually recovered. The police have followed a couple of leads but have little more than unanswered questions so far. That was six days ago," Janet paused to see if I had any questions.

I was so focused on there being a missing Trans teenager that I missed everything Janet had said. Were the police involved yet? Did they try to track her phone? Wait, she said something about a phone. Six days? Oh my God!

"Stephanie called Jacob this past weekend, asking for his help. He's set a few things in motion, including hiring a computer forensics specialist who has uncovered a few social network accounts the police had missed. He thinks she also has a few other accounts, subscription-type accounts, and at least two crowd-funding accounts. On a memory card from her camera, there were videos she made; these were probably live streamed to those subscription accounts. There's more, but..."

Jacob looked uncomfortable, and I couldn't help but interrupt Janet. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Wentz; if there's anything I can do, I... I would be...," Janet nodding as if approving of my interruption made me stop speaking.

"Thank you, Elizabeth. The reason for this meeting was to see if you would be willing to join the team Jacob has put together in Phoenix. We realize this is a highly unusual request and appreciate that you might be willing to assist. We'd like you to think about committing, take the rest of the day, and let us know tomorrow. Your decision will not affect your current position should you decline."

What was there to think about? I was about to answer when Jacob and Martin slid their chairs back. Martin made his way to the door, but Jacob stood and looked over something he'd written.

"I'll cover that with Elizabeth; go ahead; you've got a plane to catch," Janet said.

"Thank you, Janet, and thank you, Elizabeth, for considering helping us find Amber," Jacob replied.

I could only nod in reply and watched Jacob leave the conference room, catching up with Martin, who was obviously lingering in the hallway. I turned back to Janet.

"I can't imagine what his sister’s family is going through."

"I think you might have more insight than most Elizabeth, at least on some aspects of this situation. I would caution you to really think this over; you might be pulling scabs off old wounds and possibly creating a few more. Amber may have been into some things you're going to find disturbing. That's what Jacob was going to mention before leaving. His computer forensics specialist reports finding links to a number of porn sites where there is content that includes her.

“The police informed Jacob that it's possible this will turn into a case for the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children as a possible sex trafficking abduction. Jacob knows the local director of the FBI in Phoenix, so there could be some assistance given to us from them. I really want you to think this over, though, as you can imagine emotions are running pretty high," she finished saying.

I exhaled slowly, "Thank you, Ms. Larson. I'm struggling with a number of emotions right now concerning Amber," I said as my voice cracked, tears welling in my eyes. My head dropped as the first tears began to slowly course down my cheek.

I felt her hand on my shoulder as I tried to stifle a slow sob and wondered how she got to this side of the conference room table so quickly? Was there a fan buzzing in the room?

"It's alright, Elizabeth... Just relax. I understand... I'll tell Jacob you're not up for this assignment," she said softly.

"Nahaa," and I tried to look up at Janet. "No, I want to help. I'll go."

More tears fell, and Janet handed me a tissue from the box that sat in the middle of the conference room table, and I feebly tried to dab at the tears.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes," I croaked.

There was no way I sounded confident, but something about this beckoned me to get involved. I couldn't explain it if I tried, but I would do my best to help. Of course, some of the aspects Janet shared were hitting closer to home than I cared to admit. As I thought about how she’d described what information they’d found about Amber I wondered if she somehow knew about my past; she’d mentioned...

"All right then, I'll have Kendal make the necessary reservations. She will call you as soon as she has your itinerary. I will have her issue you a company credit card, but that will probably have to be delivered to your hotel. She'll have a car pick you up tomorrow morning to get you to the airport and from the airport in Phoenix to the hotel. I'll authorize a $500 per diem for expenses and a $1,000 stipend which will be later classified as a bonus, so don't worry about accounting for that."

She was writing all this down as fast as she was speaking. There was a long pause, and I wondered if she had asked me something.

"I think it is best that you take the rest of the day, go home, pack, relax... I think Jacob wanted you for the rest of this week, through next Friday. If it goes longer, we can reevaluate. We'll clear your work and reassign as necessary. Any questions for me?"

I slowly shook my head.

"OK, then," she pulled a business card from her pocket and wrote on it. "This card has my direct contact numbers. I can be reached at each of these numbers, and if unavailable for some reason, I'll get back to you within five minutes. Now, listen to me closely," she paused to make sure we were making eye contact. "You will call me daily and let me know what is going on with the investigation, with Jacob, with everything. Are we clear?" Janet's tone wasn't bitchy, but it left no doubt who I was expected to answer to.

"I understand, Ms. Larson."

"Write your cell phone number here for me," she said as she slid her tablet in front of me.

I did as requested. She looked at the number, nodded, thanked me for agreeing to help, and exited when it was obvious I had nothing to add or had any questions.

I felt very alone in the silence of the empty conference room. I wasn't cold anymore, but I was sure my cheap makeup was shot. I gathered my supplies and made my way back to my office. I packed my backpack, grabbed my coat and purse, and headed to catch an early bus home.

March 8th, 6:11 p.m.
It took only two hours to make it to my apartment in Kent. The bus ride mid-day was much quicker than during the rush-hour commute. I was home by 4:45 PM rather than the usual 7:00 PM. My daily commute averaged three hours and two bus changes, plus a short walk on both ends, in total. If I could afford a car, insurance, and the monthly parking fee, I would probably be able to cut my commute time in half. Commutes to Seattle sucked!

Kendal called while I was still on the bus to give me the details of the trip. I was flying first class on Alaska Airlines direct to Phoenix, leaving at 6:44 AM. A car would be at my apartment at 4:30 AM to take me to the airport. This would be the second time I had flown in my life, the first time in first class.

I hadn't flown since I was 10 years old, when my family went to Disneyland. I remember my brother Alex being consumed back then with the Pirates of the Caribbean, Matterhorn, and pretty much everything on the California Adventure side of the park. I remember I just wanted to see the princesses and be one of them. That thought reminded me that I hadn't talked to him in almost a year.

Augh… I didn't want to think about my family right now!

Okay, the good news was that I could check in online at any time for the flight, according to Kendal. She also said I would be staying at the Canyon Suites in Scottsdale, which was only a few miles from Jacob's sister's home. They were prepared for me to check in early, and there would be a driver at the airport waiting for me.

"Look for the placard with your name on it in baggage claim," she had said.

That’s pretty fancy, right? How did I rate such VIP accommodations?

Kendal said payroll had processed the stipend and the money would be available to withdraw tomorrow morning from my checking account. She mentioned that American Express would be delivering my corporate credit card to the hotel by noon tomorrow. I needed to keep all receipts and fill out an expense report when I got back to the office.

Lastly, she said all this would be detailed in an email. I stopped trying to memorize the details and stared out the bus window at the gray and rain as I made my way home. I wondered what the weather in Phoenix was like and if my brother wondered about me.

I had been thinking about the trip while staring at a pathetic selection of clothes hanging in my closet and feeling panicked that I wouldn't have enough of the right types of clothes to last the nine days I was scheduled to be in Phoenix. I picked out the dirty clothes from the hamper I'd worn Monday and Tuesday, thinking if I got them in the washers in the downstairs laundry room now, they would be done by 9:00 PM at the latest. I rushed to get that moving.

What was I going to do if I ran out of clothes to wear? If I had more time, I could try to get some new outfits from the Goodwill store that closed in an hour. Most of my better pieces were designer pieces that I had been previously enjoyed. Sure, some were dated, but it was my style—at least that's what I told myself. For what I could afford to spend on professional work clothing, shopping at the Goodwill was a godsend when Target or Wal-Mart options looked too cheap for the office.

I only have $53 in my bank account and $6 in my wallet—pointless to think I could go shopping tonight. I’d have to do what I could with what I had. Quit over thinking every single step or misstep! Why was I being so anal all of a sudden?!!

March 8th, 10:13 p.m.
I zipped the tattered suitcase shut and fired up my Android tablet to do the online check-in. I declared a single bag—two were included as a first-class flyer—and had the boarding pass sent to my phone. Wow, flying first class? It was kind of exciting to think I'd possibly be pampered while flying.

I returned to my closet and tried to figure out if there was anything else I could piece together for another outfit, but gave up. I needed to get to bed before I started doubting my value to helping Jacob’s family finding Amber. I had too many unanswered questions and a few unchecked emotions that were sure to creep in and screw me up before this was over.

I set my alarm and a second one on my phone. As I lay in the dark, the stillness slipped around me, my past creeping in, trying to drown me. I'm awake, right? Amber had made the same mistake I...

::: --- :::

I would like to acknowledge the assistance of Bronwen Welsh in proofreading and giving me insightful advice. She is an accomplished author in her own right and I appreciate her time more than I can say...

Don't be afraid to click the "Thumbs Up" icon for this short story if it's done anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so, and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter (I’d have bot’ed that bitch long ago if there was)). If you comment, I will reply, so let’s chat or not or whatever floats your noddle.

If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected] (link sends e-mail)) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

The author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Last Updated: 2/8/2024 to smooth out the story.

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March 9th, 4:59 a.m.
Getting my bag checked in was the easiest thing I'd done this morning. Just an hour before, I was struggling with my hair and makeup, and on top of those difficulties, I hated the shoes I was wearing with my Braxton skirt but they’d have to do. The Alaska counter agent was helpful, but this day was about to get worse as I realized I needed to get through the TSA gauntlet.

How the hell had that major obstacle escaped every part of my planning and obsessing over every detail for this trip?

A perk of flying first class I hadn’t realized was that there was a premium line to get through the security check, and at this time of the morning, that line was nearly empty compared to the general screening lines. I made my way nervously to the TSA pre-check agent manning the podium and handed him my boarding pass and driver's license.

He looked over the two, looked at me, passed my documents back, and said, "Have a nice flight."

I should have been more panicked, but I was Xanax-fortified, and I had successfully made it through the first hurdle of governmental checks of flyers. Curious that he didn't question my appearance compared to my boarding pass? I glanced at it and saw why, 'Edward Gallagher'—it matched my driver's license, the one I was too poor to go through the legal process of getting changed. Why didn't this part of getting to Phoenix register last night when I checked in online?

This was yet another thing I had totally spaced on—a detail, a fact—lost in the swirl of crushing pressures of being me, Elizabeth Gallagher, and agreeing to assist in the search for Amber.

My thought process was certainly clouded, and my 'on guard every waking second' having lapsed since agreeing to help in her search. I should have been in total control—albeit panicked to the edge of my ability to function, with these possibilities for problems! As I thought about it I figured it out—Kendal. When I got back, I would have to thank her for knowing I might have a problem with TSA and a ticket as my current self. She had made getting on the plane easier for me with that consideration.

Of course the next obstacle loomed large and that was getting through a scan—a body scan. This unfortunately had to be done twice because, well, I’m not exactly what I appear to be presenting as. I wasn't aware their scans were programmed for the standard genders and anomalies were flagged. The first scan was done for a female's anatomy because the TSA agent at the scanner thought she saw a female, so that's how I was scanned.

The TSA agent behind the computer screen reading the scan flagged my original screening for obvious reasons. The female agent at the scanner was polite and asked me if I was a transgendered woman, and I nodded. She spoke a code aloud and then turned to me and said with a reassuring smile, "Let's try again, Miss."

Scan: passed. No strange looks, no alarm bells went off, and I picked up my purse from the other scanning process conveyor belt and made my way to my gate.

March 9th, 6:16 a.m.
Boarding began with the typical, "Those needing additional assistance..." call. That was followed by all levels of mileage plan members and first-class passengers being invited to board. I was ahead of the curve on this one, though, and passed on loading ahead of a fully booked flight. I didn't want to be sitting there and have every passenger pass by me, wondering about how I rated or why I might look ‘off’ and maybe not CIS enough.

I guess I could have just boarded early and stared out the window or something, but being next to last on the plane sure seemed like an easier way to get on with this show. When I got to my seat, I barely got a look from anyone in first class. I pushed my purse under the seat in front of me and nodded 'no' to the offer of a beverage; I probably should have gotten water. I buckled my seatbelt, and the plane pulled back from the gate at 6:47 AM.

March 9th, 11:02 a.m.
My room was amazing; in fact the entire property was amazing and nothing short of a five-star resort. I thought the hotel would be some old Holiday Inn rebranded; happily, that wasn't the case. The weather was in the mid-seventies, pure sunshine, and nothing like the rain I left behind in Seattle this morning. I pulled things from my suitcase, hung items that needed hanging, and arranged shoes in the closet. I had the AC on, and over the drone, I heard a slight knock at the door.

I froze for a moment, making my way to the door and looked out the peephole, seeing a man in his early thirties, maybe late thirties. I did not recognize him and was about to just walk away when I heard, "Elizabeth Gallagher, I'm Paul Kline. I work for Jacob Wentz." There was a pause, "Janet Larson said I was to meet with you when you got checked in..."

Nervous energy pulsed through my veins as I opened the door and said, "I'm Elizabeth..." and I felt foolish all of a sudden.

He knew who I was, or he wouldn't be here—did he say he had talked to Janet? I stood in the doorway as if we were going to have a long conversation here in the hallway and then realizing how stupid I must look. I stepped aside, and he stepped forward, offering his hand, which I shook tentatively.

"Nice to meet you,” he said smiling. “Janet and Jacob have high praise for you. I look forward to working with you," he said as he made his way to the couch in the anteroom of the suite.

I followed, but I had no idea what I was supposed to say to that. I hadn't checked my work email yet; had Janet emailed me about this meeting? I should have logged into my work email account right after I got into my room. I knew I hadn't missed any calls or text messages since arriving. Was this guy the computer forensics specialist; why hadn't I asked Janet about this guy?

He was attractive, nice smile, maybe an inch taller than I was, and dressed business casual. He came off as being all business and was already pulling a laptop from his bag. We’re going to start now? I was felt a little uncomfortable and was hoping he didn’t expect me to be the lead on this assignment. I wasn't even sure what I was here to offer up anyway; I knew nothing about computer stuff, and I hoped he had some kind of plan.

So much for getting a power nap in before jumping into work—I guess that wasn't going to happen.

"I... I think the WiFi password is 'Scottsdale' and my room..."

"Yup, I'm staying here too; I got here Monday. I thought we could go over some of the basic stuff and get you up to speed on what I've gotten from her computer so far," he said, pulling a portable drive from his bag and plugging it in. "This is a copy of her hard drives, from both her computers. I'm still running some scans on the laptop to see if I can recover things that have been deleted. There wasn’t much on her desktop unit of value, but we can discuss that."

I just watched; he was clicking and opening windows faster than I could grasp on his laptop.

"Can I get you something to drink? Is there anything I can do?"

"No, I'm... Yeah, if you have water, that would be good. Oh, and," he pulled a stick from his bag, "If you can plug this into your TV, we won't have to crowd around this tiny screen."

I took the stick, and I’m sure I looked confused, asking, "Plug it into?"

"If you can plug it into any of the HDMI slots, there are a couple on the left side, I think."

I did as requested, grabbed the remote, and turned on the TV. The hotel entertainment menu was showing. I knew enough that the stick would be accessible via one of the TV's aux connections from his computer. I found a Google Chrome Cast listed on HDMI 3. Paul looked up, did something, and the screen went black. Five seconds passed, and Facebook was showing on the screen. Amber's Facebook—it was the first time I had seen what she looked like...

"Think I could get that water?"

I literally jumped, his voice shocking me, like static electricity. I was that focused on Amber's picture on the 42-inch TV screen. She appeared to be so much more female-looking than I had expected for only being seventeen. I turned reluctantly toward the full-size kitchen and pulled a bottle of 'complimentary' water from the refrigerator. I gave Paul the bottle, and he thanked me.

When I looked at the TV, it was in split screen mode; her Facebook account was on top, and some other computer language stuff was zipping off the screen nearly as fast as it was displaying: 'For (i 0=0;i 0 < z;i 0++)... void tBreakImg(const double a[20])'. It looked like complete gibberish to me.

"I'm trying to recover anything hashed—well, lost sectors, actually—from her hard drives." He was banging keys and obviously lost in his own thoughts, as if I were just a fixture in the room.

After a couple minutes of silence, nothing moving on the Facebook side of the TV, and lots of computer garbage flying by still, I couldn't take being ignored any longer.

"Have you talked to Mr. Wentz?"

"One second... Okay, last," he kept typing, not even looking at me. "There. Yeah, Jacob and I met this morning for breakfast. He's meeting with someone from the FBI," he said, looking at his watch. "Now I think. Anyway, he wants you to see what I've found. See if we can turn any of this stuff into leads for the police or FBI if Jacob can secure some assistance. Tonight we're having dinner at Carson's. Jacob wants you to check out her room, ask questions of Carson's, not sure what else Jacob has in mind for the day."

Wait, what?

"We're going to Mr. Wentz's sisters' house tonight?" I could feel my voice was shaky having asked that.

Paul turned away from his screen to look at me for the first time in nearly two minutes.

"Is that going to be a problem?" he asked.

I'm sure his tone didn't hold any malice, but he didn't get any of this—me, me being here, what I have to deal with just to function as me around people—none of it. I looked at him a few seconds before saying, "No, but I wasn't expecting this to move so quickly."

Paul's face showed no real emotion; maybe a little confusion?

"Time is of the essence, Elizabeth; we're now seven days behind Amber, and not much is known," he paused to study my face. "Are you going to be alright with this?"

No! I mean, I don't know yet.

"I don't know..." I said, trying to collect my thoughts. "To be honest, I'm probably way outside my comfort zone."

"How can I make this easier for you?" he asked, his voice sounding sincere.

"I just... Ah, I don't think you understand."

"I know and understand more about you than you think."

"What? What does that mean?" I went from stunned and near cowering to having an angry lump in my throat.

"You were born Edward Anson Gallagher in Seattle twenty-three years ago. You got my GED three years ago and graduated from Tacoma Community College four months ago with a paralegal certificate…"

"What the hell!" Did this guy run some kind of background on me? Why did he run a background check on me? What else did he know? This is bullshit! This isn't right! What's going on here?

"All I'm saying, Elizabeth, is that I know a little bit about you and where you're coming from, but that doesn't mean I understand your journey. Jacob and Janet think you are valuable to the search, and so do I, because I don't understand a lot of things I've found. I won't pretend to know where this kid was going in life, but you probably do, and you're going to make way more sense of the stuff I’ve found than I ever could. We're on the same side, with the same goal—bringing Amber home."

I wanted to bite his head off, and at the same time, I wanted to run. It almost sounded like he had just complimented me, or was he putting me in a box? Damn it! Amber, or for me, this wasn't some kind of mental disease or whatever he thought. It wasn't a game with her or I we decided to ‘play’ or whatever! God damn you! Breathe... I needed to figure out quickly how to move this along without us stepping on each other or being at each other's throats. Rules: set some ground rules for working together. Go with what you know, drag him along if you have to.

"Ah, okay, but I'm not some experiment for you to try to figure out. I am who I am, and I will not apologize or walk on eggshells around you for the next however many days. Are we clear?"

Paul looked confused. "Whoa. Dial it back a few notches. I'm not the enemy, and I'm not saying..."

"No, we're going to establish some ground rules, and rule number one is that I'm not part of this investigation. I'm not the subject matter; my past is mine alone, and I will not be the focus of any of this investigation. Do you think you know me? Think again!"

I had raised my voice angrily to shout that at him, and I probably sounded like a raspy Stevie Nicks with laryngitis. I could feel my nails digging into my clenched fists and tried to relax.

"Wow, I feel like I should leave and come back in again," he said calmly with the slightest of grins.

I was angry, scared, and scared for Amber. I was scared I was going to let Janet and Jacob down. I was scared that some of the pieces of my past life I hadn’t fully resolved, buried deep, were going to trickle out during this whole process. Slow it down, slow down the doom speak already!

"No, you don't need to leave," I said calmly. "But you need to understand that none of the decisions, actions, or whatever came without a lot of pain and consequences." I was rambling and just stopped before I started to sound preachy. I had said that for Amber’s benefit, but also mine, because it was true.

"I would never try to minimize anything you or Amber have gone through." Paul's face, now very somber, looked away. "I know a little bit about the pain a family goes through—the pain, the blame, and the shame." His voice sounded as if it were breaking a little.

I wanted to say something but was lost as to where this conversation had just gone—how could he know about the family dynamic going on with Amber or with my family? Paul stood, looked toward the window, and took a slow breath in.

"My brother came," he paused, "came out as being gay. It did not go over to well with my family." He walked to the window, pulled the curtain aside, and looked out. "About a year later, he committed suicide. He was seventeen. While not exactly... I think I know about some of the things you've gone through."

I felt an instant and intense emptiness in my chest.

"I'm so sorry...," I whispered.

Three rapid beeps from Paul's computer interrupted this posturing I was so determined to win—until Paul shared his brother’s story. I watched him as he continued to stare out the window. A hand went to his face for a moment. I thought about going over to...

Three more rapid beeps from the computer, and he turned to look at the TV screen. His left cheek was a little wet. He excused himself and went to the bathroom. I could hear him blowing his nose.

March 9th, 11:48 a.m.
The computer beeps turned out to be a good thing. It knocked us off a destructive path I’d taken us down the last however many minutes. Yes, I was being a bitch, but I wasn't going to be someone's pincushion or punching bag or experiment or avenue to my dark side or whatever.

Our focus returned to finding clues to Amber's disappearance as quickly as we took that detour thankfully. Paul revealing his brother's story flipped a switch in me, and I started to believe that maybe he wasn't the enemy or had overstepped in his looking into my background. I had an overwhelming urge to hug him, but only to say that I got it. We got back to the business at hand with nary a word to either of our positions we’d thrown at each other.

The laptop's first beep told Paul that the process of file recovery on Amber's desktop hard drive was complete. There were a few files, mostly selfies of her trying on various outfits in various boutiques—at least three different ones. They were older according to the date-time stamps, Paul said, a year and a half at least. One of the pictures caught Amber's mom, Stephanie, in a mirror smiling about something. They looked very much like the mother-daughter pair you would expect, both smiling, maybe giggling, and seemingly enjoying shopping together.

Paul had already met Amber's parents and said he didn't sense anything but support for their daughter's chosen path. From the little I had seen of her Facebook account, which had maybe twenty or fewer posts, the last being well over three months ago. She looked to be getting more than enough support from her parents in the pictures, but not so much from her friends; in fact, for a teen, I expected much more communication on this wide-reaching social platform.

There was nothing much to see actually, not even bullying of any kind. I thought that was odd. She had less than fifty friends in total, wasn't following anything Trans or LGBTQ+ related, and the posts with pictures of herself in them was only about ten—all very tasteful ones of her in outfits from cute dresses to pajamas. It seemed excessively sterile. I wondered if someone had made changes to her account, posts having been deleted before we could inspect what was there. Was there a way we could find that out?

In comparison, my Facebook account had every transgender or LGBTQ+ group out there, especially the local Seattle ones. I had hundreds of friends, and my last post was from last weekend, where I commented on some legal action against the city of New Orleans for discriminating against a lesbian passed over for a promotion. While nothing in any of my posts was wild, it didn't take a genius to know where I stood on the issues. I didn't flaunt my sexuality or try to force it down anyone's throat, but I used Facebook as a way to legitimize my being just another woman out there.

Facebook was a long cry from the swamps I used to frequent.

It was probably obvious when people looked at the few pictures I had posted of myself, that I was Trans. The last picture was of me on my first day of work at Brandt, Wentz, and Larson three months ago. I hated pictures of myself because they screamed 'dude in drag' generally. My shoulders were too wide, long legs with a shorter torso, hair never quite right when I posed... Augh! STOP IT!

Okay, it would be a lie to say I wasn't envious of Amber, of how she looked as female as if she were born a girl, and of the support she had, which boiled down to her family's love for her and, of course, money. Get over yourself! This work we’re doing isn’t about me!

But, hadn’t I struggled? I made it to here almost all by myself—fuck not having money! Yes, it sucked to be disowned by my father and brother. It sucked! I barely had a speaking relationship with my mom, which was a different assortment of problems, like the Forest Gump box of chocolates. In my case, though, each chocolate tasted like shit from that box, generally speaking.

And, I owed my mom money for college and whatever else it took to survive this past year—money she had loaned me without my dad's knowledge, I was sure. I paid her two hundred dollars last month and promised to increase that in the months to come until I had paid her back nearly four thousand dollars. Hello! Relevance? Grrr!!! Focus!

I needed to suppress my jealous reactions to the comments Paul was making about Amber's appearance as he scrolled through her pictures. Yes, she looked cute. Not helpful, dude. To distract him from frothing at the mouth more about Amber, I got him talking about computer forensics stuff by asking him stupid questions. Luckily, he was pretty easily distracted, especially for such a smart guy. Ha! Take that boi! I smiled thinking I’d gotten one over on him.

The tech talk continued with Paul explaining that there was a bulk of disk space that couldn't be recovered on her desktop computer's hard drive due to the read/write operations of the computer's operating system, which plunked down data wherever it wanted. I didn't pretend to understand half the shit he was spouting, but at least I didn't have to hear more compliments about Amber for a couple of minutes. In his estimation, the desktop wasn't used much, so whatever we couldn't recover was likely more of the same, older pictures of Amber.

I wrote down a question on a hotel notepad: When did Amber get her laptop?

The second beep of Paul's laptop signaled the completion of the recovery process of anything deleted from Amber's 1TB laptop hard drive. It was a haul of over one thousand files, consisting of Word documents, pictures, and video files—along with some system files, of course. The earliest deleted file was from a year ago, and Paul mentioned that was when the laptop was first used. The initial Windows update from the factory-installed operating system was a week before the date of the first file deletion date. Okay, so that's the answer to the question of when she got the laptop, I thought. Why a laptop a year ago? Was it a gift? Shit, it was a present!

I blurted out, "Do you know when Amber's birthday is?"

"It was last Friday; why do you ask?"

"I was just trying to figure out the reason for her getting the laptop; guess that answers that question."

"Yeah, she just turned eighteen."

Eighteen... 'Legal age of majority' or when you're considered an adult legally in all states except Alabama and Nebraska, which are nineteen.

"Did her parents say anything about her wanting anything, I don't know, like a tattoo or something, but they were against it?"

"I didn't think to ask, but I'm pretty sure she already has a couple tattoos." Paul said that by clicking open a new window that appeared on the TV, replacing the computer language gibberish window, "Got these..."

The screen showed his file explorer and six images in 'Extra Large Icons' mode. He highlighted them and clicked 'Preview'.

The first was Amber's hand, dark ink in intricate line patterns—a Henna tattoo. She had perfectly manicured nails. Stop! Fuck the nails! The tattoo wasn't something permanent—focus! There were four other pictures of Henna tattoos: on her feet and the side of her chest. That picture was of an orchid and included her Henna tattooed hand covering her left breast so you could see the orchid. Tattoo aside, she had breasts! Small but none the less breasts, and that meant HRT.

"Did her parents say anything about HRT?"

"I didn't ask, but I assumed so; it's kind of obvious from the pictures of her..."

I couldn’t take any more of his complimenting her and interrupted him mid-sentence, "What's the date on this photo?"

Paul checked, "A year ago. Is that significant?"

"No, I'm trying to put what I know into a time line. She comes out to her parents sometime when she's fifteen and this picture is from a year ago, and that makes her about seventeen—give or take. I was told her coming out was 'difficult' for the family. She obviously started HRT not that long after getting over whatever was 'difficult' for the family at fifteen and there a changing to full support of her transition."

"Well, this picture is going to muck things up for your time line, I think," he said.

I looked back at the TV to see a picture of Amber shooting a selfie over her shoulder in a mirror. The picture showed her backside, a beautifully shaped female’s naked ass, her smiling with a knowing grin, and centered at the base of her hips at the center was a colorful tramp stamp tattoo. It consisted of tribal-inked wings in black, powder blue, and lime green for accent. There was a small pink crown centered on top of the wings.

The tattoo looked cute—nothing I would ever do, but it appeared to be well done. It wasn't huge, so later in life she probably wasn't going to regret it. It also appeared to have been done recently, as the skin around it was red and some of the lines of the tattoo appeared raised.

"Did her parents mention her getting or having a tattoo?"

"No, this is the first time I've seen it, and trust me I've seen more of her than I care to admit."

I wasn't sure what that meant and ignored it, asking, "When was it taken?"

"This past Friday, her birthday,"

"Look at the clock. It says 3:41, and the edge of the curtains is here." I was now standing at the TV, pointing, "It's dark outside the window, so she got someone to do this after midnight on her birthday—Friday morning."

"Oh, shit. Good catch."

"She went missing Friday," I said, thinking aloud.

"Her school reported her missing from class Friday mid-morning."

Okay, she gets a tattoo the morning of her disappearance; that's an avenue to pursue—tattoo parlors. The question is: Why take a picture of it and not share it? Why take it and then delete it? Paul had been over her phone and online presence; this picture was not there, I assumed, or he would have mentioned it.

"I don't understand why she would take the picture and then delete it," he said offhandedly.

"I was just thinking that," and I wondered if his skills went beyond computers and into the paranormal—like mind reading. "Have you been able to crack into her email account, assuming she has one?" That was stupid—what teenager didn't have at least one email account?

"I got access to one of her accounts, but there wasn't anything of interest there. I don't think she used it much."

"How did you get in?"

"She had a Post-It note in her room with user IDs and passwords to various accounts—no computer magic involved with that. The police actually found it during their search," he said smiling as if he’d complimented the police about their investigative skills.

He began concentrating on the laptop screen I studied him for a second, thinking he had a nice smile.

"Various accounts?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's dark stuff. Let's concentrate on what we've got mined here from the deleted files; then I'll take you to the dark side of her online presence."

"Okay, that's a little cryptic, but whatever..."

Paul clicked on the first directory of recovered files from Amber's laptop and sorted them in order of file type.

"She left a Post-It note, so maybe there's a file here that will get us into some of her accounts or accounts we don't know about," he said concentrating on what he was doing.

I watched him highlight twenty or so PDF files and opened them all at once. They were in the '_Care' directory, and I watched the files overlay quickly on the TV. He closed the split-screen view, and the screen showed more of the opened files. It was evident that these were all SRS-related, a mix of technical medical information and blog entries from various websites.

Pictures in some of the PDF's contained actual surgical procedures documented in living color and some present-day new techniques were described in regard to nerve preservation during surgery. Heavy stuff for a teenager—even if this was the end goalie you wanted for yourself one day. I would be curious to review these privately to get a sense of what she was looking for or at specifically. I knew enough about this stuff already, but I’d never be able to afford it for years to come if I could even save up the money to do it eventually do it.

Paul copied links from some of the files, when available, and pasted them in a document he pulled up involving his research to date.

"We can go back over these sites later. Let's say she was looking to—as an adult—run off to get SRS; maybe these sites are a place to start."

Nice thought, but you don't just walk in and order up SRS like you would a Big Mac at McDonald's; it's way more complicated than that. Paul getting up from the couch and walking to the bathroom interrupted my snarky train of thought. I watched him walk to the door and close it behind him. He had a nice ass—not that I cared or anything, but I could give him that.

Paul returned a few minutes later, which had given me a chance to check my phone—no messages, a few personal emails, but nothing worth reading. I thought about grabbing my Android tablet to log into my work email, but he didn't spend as much time in the bathroom as I had hoped.

"These SRS files are likely a dead end; I doubt you can just get that kind of surgery without a lot of work leading up to something that big. That and the cost factor are probably pretty high."

Fucking shit! Is this guy in my mind?!!

"I agree...," was all I could muster in reply. I was going to lose my shit if he said anything about me thinking he had a nice ass. I thought of another question: did Amber have a passport? I wrote that down.

The next several directories had mostly pictures and video downloads. Paul's comment about Amber's dark side became a little clearer. Much of the stuff we looked at had no value or benefit to her transition struggle to be who she was on the inside. When there were no more pictures of shemale like porn to view, Paul queued up the first video. He paused and looked a little uncomfortable.

"I'm... I'm not really a fan of this kind of stuff, but we need to see if Amber appears in any of it. I highly doubt it. I can fast forward through them quickly, so keep an eye out for her, though most of these are probably staged professional releases. If any are of these are of the 'amateur' variety, that's our best chance of catching her."

Shit, are you kidding me? This wasn't healthy, and I could speak from first-hand knowledge on that. Of course there was no way in hell I was going to say that, ever!

"I understand..."

What did he mean by 'keep an eye out for her'? Had he seen her in something already posted online?

For over thirty minutes, we fast-forwarded too many video clips to count. The saving grace was that by fast-forwarding the videos, we didn’t have to ‘hear’ the action on the screen. That cut down on the awkwardness of this exercise, though maybe not completely the arousal factor. I wondered if Paul felt the same way. No, he said as much—this wasn’t his thing. Someone like me wasn’t his cup of tea. Augh…

Near the halfway mark of the collection of videos, Paul stated what I already had figured out. Amber had been involved in making videos and posting them online. He mentioned there was evidence she was also live streaming from her bedroom. I knew that already, but it still made my heart sink a little; none of this was a good sign. I sensed there was more, but we weren't really talking much as the video images pathetically zipped across the TV screen.

I asked if her parents knew about her being online. He looked away from the TV to study me for a moment.

"Yes, the police found evidence of her being online pretty early on. Jacob said it was a heartbreaking blow to them I think."

I shook my head and continued to watch as a familiar sadness crept into my thoughts. We sat in silence until all the videos had been viewed.

"Was there undeleted content on her laptop, like this stuff?" I meekly asked.

"Yes, but nothing useful. Between this bunch of deleted stuff and the undeleted stuff, we're looking at plenty of sites she either downloaded or surfed and may have uploaded too, as a minor I’m thinking. There’s stuff she was featured in," he paused as if measuring what he was about to say. "Any idea of why she would be involved in this kind of thing?"

I felt my throat tighten a little and jokingly blurted out, "How much time do you have?" My joke was lost on him, and I stammered to recover. "A lot of it is a need for attention, even if it's not the good kind... You're alone a lot of the time, depressed, sad, numb, and adrift, because people don't know what you're going through or understand how you are about to lose your mind trying to find your way through your transition... Something as simple as a smile from another human being can carry you over the distance of the largest desert."

I was reaching clumsily to explain the trap, and it really was a trap.

"Some of the attraction is a feeling of being wanted—you feel validated, gratified... Then again, some people are all about the kink, the fetish... The trap is that this shit takes you away from where you really wanted to go in the first place. Who you want to really be when you come out the other side. Then there’s the lure of easy money; people are willing to pay to see something considered taboo." I stopped, slowly exhaling. Did I answer the question?

I must have, because Paul brought up another directory and began opening documents. It contained what looked like stories—fictional stories pulled from a site called Big Closet. Yet another site I would have to check out, as I'd never heard of it.

He was clicking through Word documents now, some containing medical information regarding transformation and some that looked like diary entries, which, on closer inspection, appeared to be from a MTF woman describing her life after SRS. Paul was organizing the documents, which were too many to count, into categories and saving them for later review. He was about to close a Word document that had only 'parola d'ordine' in it.

"What's that?"

"No idea," he said, closing it and moving the file to a document directory.

"Can we Google that?"

"I guess..." He opened the file again, copied the words and pasted them into a browser window, hit enter, and said, "Oh shit!"

The Google results listed on the TV screen appeared, and I couldn't help but speak it aloud: "A Password..."

"No, don't you see?" The TV screen flipped back to the document, and he clicked some keys, highlighting everything on the page, and there were user IDs and passwords for email accounts and sites. I wasn't how that could be. "She used white text on a white page background to hide this stuff from view," he said excitedly.

Paul was instantly energized by the find and tried the credentials for Amber's Tumblr account. They worked!

"This changes everything," he said with a big smile.

While it was awesome that we had access, what was showing on the screen was anything but... Amber, in an animated GIF, was being taken from behind by an overweight older man. The scene wasn't more than a couple seconds long and repeated itself in a loop.

This investigation was about to get much darker.

::: --- :::

I would like to acknowledge the assistance of Bronwen Welsh in proofreading and giving me insightful advice. She is an accomplished author in her own right and I appreciate her time more than I can say...

Don't be afraid to click the "Thumbs Up" icon for this short story if it's done anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so, and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter (I’d have bot’ed that bitch long ago if there was)). If you comment, I will reply, so let’s chat or not or whatever floats your noddle.

If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected] (link sends e-mail)) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

The author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Last Updated: 2/9/2024 to smooth out portions of the story.

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March 9th, 6:18 p.m.
We arrived late to Carson's for dinner. It was a mixed bag of emotions for me as we walked to their front door because I hated being late for anything and I really didn’t want to be here, at least not yet. I was ‘time’ anal and never arrived at a set appointment any later than ten minutes before it started. Being late by nearly twenty minutes made me anxious and made me feel like any fidgeting I did was hyper-pronounced.

I needed another Xanax; the one from this morning had long worn off and I was annoyed at Paul because he didn't seem to care about being late! That annoyed me beyond words. He was getting pretty good at reading my mind, having done that twice so far, why hadn't he picked up on how being late pissed me off? Grrr!!!

My mind right now was still in investigation mode and I didn’t want to be here and use brain cycles for needless chit-chat that would offer clues as to where Amber was. I’d much rather being back at the hotel where we left so many leads unchecked. That gnawed at me and made me hyperaware that my attitude could certainly be better right now. Could everyone see I was conflicted and wanted to be anywhere but here?

After entering the Carson's beautiful home, the obvious protocol was for introductions. I was dreading this since learning we were coming here this evening. Paul shook Jacob's hand, then Amber's dad's hand—Gary, and then her mother's—Stephanie. I went through the same greeting line, apologizing each time for being late. Yeah, I’m that anal! Give it a rest damn it!

Did I sound lame, neurotic, nervous, or whatever giving that apology? I hoped people didn’t judge me as odd and my being here would go mostly unnoticed. Breathe…

We were ushered without further ceremony to the formal dining room. There were just five place settings, which meant the other two Carson children would not be joining us for dinner. Drinks were offered and delivered quickly by what I assumed was a live-in butler or chef.

I downed my glass of water within the first couple minutes and wished I had asked for two glasses or the guy had left the water pitcher on the table instead of taking it back to the kitchen. Everyone else was either drinking wine or beer – yup, I’m the odd woman out! The five of us spaced oddly around the large table didn’t provide me with enough distance to make me stop being self-conscious about every move I made, every mannerism, or simply blinking.

Thankfully Paul wasted no time in launching into what we'd found without being prompted. That was a huge relief, because I did not want to talk details. I sat back and focused on not making eye contact with Amber's parents or Jacob, for that matter.

On our way over, Paul and I discussed Amber's activities thus far. What he considered 'dark' were her webcam broadcasts from her room, videos of her with all manner of toys—masturbating, posing, lingerie, or whatever. He had that same opinion about her many suggestive pictures.

I wouldn’t have classified any of that as 'dark'. That stuff was certainly 'gray' area worthy and barely approached the scale of being 'dark' content. In contrast, the looping Tumblr graphic image of her being taken from behind – that was absolutely 'dark'. You’ll learn Mr. Kline and you’ll see the real hell, to the real 'dark' soon enough!

Until we stumbled onto that Tumblr graphic, I thought Amber might be skirting the edge of 'dark' content posting. I thought she was all about ‘teasing’ to the edge of that chasm, playing for attention, and not really willing to cross that line. I of course was wrong.

The only bright spot in finding that Tumblr posting was it had been posted on Monday. It was impossible to know when the actual graphic had been captured or who had posted it, but it could mean she was still alive. Assuming Amber had posted it didn't make that discovery any better or worse in the scope of things. Guess we needed to hold onto her still being out there, which was encouraging, but we didn't have solid proof yet.

Paul explained to the Carson’s what new leads we'd found. He outlined our summation of her activities online, careful to keep it generic, but I could sense they knew it was worse than what he was disclosing. Jacob chimed in to say the police hadn't been given access to these new accounts we had access to and wouldn’t until he’d talked to his FBI contact.

Paul explained that the blank appearing Word document we found had broken it all open for us. It contained credentials to three different email accounts, an Amazon wish list, and two different porn sites. The good news was nothing we found on those porn sites yet contained anything she was featured in. Then he detailed the money side of her activities—the PayPal and Patreon accounts.

He mentioned that it was my persistence that got us this far and I cringed, thinking I could have done without the attention. I got a tiny nod from Jacob and Gary, but a blank stare from Stephanie who appeared to be trying to burn my skin off with her glare. On the plus side, there was evident relief on behalf of Carson's regarding the Tumblr post timing. I think if they knew what the post was, it would certainly be relief smeared with horror and disappointment in their daughter.

Questions flew quickly from Stephanie about the Tumblr post and Paul answered each one patiently, with real class and compassion. I was impressed and grateful I wasn't on the spot for answering. The questions ranged from: Where is she? Did she look alright?
It was heartbreaking to hear their anguish. At one point Jacob interjected, turning the tide back to our investigation and instructing Paul to keep this information close, meaning no one was to share it with the police, until we'd had a little more time to comb through it and possibly the FBI got involved.

Then Jacob described his meeting with the local FBI director. He said it was productive, and by early next week there would be a resource for us to use. There were a few things the director was going to look into and get back to Jacob on with whatever information Paul had already supplied them. That got approving nods around the table, but it felt like the Carson’s already knew everything Jacob was saying.

I wanted to blurt out questions but held my tongue. I felt like I was on the outside looking in still and not yet accepted in this group of searcher. It was hard to justify my value to these people, since I had been Amber four years ago and that made me possibly the opposite of someone they’d expect to be value added to the investigation. I certainly didn’t want to talk about my past with them, but sensed they had suspicions.

Paul continued describing Amber's activities, going over browser history; while it had been deleted, he was able to pull up a list of sites she visited regardless. How? I wish I knew, because I'd like to destroy that kind of shit on my own personal computer and Android tablet, though on my tablet I was using an app to mask my browsing via a proxy server. That could probably be figured out by someone as skilled as Paul.

Eventually Paul dove into the last two accounts we found and their significance, which was that they were being used to manage subscription content Amber was providing to people. We had plenty to comb through just in terms of the subscription content and subscribers, and he left it with we would be working around the clock to come up with solid answers.

I hoped it was a figure of speech; I felt spent from a day that seemed twenty hours long already. When he mentioned that the amount of money in the accounts totaled nearly twenty thousand dollars, Carson's gasped. Yeah, people paid to see this shit – welcome to hell…

March 9th, 7:51 p.m.
Stephanie had excused herself from finishing eating with us. Gary apologized after she had left, but it wasn't like we didn't get it. The conversation over dinner was limited to a few discoveries Paul went into further detail about, but mostly the men talked about the Mariner's upcoming season. Jacob was a season ticket holder, and Gary must have followed them, and whatever the Arizona team was—the Diamondbacks?

I had picked at my plate the entire time—not that the food didn't smell amazing—I just didn't have an appetite. I forced myself to finish my salad and two more glasses of water, which prompted a request for a bathroom. It was a relief to get away from the table, but upon returning, the vibe was very different. The table had been cleared, and dessert was being placed before everyone—some kind of pie. I would have to press Paul as to what I had missed.

When I made no move to touch the dessert, Gary asked if I wanted to see Amber's room. Paul had already been through the room, so there was no reason to duplicate efforts, but I felt obligated to agree since Jacob was there and maybe it was expected my ‘Tran-radar’ would pick up something everyone had missed. I had to give the appearance of participating, even though I knew this was going to be hard for the Carson's.

I followed Gary to Amber's room; it was on the first floor and, at some point, had probably been a large bonus room converted into a bedroom. Gary wasn't cold, but he was a little standoffish. I couldn't put a finger on it, but then again I didn’t have a missing child who was wrapped up in the seedy underbelly that is porn.

"Feel free to look around," he said, walking to a large walk-in closet, opening the door, flipping the light on, and staring into the closet. "The police and Paul have been through everything. If you could just put things back where you found them, that would be,” he turned to face me, "My wife and I really do appreciate you helping us in finding Amber."

He walked head-down out of the room without saying another word.

Augh... A lump was now solidly in my throat, making it hard to swallow. I felt tears welling and stood up straighter—I can't go there! What do I know? What's in this room? What were you thinking, Amber?

I surveyed the room, and everything you'd expect was there in a teenage girl’s room. There were pink pillows and a light green comforter on a double bed, stuffed animals, and a poster of a boy band and one of Bruno Mars. A clock radio—one I was already familiar with—in fact, this corner of the room looked exactly like the picture from her tattoo selfie. That meant, I turned to see a freestanding mirror behind me and I stood where she must have stood to take that picture—yup, I've seen this view before.

A first-floor bedroom meant she could escape through the window easy enough or someone could have maybe abducted her. I pulled the curtain aside and looked out into the darkened back yard. It would be a short skip around the side of the house; the driveway would be right there, and she'd be in the street out front in less than twenty seconds. Did Carson's have a security system with cameras? Did their neighbors? I'm sure those things were covered by the police canvassing the neighborhood. We would have been told about that if they had found anything significant I assumed.

I walked to her desk, pulled the chair back, and sat down. There was a mirror on the wall, makeup, brushes, a hairdryer, a curling iron—everything she would need to get ready daily. Wherever she was, she would need all this stuff; she had to replace it. Question: Did she have a bank account? Access to credit cards? I looked behind me to her closet; it was packed with clothes, shoes, coats, and other items. She would need clothing also; what's the cost to be whole in regards to the wardrobe? What about her prescriptions? Were they missing?

I got up and wandered into her closet, thumbing through various blouses, skirts, and dresses. I was jealous and envious. I had less than a third of the outfits she had—fuck! She had at least forty pairs of shoes—heels, flats, Ugg boots in three colors, riding boots, cowgirl boots—and I began to fume. Seriously! Three pairs of Ugg's! Focus...

There was a chest of drawers in the closet, and I pulled out the top drawer, socks. I felt around to see if there was something hidden, nope. The second drawer contained her lingerie. There was expensive shit mixed in with cheap Victoria Secrets stuff. What was striking was that there weren't just ten or fifteen pairs of panties, there were over thirty.

Was all this a result of her Amazon wish list stuff? Were fans sending her things somehow? Did she sell these after wearing them? Did stuff get delivered here if she ordered stuff? The last couple of drawers contained leggings, stretch pants, sweats, PJ's, three garter belts, hose, and four bustiers. I shook my head—what the fuck!

This kid had ever had an opportunity given to her on a silver fucking platter, and she walked out on it? What the hell am I missing here? I sensed movement behind me and spun around, startled.

"Oh, Mrs. Carson, I was just looking to... I mean to see if I could," I was struggling to speak so stopped and just stared at her.

"We removed some of the items you might be looking for," she replied just above a whisper.

"Ah, no... That really isn't what I was... No," I looked to my right and flipped the light switch off, exited the closet, and shut the door.

Oh my God! Awkward! I wasn't trying to find her collection of dildos or vibrators! But she just admitted they had removed them. Did that mean the police—maybe even Paul—had seen them? Or not? I certainly didn't need to see that shit!

"Jacob told us that you are a transgendered woman," she was still speaking at just above a whisper, and with the thumping of my heart in my ears I almost missed her asking, "Why?"

Oh God, ‘Why?’ Why what? Why am I Trans? Why did Amber leave? Why had she done some of the things she had? How was I supposed to answer that?

"I think I'm as baffled as you, Mrs. Carson. By all appearances, Amber had everything, and... I mean, I just don't get it, not yet at least." I tried to sound hopeful, but I could sense that my voice didn't match that intended sentiment.

"Jacob said you've had similar experiences."

Okay, what the fuck! I tried to control shock at hearing people knew about my past, but I could feel my face flushing. I was going to kill Paul! I quickly regained my composure by breathing slowly, focusing... The best interview technique I have found is to reverse the rolls: be interviewed, but be the question asker, not the question answerer.

"I've had some rough times. Is there any reason you can think of that would make Amber just disappear?"

"No... She was happy we thought. School was good; she got excellent grades."

"Did she have many friends?" I knew the answer already given her Facebook account.

"No, but it didn't seem to bother her. We talked plenty of times about it, about becoming involved with support groups for those who are transgendered." She turned and pulled the desk chair out and sat before continuing, "Her psychiatrist was happy with her progress. Amber was right in line with where she thought she should be."

I had so many questions I wanted to ask, but I had to rein in my need to blurt them out in a verbal stream of diarrhea.

"When did she start hormones, I mean HRT? Were there any complications?"

"Just after her sixteenth birthday, we were told the dosing would be moderate at first, but she did so well that that gate was crossed after the second month. Dosing was increased to what we were told were standard levels according to her doctor, since she hadn’t had any adverse effects. The testosterone blockers were probably tough at first, but she was fine with the dosing after a month." She sat back in the chair, crossing her legs casually, "When did you start your transition?"

No, no, no... I'm asking the questions, I’m not some freak show exhibit for you to try and understand.

"A year and a half ago,” I offered to not be rude, but powered on. “So she had no close friends? No one knew what she was doing in regards to her internet."

"No, not really... Gary and I had no idea what she was up too. I blame myself; I doted over her." She fell silent for a second, "I loved all my sons equally, but I really did love having a daughter."

Question answered: Amber was one of three boys.

"I know most parents would give their all to making their children's lives all they want them to be, Mrs. Carson. I'm sure no one blames…” Shit, that wasn't what I wanted to say and recovered quickly with, “Thinks you or Mr. Carson brought this about?"

Fuck! I probably just stepped into it big time!

"Thank you... We just want her home. We will be there for her, to help her through all of this."

"I'm sure she knows you both are there for her."

"I just need to understand this—what she's going through, how I can fix it," she huffed the last couple words as if she had been defeated. "How did you make it through all this, this, and this nightmare?"

Oh shit... I didn’t want to talk about this! We should be focusing on Amber, not me. I tried to think of a way around talking about myself and settled on trying to keep it generic.

"To be honest, Mrs. Carson, I just did. I made plenty of poor choices, but I learned that those choices weren't making me the real and authentic woman I wanted to be. It was hard, and I didn't have the support of a loving family to have my back. My mom did what she could without screwing up the orbit she has with my dad, but in the end, I had to hit rock bottom before I could stand on my own."

And I stopped talking as if the off button on my brain had been clicked. It was also more than I had expected to say, and I was surprised at how effortlessly that flowed out of my mouth. The silence dragged on longer than I was comfortable and I said, "Paul mentioned to you that she got a tattoo; is there anything else she wanted that maybe you and Mr. Carson were opposed too?"

Amber had nearly twenty thousand dollars in ill-gotten subscription money; there was no way she wasn't spending it on stuff or saving up for something. Hello, her damn shoe collection! How hadn’t they noticed all the damn shoes?!

Stephanie seemed to be measuring her answer and offered, "She wanted gauges for her ears. We said no, but offered the compromise of the nose and belly button piercings. Amber is very self-conscious about her appearance, always thinking she didn’t look female enough. She accessorized to heighten her feminine appearance. Glasses, jewelry, you know."

Are you fucking kidding me?! Seriously, put her and me in a line-up and ask people to pick the freak out and every time they’d pick me. Give me a break! I shrugged.

"I sense she got a lot of encouragement from you, Mrs. Carson; was it the same from Mr. Carson? Her brothers?"

She looked to be thinking again about how to answer that.

"Her brothers teased her certainly at first. It was mean-spirited stuff, but we nipped that in the bud pretty quick. They've come to accept her choice I'm pretty sure. Amber is the oldest; Chase and Donald are fifteen and almost fourteen, respectively. She used to beat their asses, but that's changed—she puts up with their rough edges, but I don't sense there's much conflict amongst them.

“I don't know if Gary will ever fully understand Amber's need to be her true self, but he has supported every want and need she's come to us with. Secretly, I think he likes having a daughter, but you would have to ask him. There are a lot more resources these days to help families, so we've been lucky, I think."

Yeah! Perfect family dynamic... STOP! Be happy for the kid not getting a shit upbringing like mine. I tried to get back on course, focus on what I wanted to know.

"Anything else she mentioned wanting?" I wasn't trying to repeat myself to force an answer out of her, but I sensed there was more. I wished she would open up a little more. "Paul mentioned that he told you both that there was a lot of SRS stuff she was researching—any push by her to get that done?"

We briefly discussed the whole gender vs. sex vs. whatever the hell number of pansexual, poly, dysphoria inducing classifications there were. She seemed to get it.

"I'm pretty sure she had an interest in boys. We were shopping once, and she totally went numb, dumbfounded, seeing a boy from school in the mall." She looked like she was thinking again, and then she looked a little more relaxed. "We talked about SRS a lot, in fact. Gary and I told her we would support her decision to take that final step, but she had to go through all the pre-process steps first. So, I don't think that's what she was collecting money for."

Her guard looked to be creeping back into place after thinking a little more.

"We were against her getting implants... There were more than a few heated arguments on that subject. Our stance was to wait, see how HRT went, and after SRS, if that was something she wanted, she could save up for it on her own."

"She's had a trachea shave? Any Facial Feminization Surgery?"

"Yes, the trachea surgery this past summer. No, to FFS, I don't think she thinks that's necessary yet, which is odd because she sometimes doesn’t think she looks like a young woman. I told her hundreds of times that her HRT results were absolutely amazing, especially those changes this past year. Her doctors have all said that starting when she was younger typically makes the biggest difference."

Seriously, try starting that shit when you're twenty-one!

We talked for another twenty minutes. I found out a few other things about Amber, like she did have a passport, that she was bullied at school, and that she had left all her medications behind. That last one was curious—we'd have to look into refills on those and whether they had been filled recently, like in the last couple days. Finally, she insisted on me calling Stephanie and gave me her cell number.

The number came with a couple of hooks—like she wanted to know everything when I knew it, no matter the time of day. She also didn’t want what we found to make it back to the firm—she specifically named Janet and her not needing to know her family’s business. That was going to put me in a very uncomfortable position. I tried to explain that Janet was fully backing the firm helping to investigate and find Amber.

Her reply to that, "Don't trust everything she tells you."

I wanted to get her to expand on that, but Paul appeared at the door with Jacob and we fell silent.

"Are you about done here?" he asked me.

I looked toward them as Stephanie spoke for us, "Yes, I think Elizabeth has what she needs."

She stood, and we shook hands, which felt like a reversal of the last twenty minutes we’d been talking. Something is off here; I just couldn’t put a finger on what exactly.

"Yes, thank you, Stephanie... We will be in touch when we learn anything of significance, I promise," I said, making my way towards the bedroom door.

March 9th, 10:19 p.m.
We had pulled into the hotel parking lot after the short drive from Carson's'. Our conversation had been about the strange pow-wow Jacob had with us as he walked us to the car. In short, he echoed what Stephanie had told me: nothing was to get back to the firm; he would handle that exchange of information.

That, of course, left me with the problem of dealing with Janet. She was expecting me to report in today at some point; how the hell was I going to do that?

I still had an axe to grind with Paul for telling the Carson’s I had a history similar to what Amber was involved in. He needed to know that it put me in a weird space, and with all I had to deal with already with this investigation it made operating here harder for me. I just needed the right moment to give him both barrels.

Parked, engine off, I watched Paul open his door and get out. I did the same, and after closing my door, he was looking at me over the roof of the Camry like he wanted to ask me something.

"You want to get a drink?" he asked.

I was no stranger to drinking. In the past, it usually turned into something I would end up regretting later. That’s because whichever guy I was with at the time just wanted me more ‘pliable’ so his fetish kink laid on me was easier to achieve. It always helped these guys when I was drunk or drugged, for that matter; I had less fight in me for the shit these guys wanted to do to me.

While I didn’t think Paul had that kind of motivation in mind, drinking these days could be a trigger for me, and I needed to keep that in mind. Self-control would be a must! I wasn’t that woman anymore, and I refused to revisit the hell I’d escaped. Paul was certainly an interesting guy, and standing here and looking at him, I tried to figure out if his letting Carson's know about my past was intentional. Why would you do that? My past wasn’t exactly relevant, though similar to Amber’s actions of late. Are you gaming me Mr. Kline?

"Sure, I’m game. I’ve got some questions for you, though," I replied.

"I’ve hopefully got answers. The bar is open until midnight, or we could go back to my room, do some more investigating, and look at some of her other accounts."

What could possibly go wrong in his room, with some liquor in us both and some transgender porn in the background? Yeah, hard ‘no’, though the idea was at least a little tempting.

"I'd be up for one in the bar."

"Good. I wanted to hear what Stephanie had to say about Amber. I'm guessing you got an earful."

"I don't know that I've got some inside track to anything worthwhile, but we can discuss that."

"I was hoping you could crack her shell a little. I'll share what I got from Gary."

March 9th, 10:26 p.m.
We had ordered our drinks from the bartender; he was the only one working, which meant either this wasn't a hopping place to hang out or the hotel wasn't booked up, or maybe both were true. There were two couples in the place, one in a booth and another at a small table. At one of the two longer tables were three businessmen talking way too loudly about nothing, but they were filling the upper levels of the noise being made by bad music playing from some lost elevator Muzak tracks.

We ended up grabbing the booth furthest from everyone and the actual bar.

"Cheers! To teamwork," Paul raised his beer mug to my rock-glass of rum and Coke.

I sipped it, and it was ninety percent cheap crap rum with a splash of Coca-Cola for color. I cringed at the taste.

"Too strong?"

I smiled and said, "Not my brand of rum."

"Really, you're a rum aficionado?"

"Let's just say I know my way around a decent bottle of rum." I grinned an evil smirk.

Lisa wasn't going to believe I was in a bar with a guy when I told her about being down here. My grin turned to a satisfied smile, thinking I might actually have something to finally brag about.

"I miss something?"

"No, I'm just happy this day is over,” I said in preparation for letting him know I wasn’t happy by jamming both barrels in his face. “So, care to tell me how Jacob and the Caron’s know about my past being similar to what Amber’s been up to lately?"

It took a lot to get that out, and I could feel the anxious energy tingling in me. Don’t even think about lying to me…

He didn’t look surprised by the question and answered casually, “Jacob told me, which was a bit of a surprise. I assume he told Carson's.”

“So, you didn’t dig into my past?” I asked.

“No, but after Jacob mentioned it, he wanted to know to what extent you had been involved in that world. I wouldn’t have looked on my own; there was no need to.”

I bristled, but that explained Janet saying this assignment could pick at old wounds for me. I wondered if she had had me checked out before being hired, and if so, why? I hadn’t really thought much about her talk with me in the conference room yesterday after Jacob and Martin had left. Was this why they, the partners, wanted me to assist? Something isn’t right.

I wasn’t sure I believed Paul wouldn’t have checked me out, though, even without the request from Jacob. He lived for this crap it seemed like. All those bits and bytes to be explored and the chance to do his computer sleuthing crap. I was going to cautiously take him at his word.

“Okay, and now that you’ve seen who I used to be, does that give you pause?” I asked nervously.

“Sitting before me, I don’t see the same woman. Look, we all make mistakes, and that Jersey Shore guy said something about making the comeback greater than the setback. It looks like you’ve done that.”

“That sounds like a compliment,” I stated.

“It was meant to be,” he said, taking a pull from his beer.

I wondered if he was just being polite or if he really thought that. Eh, no sense in dwelling on it. I needed to trust him in this process of finding Amber, but I’d still be guarded.

“So, it is over then, right?” I asked.

Paul laughed. "The work day? Yeah, I think we can pack it in for the night. Though I am going to look at a few things, I promise I'll be in bed by," he said, looking at his phone. "Midnight maybe…"

I could see the clock over the bar; it was 10:31. I guess this was just going to be one drink and done. Good, no need to worry about it going in other directions. This is nice though; he’s being friendly and complimentary, and I’m not in my room alone. Lisa would be impressed.

I smiled and said, "Okay, I'm going to hold you to midnight. I'd like to be out long before that."

I felt self-conscious about saying that, hoping he didn't take it the wrong way. I mean, I would sit here longer if he wanted, but my ass was dragging.

"I hear you... Jacob and I met for breakfast at 6:00 AM, so I'm tired for sure." He sipped his beer and looked toward the long table of businessmen laughing loudly about something. "Easy boys," he said, smiling.

Yup, this was nice. Paul seemed to have a relaxed way about him; he was cute; his looks were growing on me, and he did have that nice ass. I thought about Lisa complaining that I hadn’t tried to make a move on him. Oh boy, was she going to stick it to me for not being more aggressive.

We finished our drinks while discussing Jacob and the firm. Paul didn't really have anything to offer up with this new 'secret' mode we were supposed to operate under regarding information getting back to the firm. When he finished his beer he asked if I wanted another drink; mine was half drunk due to the over pour of rotgut rum and splash of Coke. I declined. He took that well and as quickly as we entered the bar, we were exiting.

March 9th, 11:05 PM
Paul walked me back to my room, very gentlemanly like. The exchange at my door wasn't too awkward—until he caught my closing door and said he was in room 210, which must be on the other side of this complex, as I was in room 98. I thanked him again for the drink, and he apologized for us being late to Carson's before wishing me a ‘Good-night’.

It would be a lie to say those moments in the bar didn't make me feel more alive than I had been in years – even though I thought he’d thrown me under the bus with Jacob and the Carson’s in regards to my past. I wished it could have lasted a little longer and hoped there might be a next time we could hang out and not have that focus be the investigation. I wouldn’t mind learning a little bit more about him.

Oh! And what is with him being in my head again?! He knew I wasn't happy about being late. I had to wonder if I was really that easy to read. Guess I’d have to think on how our minds could do that intersecting thing on occasion.

Right now though, I needed to figure out what to say to Janet Larson without sounding like I was withholding information. Crap!

::: --- :::

I would like to acknowledge the assistance of Bronwen Welsh in proofreading and giving me insightful advice. She is an accomplished author in her own right and I appreciate her time more than I can say...

Don't be afraid to click the "Thumbs Up" icon for this short story if it's done anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so, and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter (I’d have bot’ed that bitch long ago if there was)). If you comment, I will reply, so let’s chat or not or whatever floats your noddle.

If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected](link sends e-mail) (link sends e-mail)) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

The author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Last Updated: 2/13/2024 to smooth out portions of the story.
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March 10th, 12:06 AM
Try as I might, I just couldn't wash away this day in what turned out to be a very long, hot shower. Nearly twenty-five minutes of pure warmth was delivered by a showerhead with some real water pressure behind it, unlike the crappy shower in my apartment back home. Too many emotions were bombarding me now that I had time alone to think, and I felt very awake, though I knew my body was spent and running on fumes. I'm pretty sure the little I had to drink with Paul wasn't helping my brain, attitude, or will to be more focused on categorizing the crap Amber had gotten into.

Running wild through my head were the consequences of Amber's destructive path, and my working relationship with Paul and wanting more of that connected feeling with another human I’d had with him in the bar. That I’d lied to Janet about our progress before getting into the shower was also weighing on me. I shifted in front of the stream and loved the way the water flowed over my chest.

I sighed, feeling that pang of dysphoria kicking in as I noticed that last dangling appendage between my legs. That one little thing kept me anchored in a past life I wanted gone, to forget ever existed. I was sure some of this negativity came on because I saw so much of my screwed up past in Amber's foray into posting shit. It made my heart seriously ache for her, for the consequences still to come.

When I started HRT it had been done to escape and break that cycle of destructive behavior I’d been consumed by and addicted too. That scab was still pronounced on my psyche, and seeing all Amber had done so far tugged mercilessly at the corners of it. All too often my mind didn’t know when to stop picking at some fault I couldn't compartmentalize or come to terms with.

Granted, she was only just getting started with her collection of solo pictures, her webcasting, and the couple videos she was wringing into quite the profit so far. God knows there was certainly no shortage of fetish seekers willing to throw money at an underage Trans kid putting herself out there to be ogled over. I wish she knew what she was giving up wasn’t worth the quick hit the money in those cash accounts contained.

Her need for attention, confirmation, and validation of who she was becoming blinded her as it had blinded me. Logic was thrown out the window and the ramifications were not fully understood by a seventeen-year-old kid. All told, what she was doing really spelled disaster and would only get worse if she kept at it. The Tumblr animated graphic of her proved that. There was a video of that act and it would be used to exploit her, make life uglier for her.

I was older than Amber when I got involved with that shit myself and I should have known better, but fell for the trap. The gratification I got was like a drug and I had to have it once I began. I was addicted to the rush and I kept raising the stakes of what I would give up of myself to get the attention I was lacking in my life. Somewhere on the net was shit I hoped no one would ever see.

Long gone were my connections to that sewer of being used, being someone's fetish, or their kink play thing. Why hadn't I been smart enough to at least get paid for all I’d given up? Would that have made it any better? Doubtful. I got nothing but mental abuse from trolling those same sewers Amber was now beginning to play in. I shook my head. I could never go back to that way of existence, even if I were paid more!

I turned the shower off, pumped some lotion into my hands, and began to apply it to my freshly shaved legs. When done, I dried off with a stiff but large bath towel, and then pull on a pair of unattractive boyshort panties. I took a moment to admire my long legs and those mounds on my chest; I was pale from lack of sun and wondered if this body was good enough for...

The tiny lump in the panties caught my attention, and everything positive became less impressive in the blink of an eye. Grrrr!

No one will want me like this, and I wasn't even sure anyone would want me if I were whole, complete.

HRT had been a godsend, and taking my transitioning seriously had gotten me off a destructive path. Did I have a leg to stand on while arguing the results before me? The fat redistribution alone had done amazing things for my mental well-being. My ass was round and bubbly, with the right amount of soft jiggle that made me feel attractive at time. I turned to inspect my greatest asset and smiled. Yup, that is a nice-looking ass, that’s for sure.

I had gone from being 159 pounds pre-transition twenty months ago to hovering in the low 120’s the last time I weighed myself. I now had what I could describe as the classic runner's body because instead of letting my body and mind get abused by idiots, I was putting in at least 25 miles a week running and trying to make healthy choices for myself. I wasn't a poser by any stretch, but running was a release in so many ways and an escape I craved on days I was at my lowest.

My facial features had softened because of HRT, and I had resigned myself to not needing serious FFS any time soon. That was a good thing, since I didn't have the money for that anyway. I had begged my mom for money for college and ended up using twenty-three hundred dollars of that for a tracheal shave procedure last year. I justified it by thinking it made it easier to pass.

Good grief! Passing, what a shit show that could be and a source of dysphoria that loved to slap me around. If I could fix my voice, which annoyed me most of the time even though I was working on that diligently, I could absolutely pass. Voice training was monotonous and boring, but I did that crap religiously keep the passing God’s smiling down at me.

I did have to make up the money I should have used from my mom to pay for school. That I took working two jobs with no days off for over a year! Yeah, did it, I sacrificed and I’d probably do it over the same way. I still had credit card debt that would be tough to squash any time soon, but that money from my mom did help me so much getting over a dysphoria hurdle. And I got my schooling paid for, which lead to my current job, so win-win. Once I paid mom back and I could focus on using my income on me!

I just wish I could be happy with what I saw right in front of me—right this minute every time I looked at myself. I pulled on a loose, stretched-out pair of Lycra runners' shorts and then a spaghetti-strap blue tank top. I took off the towel my hair was wrapped in and let the nearly shoulder-length locks dangle, shaking my head a few times to loosen up the tangles I could see and running my fingers through it to finish shaking them out.

I grabbed my brush and did a quick couple combs through motions. I should change the color; maybe go more blonde, like a dirty blonde. It could be subtle and a good change for springtime. I remembered the grand advance Janet had mentioned for taking on this project of finding Amber and smirked at myself in the mirror. It was decided, I was going to get my hair colored and cut when I got home!

I finished the rest of my nightly routines, flipped the nightstand light off after climbing in bed, and enjoyed the coolness of the bed sheets on my skin. I rolled over and grabbed a pillow to put between my knees; it would have to do in the absence of my body pillow at home. I looked at the clock illuminating half the room, 12:24 AM, and I thought about the two alarms I had set on my phone for 5:30 AM... Augh...

March 10th, 1:41 AM
"I’d like my hand back!" I shouted.

Paul let it go, and I walked to the bar alone which was by the pool now. Kids were playing and splashing, music was filling in the voids when they weren't yelling and screaming, the sun was very bright, and I felt warmth all over. Why didn't I have my sunglasses on?

"Can I help you?" the bartender asked.

I looked at the menu board behind him; there weren't any salads listed.

"Excuse me, Miss..." I turned to see a teenage boy standing next to me. "Where did you get your bathing suit?"

I tried not to look flustered by his question, fearful of the reason he was asking.

"I got it at Target," I replied.

It was a classic one-piece with a courtesy skirt. Not my first choice, but for now, it would have to do for obvious reasons. It fit well, and I looked down to see if something was amiss. Nope, I had tanned legs and really loved my painted toenails and the shimmering beads on the flip-flops I was wearing.

"My dad really likes it. Can I take your picture?" the teen asked.

What?

"I don't understand..."

"Paul said you were cool with it. Over here," he was gesturing to a seat by the bar where a webcam was set up next to a computer.

What did Paul have to do with this kid's dad? Confused, I still followed him to sit where he'd patted his hand on a towel-covered beach recliner.

"Sit here..."

I did as requested, noticing there was a crowd of men watching. What was this?

"So, if you could just slide the straps off, show us your tits," he said, smiling a toothy grin.

A loud thumping noise shook me awake, startlingly so. There were two more in succession, a pause, and three quieter ones that followed. I was sitting up on a bed, in a room that was pitch black, and I panicked—where am I?

I stood quickly, wondering what the fuck was that noise was!? My heart was beating fast and I looked at the clock - 1:41 AM, shit! I opened the door to the living room area of the suite, it was dark; there was no movement. The AC was humming quietly; had it made that noise or something? Wait, was someone at the door?

I flipped a light on, squinting while walking to the door on guard against someone who might jump out at me from behind the couch or from the kitchen area. As I got to the door, there were two light taps. I looked through the peephole, it was Paul.

"What Paul?" I was hoarse and sounded tired and annoyed, and I leaned my head against the door, exhaling slowly, trying to calm my racing heart.

"I found her, Elizabeth; I know where she is."

I had no idea what I looked like, and there was no way I would, on purpose, let anyone see me like this, which I was sure was pathetic - but if what he’d just said to me through the door was true, this was huge! Had he really found Amber!? I opened the door, standing behind it until he made his way in.

Paul barely gave me a look, which was good but I felt an odd twinge of sadness as well. He was obviously excited and had the TV turned on and his laptop connected by the time I had shut the door and made my way to the living room area.

"She's in Santa Fe, New Mexico. She got there Friday, that’s my best guess," he said, still not looking at me.

I could see an email on the TV screen, courtesy of Paul forgetting to take his Chromecast dongle with him when he was here earlier. The email contained instructions from someone who signed the email as 'Daddy'. What I was reading was kind of sickening. 'Daddy wants you here now...' and 'Daddy will get you what you want...' That was followed by 'You want to please your Daddy...' and 'Daddy will pick you up today...' It went on like that, ad nauseam.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I whispered.

Paul's eyes didn't stray from the laptop screen.

"Yeah, it was hell reading this crap, but I've tracked their correspondence back over three months. He's been grooming her, which led to him picking her up from school last Friday. I got that in an email somewhere. I don't know where in Santa Fe she is, but I do have a phone number for 'Daddy'. I've alerted Jacob and the Carson’s, who are working with the police and maybe even the FBI right now."

"How did you get into this email account?"

We had access to two of Amber's other email accounts, but they weren't used much. The email account Paul had on the screen was the one we didn't have a password for, so this was a huge breakthrough.

Paul looked up from his laptop and was looking at me.

"Luck. I went through the 'Forgot Password' process on this account, and she had used one of the others we had access to as a recovery email address. Went through the recovery process, changed the password, and logged in."

I was impressed.

"Wow, that's awesome."

I felt self-conscious, as it seemed he was measuring me with his gaze still. My tight-fitting tank top was hiked up slightly, showing my midriff, and it only accentuated the two tiny nubs poking at the tightly woven cotton fabric at my chest on top of two small breast mounds. I pulled the shirt down, but it didn't help—except to make the view of my tits more pronounced. I crossed my arms and gave him a look that said, 'Enough gawking'.

"I talked to Jacob; we've locked her out of her accounts for Paypal and Patreon; I changed her passwords. The money is still there; actually, she must have picked up a few more subscribers, as there are now just over twenty thousand in the combined accounts. The new password for her accounts is PEaz4HiRe3988." Paul enunciated the particulars of the password as he read it from his screen.

OK, thanks for that, but I had no idea why... Wait, 3988 those were the last four digits of my Social Security number!

"Hey, what the hell?"

"It's 'P' for Paul, 'E' for Elizabeth; we're in 'AZ' and 'hired' to find Amber, and I tossed your last four SSNs in there for good measure. Feel free to access any of her…"

"No, that's not good measure!” I interrupted him. Did he think this would be okay with me? “That's fucked up; that's what that is." I was burning a hole through him with my stare.

I could feel my chest tightening, breaths were coming in shallow huffs, adrenaline was flowing madly due to him possibly finding Amber, and because I was really pissed at him! I walked to my room, slamming the door behind me. Who the fuck did this guy think he was?!
I found my purse and opened the bottle of Xanax, went to the bathroom, filled a glass of water, and downed it quickly. The water tasted funny, which explained why they gave away complimentary water, but that was in the refrigerator, and I was pissed and not going to give him the satisfaction of riling me anymore. Was he poking at me on purpose? Was there content from when I was posting in queue on his laptop he wanted to show me to rub my nose in it? Had he shared that shit with Jacob?

FUCK! FUCK YOU!

I looked in the mirror and cringed. I looked like death. Pale, pasty skin and hair that was a complete disaster, and I realized I needed to pee, which is about the only time that goddamn worthless appendage between my legs ever changed these days! FUCK!

March 10th, 2:03 AM
I had been sitting on my bed, contemplating my next move. I wanted to just collapse on the bed, melt into the covers, and not move or speak to anyone for twenty-four hours straight. I knew that wasn't going to happen, so I decided to try to make myself more presentable.

I did a light version of my usual makeup application, got my hair semi under control with a little water and too much hairspray, and changed my clothes. I was basically working up the courage to confront Paul, when I heard him speaking from the living room...

"Hey Jacob, no, we're up. Looking into any other leads we can find..." There was a very long pause, maybe a minute or more.

"Yes, I sent the passwords to Detective Hanes. I also suspended her Patreon account after we talked. A shorter pause: "The full video is there still, but no one will have access to it." A quick pause: "That's right. We don't want to tamper with any digital evidence; we totally understand. Their system will show the password change locking her out and the time of account suspension for viewing by those who have subscribed to her content."

I hadn't heard a phone ringing, so I wondered if Paul had called Jacob. I couldn't take not seeing and being a part of the conversation, so I opened the door to the living room. Paul looked up at me and mouthed 'Jacob'. I nodded back. He put the phone on speaker.

"Hey Jacob, you're on speaker phone; Elizabeth is back."

"Hello Elizabeth, nice job with the breakthrough."

I looked at Paul, confused.

"Ah, thank you, Mr. Wentz, but Paul is really the brains behind this operation." I shrugged at him. He just stared blankly at me, nodding slightly in acknowledgement.

"Jacob, that is correct; the account is unchanged, as are her other accounts, except for the password changes I made to keep her out. Oh, and I'm certain the full video was done after Friday; you can clearly see the new tattoo in some of it. I have no idea how many views there are, though; the people at Patreon will know that. It's likely been grabbed and reposted on other sites; that's typical."

"OK... The Santa Fe Police are putting together a list of places where she might have gotten the implants done. They won't be able to make contact with anyone until the doctors' offices open." Jacob said.

I looked at Paul with a concerned look and mouthed 'implants'... He nodded a ‘Yes’. I shook my head.

"Are you two coming over now?"

"Yes, be there within the hour, Jacob." Paul looked at me, and it was my turn to nod 'Yes'.

"OK, good. Things are about to begin moving quickly. I called Landon, and he's informed the Santa Fe office. Gary and Stephanie are getting a flight worked out right now. That's at least an eight-hour drive, or a little over an hour and a half if they can fly. As you can imagine, at this time of night, not many choices are available. We can talk more when you get here."

I blurted out, "Mr. Wentz, you could have them look into a medical flight. Those operate 24/7; they could say they are bringing Amber home after the surgery." I didn't sound confident about having knowledge about anything Paul had talked to him about, but I felt the need to contribute. Saying in closing, "I saw a report on this kind of service on the news."

"I'll pass that on to Elizabeth, Thank you for that. What a good idea; no one had thought of that. See you both shortly."

"OK, Jacob, we'll be there."

Paul hung up the phone and began clicking keys on his laptop.

I didn't want to revisit our exchange from earlier, so I just went with confirming what I thought I knew.

"You found out she was meeting some guy in Santa Fe for implants?"

He didn't look up.

"Yeah, their relationship was a mixed bag of this guy being kink-obsessed and her going along with all the honey he poured in her ears. She sent him a lot of content that we haven't seen posted anywhere. He likely requested that she not share it. Sick bastard. I don't recommend viewing what she has in her 'Sent' folder.

“He got her hooked on the idea of implants and paying for them. I hope the procedure hasn't already been performed," he said.

I may not know the man, her 'Daddy', but I had a pretty good idea of how fucked up he was. The other thing I knew about him was that he wasn’t stupid, but not smart enough to not get caught. While Amber was now of legal age, I was fairly certain a case could be brought against him for his inappropriate contact with her prior to her turning eighteen. It didn't take a lawyer to know that.

"So all the police agencies and the FBI are up to speed?"

He stopped to look at me and said, "Yes."

It was obvious we weren't going to get along without coming clean, so I decided I’d start the conversation.

"Look, I don't know what you think you know about me, I mean, you know, like some shit… Stuff I wouldn't want exposed, but you... You need to stay in your lane," I stated as calmly as I could.

"My lane?" he asked, confused.

"Whatever... If you want to know who I am, then ask, try getting to know me. I would kill for friends I could hang with, laugh with, and go and do...,"I paused, feeling a lump lodge in my throat. "I'm not that person from two years..."

I turned to the kitchen, wiping the tear that rolled down my face, and went to the refrigerator for a bottle of water.

"I think you're a very nice woman, Elizabeth. I did not pry for anything but to know you better. I'm kind of a geek; meeting women has never been easy for me. You intrigued me; I dug. I apologize again if I was insensitive. My intentions were to never make you feel uncomfortable."

Paul was still sitting on the couch when I turned back toward him. He looked like this conversation was as painful for him as it was for me. Welcome to one billionth of my world, buddy. I was impressed he identified me as being a woman, which is a landmine of crazy for some out there when the incorrect pronoun, gender, or identity is used in their presence. I was thankful he was sticking with that. It was a little win.

"I have a lot to protect myself from, Paul. Every day, in nearly every situation, someone or some establishment is trying to knock me out of the game. I've worked very hard to get to where I am today. I've beaten some crazy shit back in my head. I've tried to commit suicide, which you know is not so good for those left behind. I'm just trying to be a good person, the best I can…"

The lump caught abruptly in my throat, and the tears flowed now freely as my chest heaved shallowly.

I had closed my eyes and sensed movement. Paul had gotten up and was standing in front of me when I opened my eyes. I let my face get buried in his chest without thinking that out. He held me steady as my sobs were heaving now, short body shakes, followed by nearly silent crying.

"You're OK," he cooed while holding me gently.

I wanted to melt away in his arms and disappear from this Amber crisis. I needed to be stronger than this! I resolved to knock this shit off and after a few moments had calmed down enough. I felt him guide me back slightly and I could only stare at the wet spots on his shirt I had created – not into his eyes. I felt embarrassed for being so emotional about everything.

"You're perfect just the way you are," he said softly.

That was followed by a kiss on my forehead and another embrace. That brought on a bit more sobbing and when I had finally steeled myself to calm down a minute or so later and with my face pressed to his chest again, I managed to say, "Thank you, Paul. I’m sorry."

He released his hugging of me slowly, looking into my now surly puffy eyes and shooting makeup.

"Not even a problem. Look, I can go over to the Carson’s' without you; give you a chance to rest up a little."

And as quickly as there was a glimpse of heart, a possible connection, we were back to the business at hand—back to something more important. I was sad that that fleeting moment between us was gone, but I felt lucky to have gotten it. I reached up to clear my eyes, twice wiping my left eye while he held my hips. I looked into his eyes and wondered if I could kiss him.

He cocked his head as if wondering what I was thinking, and I felt his hands leaving my hips. It was probably a pipe dream anyway—the idea that he wouldn’t be repulsed by kissing me. I tried to smile a little bit and stood a little straighter.

"I'm good. How about we meet in the lobby in twenty minutes?"

It would be a miracle if I could make myself presentable in that amount of time, but I had to move on and get back in the game. He was obviously focused on something more important, I should be too.

He agreed, and within a couple minutes, I was alone. I needed to push through this, not over thinking any of it. Paul was just a nice guy, a curious guy, and I was something to be figured out; he’d done that, and that was the end of it. He probably didn’t mean me any harm, but I felt like I had to be on guard now a little more, to protect my heart.

I would try to be more understanding and not jump to the worst case when he shared a discovery of something from my past. I had a feeling we would be discussing this shit again at some point. I needed to get ready to go; time was wasting away, and we needed to get to Amber before something really bad happened to her.

March 10th, 4:39 AM
Jacob had answered the door at the Carson’s while talking on the phone. He held up his finger for us to hold tight.

"Yes, we can be there within the hour," he paused to listen to whoever was on the line. "OK, thanks, buddy," another pause, "Yeah, understood...” He ended the call and checked something on his phone before slipping it into a pocket. "That was Landon; he's the field director for the FBI field office here in Phoenix," he said looking at me.

I knew that already, but I nodded politely.

"We're meeting with him in an hour at the Scottsdale police substation. The FBI pinged our suspect's phone, and they are going to do some interagency work to assist the police in Santa Fe. Landon says they'll be able to pinpoint the exact location by the time we get there, and an extraction team is being mobilized as we speak. This could go off about the time Stephanie hits the ground there. The medical flight stuff ended up being the ticket. Good job on that, Elizabeth."

I tried to smile as best I could. I hadn't done anything meaningful, I thought; I just wanted everything to turn out well in the end. This really was like something you'd see in an action movie, except it was real, and people's lives really depended on how this played out. I looked at Paul, but he just nodded at Jacob.

"Paul, can you drive us?"

"Sure, whenever you're ready."

"Let's go."

::: --- :::

I would like to acknowledge the assistance of Bronwen Welsh in proofreading and giving me insightful advice. She is an accomplished author in her own right and I appreciate her time more than I can say...

Don't be afraid to click the "Thumbs Up" icon for this short story if it's done anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so, and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter (I’d have bot’ed that bitch long ago if there was)). If you comment, I will reply, so let’s chat or not or whatever floats your noddle.

If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected]) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

The author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Last Updated: 2/14/2024 to smooth out portions of the story.

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March 10th, 5:12 AM
I had managed to catch a couple minutes of sleep on the way to the Scottsdale police station. When the car’s engine turned off I was instantly awake and wasn’t surprised that I’d drifted off. Paul looked over his shoulder at me to see if I was ready to go. I nodded and followed Jacob out of the car. No one said a word, and when we got to the building, Paul hopped a couple steps to get ahead of us and got the door open. I smiled a ‘Thanks'. Jacob remained silent and looked deep in thought.

At the front desk, Jacob told the officer behind the glass partition that we were here to meet with FBI Director Keith, who was working with Captain Barrett. The officer made a call, and within a minute, a sergeant was leading us back to what I assumed was a command room.

We entered the brightly lit room to a buzz of activity. In the center of the room was a large table with people gathered around a half-dozen computers talking about whatever they were seeing or likely in charge of. There was the sound of a tactical radio coming from speakers embedded in the paneled ceiling, which made me jump the first time it crackled to life. Paul and I held back as Jacob shook hands with who I assumed was Captain Barrett, he had a name tag on, and then the FBI Director.

They talked for a couple minutes while Paul and I looked over the gathered crew in the room. I could tell the police officers easily enough in the crowd of eleven people in groups of two or three—they had uniforms on—and I assumed the people in suits were either FBI agents or Scottsdale PD detectives. I watched Paul slip away to talk to a guy in a suit.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and it startled me. I turned to see Jacob standing there with a guy in a suit. He first apologizing for startling me and then introduced the guy in a suit with him.

"Elizabeth, this is Phoenix FBI Director Landon Keith," he said.

Director Keith and I shook hands. He was a nice-looking man, but his eyes and the way he carried himself told me he was a serious law enforcement professional that didn't put up with a bunch of crap—he commanded the room, even though this wasn't his turf to command.

"Nice to meet you, Elizabeth. Jacob's told me about your work on this; we should have brought you on board sooner," Director Keith said, smiling.

"Thank you, sir... Really, Paul is the brains, and, well, he got us access to the email account that got us on the right track," I replied.

I was trying to control my emotions, the cadence of my voice, the enunciations, and any nervous twitching I'm sure I was exhibiting while putting that response out there. I'm sure I sounded stupid, but I tried to look confident that I knew more than the passing fact or two in regards to Amber’s disappearance.

"Excellent... I see he's already talking with one of my guys," Landon was saying when I stopped daydreaming.

I looked to my right and could see Paul in the middle of a conversation about something with one of the suits. I smiled at the director with nothing to add.

"So, I was telling Jacob that since this is a multiagency investigation, there is a lot of coordination we had to get lined up. I think we have done a damn good job at that in such a short amount of time. Our office in Santa Fe has triangulated and pin-pointed the location of the cell phone number you provided us. We’ve had someone on the house since earlier this morning. The Santa Fe PD team will be executing the extraction shortly. We facilitated a search warrant request with a judge a few hours ago."

"Com-check B-one-one... Ops channel 3. Copy..." A voice above us interrupted the director.

"Eleven is 5 by... Holding outer orbit, Charles... Tact 1: We are clear; viz., twenty-five."

"That's the air support. It sounds like they are probably getting close; excuse me," and the director walked toward Paul, introducing himself and shaking hands with him.

"I'm a little nervous," Jacob said softly.

The energy in the room was thick and bristled now with every radio transmission. I could only imagine what it was like wherever Amber was right now, having all these people gather to go in after her.

"Everything will work out, Mr. Wentz; this will be over soon," I said, trying to sound encouraging.

"I certainly hope so..."

March 10th, 6:16 AM
"Command: Code Green. Go," the voice above our heads from the speaker said calmly.

The group of us in the conference room was now along for the ride, blindly trying to make sense of the chatter coming from the speakers overhead. With all the technology, why weren't we watching video from officer POV cameras or some kind of drone feed from above? I could feel the goose bumps on my arms rise, and I felt chilled in the crowded room. Please be all right; let no bad happen.

"POLICE! SEARCH WARRANT!" blared from the speakers loudly.

That was followed by someone shouting, "Breach! Breach! Breach!"

And then, "Clear! Right! Go!"

Silence, for a moment, and then, "Left, clear! POLICE! SEARCH WARRANT!"

There was a long stretch of silence before we heard, "Got a basement..."

That was a different voice having said that and it made me wonder how many people were on scene and had entered the house Amber was in.

A calm voice began speaking, "Second floor, heat signature, one only and moving... Back room south, small room, schematics say bathroom... Say again, still just the one."

Silence for five more seconds, and someone could be heard yelling, "POLICE! SEARCH WARRANT!"

"Anders, down to the basement with Minks, - Go! Bowen, Jenner, up stairs, on me."

Silence now...

I wondered what was going on and where in the house they were. Did Amber know we were coming for her? Would she be relieved? Would she put up a fight? If they had the ability to pick up heat-signals, why weren't they just rushing toward them? Was there really no one else in the house? There should be at least two people there, right?

I sensed Paul beside me, and he leaned in and said, "Intense... They've got someone outside the house, probably a sniper, with the ability to see heat-signatures through the walls. That's some futuristic tech, not foolproof, but some kind of magic."

His voice was low, and I could feel the heat of his breath on my neck. I wished he was holding me again like earlier, but that wasn’t going to happen, no matter how much I wanted that. I had to resist the urge to take his hand as they brushed softly together as he moved a half-step away. Oh well, at least he explained why they were not rushing toward whatever they could see upstairs as a heat signature.

The extraction team knew what they were doing, and to err on the side of caution was probably their mandate. I just wanted this to be over, and I looked at Jacob; he looked worried still. The professionals in the room all looked like they were listening to a commercial between football plays—calm but on edge as if ready to react to some issue.

"We’re clear lower! Securing one... back and covering."

There was no reply. What had just been said made no sense to me, and I had no idea which group of officers was which now.

A hushed voice, lower than the previous ones, began speaking, "Three doors. Sig is left South."

A pause followed by, "Confirmed, left South... Advised: Sig is prone... No movement in 30…"

The reply, "Left South, prone..."

There were two clicking sounds followed by someone shouting, "POLICE!"

Twenty long seconds of silence were followed by, "Clear left South... One unconscious... Bowen hold with the woman, Jenner on me."

Again, there was a long bout of silence, only this time that lasted for nearly a full minute.

"Clear upstairs. Command, we are clear... Repeat: clear... We have secured one. The house is clear, one mark. Minks, EMS up here now, left South... Fire holds position."

As if on cue, the entire room finally took a breath. Paul hugged me, which was a bit of surprise. When I looked over at Jacob he appeared relieved. There were many smiles, but some serious faces were still working at computers. The FBI Director was on his phone, and the Scottsdale PD Captain was going over something with another officer—wasn't this over?

There was plenty of chatter from the speakers above us now, but much more calm, less yelling and almost matter-of-fact conversations were going on. I tried to follow, but I checked out pretty much after hearing they had the 'woman'—Amber was safe. It's over.

I could feel the tears well in my eyes, and I didn’t care who saw my relief.

March 10th, 6:33 AM
It seemed like it took forever to get a status on Amber, but the FBI Director relayed that the extraction team had found Amber unconscious in the upstairs bathroom. We had heard that report live just minutes ago, but it was good to have that confirmed. The initial report from the EMS on scene was that she was heavily drugged, possibly sedated, her chest area was heavily bandaged, and she was being transported to a hospital; nothing further was shared. Jacob was on speaker phone with Stephanie, letting her listen in to the FBI Director go over things, but she interrupted to get the hospital name so they could be there when she arrived.

The FBI Director explained the guy we were looking for was not found, which I'm sure angered the Carson’s and Jacob. It angered me. How could this person do this to a kid and leave her alone?

The director said the Santa Fe PD would be processing the house we were told, and when they had more information, he would be in touch with Jacob. Jacob spoke a few words to the Carson’s and said he would call them back. Then, as quickly as the call ended, the director shook our hands, thanked everyone in the room for a job well done, and walked out with Jacob.

Not having captured our 'Daddy' was disheartening. Where had he gone, and why would he leave Amber there alone? Did he know we were on to him? I looked around for Paul, finding him with one of the FBI agents looking at something on a computer. I took a step toward him as my phone began to ring. I pulled it from my purse; it was a number I didn't recognize but had a Seattle area code of '206'.

"Hello?"

"Elizabeth, I'm going to get a ride with Landon. I will catch up with you and Paul later."

"Yes, sure, Mr. Wentz. I'll let Paul know." I was confused as to why he was calling me.

"Thank you for everything today. Elizabeth, my family, and I very much appreciate everything you've contributed. Please call Janet; let her know we found Amber, but nothing else."

"Oh, a sure... Yes, I will... I can call her Mr. Wentz." And the line went dead.

Now I was twice as confused. Why hadn't he called Paul to say he was catching a ride with the FBI director? And why did he want me to let Janet know about Amber? How did he get my phone number? Janet? Paul?

I did not want to make a call to Janet! I looked toward Paul, who was still deep in conversation with two FBI agents. Great! I don't want to make this call! I looked at my phone and pulled up my recent calls. I clicked on Janet's number from last night. I was sure I would be waking her, but she answered on the first ring and sounded wide-awake.

"Elizabeth, is there news?"

"Yes... Ah, Ms. Larson, we have Amber. The police were able to get her and,"

"That's amazing news! Oh, I bet the Carson’s are so relieved. Thank God," she said, cutting me off. “Did they get the man who lured her?”

Had someone told her that she’d been lured away from her home in Phoenix?

"Everyone is relieved," I replied. Janet sounded truly excited about the news; why was I so nervous right now?

"Is there something else, Elizabeth? No suspect?" she asked again.

"No, I mean... Well, they only found her, and they've taken her to the hospital to be checked out," was my answer.

"Oh... Of course, I can see where that might be a standard practice. What hospital? I would like to send flowers," Janet commented.

"I'm actually not really sure. The police didn't let me in on everything going on, and Jacob has already left. I can try to get that information and call you back." It was a lie. I knew the hospital in Santa Fe Amber was being taken to; would Janet know I was lying?

"Okay, do that, please. I would like to send flowers. How is Jacob?"

"Mr. Wentz is relieved, as are Carson’s. I think once Amber is checked out, they will be ready to move on."

I felt like I was repeating myself to at least provide Janet with content on what was going on, as I was required to do by her, but not Jacob. This was so screwed up; why was I in the middle of this crap?!

"Well, this is great news, really great... Do what you can to get the hospital information for me."

"Yes, Ms. Larson, I'll be sure to do that."

"Thanks for calling Elizabeth; talk to you shortly."

I didn’t get a chance to reply before the line was silent. Something isn’t adding up with all this crap. I stood there relieved the call was over, but totally spent and my mind spinning. This was an hour twenty-seven for me, with barely any food or sleep. Augh!

March 10th, 7:46 a.m.
Paul hadn't figured out I'd had enough of standing around and wanted to go back to the hotel, so I interrupted his little FBI computer-boy love-fest and asked for the keys to the car. Twenty minutes later, he was tapping on the driver's side window to wake me up and I let him in.

"Sorry, I was going over some stuff and even learned a few things."

He seemed very aroused about his FBI run-in, like some fan boy.

"That's good," I replied sleepily. I rubbed my eyes and was surprised at how warm the car had gotten already.

"Warm in here, eh?" he asked.

Was he back to that mind-reading shit again?

"Yeah," I said, trying not to sound annoyed.

When he started the car, I turned the AC up too high, which was going to make it hard to talk—unless we yelled at each other.

"Oe humge?"

I looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language; it was hard to hear anything, but I was certain he’d garbled that last question to me. I watched him turn the AC down.

"You hungry?" he asked.

Was that what he’d garbled at me? Augh…

"Yeah, but I just want to go to sleep... Can we just go back to the hotel?"

"Sure, be there in like ten minutes," he said, all smiles.

I wasn't in the mood for cheer, though we had plenty to cheer about, and I just looked out the window all the way to the hotel. When we got there, we went our separate ways, politely, even though he looked to want to chat about our morning. I was a little more awake now, but I still just wanted to see big Z's floating over my head and in my eyes casino slot machine Z’s whizzing by until I was out, dead to the world. I hoped he didn’t think I was being a bitch.

When I got to my room, I wasted no time cranking up the AC, stripping down to just panties, and tossing the clothes I was wearing and my bra wherever they may land.

My head hit the pillow a few seconds later...

March 10th, 4:18 PM
I was awakened at 11:00 AM by house cleaning, but they were smart enough to see it wasn't a good time and left without having a long, drawn-out conversation about it with me. I was back to sleep within thirty seconds, probably, and now as I looked through blurry eyes at the clock, it was after 4 PM... Augh...

I sat up slowly, turned the bedside lamp on, and ended up staring at the floor. I couldn't remember anything I had dreamt, but I did like the color I had painted my toenails the night before coming here—there was glitter in the polish, and I could see the shimmer even in the dimly lit room. I flexed my little piggy’s back and forth and then felt chilled.

Crap, it was cold in here! I made my way to the thermostat in just my panties to turn off the AC. Yikes! Had I really set it to sixty degrees?! I remembered seeing a thick, fluffy resort monogrammed robe in the closet and quickly pulling it on; it took some of the sting out of being cold.

I headed for the kitchen, grabbed water, and plopped down on the couch. I turned the TV on to see if I could catch anything on the news; maybe Amber was mentioned. Flipping through too many channels, I gave up. No news, at least not local, so I settled on Judge Judy and really began to space out. I could probably sleep a couple more hours I thought watching Judy rip the plaintiff apart. What an idiot! You should just keep your mouth shut, dude.

I noticed the telephone message light was flashing and leaned over to pick up the receiver, pressing 1 for messages.

"Message 1..." a short pause, and then, "Hey, call me. I got some updates."

That was Paul; at least I was pretty sure it was him.

"Message 2...," pause, and then, "Elizabeth... Please call me as soon as you get this. I called your cell and there was no answer. I would like the name of the hospital Amber was taken to. Thank you."

That was Janet, and she did not sound happy with me. I would have to deal with that sooner than later. Augh! I dialed Paul's room, and he answered on the third ring.

"Hey, are you finally up?" he asked with too much cheer.

I stared at Judge Judy blankly, wondering how he knew it was me, though I hadn't spoken.

"Yeah, I could use something to eat," I complained.

"Want me to pick something up and bring it to you?"

He sounded way too chipper, and no, seeing me in my current state was not going to work. Was he out somewhere? No, I called his room. Come on brain, wake up!

"No, thank you, though... You said you had updates?" I asked, trying to move the focus of the call elsewhere.

"Oh, yeah," he said, sounding as if he were a little disappointed for whatever reason. "Amber's probably back home by now, I would guess. They checked her out at the hospital; there were no problems with the breast augmentation surgery or her expected recovery. She was released to the Carson's, and according to Jacob, she boarded a medical flight at around one o'clock.

“The FBI was able to find the doctor who had done her implant surgery; no charges are expected to be leveled as Amber was of legal age. He is board-certified and runs a respected plastic surgery clinic. He's also being very cooperative, so that's a plus for him; he probably doesn't want any bad press.

“He had to have met with Amber prior to the surgery, you would think, so something still doesn't feel quite right about that whole chain of events. I'm hoping there's more to the story, but I guess the bottom line is that the procedure wasn't done in some backroom by a hack using pig intestines filed with used motor oil. "

He finished all that with a strained laugh at his attempt at comedy.

My sleepiness was wearing off, and I felt a pang of excitement hearing that Amber was probably home. I was also happy to hear that she wasn't mutilated by some hack.

"Good point about a pre-consult likely happening—no one mentioned that? Is she talking about what happened at all?"

I was going to mention that the pig intestine thing wasn't funny, but I didn't have the energy. I mean, really, how is that even remotely funny?

"Not that Jacob mentioned. Guess our 'Daddy' paid for the procedure with a cashier's check last week. I'm sure the police or FBI will be looking into that at some point. Still, I agree that the whole chain of events is off a bit. Surgery was done first thing Wednesday, so there were a few days she could have met the doctor. Something to ask Jacob next time I talk to him."

There was a long pause, and when I didn't speak, he kept the update rolling.

"Interesting twist: the police were able to pull a number of prints from the house they found her in, which was an Air BNB. Matches on three sets of prints were found—of the four sets they recovered. One woman identified herself via her concealed carry permit; she had rented the place two weekends ago.

“There were prints from two Mexican nationals, but they had rented the place for two night’s mid-week last week. Those people cleared via alibi and the Air BNB rental owner.

“And finally, a good number of prints from the bedroom and kitchen they think are our guy—the problem is he's a ghost. No record of him was found anywhere... I think they pulled some DNA and were going to run that, but if he's not on any grid with fingerprints, then I doubt he's in some database based on DNA. Who knows?"

Huh? How can someone be off the grid? I thought about it a little more—I guess that is not that big of a stretch. Stay out of legal trouble; what are they going to have on someone?

"Do they have a description, a picture, anything? Are they talking to Amber? Can she identify him?"

"Nope, nothing. I guess there will be a sketch artist working with the Air BNB rental owner, and one will eventually make it to the staff at the plastic surgeon's office. I'm sure Amber will go through the same kind of thing when she's up to it. I haven't heard if she's said much to the police yet," he paused for a second and added, "The only thing in the house were clothes for Amber, some with tags on them still. The guy didn't leave anything in the house; it's like he didn't stay there or something. I'm curious as to whether the Patreon video was shot in that house or some other location."

"Did Amber have a phone with her, like a burner thing or whatever?"

"I think Jacob mentioned a second phone, but I don't know if they recovered anything from it yet. Our guy's phone was obviously recovered, but I don't know what was recovered from it—like pictures or other phone numbers. A lot of investigation is still to come. This guy was awfully stealthy for your run-of-the mill pedophile. That Patreon video did not get his face on film, so he's one spooky dude when you add all this up."

I knew what he was alluding to too: transgender abductions, missing persons, murders, or just young girls in general sold into the sex trade—this was really some scary shit, and our guy was certainly qualified spooky and more.

"Are you working on any of this?" I asked.

"No, pretty much Santa Fe PD, Phoenix PD, and the FBI are doing all the heavy lifting now. I'm just waiting to hear what Jacob needs me to do; if anything, then, back to the real world, I guess."

It struck me that I really didn't know much about Paul besides his focus on finding Amber. Obviously, he had a life outside of finding a Trans kid. I didn't even know where he lived; did he have family or a girlfriend? Kids? How did he know Jacob? He didn't wear a ring, but these days that didn't mean shit. Is this his business—private investigations via computer forensics?

I did know about his brother; that was something, and certainly that he knew a great deal about me—too much about me.

"So, I'm probably done here also... Did Jacob mention anything about me?"

"No, I don't know much else. Any chance you'd be up for dinner later?"

Yes... I'd like, maybe get an opportunity to figure out who you are. Did he know I wanted that, or was he trying to be polite?

"Sure, that would be nice."

"Great, wanna meet in the lobby, say five o'clock?" he asked.

What? No, I'd barely have makeup applied by five! Meet in the lobby—that's casual, friend-meeting stuff, right? He wasn’t coming to my room to get me… Augh!

"How about five-forty-five? I literally just crawled out of bed," I complained.

"It's a date, then. I'll see you in the lobby at five forty-five."

A date? Was he just saying that as a colloquial interpretation for two people meeting? This wasn't like a 'date' date thing, right? It was us just being casual—like friends hanging out.

"I'll see you then..."

The line went dead, and I felt a flutter in my stomach, a nervous energy building quickly. Augh! Why is this so confusing?! I know it's new, but does it have to be so riddled with newness? I rolled my eyes, not a real word dummy... I needed to get moving!
March 10th, 5:39 PM
I had changed my outfit twice, going from business casual to comfortable, which meant dressy jeans and a nice top. The skirt I had put on first was flirty, but none of my tops really seemed to match and totally blew the vibe I wanted to present. Did I want a vibe? What is my vibe? Was I trying to be flirty? No, I just need to relax and be me. Stop thinking about everything and every little detail!!

In the end, I went wearing dressy jeans, a flirty top, and heels. I prayed I wasn't underdressed, and when I rounded the corner to the lobby, Paul was waiting; he was dressed in jeans too, with a nice polo shirt and loafers. Thank God! Just friends, and just casual – that’s all this is.

"You look great," he said as he tried to awkwardly hug me. I patted his back a couple times, and the hug ended as awkwardly as it began.

"Thanks; I was hoping we weren't going on a dress-up date." I purposely used the word ‘date’ to see if that fazed him.

He chuckled, "I probably should have said something about where I wanted to take you. That probably would have set the tone."

No reaction to the word ‘date’; guess this is just us hanging out. What did he mean by tone? I felt defensive and afraid I was going to look that way too, so I reached into my purse for some lip gloss, which would hopefully mask my feelings as I tried to apply it and replied.

"Where are we going?"

He was obviously excited, and it showed, "I read some Yelp reviews on this hole in the wall Mexican place—it sounds amazing! I really like Mexican food, you do..." and he quickly stopped speaking and looked very uncomfortable. "I... I hope you do."

He already knew I liked Mexican food. How? Had he looked at my Facebook or some blog post I'd made? Don't freak out! It's not bad that he knows this; I can relax knowing that he’s maybe paying more attention to my wants.

"I think you already know I like Mexican food, don't you?"

Paul squirmed a little, "I, ah… I saw a post you were tagged in on Facebook. So, yes, I know you like Mexican food. I’m really..."

I put a finger to his lips and smiled, "It's OK... We're good; let's go enjoy some amazing Mexican food. I could use a drink after the last however many hours of chasing Amber down."

My smiling put Paul at ease and I’d obviously just let him off the hook for his digging into my general likes / dislikes. It really was a matter of choosing my battles; all I could think was that, in the scope of things, it was somewhat nice that he had found that out and wanted to make dinner special on our 'date'. All good...

March 10th, 7:13 PM
Dinner was amazing. The hole in the wall really wasn't much more than four walls, a kitchen, and bathrooms, which I think were out back. It took us longer than expected to get here, but it turned out to be worth it. I was stuffed by the time I slid my plate back.

From the fresh tortillas made by three old women near the kitchen entrance to the salsa I could literally drink out of the little bowl provided, it was that good. A plus was the loud salsa music blaring on tiny speakers placed in fake plastic trees to set the atmosphere. To say this place was amazing really didn't do it justice. Color me impressed.

We had to wait about ten minutes for a table, but it really didn't feel like that much of a wait. There wasn't a bar, so we milled around the entrance with eight to ten others trying to get a table. Once we were seated, we agreed to order a mammoth margarita to share. When it arrived, it took up a lot of space on the rickety steel table we were seated at, its wobbly legs making me worry the thing was going to slip off of it. All the tables looked like dumpster dive saves, and I noticed several others with the same wobble issue and the same margarita space problem.

When our food arrived, which was enough to feed four people, I could tell things were loosening up a little between us, but the conversation needed a different direction.

"OK, mister, no more Amber talk until tomorrow, agreed?"

I blurted that out because he was starting to tell me again about the same computer surveillance crap he'd told me about in the car on the way here and again while we were waiting for the table.

He smiled back at me, "Yeah, I can do that. Drink on it."

I nodded and leaned in as he did to slurp the soupy mix of margaritas with two Dos Equis beers sitting upside down in the massive glass bowl of the drink. I was smiling when I sat back, grabbing a chip and some salsa. Damn, this stuff was good!

"So, what do you do for fun?" he asked.

I looked at Paul and decided to mess with him.

"Don't you know already?"

He laughed, not uncomfortably, but more heartfelt, and I wondered if maybe the alcohol in him was beginning to loosen him up. I could feel a very nice buzz working warmth all over my body.

"I deserved that... To be honest, I don't know a lot about your present-day activities; you run, right?"

"Yeah, I burn off a lot of aggression running."

"Probably sucks in the rain," he said, biting into his street taco.

"I don't mind; it really frees up my brain cells after a long day of legal research."

"Is that stuff boring? I mean, do you like what you’re doing?"

I watched him lean in to suck some more margarita down while watching me.

"Eh, it's a job. The people at Jacob's firm are really nice. The money is okay for now," I replied.

The look on his face made me think about being interviewed by Jacob—was this conversation between friends or was he doing research? I needed to flip this back on him. Here goes nothing, I thought.

"You know, I don't even know where you are from, and you know more than enough about me. Tell me about you."

He was still smiling, maybe contemplating my request.

"Well, I'm Paul," he said as he reached across the table and we shook hands.

I giggled. I had better watch my margarita intake, I thought.

He asked, "How old do you think I am?"

That question threw me, but I guessed conservatively, "Thirty... thirty-five max."

"Not bad... I'm thirty-six." There was a pause to contemplate something before he asked, "Do you think I'm single, married, or divorced?"

I had been thinking all this time that he was closer to forty or older! Yikes, why was I so bad at guessing some guy’s age? Good thing I guessed less, right? Single or married? Hmm… I gave him a mock-raised eyebrow look, as though I were studying him and trying to decide how to answer.

"Single now, never married, had a long-term relationship, though that just didn't work out."

"Really? What happened to that long-term relationship?" he asked, looking genuinely interested in my summation now.

"I don't know; maybe you didn't do the laundry?" I replied, trying to lighten this back up.

"Actually, I was married. She's a flight attendant and lives here in Phoenix. We made it about three good years being married, and we dated three before getting married. She's remarried now; he's a pilot. I'm over it, but still a little sore. She took the dog."

"Oh, I'm sorry... I..." I stammered uncomfortably.

"It's okay; I'm really over it. The dog thing bugs me now and then."

"So you lived here in Phoenix?"

"No, what gave you that impression?"

Paul still had an interested look on his face, not sad or annoyed, interested in whether or not I could read him—maybe?

"I just thought... Well, since she was here in Phoenix," I was beginning to feel uncomfortable, and I knew my guard was down due to the alcohol—it was best to shut up, so I did just that.

"Nah, I live in West Seattle, born and raised, if you can believe that. That's why I asked you about running in the rain." He was smiling now, "By that look on your face, I’ve surprised you."

I was surprised; all this time I just assumed he was from, I don't know, New York, then changed my mind to him being from Phoenix because of this ex-wife. My heart soared a little, I felt a little more relaxed, and it felt like our conversation was really beginning to pick up. He was letting me in…

We talked about all the local stuff back home in Seattle and it made talking about ourselves easier, I think. Well, until politics crept into being the subject and we agreed to disagree - moving on to other topics that were easier to discuss and less contentious. I learned more about Paul in the next hour than I ever thought I would—like he played hockey, was a Sounders season ticket holder, his parents lived in West Seattle, he liked all sorts of music, and still liked walking through the Pike Place Market.

He was so normal and made me laugh so much that, at one point, I was crying from laughing so hard.

"What do you think? Want to share another margarita?"

My eyes gave him a conspirator's look before saying, "Yeah, but I doubt I would be able to walk out of here."

His face became serious, "Agreed... I'm feeling it a little too, and I still have to drive us back. How about we check out the hopping hotel bar scene?"

I nodded, and he made a gesture toward our server. We had been talking so much that I hadn't noticed the place was half-empty. What time was it anyway?

March 10th, 9:26 p.m.
I had tried to pay my share of the bill, but Paul wasn't having any of it, so as we entered the hotel bar, I told him the drinks were on me. I had picked up my shiny new American Express Corporate card and was hell-bent on breaking it in I told him. He laughed, told me to surprise him with a 'fancy' rum drink, and excused himself, heading toward the restroom.

I ordered two top-shelf rum and Cokes and then sat at the same booth we'd sat in the night before.

"Our booth... So nice of them to keep it reserved for us." I watched him pick up his drink, raise it in salute, and then take a sip. I could tell he was thinking about it. “Tastes like rum and Coke to me."

I laughed a little and took a sip of my drink.

"Do this," I clucked my tongue on the roof of my mouth. He did the same a few times, trying to mimic my actions. We probably looked stupid making clucking sounds, but he played along.

"Any aftertaste in your mouth?" I asked.

"No, should there be?"

"Good rum will go down smoothly; there will be no harsh tingle in your mouth, but you should have a nice afterglow. That's not scientific by any means, but I've always found it to be true," I explained.

"I always thought good liquor was served neat... I got no glow in my mouth," he said, smiling.

"Yeah, they only had middle-of-the road stuff, so the Coke helps to mask that it's really not the best stuff."

He laughed, which I appreciated. Paul could be funny when he wanted, easily carry on a conversation about anything, and had a way of making me feel special the whole time he was batting those hazel-colored eyes at me.

I've had way too much to drink tonight, I thought. Don't think about wanting anything specific with this guy or he might figure that out with his mind-reading shit he’s done a few times since we met...

March 10th, 10:59 PM
We weren't the last to leave the bar, but I had yawned a couple times over the last fifteen minutes, apologizing profusely each time, and we decided to call it a night. In total, I had two decent rums and Coke's, while Paul had finished the one I bought him, and then switched to beer, finishing two before we headed back to our rooms.

He insisted on walking me back, and when we were past the front desk and in the first hallway to my room, I stopped, put a hand on his shoulder, and said, "These babies need to go."

I slipped off my heels, and I shrank a couple inches, and he was now looking down at me. I remember him saying he was 5'"11"—that was probably about right. I wasn't sloppy, drunk, or anything, but I was giddy and feeling playful.

"You, sir, may now walk me to my room, if and only if you can..." I dropped my heels and gave him a grin before I bolted down the hallway saying, "Catch me..."

I made it to the first corner and looked back to see that he had just picked up my second shoe and was trying to recover from being left in the dust. The race was on!

Nearing the elevators, I looked back, and he was closing on me. No time to wait, stairs! I hit the door at half speed, taking the stairs two at a time. I was at the second-floor landing when I heard him entering the stairway.

"Hey, not fair," he complained, but I was through to the hallway, sprinting to the end like some rowdy kid, and made it to my door as he popped out into the hallway.

He dropped a shoe and looked at me with a big smile.

"Yeah, you cheat," he said loud enough for me to hear him and not wake the entire floor. He walked the rest of the way, stopping a couple feet from me to curtsey with my heels extended.

"Why, thank you, good sir," I said taking them from him. I wasn't winded, but I was certainly wide awake, heart thumping out of my chest, and pretty sure I was feeling that alcohol buzz now.

"You're welcome, my lady."

We chuckled a little, and I fished my key card from my purse.

"I had to run with my purse, if that's any consolation," I said over my shoulder, getting the door open and my bare foot against it.

"It's not," he said, looking like he was about to say something and thinking better of it didn’t say what was on his mind.

I watched him and raised a brow, which got him to say, "This was a lot of fun. I needed a break from the past week of working on this case. See you in the morning?"

And as high, alive, alert, and tingling with the buzz from too much alcohol I was feeling, I was absolutely wishing he would just read my mind. It didn't look like he was getting the message, unfortunately. I was trying to think as loudly as I could for him to 'Ask to come in...' or just straight up 'Kiss me...'

I considered for a moment asking him to come in, but resigned myself to his 'See you in the morning?' question as him turning down what I was thinking and did not catch on. It was the end of the night. My mood was crumbling now anyway; my spirit was crashing, and I just needed to get over myself.

"Yeah," I pushed the door a little more open, and I smiled my best 'I'm so happy' smile. "I had a really nice time tonight, thank you. Goodnight Paul..."

I stepped into my room as he was turning to walk away. The door clunked heavily behind me, and I was in an empty room, with crushing silence blanketing me, sucking the best of the evening away.

March 10th, 11:02 PM
I physically jumped at the light tap on my door. I had been standing there, leaning against it, for maybe fifteen seconds, sinking into a dark, dark place. I looked out the peephole—it was Paul. I tried to gain my composure and confidence by opening the door slowly.

"You forget something?"

Paul looked conflicted, maybe, or like he wanted to say... I watched him step towards me. I could see his hands reaching for my waist to pull me to him, our faces nearly together. I wasn’t sure what he was doing until my eyes closed as our lips touched.

::: --- :::

I would like to acknowledge the assistance of Bronwen Welsh in proofreading and giving me insightful advice. She is an accomplished author in her own right and I appreciate her time more than I can say...

Don't be afraid to click the "Thumbs Up" icon for this short story if it's done anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so, and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter (I’d have bot’ed that bitch long ago if there was)). If you comment, I will reply, so let’s chat or not or whatever floats your noddle.

If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected](link sends e-mail)) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

The author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Last Updated: 2/14/2024 to smooth out portions of the story.

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March 11th, 7:18 a.m.
The morning started with breakfast in the hotel's restaurant and running into Jacob. We talked about Amber, and before I knew it, I had agreed to speak with her today. It’s not like I was some kind of mental health professional, which is what she probably needs most right now, but I did agree talk to her. According to Jacob, the Carson’s just wanted to know about the events leading up to her flight from arguably a damn normal and very supportive environment. Was there something they could do going forward to support her more, connect with her, and keep her from some of the online activities we all found shocking?

They wanted to know the possibility that she would continue on this destructive path she'd dabbled with and how they could mitigate that chance. I wanted to tell Jacob there was no way to judge any of that, but I held my tongue. My own dysfunctional actions regarding getting positive strokes by those using me as a fetish might make my insights into her state of mind easier, but I wasn't going to have some patented resolution to fix her psyche. Only she could do and when she decided she was ready to stop being used.

The escape was to get those positive strokes you needed from within and from the support of those closest to you. Nothing good ever came from my adventures online or would for Amber. I was not about to try and explain that in any great detail. It would have been too much information to share with the managing partner of the law firm that employed me and likely would have got me fired due to the problems that might cause for the firm or some client that knew of my past life online.

In the end, I had done pretty well for myself after getting away from that self-destructive side Amber had toyed with. I think the problem going forward for her was whether she had it within herself to seek and accept the help she needed. Could she trust in everyone around her being supportive, and pretty much build herself up enough not to seek that negative type of gratification, no matter how positive it appeared? It was a tall order, one that didn't happen overnight for me. It took me several months to get over the addiction—the need for the wrong kind of attention that was anything but positive and I had been blind to.

I just didn't know if she was mature enough to break free from that crap. Augh...

Jacob said he would be out front with the car at 10:00 a.m. I asked about Paul, and he said he was doing some work on digital evidence we’d gathered for the police. The last thing he’d said was that he’d talked to Janet and was considering possibly extending my stay through mid-week; that was going to be a day-to-day TBD decision. I wondered why. I wasn’t exactly value added right now.

When Jacob left, I lingered over a couple of pieces of bacon and some hash browns, finishing them but barely touching my eggs. I downed three glasses of water during breakfast, but it was a poor attempt at hydration. I signed the bill for to my room, including the customary fifteen-percent gratuity. Was that going to be an expense I could claim, the gratuity? I shook my head—a question for another time.

I made my way to my room to change; I needed to clear my head after last night with Paul, so my plan was to go for a run before it got too warm out. I put on baggy running shorts over tights, a sports bra and a loose-fitting tank top, powder blue Nike running shoes, and sunglasses. I grabbed a bottle of water, headphones, an armband for my phone, and a room key. That should do I thought looking around the suite. My goal was five miles; I didn't care if I got lost. I was intent on running my frustrations out of me...

Time check: 8:02 AM, plenty of time...

March 11th, 9:58 a.m.
I was just shy of my run goal, but I felt so much better after I got back to the hotel, especially after hitting the shower. I was dreading going to the Carson’s and talking to Amber and had thought about that kid way too much on my run. So much for vanquishing my frustrations by going for a run!

Deciding what to wear was another can of worms, but in the end I decided on my nicest pair of slacks, a simple top, and flats. I'd spent way too much time on my makeup and hair—I could already feel the judging Amber would be doing when I arrived. I still had no idea how I was going to reach this kid.

It took about ten minutes for us to get to Carson's, and in that time, barely anything was said on the drive-over. Jacob seemed deep in thought, as if something was bothering him. I didn't press and just marveled at the sameness of the area's homes block after block—same style, same color, no yards, no greenery... It was all military desert brown camouflage.

Stephanie met us at the door, and once inside, we could hear her husband yelling at someone on the phone in the other room. Jacob split from our gathering to see what was going on, and Stephanie ushered me into the kitchen, where it was impossible to hear what was being yelled.

"We really want to thank you for agreeing to speak with Amber. She hasn't said much since we got her home," Stephanie said with a pained face. It was obvious she'd spent some time crying recently.

"I'm happy to help Mrs. Carson." I wanted to hug her, but I held my ground on the opposite side of the kitchen island. We didn’t rate that kind of thing, though we were both women and it was kind of a cornerstone for women to be compassionate, supportive, and have empathy.

"Stephanie, please. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Water would be wonderful, thank you Stephanie," and saying her name just didn't feel right.

When she gave me the glass, there really wasn't anything left to say. She didn't mention what had her husband going ballistic when we came in, so I took a sip of the cool liquid, and a few seconds later I was following her to Amber's room. The door was ajar, and after a courtesy knock with Stephanie poking her head tentatively into the room, we entered.

"Amber, this is Elizabeth. She works for your uncle Jacob." Amber looked up from her iPad and nodded at my existence. "OK, well, I'll leave you two," Stephanie said tentatively. "I'll be just down the hall, honey."

Ten seconds later, we were alone, and the door to her room was now open about halfway. When I was sure Stephanie was gone, I closed the door. That got me a questioning look from Amber.

"You, the computer genius who hacked into my accounts?" she asked.

OK, not going to mince words; warm up to conversing.

"No, that was a computer forensics specialist," I replied trying to control my nerves and likely failing.

"Well, I would appreciate being able to get back into my accounts. People are asking about me online. I want back into my email," she complained.

"I can't do anything about that. I think until the police and FBI are finished with whatever they are doing, you're going to have to put up with being locked out," I stated.

She looked questioningly at me and asked, "How long have you been on HRT?"

Alrighty then, so much for easing into getting to know one another. Was it that obvious or had the Caron’s mentioned that to her? I told her how long and that I didn't have it as easy as she did with a supportive family. She complained that not everything was as it appeared, but wouldn’t expand on that statement.

Since we'd skipped the politeness portion of feeling each other out, I asked, "Why run away?"

"Are you going to tell me that was stupid and dangerous?" she quipped back.

"Well, I wouldn't say it was the smartest move on your part. I don't know if you did that for love or attention or whatever, but that guy, David, right? He's probably not concerned with your best interests."

I had gotten her 'Daddy's' first name from Jacob over breakfast; I assumed he'd gotten that from the Carson's, the FBI, or the police, maybe even Paul. If that was something Paul had uncovered, I would have liked to have heard it from him. In addition to that, there are a few more things I wanted to know - like what happened last night.

"You don't know that," Amber shot back.

I snapped back, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I do. I've been down this road, and it's a fucking shithole that will chew your ass up and discard you when you aren't providing enough in return or some fuck kills you for being Trans. You're nothing but a fetish for those assholes online; I can guarantee you that."

I was shaking ever so slightly. It was the nerves of speaking candidly, forcibly, and pushing back at this kid who thought she knew everything. I was now on edge, my Xanax fix not doing all it could for me at the moment.

"Yeah, well, he loves me. David loves me, and I don't care what you say." She put the iPad down and winced from the pain as she tried to sit up in bed.

I was sure she was probably still on pain medication, so maybe that was part of this attitude I was getting. Then again, maybe she just had a rebellious streak and this was her ‘FU Bitch!’ in return for my being involved with tracking her down. I wasn't about to mention that I'd seen plenty of his emails professing his love for her.

"If he loved you, why did the police find you alone in that house?"

"David went to get me donuts," she said meekly.

"He left his phone. What if something had happened to you while he was away? He was protecting himself Amber. Sooner or later, they will catch him." As soon as I said that, I was questioning whether I should have attacked him. Fuck! I'm not a shrink. I'm usually on the other side of the couch!

"Same thing my mom said... Well, good luck with that; he's probably already well on his way home by now," she taunted.

He was already on his way home? Did that mean he wasn't from New Mexico?

"Where is he from?" I asked. Her answer was to shrug her shoulders.

OK, I'm just backing this kid into a corner. I need to switch things up. I walked to her closet, flipping the light on after opening the door.

"You have a wardrobe I'd kill for... Do you shop with your mom? You've got good taste. If your shoes were a size larger, I probably would have borrowed those tan pumps." I turned back towards her; she was watching me.

"Which ones?" she asked.

I reached down and held up the faux synthetic snakeskin tan pumps with four-inch heels.

"Yeah, I'm going to have to look into finding these in a size twelve when I get back to Seattle." I looked inside and could see they were size eleven's.

"Nordstrom's," she offered.

"Thanks. What would you pair them with in here?" I flipped through a few skirts, pulling one I thought might work, and showed her. She nodded ‘No’ and after a moment of browsing I pulled a cute summer dress out. It was whimsy and was made of a light fabric that would flowing beautifully.

"How about this?" I asked.

"Seriously," she said as if she were appalled by my choice.

"Alright, what in here goes with these hot shoes?" I tried to sound playful, but I was struggling to be genuine. I was also a bit annoyed that my style cues were so off for this kid.

I watched her get up slowly, pull her t-shirt down slowly over her runner's shorts, and slowly make her way to the closet.

"Are you supposed to be getting up?" I asked.

"It hurts a bit, but I have to go to the bathroom anyway." She moved past me and pushed a few hangers aside until she had a light brown suede mini skirt in her hand. Then she flipped through a few different blouses and picked the wildest-colored ones and even one with a crazy pattern. "I'd pair them with these, this one, or any of those," she said.

"Yeah, guess those would go. I don't shop often, and when I do, I'm kind of at the mercy of that week's thrift store selection." I felt embarrassed to say that, but it was the truth.

"You dress too conservatively. You've got pretty eyes, know your way around a makeup brush obviously, and your hair is cute—maybe pull it back... You just dress too bland, conservative, and it makes you look old."

Whoa... That was probably one of the best compliments I'd ever gotten in a long while! I ignored the bland and old dig. I was twenty-freaking-four! I’m not old kid!

"Thanks, I... I'm a work in progress. Plus, I 'have' to dress conservatively; I work for your uncle."

"Well, good luck with that... Uncle Jacob is nice and all, but way too cerebral for me... I gotta pee," she said, taking the pumps I was holding and tossing them in the general direction of where I had pulled them from, turned the light off, and sort of shooed me from her closet before entering the en-suite bathroom.

Was she warming up to me, or was she just screwing with me? I sat at her desk and looked at the pictures of her with friends tubing on a river somewhere in a bathing suit (shorts for the bottoms), riding a horse in another...

"I've changed a lot since most of those were taken."

She’d startled me, but I tried to act as if I were just turning to face her rather than jumping. She was grimacing as she sat back down on the edge of her bed.

"I'll bet those hurt." I could see the bandages wrapped tightly around her chest through the t-shirt to give her tissue a chance to heal and accept the foreign material now inside her chest. "Why implants?"

She looked like she was going to say David's name, but caught herself saying, "I was tired of waiting to feel more complete."

"They feel like you'd expected?"

"Pretty much—more weight on my chest than I expected. Have you considered implants?"

What Trans woman hasn't thought about implants?

"I don't have the money for that kind of luxury. You've already critiqued one of my best outfits. If I had the money, I would probably splurge on better clothes. Anyway, a guy told me that more than a handful or mouthful was a waste," I tried to chuckle, but it fell on deaf ears.

"I've never heard that... Most guys I've talked with always asked when I was going to get them done. Guys want big tits and that’s what I wanted."

"We saw that David paid for the surgery, even though you certainly have collected plenty from your online subscription followers."

"He said he wanted to give them to me for my birthday. He was pretty excited, and..." she stopped when she realized she was rambling, not being guarded about what she was saying.

"Look, I'm not here to report back to your parents or the police, anything you say. We're just a couple Trans girls talking. I promise." I really didn't have plans to divulge every bit of our conversation, but if there was a clue to finding David, well, that was going to get passed on.

"Sure," she said with a tone that dripped more contempt than she probably realized.

OK, let's try a different tact.

"When I came out to my parents, there was no support. Trans was barely even a word anyone understood anything about. That was like four years ago." I wasn't sure where I was going with this and just let it follow its own course. "I basically was shown the door. I spent the next six months hopping from one friend's house to another. I did the homeless shelter thing and lived on the streets for almost a week before getting my ass beat by a group of losers."

"What the fuck is wrong with your parents?" she interrupted.

"Yeah, seriously, right?"

I'd spent years trying to figure out why my family gave up on me. I wondered if they had been more like Carson's where I would be today.

"I would never do something like that to my kid." She thought about that a second and added, "Not like I'm going to have kids in the traditional sense."

"Maybe you adopt? Maybe you meet someone with kids already." Amber just nodded, so I pressed on. "I was pretty low after getting out of the hospital from the beating I took. I have certainly thought about suicide more times than is healthy. I finally moved in with a friend, and the internet became an outlet, a place to get myself some positive feedback, since no one was giving that to me much.

“Talking to guys online was easy; I was anonymous, and so were they. Sending pictures was exciting, especially when you're being told how sexy you looked and how hot you are making the person on the other end. Then I started webcam sessions. The only thing is that I didn't connect the dots; I didn't get paid for any of it. Not the videos, pictures, or anything. I didn’t even realize I could create an Amazon wish list; people could have bought stuff for me. It all became an addiction at that point. The attention was my drug." I felt a lump growing in my throat and had to pause.

"I don't regret what I've done."

Maybe right now you don't, but one day you will.

"Your video with David will come back to haunt you one day. You gave up so much, and for what, a couple thousand, maybe more, before the police took down your accounts?"

The truth was, Paul had been the one to initiate that, but the cops would have done the same thing.

"I don't have a problem with what I've done. It was hot and wasn't about the money at all. David said I might as well cash in on it. That's a lot of money for barely even a day online."

"How well do you know him, Amber? I mean, really know David? His past, his now... I think the money was absolutely part of it, his pushing you and he was going to use you to cash in on your sexuality."

"I know he loves me and wants to be with me. He cares about what happens to me," she said in defense of him.

"That may be, but are you one of many? Maybe he's been with younger girls? And you can’t rule out boys, which is another can of ugly. The law is going to say he groomed you as a predator and say he is a pedophile that needs to get locked up. I've seen your video; none of that was 'love' in any sense of the word. He fucked you without a condom, came inside of you, and had you pull your ass cheeks apart to film his conquest dribbling out of you—then he got you to post it online so you could make some money? How is any of that shit love?" I asked.

"You don't get it..."

I cut her off, "I don't get it? I've done this shit with more fucking losers than you'll ever know. I've been raped, beaten, and used, and some of that shit was videoed and is out there on the internet for all to see. I didn't get paid; I got used. You think I don't get it? I crawled out of a fucking gutter of sick, perverted sexual bullshit to be where I am right now, and you couldn't pay me enough to go back. I betrayed my belief, to my very core, that I was born in the wrong body." I was yelling, and when I stopped, the room was draped in an eerie silence.

Amber had been staring at me, and then lowered her head.

"Look," I started more calmly, "I know none of this transition stuff is easy. I know it doesn't happen overnight, and a lot of it is complicated and confusing, and you want to rush it to be over. I still get anxious to rush things along because I'm not whole or complete. Selling yourself out like you have online is not the answer. It is my biggest regret in my twenty-four years of life. You don't want to live with regrets, trust me. There are plenty of David’s out there, just waiting to detour you from being the woman you were born to be. Be better than me…"

When she didn't have anything to say, I stood and pulled a drawer out on her desk to get some paper. I wrote my cell phone number and left it on the desk.

"That's my cell number. If you want to talk, call me. Live life for you, Amber. You've got a lot going for you. Don't go down the same path I did. It's not too late." I made my way to the door, looked back at Amber, and then made my way to the kitchen. When I entered, Jacob and Carson’s were talking but stopped upon seeing me.

"Did she say anything about this David character?" Jacob asked.

"No, we really just talked about how destructive her activities have been to getting her to where she should be."

"Did she say anything about her online presence,” was his next question.

"Mr. Wentz, no, she didn’t. My guess is it was just easy to get addicted to the feedback. This David guy wasn't the only one who made her activities online a source for positive feedback. I know that probably doesn't make sense since Amber is so well supported, but it's truly part of why she did so much online. I think combined with the feedback and the monetary validation she was getting, it was just kind of consumed her..."

"I'm going to kill that fucker," Mr. Carson said under his breath.

"Mr. Carson, I think Amber knows what she was doing was wrong," I offered.

The conversation went in a couple different directions, and I tried my best to relate my experiences—without in-depth details—to give everyone some insight but still protected my story. After answering a number of questions with my wondering ramblings, the questions eventually stopped. Jacob had treated some of the direction those questions went like a cross-examination, but I think I did well with my answers at hiding the truth of my past mistakes. I think he knew there was more that I knew about what Amber was into; maybe he knew everything? Had he gotten that information from Paul? Augh...

Bottom line: Amber needed counseling; we all agreed on that point. The Carson’s said they had arranged a second therapist and a few other things to help keep her on the right path. We didn't talk about the content she had online; it almost sounded from some of the comments that Paul might be doing something about that, though there is no way to remove all content from the internet. I was living proof of that.

Jacob and I left ten minutes later after a final thank you from Carson’s. Stephanie and I hugged. I whispered to her that I had given Amber my number and that I would be happy to talk with her any time. She squeezed my hands in thanks.

The ride back to the hotel was quiet, much like the ride to the Carson’s. Jacob dropped me off at the entrance to the hotel and said he was going to meet up with his FBI buddy Landon. There was mention that he would catch up with me later; I wasn’t sure why.

March 11th, 1:33 PM
On the walk to my room, I fished my phone out of my purse with the intention of calling Janet. I wasn't sure what I was going to report, but she had made it clear I was supposed to report. When my iPhone
I woke up to my touch. I could see there were messages from Paul, so clicked on iMessenger and read his texts:

Paul, iMessage: Today 10:33 AM
"Good morning. I wanted to begin by apologizing for last night. I was, I don't know exactly what I was. You were perfect, and I was unsure of everything I was feeling. I would like to talk about it if you are willing to give me a chance to explain. Let me know."

Paul, iMessage: Today, 11:58 AM
"How is it going with Amber? The Carson’s? I wanted to let you know I overheard Stephanie telling Jacob she really liked you. I like you. I hope we can clear up a few things. I should be back at the hotel by 4. Do you have plans for dinner?"

Paul, iMessage: Today, 12:24 PM
"Dinner?"

Paul, iMessage: Today, 1:09 PM
"Hello?"

I wasn't sure how I felt about last night, other than being hurt. The entire evening was beyond amazing. I was drinking every bit of being with him, like it was all so completely natural, comfortable, and normal. We talked and laughed. I know he was flirting, and so was I. And then he just got me in my room, like none of that mattered or had even happened. It couldn't have been worse—unless he shook my hand to say 'Good Night'.

When the door closed, I was left wanting so much more, disappointed, and crashing hard—until there was that knock at the door. I opened the door and said something about him forgetting something. I watched him stepped towards me, his hands took hold of my waist, and we kissed. Not just a polite kiss, but a kiss that screamed we both wanted more!

It was perfect! I was absolutely soaring! And then he stopped and pulled away suddenly, as if he couldn't reconcile that he was kissing a biological male who looked like and was to her soul a female. The confusion, the doubts, and the fear were written all over his face. I had seen that look before, and I knew the heartbreak that was coming.

What were his last words before leaving me at my door that second time? "I'm... I'm really sorry..."

And all I could do was watch him walk away. I’d been lifted to new heights and immediately crushed. I haven't cried with an ache or pain like that in months; that streak ended last night.

I looked at my phone and considered my response.

::: --- :::

I would like to acknowledge the assistance of Bronwen Welsh in proofreading and giving me insightful advice. She is an accomplished author in her own right and I appreciate her time more than I can say...

Don't be afraid to click the "Thumbs Up" icon for this short story if it's done anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so, and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter (I’d have bot’ed that bitch long ago if there was)). If you comment, I will reply, so let’s chat or not or whatever floats your noddle.

If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected](link sends e-mail)(link sends e-mail)) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

The author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Last Updated: 2/15/2024 to smooth out portions of the story.

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March 11th, 1:41 PM
I had to think about whether I really wanted to reply and then what I should say.

There was no denying there being an attraction, something was going on between us, but Paul's fears about being with me, reconciling us being more than co-workers was sobering. He’d made the advance and pulled back. I thought hard trying to get him to read my mind and see that I was willing to take things further. How far? I’m not sure, but that kiss should have told him I was maybe lusting on him a bit.

Yeah, we’d arguably had a stressed last couple days of work trying to find Amber, so that may have lead to the need for his exploration and my willingness to participate. There had been alcohol involved with some of our decision making last night certainly, but was his act of kissing me all just a moment of weakness for him?

It wasn't like I hadn't experienced this same kind of reaction a few times before, even in those cases the men knew I was Trans and purportedly didn’t care. Some of those men ignored that I was Trans completely just to see what it would be like to be with me or whether they could or were feeding some fetish fantasy. Who knows? My dating profile did clearly spell out my being a transgendered woman, so it made their rejection that much more difficult to deal with and categorize. I’d had too many guys who ran after meeting me and could not even go through with a simple dinner date. Those guys tended to drive me crazy.

It was frustrating, that they could like the person they were talking with online, in text messages, even Facetime a few times, but somehow being Trans was never part of the equation for them. Like they didn’t think that out fully and before meeting would run for the exit! It was just part of this phase of my transition I kept telling myself. I’d likely have to deal with this many more times I was sure, Paul wasn’t a ‘one-off’ disappointment. I prayed one day it wouldn't matter - that was probably a pipe dream.

The difference with Paul though was he knew about me and he knew much more about my past than I cared for any man I had the slightest romantic interest in knowing about. The same set of fears I have always had to deal with on my side of the equation, same frustrations about not being complete enough for him or any man were always front and center in my mind. The I truly thought, no felt, Paul was different.

He seemed comfortable being around me, talking to me, and even arguing with me. It was hard for me to accept he couldn't overcome my not being complete. He had to have thought this shit over - why did he have to kiss me?! If he'd have just said, "See ya..." at my door last night and not come back - I would have gotten it completely - not interested, no harm, no foul, and I still think you’re a nice guy. But he didn't do that - he kissed me and now I was conflicted.

Would it have mattered if I was fully who I was supposed to be? Only one way to find out and I looked at my phone and began typing:

"We should talk. Meet in the lobby at 6. Wear comfortable shoes. There's a park about a mile from here. Let's go for a walk and see what we really think about last night."

I read it twice, removed 'We should talk' and 'and see what we really think about last night'. Read it again and pressed 'Send'.

Not twenty seconds later I had my reply.

"Thank you. See you at 6 in the lobby."

I was nervous, but what did I have to lose? It's going to be what it's going to be. I needed to NOT over-think any of this! To not anticipate how the conversation was going to go and twist and turn those words into something they weren't. 'Good luck with that' I thought absently.

I clicked out of iMessenger and pulled up Janet's phone number. I was dreading this call, but pressed the button to make the call. On the third ring she answered.

"Elizabeth... How are things going?" she asked almost too cheery, and sounding very relaxed.

"They are good Ms. Larson. Amber is home resting, the Carson’s continue to work with the authorities. Not much is really going on that I'm aware of." All those bits of information were truths.

There was a momentary pause, almost like one of us had bad cell phone coverage, but she jumped into asking questions and I stammered to reply to them without lying or giving away too much of the truth.

How was Jacob? What were the Carson’s doing about Amber long term? Were they any closer to knowing more about this 'David' character? That question made me wonder how she'd found out his name, as I had only found out today his first name. Was there anything useful the doctor told the authorities? Was the FBI fully investigating now? The questions came fast and much like I’d expect a lawyers mind would think trying to understand the situation down here.

"I spoke with Jacob an hour ago, sounds like he was going to release you to come back to Seattle. You'll have ticketing information in an email later tonight. We agreed that a Sunday return would work best? Gives you a chance to decompress, enjoy the nice weather, take in some sights maybe... You deserve a little break, I'm sure it's been stressful these last couple days," she said.

I wasn't sure what to think about getting to go home, but realistically it only made sense that eventually I'd be going home. It was a nice gesture to let me stay over the weekend, especially since all my expenses were being picked up by the firm. What could I say?

"That would be great Ms. Larson... I would enjoy a few more days here. Thank You... I... Guess I will see you Monday morning then," I finally got out.

"Excellent. Oh, Elizabeth... If something significant breaks free, I would like to be notified immediately, understood?"

"Of course Ms. Larson... I will do that."

"Alright then... Well, enjoy your down time. We've got plenty of work here waiting for you. Goodbye..."

"Good..." And the call was clearly over, I thought the word 'bye' for my own satisfaction.

It was plain rude to just hang up like that, right? Janet Larson was an interesting woman, driven, and not likely to be put into a corner without a fight. I had seen her during cross-examination on a DUI case and she was merciless in getting legal points made to get her defendant acquitted. I wasn't sure why she had to be in the know about everything about Amber, but since I didn't want to lose this job I was going to do whatever I was told to do - even though Jacob had said not to mention what was going on to her.

Augh!!!

Too many high-level, high-powered people I was trying to please all at once. More like dodge, while trying not to be squished. I think I will be happy to get back to my job and the mundane legal research I did for Brandt, Larson, and Wentz.

March 11th, 6:07 PM
I was running late and had over-slept the power nap I thought I could sneak in before meeting Paul. I was rushed dressing, getting my hair to do what I wanted, and deciding on what I should wear. Too many things were giving my brain a cramp right now and I was annoyed about being late. One of my biggest pet peeves was being late or others being late for that matter. I needed to let it go, but it was an idiosyncrasy that was pretty consuming at times. I probably had OCD. No, I'm sure I was in the deep end of the OCD pool.

I turned the corner to the lobby just as Paul was checking his phone, probably for the time or to see if I’d texted him.

"Sorry I'm late... Note to self - set two alarms and get a wakeup call from the front desk if you're going to take a nap." I huffed that out way too fast when I was within earshot.

Could he tell I was nervous? That a lot rode on understanding what had happened between us last night? I didn’t want to come off as desperate, would he think that? Was I projecting my insecurities?

He chuckled, "Don't worry about it. I was a couple of minutes late myself... My excuse was I was talking to Jacob. He mentioned you are free to get out of here, Sunday right?"

"Yeah, I spoke with Janet and she told me that he said I could return to Seattle. Not sure, I'm value added at this point anyway. I don't have mad computer skills like you." I tried to make that last part sound playful, but it sounded like I was being guarded.

Relax! Breathe...

"You have skills Miss... Don't cut yourself short."

We headed out into the Arizona sunshine, it was at least eighty degrees out - even at 6:00 PM. Seattle gloom and rain was going to suck compared to this. I was glad I decided on a light top and shorts, with anklet socks and white Sketchers. Paul was in shorts, polo, and tennis shoes. I was glad he also went the comfort route also.

"I'm following you," he said when we made it to the curb.

"Think it's this way," and I started us in the direction of the setting sun. "Anything new happening?"

I figured we could maybe knock the small talk stuff out of the way first, and then see what organically rose to the surface with this little jaunt to the park I had run past earlier.

He hesitated a second, "Yeah, pretty sure we know who the guy is."

What?!

"Oh my God... That's great!" I was looking at him and his excitement about having told me the news put a permanent grin on his face.

"Yeah... I really didn't have much to do with it other than following that lead on the guy not being at the house because he went out for donuts. I started looking for places he could get them, gave the list to the FBI guys, they did some traffic camera stuff, compared the sketch artist renderings from the staff at the doctor's office, and they got a potential match at a grocery store about two miles from the Air BnB they were staying at. With a good screen shot of the guys face from the stores security camera they ran facial recognition and got nothing."

I must have looked confused, so he added, "But that's when Jacob mentioned you telling the Carson’s what Amber had said about the guy was 'already on his way home' or something like that. One of the FBI analysts ran a search for air travelers to Santa Fe Regional Airport and there he was. Flight checks, customs, TSA, all of that searched and we found David James Lafleur - Canadian national with a criminal record including lewd contact with a minor and an arrest for soliciting a prostitute.

“He left Vancouver BC three days ago and returned yesterday on a modified ticket - he was going to be here until mid-next week, then return. I’m guessing that means he was taking Amber back with him after a bit of recovery, possibly. We knew some of the length of stay stuff from the Air BnB rental agreement – so the airline ticket in conjunction maybe suggests she’d have been taken to Canada - possibly."

"Oh my, that is creepy and an amazing breakthrough. The guy came all this way? Do they know anything else about him?"

"Works for a software development company, divorced – coincidentally around the time of the soliciting arrest. Wild stuff, huh?"

Wild, crazy, and certainly unexpected. Someone from another country makes contact with Amber, grooms her for a relationship, spends time and money to get here, convinces her to get breast implants, pays for them, gets her on film, has sex with her, and escapes back to Canada. Tell me that isn't one crazy list of happenings! What would have happened if she left the country with him?

"Does she know yet?"

"No, they don't want her to make contact and warn him. The Carson’s know, Jacob of course. This case has gone from Phoenix PD, to FBI, to Santa Fe PD, and now they’ve brought in the RCMP in Vancouver. I doubt this guy is going to get far. Not bad timing wise, the authorities should have him in their sights within a couple days. I have to monitor Amber's computer use - to see if there is some other way they are communicating. If she creates a new email account and knows his or some other way to contact him - well we might not be out of the woods yet."

Yes, they know who he is and found out pretty quickly, but he got here and back to Vancouver, BC. Until he was in custody I wouldn't be saying he was a shoe-in to be captured.

"God, I hope Amber isn't going to try and contact this guy. I'd like to see his ass behind bars and then have them throw away the key."

"Me too. I got the cliff note version of your talk with Amber from Jacob, what do you think? Is she going to be alright?"

We stopped at a corner to let a delivery truck get around a car stuck at a ‘Stop’ sign with its hood up for some kind of mechanical issue. When the truck passed we crossed.

"She's going to need someone, a professional to talk with."

"No big sister, little sister connection?"

How could he make that kind of statement, but ran away after kissing me last night? I thought about saying something, but I held my tongue - the ‘us’ last night conversation would start when I was ready, I just needed to be patient.

"No, not really. She's your typical millennial and has a rebellious streak I'm pretty sure. I'm six years older than her and she acts like I'm as old as her mom."

Paul assured me I didn't give off an old woman vibe, and then turned the conversation to the legal charges that might face this guy. Again with a normal, expected, comment about who I was from his mouth! I gave him a look, like he should expand on that train of thought, but he miss-read it and jumped into explaining how Jacob had done some work with a Canadian law firm and asked them to look into the law from their side.

That Amber was eighteen at the time of their physical contact - the time they had made their sex video - well, there could be trouble giving the guy anything more than a slap on the wrist. I was sure of our laws would be a bit more brutal. It made me sick to think this guy might not get everything that was coming to him in Canada.

The block before the park Paul began talking about working with the FBI. He was like a kid, giddy, geeky, and pumped about every aspect of it. He was sure he would have had such access, but because of Jacob and Landon's relationship concessions were made.

"You know their crypto abilities..."

"That's interesting and all, but you've said a few things about me that make me wonder what you really think of me Paul." I had interrupted him midsentence to get that out and I figured I'd waited long enough for him to start talking about last night and just couldn't hold my tongue any longer.

What happened to his mind reading abilities?

He looked confused, "Like what?"

"For one, 'Big sister' and not an 'old woman' for another, what is that?" I snapped a little too forcefully.

He looked like he didn't get the point I was trying to make, but attempted to put out the steam coming from my ears.

"I'm not really sure what you mean, but I thought you might have had better luck with Amber since you two are closer in age," he said giving up trying to pin words together into a cohesive explanation of his thought process.

"Do you mean we're both Trans, so that's the connecting bond we share?"

"Sure, no doubt that's something you two have in common. I just thought as women you could connect."

"There! That's what I want you to explain to me - that we're both women and could connect. Do you really see us both as real women?" I was about done mincing words with him and felt my frustration coming out angrily in my reply.

We caught a look from a couple walking a pathway around the park. I didn't care. Paul looked at a bench just ahead and motioned toward it. I followed him. After we sat he looked like he was trying to figure out my last question.

"Yes, I see you both as real women. Do I understand how this happens to people? No. Do I think it is real, absolutely!"

"And last night? Good conversation all night, dinner, drinks, all the flirting we did..."

He was a little quieter, "All enjoyable, yes..."

"So, what the hell happened?"

Now Paul looked really uncomfortable. He had certainly thought about this meeting more than once over the last however many hours, it’s time to reveal the truth Mr. Kline.

"I'm not sure..."

"Look, this is still new for me Paul. I've tried dating a few times in the past couple years, lots of communication, lots of trying to figure out if there was an attraction, or whatever. Break this down for me though; do I have a good personality?"

"Yes, I think you're very intelligent. You are caring, speak your mind... I like that you push back and don't just roll over when confronted."

That was insightful, not sure I speak my mind as much as I'd like, but I'll take that.

"So, there's an attraction to my personality?"

"Of course, personality is part of what makes a person attractive," he replied.

"How about looks? I was good looking enough to kiss, right?"

"I kissed you, yes, I... I wanted to and I did."

I thought I detected a tinge of defense in his voice or maybe uncertainty.

"Are you gay?"

"Gay? No, I'm not gay and I don't care if people are or not."

"You identify me as a woman, though I'm not biologically one and you know that. You aren't gay and I'm not either by the way. You like my personality. You know more about me than anyone I've ever met. For the record ‘again’, I am not that person in any way, shape, or form from anything you may have seen or discovered about me online from over three years ago. I have not been with a man, let alone a woman in over two and a half years - like what you may have found online.

“I've been on HRT for twenty months now and everything you see, that I present or represent as female is all me. I’m faking nothing and after I have surgery to get rid of the last remaining reminder that I was born in the wrong body, well, it's not likely I'll ever be questioned about who I really am."

I finally took a breath, and continued to watch his face as he was listening intently, and processing my words.

"What were you afraid of Paul? We're beyond BS'ing each other, just tell me…."

He jumped in as my voice trailed off to answer, "Elizabeth, this is new for me. Transgenderism or whatever the technical term is, it's all new. I understand so little about the struggle, your journey, and I... I can't even fathom what this would be like for someone."

Nice, but no surprise - most people don't get it. They don't get the unexplainable itch, tickle, that something about how you feel in the body you see does not match what you feel inside. I was going to say that, but didn't want to control the direction of his answer. I moved my head ever so slightly as if to say, 'And?'

"I, I don't have all the answers Elizabeth. I look at you and I see a pretty woman with a strong, beautiful soul, and a spunky personality that I really like. I barely know you, and I truly do think that. I feel, I don't know exactly how to explain, but I feel like I want to know more about you. But, I know a lot about your past and it's not what I see in you now, but I've seen it. Does that make sense?"

Amber, if you could be sitting here listening to this, could feel my heart-ache, the pain, you'd realize what I said about those choices you made coming back to fuck you up. Okay, this is now going where I expected it would end up. He's made up his mind and can't forgive my past, I’m partly attractive and mostly damaged goods because of my past. I get it, no surprise, but no less demoralizing.

"Yes, all that makes sense Paul. I really... I do appreciate you sharing with me your thoughts and feelings. I don't know what to say other than I'm sorry and that I'm not proud of a lot of things I've done. I feel plenty of shame, probably will never really get over it. Thank you..."

I stood, this conversation was over, and turned toward the park's entrance intent on getting away from him before I broke down crying. I tried to step away and felt him take my hand.

"Are we done?" I heard him saying, through a ringing in my ears and a tear rolling down my face.

I couldn't walk away because he had hold of my hand, but I couldn't look at him either. I sensed he was standing now, then felt his arms wrap around me. All bets were off and as the tears flowed uncontrollably, the sobs racked my body hard.

March 11th, 7:47 PM
It took nearly five minutes to get composed, but Paul was patient. He held me until I was comfortable enough to stand there on my own and even gave me a few tissues. I must have had a questioning look about them and he told me they were for him, allergies he said. We eventually ended up sitting on the bench again. He refused to let my hand go and truth was I liked that but I was a little confused as to why. Hadn't he indicated this was just too much for him to absorb, get past?

"We've talked a lot about feelings, but I don't think I got a chance to say I was sorry about last night. I was scared, I just... I just didn't know how we would work out the things that we might feel insecure about. I wanted to ease into whatever we were wanting."

I looked at him, his eyes were searching for some concrete sign I understood. Problem was, I didn't know what he was talking about. Did he actually want to pursue a relationship with me?

"I'm not following... You, you want to see me after this?"

There was the slightest sign of a smile at the corner of his mouth, "Well, I was trying to get to that, but you were like ready to walk away. I couldn't figure out what I'd said wrong."

"I thought you were saying my past was too much to un-see or something like that. I thought that was it, you didn't want to see if there was something we could like, like be together."

"No, I was saying I know that person isn't you. I'm not comfortable with that person, but I am with you here and now."

I was certainly way off the mark on that one. Didn't I warn myself about jumping to conclusions, putting words in places that had different meanings? Augh! I was embarrassed.

"I'm sorry Paul, I... I had over thought what you'd said."

"Well don't do that!" he was smiling and pulled my hand towards his chest, which caused me to lean into him. He wrapped his free hand around my neck leaned in and put his lips on mine. He kissed me softly, tongue searching, dancing with mine, passionate... It was brief, but felt right.

Some kids on at the climbing toy in the park were laughing at us, oh well.

"A lot about my life is complex Paul, a lot. I just want to warn you. I will be totally transparent. I mean you've already seen me at my worst, but I am trying to be so much more than that person."

"I'm really not too worried Elizabeth. I have my own set of life’s complexities. Let's just take it slow and see what happens."

The kids were now chanting something about us getting married and I didn't want to be their entertainment any longer.

"You know, I was offered dinner tonight. Any chance we could get out of here and figure that out sooner than later?"

March 11th, 10:43 PM
The walk back from the park to the hotel seemed to take less time. Not for lack of talking all the way back, which we did, but the walk to the hotel was much more relaxed. Was that it or was I more relaxed because I felt there was hope?

Maybe we were just hungry and walked faster? There was no handholding or anything of that nature, but it was nice to get back some of that feeling, the flirty banter we had from last night before things went south. My face hurt from all the smiling I’d been doing.

We decided to skip trying to find a restaurant chain nearby and just ate in the hotel's restaurant - which had a Michelin Two Star rating. The food was incredible, the drinks went down easy - I had nearly finished my third rum and coke before the check arrived.

When it did arrive, Paul grabbed for it before I could. We argued playfully about whom should pay and my offer to split it fell on deaf ears - not that I had any money on me to do that, but I could expense it. He eventually compromised after much playful harassing, saying I could pick up the tab tomorrow night. It would be a lie to say that didn't warm my heart or maybe it was just the alcohol - no, it was definitely that we were going out tomorrow night. Internal smiles a-plenty after that exchange.

I asked if he was up for getting a drink in the bar, to which he explained he had an early morning with the FBI and he was going to snoop on Amber's internet usage before bed, and bring anything of interest to them. My confused look about his snooping got me the 10K foot level explanation about a device he had hooked up to the Carson’s router to track traffic and grab content.

It was interesting and all, but he was not doing his mind reading thing very well because if he had he would have realized I did not want the evening to end. After we left the restaurant there was no playful racing to the room from the lobby like last night - which I doubt I could have done anyway feeling as tipsy as I was. His techie dissertation lasted until we made it to my room. Hello! Snooze-fest alert!

It had been almost three months, just before Christmas in fact, that I had last went on a date with someone and there was no comparison to being with Paul. That date ended on my terms - I caught an Uber home right after dinner because the guy was a total douche. He knew I was Trans and after too much alcohol before and during dinner, the conversation turned to sex and him wanting to be topped. It was a real disappointment, especially since leading up to the date he came across as so normal.

"Well, this looks familiar..." I said pulling my phone out and retrieving my room key from a slot inside the phones protective cover.

Paul just watched as I slid the key into the slot, got the green light and click from the lock. I pushed the door open and decided I was going to make a move. I had wanted to kiss him since the park bench some many times I had lost count. I wedged a foot in the door, turned back to him, taking his hand and pulled him closer.

"I had a really good time tonight... I appreci..." Oh!

We were kissing before I could complete my speech about him opening up to me. I stopped that train of thought quickly and was fully participating in everything that was happening - the taste of the alcohol on his breath, how he was so gentle and passionate – anxious with his tongue probing mine, the feel of him embracing me - hands at my waist - then holding me tight as the kissing became more intense. It was dizzying and I so wanted to continue this inside.

When he broke away slowly, he still had me held close and was looking into my eyes.

"I appreciate you giving me a chance to work things out."

I gave him a peck on the lips.

"I'm happy we set things straight."

He smiled, pulled me in for another kiss - shorter but no less mind numbingly uplifting. This time after breaking the kiss he held me a second longer then took a step back.

"Alright then - tomorrow, dinner, your treat. How about you pick out someplace, cool?"

"Deal," I tried to say as calmly as possible with my heart trying to beat out of my chest.

"G'night..."

I got another quick kiss that I didn't want to end. Can't you hear what I'm thinking! I watched him turn to walk down the hall, he looked back smiling, I waved and entered my room after he rounded the corner and was out of sight. Much like last night it was very still in the room, but I could feel my heart pounding and I was high on what had just transpired. I could barely hold a thought. Now that was a much better ending to the evening! OMG!

That was incredible! I wished it hadn't ended, but I was certainly cherishing every moment of the last three minutes or so. My mind was wondering all over the place and the thought of hydration was knocking at my giddy salacious subconscious. I needed to hydrate or there was no way, as much alcohol that was swimming in my system would make for a good run in the morning. I didn't want any excuses for not making it at least five miles. I opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water, twisting the cap off, and taking a long pull.

A knock at the door cause me to choke a little, cough hard, as few drops of water dribbled down my cheek. Shit!

I looked through the peephole to see Paul standing there and opened the door.

"You forget something?"

Kind of a Déjà vu thing to say... I was smiling. Can you see I'm happy to see you?

"No, but I really don't want to go back to my room," he said in a low voice, his eyes studying my face for a reaction.

"I'd like you to not go back to your room also," I said extending my hand, which he took, and I pulled him into my room.

::: --- :::

I would like to acknowledge the assistance of Bronwen Welsh in proofreading and giving me insightful advice. She is an accomplished author in her own right and I appreciate her time more than I can say...

Don't be afraid to click the "Thumbs Up" icon for this short story if it's done anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so, and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter (I’d have bot’ed that bitch long ago if there was)). If you comment, I will reply, so let’s chat or not or whatever floats your noddle.

If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected](link sends e-mail)(link sends e-mail)) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

WARNING, THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC SEXUAL CONTENT.

The author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Last Updated: 2/15/2024 to smooth out portions of the story.
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March 11th, 10:43 p.m.

The click and thud of the door shutting reverberated through the room like a cymbal had been struck by a drummer. Why was I so nervous all of a sudden? I searched Paul's face for a sign that he was nervous, and without a word, he pulled me towards him.

"I... Well, I'm not very practiced at this. I'm a bit nervous," he said, just inches from my face.

"Well, neither am I... You are the first man I've kissed in over a year, so if I suck at it, just know I'm out of practice."

He chuckled, and I could smell the sweet scent of alcohol on his breath.

"If it's any consolation, I think you haven't lost anything in the kissing department," he said.

If the lighting was better, he probably would have seen I was blushing. It was partially due to the alcohol coursing through my system, but more so because I wanted to kiss him again and again. Our faces were so close, and it was easy to get lost in those hazel eyes of his.

I decided to go for it and leaned in to kiss him. Tender lips met in unison, tongues in kind—anxious but not desperate. I literally felt woozy and weak in the knees, and if not for him wrapping his arms around me, I might have done something embarrassing like fall over or lose my balance awkwardly.

His arms released their hug, and I felt his hands move to my hips while our kissing intensified. I was happy and excited that he was more at ease with the connection we were sharing. There were flashes of raw want, primal and urgent, then slow, mind-numbing romantic and playful exploration being done by our tongues during our kiss. I could hear my strained breaths rising and falling in volume as we sought pleasure, and I was basking in knowing we were certainly having the desired effect on one another. I'm sure I moaned softly a few times during the minute or so that the kiss lasted.

When we broke the kiss, I was searching his eyes for the fear I had seen the night before, but there wasn't any. It made me smile, to which he asked, "What?"

"Nothing... You have very nice eyes."

"So do you," he said, kissing me quickly and hugging me again while doing so.

It felt right, like we had been together longer than a couple days. How had we been dancing around our wants and physically denying them until now? Another quick and playful kiss, and he stepped into me, forcing me back a step and against the wall next to the kitchen area. There was a quick look into my eyes for reassurance, and then we were kissing again. His hands on my hips, his hips against mine, slowly grind into me once, then a second time.

HRT effects are different for everyone, and I have been asked every question imaginable and then some in regards to my male bits that remain. That last bastion of 'biological male' only adds to my deep sexual dysphoria-induced anxieties. Yes, dysphoria, because what I believe in my heart and soul is constantly called into question because of what hangs between my legs. It is there; I can still feel it, see it, and certainly have to deal with its function daily.

Some people are curious purely on a cerebral level and want to understand, 'How does it feel?'. While others want to know details to feed their fetish-leaning fantasies. The questions always range from:

Do you tuck? Yes, I am usually tucked. Yes, it sucks, but that part of my body is fairly dormant anyway, so whatever and get over yourself.

Did you shrink? What, like laundry? Probably—not that I was massive to begin with, and it would have been way easier if it had shrunk more, shriveled up, and fallen off.

Do you still have erections? Yes, I still have erections, but they take much more work, and my mental state has to be overly stimulated. Most times I'm lucky to have mild swelling down there, and honestly, I couldn't care less about my penis these days. I have a hate-hate relationship with it right now.

Do you come? Yes, I can still have an orgasm, but it's not like before beginning HRT. Now there's a muted ejaculation feeling that's not overly satisfying physically, and there are barely a few pitiful drops of mostly watery discharge. It's not easy to get to that point without a lot of stimulation of the mind.

People always seemed way more interested in my 'junk' than I ever was—I just wanted it gone forever. Imagining erotic pleasures lately always gave me a bigger thrill—until this moment. I was in the midst of what had to be the perfect storm: attraction, longing for intimacy, and an alcohol catalyst. Perfect storm, and that could mean my body might actually be viewed. Augh! Why hadn’t I considered that?!

Being tucked right now was becoming uncomfortable, and Paul grinding into my hips was not helping matters. I could feel his excitement protruding like a hard lump between us, and every tiny move we made seemed to raise the level of our mutual arousal and my muted discomfort with being tucked at the moment. I had no idea the extent of what this portion of our evening was going to involve, but I needed to get some control over what was going on with my own arousal and get some relief from the waist down.

I moved my hands to his shoulders and pulled away from a kiss we had both been trying to get lost in. I must have had a concerned look on my face because he asked, "Are you OK?"

This was going to be an awkward conversation. No sooner had I thought that, I could feel a slight pain in the swelling I had between my legs. Not exactly comfort-inducing, but better if I shifted a little like this and I moved ever so slightly in his holding me. Now what? Do I say something? I didn't want to explain this shit. Fuck!
"Elizabeth..."

Crap! I was taking too long to reply, AUGH! Answer him!

"Yes, I'm... I have any... I mean, would you mind if I got more comfortable?" I finally spit it out.

He looked relieved, and a smile on his face said he was relieved.

"Sure, you want me to just hang out here?" he asked, looking over to the sofa.

Oh my God, why is this so complicated?

"Sure, if you want or if you could... I mean, I'm going to the bedroom. If you want, you could come with?" Had I asked him that?! What the actual hell?!

He was smiling still, but maybe not believing that everything was okay with me. He still had hold of my hips, and I could feel his breath warm in my face as he spoke, "I have no expectations about anything tonight... I just wanted to be with you a little longer; that’s the truth."

I could feel my expression change, but I tried to keep my feelings from bleeding out.

"Do you need to leave soon?"

Now it was his turn to show a bit of disappointment, and a questioning look blanketed his face.

"No... I just... There's like no pressure here. If we just talked and held hands, maybe kissed... I mean, that would be perfect. I'm not pressing for anything but time with you. That’s all I’m saying."

"Oh, okay... I thought you needed to leave."

"I'll stay until you kick me out; how about that?" He asked with a tiny chuckle, meant to set me at ease I’m sure.

'Aaah, I hope you're prepared not to be going anywhere any time soon!' - I thought, smiling.

"Alright, then, you stay until I kick you out. In the mean time, I need to be more comfortable. Come on."

I took his hand, and we walked to the bedroom.

March 11th, 11:01 PM
The nightstand light was on in the bedroom, and strewn on the bed were outfits I'd consider wearing tonight but hadn't made the cut. I quickly gathered them up, including a bra and a pair of panties—embarrassing for sure—but in my defense, I hadn’t planned on having company tonight in this room. I unceremoniously dumped what I’d gathered in a pile on the chair near the window.

When I looked back at Paul, I wondered if maybe this was a bad idea. He looked interested in my attempts to straighten up and way more relaxed than I was. What are you thinking, Mr. Kline? Maybe he was thinking I was entertaining—the way I tried to make everything neat and orderly. Was I implying more was going to go on here than he might be comfortable with? No, this was unplanned. Planned, and there would be rose pedals on the bed, chocolates, and champagne.

Wait, I’d invited him to the actual bedroom! Of course I was implying ‘things’ might happen! Augh... This is ridiculous! Why am I over thinking this shit? Should I say something? I saw the TV remote and picked it up, extending it to him.

"Find something to watch, get comfortable, and I'll be right back after... Yeah, be right back,” I huffed nervously.

He smiled and aimed the remote at the TV while I rummaged through a dresser drawer for something that would give me more freedom but didn't scream 'easy’, yet hid things from the waist down. This shouldn't be that difficult; why was I making it so? I grabbed a few things and headed to the bathroom without saying anything or looking back. I was self-conscious enough right now, and every move I made felt like...! Get over yourself! Fuck, focus! Try relaxing for God’s sake!

When the door to the bathroom closed, I got a momentary respite from feeling like I wasn't being true to myself. I needed to pause listening to any of my inner dialog and be ‘normal’ with him! What do I need to do first? I needed these shorts off and to be free from the gaff that kept me from looking obviously male. I unbuckled the small belt buckle at my waist, undid the button to my shorts, and zipped down the zipper - letting the shorts fall to the floor and stepped out of them.

I hated how my legs being so long made my torso look so short. Then there were my big feet... Augh! I kicked the white sketchers off, then placed them side-by-side next to the vanity. Are my feet really that big? Screw it! I folded the white Old Navy shorts, putting them on top of the shoes. If Paul came in here, I certainly didn't want him to think I was a slob, though he might already have that thought given the clothes I'd left all over the bed.

I looked in the mirror. Yeah, I am out of my element here.

I pulled my panties down and then removed the gaff and tape holding things in place. There was relief, but intense shame once my male bits were free. Why did every positive seem to be flushed down the shitter because of this last bit of my previous self? Stop over thinking this shit!! Why do you do that!?!! This is ridiculous! Move the hell on!

I was a lot less aroused now, so size and swelling were no longer an issue. I pulled on a cute pair of cheeky panties that were both tight-fitting and rode high enough in the front to keep things semi-under control. Well, as best as can be expected, or until I get aroused again. I grabbed a pair of loose-fitting runner’s shorts to finish up my 'comfort' look. They didn't hide everything going on down there exactly, but at least it was better than suffering an immobilized, aroused lump in the gaff, which was your basic bondage encasing device.

I undid the buttons on my top, slid it off my shoulders, and stared at myself in the mirror. My shoulders are too wide... Grrr! Stop! Think! Bra or no bra? Bra... No question—it's stupid to even consider the other option. I folded the top and added it to the pile of clothes I had taken off. I had a baggie t-shirt, a compression-type tank top, and a loose-fitting tank top to choose from. In order, it was frumpy comfort, cute but too tight, or nice and comfortable. The loose tank top won out and was quickly pulled on.

I ran a brush through my hair and considered touching up my makeup—no time; I felt like I'd been in here way too long already. Lip gloss? No, not like he's going to notice! I stepped back for a final inspection. It was going to have to be good enough. Why can't I ever be satisfied?

As I opened the door, I thought maybe if I was any longer, he might be asleep. Wouldn't that be… And as I looked around the room, it was empty. My heart sank. I looked out the door to the living room area; there was no sound or movement. I was about to panic until I heard the flushing toilet from the other bathroom, followed by the sink being turned on. Relief washed over me.

OMG! Relax, would you?!!?

I hadn't even noticed the TV was on an all-music channel, classic soft rock; the song Hotel California by The Eagles was just beginning to play. Not exactly my taste in music, but it wasn't horrid—I'm pretty sure my parents listened to this stuff, maybe even my grandparents?

"You look comfortable. Better?"

I spun around quickly.

"Ah, yes. Much better…" I know I sounded flustered saying that, but I tried to smile my way through it.

"Good... You look cute. Is that your running gear?" he asked.

Paul was now standing next to me. Why was I a frozen statue? I felt a flurry of emotions and tried to compartmentalize them: excitement, want, comfort, and want. Wait, I said that. What? Paul took my hand, and I just watched in slow motion, freeze frame movements, his lips now on mine, bodies barely touching, electric...

March 11th, 11:16 p.m.
When the kiss ended, I still had my eyes closed. I was completely mesmerized. I could have been floating, adrift on a body of water, I felt that at peace. I'm sure it was the alcohol still making me loopy and, of course, Paul being sexy as... I felt him move ever so slightly, and my eyes popped open.

"Where'd you go?" he asked.

"No where...," I croaked knowing I was blushing yet again.

"Is your bed too soft?"

What?

"Is there such a thing?" I asked smiling.

Paul let his hold on me wane and reached over to the bed, pushing on its top with two hands, then spinning to sit on it—bouncing a few times for good measure.

"Oh God! This mattress is so much nicer than mine. I sunk into mine the first night and woke up with back problems. Been sleeping on the couch ever since."

I hadn't thought there would be such a wild difference in mattresses in the hotel, but I wasn't going to argue or suggest that he just ask to change rooms. I crawled up onto the bed, plopped my head down on the pillow, and sang tauntingly to him, "Ah, my bed's better than your bed, my bed’s better than yours..."

He was watching me and laid back on the bed next to me, rolling over to face me.

"Your mattress has something mine doesn't, that's for sure."

"Me?" I asked playfully.

He was looking at me from across the pillow.

"That's probably the biggest difference," he said, lifting his head and moving over to kiss me.

I pulled him closer and got lost in our tongues, lips, and minds, giving in to one another yet again. This could never get old I thought!

He had a hand at the small of my back, pulling me closer, and I tried to wrap my arms around him tighter, pulling him in close. When his hand moved lower to my ass and squeezed, I couldn't help but moan softly. He was gentle but firm in his grasp of my ass. I tried grinding my hips into his, but feebly, it was more like I was rubbing his leg with slow and awkward gyrations.

That action got his hand running up the back of my tank top, caressing me softly, all while our tongues were in a sprint for who could get more from our lips being locked together. I felt a tug and could feel the strap of my bra being undone. I pulled back from our kiss and studied his face; he was smiling.

"I didn't think I could still do that one-handed," he said, including a nervous chuckle to hide some embarrassment I think.

"Oh really? You haven't been practicing today for that move," I said, smiling up at him.

"I could try that a hundred times and only be successful thirty percent of the time."

I giggled, but it was probably more out of nervousness, hoping the barely B-cup breasts waiting for him to discover weren't going to be a disappointment. Before I could reconcile what might be coming, his left hand snaked between my hold on him and around an overly padded bra, and he had my right breast in his hand.

I sucked in a slow breath as our gazes on each other never shifted, and I intently studied his face for some reaction, rejection, shock, or fear. He squeezed softly, making me suck in another slow breath, and I closed my eyes while enjoying everything about his touch. When his lips touched mine, I felt like I was melting. I wanted him so bad. I wanted him to want me...

The kiss ended up being a mere peck, as he was more interested in my cheek. No, my neck and I stiffened and moaned louder than expected when his tongue traced to my earlobe, his lips sucking it gently. I wanted to pull him on top of me, but that wasn't a good idea. I might not have been fully engorged in my running shorts, but any contact between our bodies and that part of my body specifically was going to mortify me beyond how I thought I could explain it to him. It would certainly be an unwelcome shock to him, right? He knows I’m...

"Elizabeth..." I heard him whisper.

I shuddered, pawed for his face, and kissed him with an intensity I cannot ever remember experiencing in my life. He joined in with as much gusto as I was demanding, squeezing my breast, tracing the now solid nipple, rubbing it, and pulling it lovingly. He did all that while I sucked and tried to love on his tongue like I couldn't get enough. I was gasping for air through flared nostrils as small peeps of pleasure escaped happily.

When he stopped kissing me, I wasn't sure what was happening, but tugging and pulling at my tank top told me he wanted my top off. I tried to catch up and loosely tried to move with his pulling, and somehow the tank top and bra were gone, both flying crazily over the edge of the bed. I wished the light was off. His staring at my chest, I couldn't read him. Was he disgusted? Confused?

"Beautiful... Oh, my God, you're so beautiful," he said softly.

I looked away briefly and pulled him to me, kissing him softly. When I pulled away a moment later, I said, "Your turn..."

I pulled at his polo shirt, and he obliged willingly. I got my first look at a moderately hairy chest that was more defined than his baggie shirt let on. I ran a hand through his chest hair, letting my nails gently scratch him.

"Oh, I like this a lot." I playfully rubbed his hairy chest with an open palm.

That comment was ignored, and I watched as he lowered his head to the breast he had cupped in his hand. I could feel the heat of his breath first, then the warmth of his lips, tongue tracing the nipple, sucking sensations, hand squeezing softly, pulling. I was on my second or third mental orgasm, body stiff, one hand locked in his hair, encouraging him to continue. It felt beyond words and explanation. I... Fuck me! I mean, literally, I would scream that at the top of my lungs if it were a possibility right now! Please, take me!

It was possible, of course, but not in the traditional sense. And regardless of what one might see in the porn bullshit online, it takes prep to be ready for that, lube—lots of it—and a partner in the right mindset. Yeah, anal sex could be on the table, but this was not going to be the night for that, though I might have a hard time turning him down if he kept this up.

A slurping noise startled me, and I arched my back from the pressure of his lips on my nipple.

"Auuuahh..." I pulled at his hair to get him to release it, but he continued suckling. "Ppppaaall...," I huffed as I mashed his face into my breast, which caused me to squirm even more beneath him. He let me pull his face from my tit, and I swished out a few breaths aloud. Holy shit!

"Oh, my," he said like a teenage boy, enthralled by what he'd just experienced and, of course, by the reaction he'd just gotten out of me.

I pushed him back, and he plopped playfully onto the pillow next to me.

"Haha," I said, smiling down at him after crawling over to him so my chest lay on his. I looked at him and kissed him softly, a quick peck.

I was beyond horny now, anxious to ramp this up a little and maybe take a little control. I was looking at him, wondering if I could just...

"What's up?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said slyly as I let a hand drift down his side.

"Hey now, I'm ticklish."

"You shouldn't tell me those deepest, darkest secrets. What if I wanted to tie you up? Guess what I'd do to you first?"

"Yeah, I'm not much for being tied up. Little claustrophobic, truth be told."

"Really?" I asked.

"Mmmhmm... I'm not a fan of elevators or enclosed, tight spaces."

"How are you going to come visit me in Seattle?"

As soon as I said that, I thought maybe I was being too forward. Was I expecting we’d...

"I can wait for you in the lobby. Don't they have a lobby? There’s probably a Starbucks in your building. No, that's where your buddy Lisa has her espresso-man crush satisfied."

"Lobby yes... The coffee stand Lisa's college kid works at is there."

"He into her?"

"I don't know; they play a good game of flirting back and forth."

I let my hand move slowly across his waist and could feel him tightening his abs. I smiled at him; he just raised an eyebrow. A few more inches, and I found the button for his shorts, tugged, and was surprised that it came unbuttoned with barely any effort. Paul's eyes were locked on mine as I unzipped his shorts and wasted no time caressing a very hard cock inside of some kind of athletic spandex-type boxer. I could feel a wet spot and paused a finger over it, gently rubbing the sticky wetness.

Paul's breaths were a bit more strained when I started unzipping, and there was more strain as I rubbed his cock through the smooth fabric of his boxers. I looked at him, smiled, placed a tiny kiss on his lips, and then kissed his chest, moving my lips lower until I was about to kiss his stomach. I repositioned myself lower on the bed, hooked the sides of his shorts, and pulled them down while he shimmied a little to help.

I tossed them as playfully as he'd tossed my tank top and bra over the side of the bed. He just watched and smiled, my little tits jiggling with every move I made. I'm sure it was entertaining for him, and right now I honestly didn’t care he was drinking my upper body in - I was about to git-sum!

When my fingers hooked the waistband of his boxers, he closed his eyes. I pulled them down and off quickly. His cock swayed and bounced through that momentary awkwardness; he was as firm and rock hard as I’d expected. When I touched it, he inhaled quickly through clenched teeth, letting his breath out slowly in little huffs. I marveled at its size, which was probably average, but its girth gave him an impressive heft. His eyes remained shut, and when I wrapped a hand around his cock he jumped ever so slightly. It's my turn to make you writhe in ecstasy a little, Mr. Kline.

The last time I was in a position like this, where my lips were this close to a man's cock, was just over three years ago. I still had a tiny burn mark just above my ankle as a reminder of that night. The lighting being used—one of two basic floor lamps—got knocked over onto me while the head asshole was filming the three of us going at it. His friends fucking me from both ends might sound dreamy, but I'd happily tell anyone it's not worth the trouble and not that much fun.

My hero, the 'director', or 'videographer' as he liked to think of himself, moved quickly to get the lamp off me, so the damage was minimal, but the scar remained as a reminder of my stupidity from back then. Why, four years later, did I feel it now, that ghost burn on my ankle? I hoped Paul's expectations were lower than what he likely saw in that video—an easy one to find with me online. I assumed he had seen it and others too. Augh! Hello self-doubt! Fuck You!

This is going to be like riding a bike—something you don't forget how to do. It was certainly nerve-racking to be wondering, to worry, and to over-think whether I could do this and do it right with someone I might actually care for. I wanted to please him, but if I over think this, I'm going to ruin the moment. There is only one way to find out if I can get past my doubts.

I ran a finger through the slick, sticky cum at the tip of Paul's cock. He shook with the slightest of jolts. I looked up at him; his eyes were still closed. Okay, good, don't watch me. I looked back at my hand, surreal to see it holding him, and slowly wrapped my lips around the bulbous head of his manhood. This time his jolting was more pronounced, a thrust to be further inside of my mouth came quickly, and a small cry of pleasure escaped his lips. I felt powerful and, at the same time, energized, alive, and very satisfied with all the ways this was making me feel inside.

My free hand slid slowly between his legs to cup his balls as my lips made that first trip down the shaft. I kept my lips tightly against his shaft, my tongue guiding him deeper into my open mouth, and quicker than expected, my lips were at my fingertips wrapped solidly around the base of his cock. The head of Paul's cock was taking up every bit of space at the back of my throat—not yet to the gag stage, but if I removed my hand, it certainly would be.

I was so focused on my conquest—getting nearly every inch of him inside of my mouth—it took me a moment to hear and feel his breathing had changed. Tight, shallow huffs, and with every movement I made, they became more strained and alive. My mouth made the return trip up his shaft and slurped loudly at the head, which got me a satisfying little jump from his hips and a low moan. I rolled my head slightly to see if he was watching—nope, eyes still shut. Why hadn't I thought to turn the damn light out?

I blew on the head of his cock while jacking it slowly and rhythmically, then letting just the tip of it play 'peek-a-boo' between my lips. I was moving slowly, but Paul's hips were straining to not thrust or pump wildly inside of my mouth. We were out of sync more times than in, and I took more of him in my mouth to catch up, get back a rhythm. While not exactly in unison, he seemed to struggle less now, and his moans, those little cries and peeps of pleasure became louder, maybe even more desperate. I was sure I added to the symphony of noises myself, though not as intensely as Paul.

Could he hear me? Did he sense I was enjoying myself? Slow down; there's no need to rush this; you’re not the only one who gets to enjoy this, Mr. Kline!

When I felt a hand on my shoulder, I stopped all movement and slid my lips off his cock. I know we were in the room alone, but being touched surprised me, though it shouldn't have. I looked at his face; he was watching me. I slowly let my grip slip from around his cock and stopped cupping his balls to sit up a little.

He looked concerned.

"You.. I... That feels so amazing. You don't have..."

I felt shy for some reason. Wouldn't be because I was between his legs, little tits jiggling wildly and free as I was sucking his cock, or because I was partially erect myself in not baggie enough running shorts? Seriously, how much more embarrassing could this moment get? His hand touched the side of my face, and I leaned into it, breaking our gaze at each other.

"I'm... I want to, Paul."

When he didn't say anything, I took a quick peek at him and then lowered my head back to his cock. My lips parted slowly, gliding him inside my mouth, and I wrapped my hand around the base of his shaft again. I began bobbing my head up and down his cock, slowly at first, then picking up the pace.

When I cupped his balls, I got a shudder from him, and he began moving his hips in unison with my sucking of his cock. Slow, fast, his thrusts were bouncing off the back of my mouth. A few times I gagged a muffled gurgle, and I did my best to suppress many others. To his credit, he would ease trying to jam himself down my throat after hearing my discomfort. I got the sense he was in no rush for this to be over.

I was squeezing his balls, jacking his shaft tenderly, and trying to keep my jaw from hurting while keeping a steady lip pressure on his very thick cock. Four loud slurps later, he moaned, cried out through clenched teeth, caressed my cheek, and moved my hair to the side, but I kept going. I pulled him from my mouth, huffed loudly for a few breaths, and was right back to trying to get this man to cum.

Shifting to my knees, I crawled between his legs and felt his body stiffen as I slurped loudly at the head of his cock. He was close, so I sped up, jacking him while concentrating my lips on the bulbous, bright red engorged head of his cock. Then, with a loud groan, I felt a brief warm coating on my mouth as his hands were trying to hold my face while his hips were thrusting.

His cock slipped from between my lips, and before I could get the head of his cock back in my mouth, I got the first forceful shot of cum on my face. He cried out something while consumed in his own ecstasy and kept trying to push his cock back into my mouth while twisting my head in the wrong direction. The second burst of cum went into my hair, and Paul's body became very rigid as one hand pulled at the sheets and the other tried to guide my face back onto his cock.

I pulled on his shaft while he was thrusting his hips off the bed and got his cock between my lips, plunging him fully in my mouth until my face was buried in his pubes. I was grinding my lips against my fingers that had a death grip around his shaft, trying not to gag while he bucked his hips. His third weaker spurt of cum was now in my mouth, and I loosened my lips around his cock so as to let it dribble out.

I have never liked cum in my mouth. It was not sexy at all, and it was not a conquest spoil I ever enjoyed. It was sticky, thick, and smelled like bleach to me. Sure, the male orgasm is something I loved producing; I just wish the resulting ejaculate wasn't so...

I could feel his seed coating my hand, and with that added lube, I jacked him slowly a few times while holding firmly my lips on his shaft. That got me muffled cries, and when I looked up, Paul had a pillow over his face. I couldn't help but smile.

Easy as riding a bike, I guess...

::: --- :::
I would like to acknowledge the assistance of Bronwen Welsh in proofreading and giving me insightful advice. She is an accomplished author in her own right and I appreciate her time more than I can say...

Don't be afraid to click the "Thumbs Up" icon for this short story if it's done anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so, and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter (I’d have bot’ed that bitch long ago if there was)). If you comment, I will reply, so let’s chat or not or whatever floats your noddle.

If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected](link sends e-mail)(link sends e-mail)) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

The author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Last Updated: 2/16/2024 to smooth out portions of the story.
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March 12th, 8:33 a.m.
I rolled over lazily, pulling covers from every corner of the bed around me. Paul was gone; he’d left sometime around 2 AM, so the bed felt a bit empty. There wasn’t much conversation before he left, but the kiss goodbye certainly made me feel like this evening could be considered a success. I stared at the ceiling, listening to the drone of the AC, and couldn’t help but smile. Last night, Paul, was a major shift in my universe; I hoped he felt the same way I was feeling right now.

My stomach gurgling and an urgent need to pee made it difficult to keep basking in or replaying the events from last night. Time to get rolling...

March 12th, 9:21 a.m.
The plan for the morning was to eat and get in a run before it got too sweltering hot out. Forecast for the day: low 80’s. I had changed into my running gear, brought along my Android tablet, and was seated at a window table in the restaurant for some breakfast. Food was ordered with little fuss from a polite server that barely gave me a second look—thankfully. My hair was pulled, so if someone had their Trans-radar on, well, it would probably be going off pretty loud about now.

Luckily my presence went unnoticed, though I tried really hard to just blend in and not be a focus of anyone’s attention by doing something foolish – like knocking over my water or dropping a fork or chewing too loudly. I finished off my first glass of water pretty quickly and motioned to a busboy for a refill. He came over quickly and to save him a return trip I flipped over the three other glasses on the table, and he got the message, filling them with a smile.

I opened my tablet, started a browser, and navigated to the firm’s webmail client. Credentials entered, and I had seven new emails since checking yesterday. Two were likely questions about work that I was doing and reassigned to others based on their subject, one an IT warning email about virus protection, two about food in the break room, travel arrangements from Kendal for Sunday, and one from Lisa. I opened that one first.

‘Hey, you better come back with a tan! I saw the weather forecast – bikini by the pool! Bring some sun back with you. Not to be a rumormonger, but you said you were helping Jacob with a case down there, right? Well, the rumor around here is that Janet and Martin are splitting from Jacob. I don’t know how that would work exactly. I mean, this is his firm, and the majority of the clients are here because of Jacob. You didn’t hear that from me. Bryant says hi! You know I’m going to do some crazy shit to that boy one of these days! Hey, get laid while you’re down there, will you? Hugz! Lisa’

There would generally be a lot to smile about in this email if it didn’t have that rumor crap regarding Janet and Martin having plans to break the firm up. I respected each of the partners, but I certainly didn’t want to have to choose sides or be without a job all together. Maybe Jacob knew this was in the works and was the reason for the ‘no sharing’ demand with Janet—and viscera Janet wanting to know everything. Great! Do I need to update my resume?

My yogurt, banana, and oatmeal were delivered with a smile by my server; I thanked her and asked for the bill. She returned a minute later, and I signed it to my room. I grabbed the yogurt and banana, and headed back to my room eating the banana on the way. Inside my room, I finished the yogurt, grabbed a bottle of water, headphones, and an armband, and headed for the door. Room key? Check…

I needed a good run to clear my mind.

March 12th, 10:19 a.m.
At nearly the three-mile mark and halfway into the song 'Havana' by an artist I wasn’t familiar with but was totally digging the heavy Latin beat, my phone rang. Out of breath, I answered, “This is... Elizabeth.”

“Hey… You out running?”

“Hey yourself..." I replied, trying really hard not to huff loud enough for the microphone in my Bluetooth headphones. “Yes, about three miles in; another two, and I’ll be good.”

I slowed to a walk on a trail between developments.

“You’re already good,” Paul said.

How could you not want to hear that daily and often?

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Oh, I’m bad... But I won’t divulge those secrets just yet,” he said, chuckling. "Hey, the reason for the call is that I could use your insight into something. I’ve been looking over the internet traffic from Carson's, and Amber was in a chat room talking to someone named ‘FlowerGirl’. Nothing too crazy in the transcripts, but the IP address traces to the general Vancouver, BC, area. Too close to her, 'Daddy' not to have a second set of eyes look over their conversation. Are you going to be much longer?”

If I picked up the pace, I could be back at the hotel in fifteen minutes. Of course, I’d be wiped, but that was part of clearing my head; the reset running did it for me. Then I'd need to get cleaned up, so in about an hour and a half I’d be available.

"Where are you?” I asked.

“Just leaving Carson’s...”

“Are you talking and driving?” I asked playfully, my breathing nearly back to normal.

“No! I hate that shit.”

“Good, me too. Wanna come to my room, say,” I looked at the time on my phone and said, “Twelve-ish?”

“It’s going to take you that long to run two miles?”

“No,” I complained. “But I’ll need to get cleaned up! Sheesh…”

“I’m kidding, just kidding... Sure, I’ll pop by around twelve, unless you need help in the shower.”

OK, if he were in front of me, I would totally be blushing. Then I wondered if he really knew what he was suggesting and how that might look—us in the shower together? No, he’s just being a normal guy; I’m taking it to the polar extreme. Fuck! Get a grip.
“Thanks for the offer; it’s tempting, but I can manage. Thank you very much.”

“OK, but if you change your mind, give me a call.”

He didn’t sound disappointed or anything, but I felt weird about that exchange. I mean, yes! Come over, wash my back, and let me wash you all over! However, there was one thing remaining on… Augh! God! Get fucking over it! Take his banter for what it was—good-natured flirting. Sheesh!

“You’re pretty silly... See you in a bit.” I finally got out.

“Thanks Elizabeth.”

March 12th, 12:07 p.m.
Breathe… Being late wasn’t a crime! Should be though! I hated being late to anything, and people who were late were... The knock on the door kicked that thought down the road for another time. I didn’t look out the peephole and just opened the door. Paul was smiling and extended a bag of Cool Ranch Dorito's.

“Peace offering for being late... I got them in the gift shop. Reeeeally expensive!”

I couldn’t help but smile, taking the bag and waving him in. He knows being late isn’t my thing; that’s something, right? He cares to know that. He stepped inside, kissing me quickly, and then headed for the couch to set up his laptop.

I was floating, soaring really, from one little kiss. Sure, I’d liked it to have been longer, but it meant the world to me that we were being so normal, especially given some of what had taken place the last twenty-four hours. No awkward reset or regret or starting over or…

"Hey, are you going to join me?” he asked.

Doh!

“Yeah…. Water? There’s pop in the fridge, but I think they charge for that.”

“They do… Coke, please,” he said, smiling.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?”

“Yup…”

I went to the refrigerator and pulled a Coke for him and a bottle of water for me. I joined him on the couch, watching various screens flash on the TV as he was trying to get setup. The Coke opening made him pause; he kissed my cheek and took the can from me. I broke open the bag of chips, and he grabbed a couple, crunching them while something was obviously loading on the screen. Did he have any idea what this, him, us, just sitting here, all casual like, meant to me?

“OK, so here’s a list of sites she visited. I asked Carson’s to pull the plug on the video game machine the boys used and to refrain from connecting to their Wi-Fi network. So everything here,” he scrolled down a huge list of activities. “It's all from Amber. Certainly she’s bored—some of this stuff is insignificant—but she’s also trying to figure out getting back into her accounts—see here, Patreon—a failed attempt. Oh, and PayPal—she’s locked out her account trying to guess the password.”

I watched as he flipped to a browser and pulled up a Hotmail login page. He entered an email address and password and went to the ‘Sent’ folder.

“She created this email account last night. Here you can see she’s trying to remember an email address—it could be his, it could be someone else. Each attempt failed, and an email address with unknown errors kicked back to her. Tough one to pin down likely—I mean, what kid even knows a phone number for a friend these days? Nothing in any of the failed emails—just her saying, 'Hello, write me back!',” he explained.

“I don’t know hardly anyone’s number. Thank God for having a contacts list. I’d be totally lost without it. Same thing for email addresses—an address book for that,” I offered.

“Exactly… She tried combinations of these addresses, b8dlef, b8dleaf, lefb8d, and a few others like that—see here.” He flipped to a list of returned error emails from unknown email addresses kicked back from the Hotmail server. “Looks like ‘b8d’ something is part of someone’s address—maybe his. I keep reading ‘Be-eighty’.”

“Makes sense,” I bought all that, certainly it seemed reasonable. I had hoped that with all that had happened Amber was going to move on from trying to connect with this guy. “Did you do a search for just the ‘b8d’ as part of a possible email address?”

“Yup, almost a million references in Google, even more in some off-the-grid searches.”

I must have looked confused; he explained at a really high level about a ‘dark’ web that the general public couldn’t venture to without knowing a lot of shit about what the internet really was. Okay, so there was an underbelly on the web; they were likely not communicating there.

“Did you check her email accounts to see if she emailed anyone with an email address like this? I mean, she talked to the guy via email plenty of times, but that address was something like 'dla'-something, right?” I asked.

Paul nodded, flipping to some program or command-line prompt thing. There, he started typing computer gibberish and hit enter, flipping back to the main screen for her new email account.

“Do you think she knows you were in this new account of hers?” I asked.

“Her being locked out, she knows her accounts have been viewed—that's my guess. This new one, hard to say,” he said.

“You said she was in a chat room with someone?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s probably a dead end, but here,” more clicking, screens changing quickly on the TV, then a listing showing the conversation. “Here,” he handed me a wireless mouse and a pad to run it over. “Scroll and see what you think.”

I began reading:

FlowerGirl: No names, no rules now.
Abreeze: K
FlowerGirl: Waiting long
Abreeze: No
FlowerGirl: Feel better
Abreeze: Much
FlowerGirl: He wants to know about the police.
Abreeze: I didn't say anything.
FlowerGirl: Best to let things settle.
Abreeze: Parents are pissed.
FlowerGirl: Figures, you're a big girl. How are they?
Abreeze: They hurt
FlowerGirl: They will look great. I'm jealous
Abreeze: I hope so.
FlowerGirl: Do you see them?
Abreeze: Yes, gross, bruised. Wrapped up per doctor's orders
FlowerGirl: Time; they'll be amazing.
Abreeze: I know
FlowerGirl: New clothes for you!
Abreeze: lol
FlowerGirl: He’ll buy them.
Abreeze: I miss him.
FlowerGirl: He knows
Abreeze: Next week?
FlowerGirl: Working on that.
Abreeze: Email
FlowerGirl: Yes, details
Abreeze: Call him?
FlowerGirl: Will see. Email first. I could be monitoring you.
Abreeze: Parents are hovering.
FlowerGirl: To be expected. Email
Abreeze: I will
FlowerGirl: Bye
Abreeze: K

I read it twice. Crap. It could be him, but then again, the conversation sounded like a third party. I put the mouse down.

“See what I mean? This could be someone connected to both of them, an intermediary,” Paul said. "If they are doing that whole 'Daddy and Sissy' thing, maybe there is another girl?"

Damn mind reader! I suppressed an urge to smile.

“Yeah, some of it sounds like two girls talking; then again it could be him twisting the chat to appear as someone else so he can talk to her. It feels like the whole conversation is coded, but I don't understand why. Why not just ‘chat’ if this is him? Does he know she’s being monitored? Maybe she knows? Could she know?” I asked.

“He had to have seen the police presence in Santa Fe, and he’s probably spooked and overly cautious now about anything he says or does. This could be something they worked out as an emergency way to converse. I don't recall seeing any activity in this chat room before on her computer. This is strange, for sure,” Paul said sounding a bit defeated.

“FlowerGirl? That just isn’t... Wait! Flower… Oh crap! French! Canada is French and flower that’s la fleur! This is absolutely him! David Lafleur—that’s his name, right? This is them talking; I would bet money on it!” I shouted excited.

I watched Paul switch to a browser, Google, type in ‘flower in French’, hit enter, and on the screen was ‘fleur’.

“Whoa… Well, that’s interesting! I agree, this might actually be him; this is,” he said, looking worried, “This isn’t good, though. They’re talking about ‘Next Week’. Are they meeting somehow?”

I asked him to switch back to the chat transcript; there it was: ‘Next Week’. Yeah, that’s not good.

“Did you search for the user name ‘FlowerGirl’?”

“Yeah, sixty-eight million references, and most are for the actual words together, ‘flower girl’,” he replied.

“Dang… What’s that email address she was trying to connect to too, ‘b8dlef’? What if it’s ‘b8dlafleur’? Can you send a message to that address like junk mail and see if it bounces back?”

“Are you sure you don’t know computer stuff?” he asked.

I giggled and said, “I can barely login to email by myself, let alone search the web!”

That was actually a tiny white lie, but only because I didn’t want to turn the spotlight on the successes from the last couple minutes onto my use of the internet in a past life I was happy to be rid of.

“I highly doubt that,” he said, flipping to an email client and opening a new message, typing:

‘Job Opportunity’ in the subject line, then typing ‘Earn a six-figure salary after just three months. We will show you how. Contact Carmen Carey at 801-552-3266.’

“That should do,” he said before hitting send. “If it’s going to fail, it’ll be pretty quick. I'm positive this isn't an email address she's ever tried to use before.”

We watched the screen for over a minute.

“I think that worked... Can you spoof her email account?”

“Right, you don’t know anything about computers? Spoof? You crack me up, Liz,” he said, smiling, and I pushed his shoulder playfully. “Hey now... Just telling it like it is.”

“Ha ha… What’s taking you so long to spoof her email account?”

He laughed and extended the laptop toward me. I stood and took the bag of chips.

“No chips until we’re talking to this guy.”

“I’m working on it... I probably should call Jacob; can you do that while I get this going?”

“Sure…” I went to the bedroom and grabbed my phone from the nightstand, found Jacob’s number in my 'Recent' calls from him calling me the other day, and hit dial.

On the third ring, he answered, “Elizabeth?”

I put the phone on speakerphone, "Yes, Mr. Wentz, I’m here with Paul." I looked at Paul, mouthing for him to talk.

"Hey Jacob... We’ve been reviewing the internet traffic from last night. We think Amber contacted David Lafleur in a chat room and then made several attempts to contact him via email.”

“That’s unfortunate… I think Stephanie is going to have to pull her access completely.”

“Yes, that’s probably best for now. We are going to try making contact with him via email to see if we can figure out what they might have had in the way of contingency plans,” Paul said.

“Why are you going to do that?” Jacob asked.

Paul didn't hesitate: “In the chat, there's a mention of ‘Next week’. In the context of what’s in the chat, there’s no conclusive proof that this is David Lafleur, but we feel there’s enough going on here between the chat and her attempts to contact him via email that something is going on between them still. The plan is to spoof her email account, make contact, and see what we can figure out what their plans are. Provide that to Landon or Phoenix PD.”

There was dead air for a moment.

“She’s tried to email him?”

“Yes, Jacob. She couldn’t remember the exact email address. We think we’ve figured it out and are going to try making contact.”

“Do it… I’ll let Landon know what you’re doing. Are you still working with Tim at the bureau?”

“Yes.”

“Keep him in the loop. Let the bureau coordinate with Phoenix PD. Anything else?”

Paul looked at me, and I quickly shook my head and said, ‘No’.

“No, we’re good here, Jacob.”

“Thank you both... Great work.”

“Elizabeth cracked this one open, Jacob. Any chance we could keep her around a few more days?”

Another pause, “Let’s see where this email thing goes. If you think she’s needed Paul, I’m going to defer to your judgment. Elizabeth, any problems staying longer?”

"No, Mr. Wentz. However, I can best assist you and Carson’s I’m happy to help. I did get travel plans from Kendal in an email, though. I'm leaving Sunday early afternoon, 12:45 PM.”

“Okay, let's see where this goes. Excellent work you two, thank you both again. Call me with an update later, Paul.”

I said, “Yes, Mr. Wentz.” At the same time, Paul was saying, “Sure thing, Jacob.”

The line went dead. I looked at Paul with a questioning glance before putting my phone back on the charger on the kitchen countertop.

“What? I don’t want you to leave,” he said, smiling.

Back to soaring, I went!

March 12th, 2:38 PM
We took a break for lunch in the hotel restaurant, followed by a little kissing after returning to my room. It could easily have progressed, but we both sensed we had to get back to making contact—if this email address was even the right one. Paul checked—still no return error, so the address was good, but was it David Lafleur’s?

Over lunch, it was decided I would craft the email to David, but beforehand I needed to study some of her previous email correspondence to capture her tone and style. If this was his email address, we didn’t want to scare him off. Getting their plans was the goal. Hopefully Jacob had arranged the cutting of Amber’s access to the internet, and Carson’s were told to be on high alert, given what we suspected was some kind of meeting between these two next week.

“No pressure,” Paul said with just the slightest of grins.

“Thanks,” I said, nervous about what I was going to type.

“Probably best to keep it simple and lure him into conversing,” he suggested.

“I agree; I just have to capture how she talks to her ‘Daddy’,” I thought aloud.

I began typing; it wasn’t like we couldn’t edit this email a hundred different ways. She always referred to him as 'Daddy' and never as David; she was his sissy. I wanted to gag thinking about all the connotations that entailed. When talking about her breasts, they were ‘tits’ and they never talked about 'making love'—it was always ‘fucking me’, and there were always references to money as if they had earned it together. Augh! This wasn’t going to be easy.

‘Daddy,

I miss you. I need you! The cops have all my accounts and won’t let me back in. Our money is locked up, and I don’t know how to get it back. Can you get access? Should we contact PayPal? My parents are watching me go crazy. Tits hurt like crazy! I need to get out of here. Next week, you said next week, right? I want to be with you, like we were fucking in our videos.
Noozle you’z

a’

I looked at Paul and asked, “Well?”

“It looks good to me. You’re using her terms of endearment, not much content except for wanting direction, letting him know what’s going on, and of course pressing about next week. I don’t think it’s too much for a first email.”

I read it again and deleted the ‘Can you access?’, explaining to Paul that if she wasn’t getting into her account, it was likely she’d know he couldn’t either, so why ask? We both read it again, and Paul took the laptop back, saved the email to the Drafts folder, then tossed out an idea about how to capture his IP address. I didn’t understand it, but it dealt with putting a link in the email that went to a clothing store site, after capturing the user’s computer information as part of the click-redirect link.

“So, just say something about wanting to wear something from this site for him—he said he was buying clothes—give him something to look at that she would want to wear for him.”

“Like lingerie?”

“That shit always worked to get me to do it,” he said, looking embarrassed. “A lifetime ago.”

“I get it; don’t sweat it,” I said, reaching for the laptop. “Let’s see what you’d like me to wear for you; maybe it’s good enough for Amber and her 'Daddy'?”

I smiled at him and jumped into browsing in the lingerie section of the site he was going to use as some tracker to Lafleur. After a few ‘Nahs’ from Paul, we settled on a pink sheer teddy. Pink because I’d seen an email from David saying he liked a picture Amber sent him wearing pink sheer panties. Probably overkill, but the lingerie had a large underwire bra built in—maybe he could envision her enhancements nicely peeking out from the whole ensemble.

“Do you mention the size?” Paul asked.

“No, he was there; he knows what her breast size is now.”

“Yeah, good catch.”

Paul reopened the email saved to the Drafts folder, added the link and associated tracking features, and then had me add the bait around the hook. The updated email read:

‘Daddy,

I miss you. I need you! The cops have all my accounts and won’t let me back in. Our money is locked up, and I don’t know how to get it back. My parents are watching me go crazy! Tits hurt like crazy! I need to get out of here. Next week, you said next week, right? I want to be with you, like we were fucking in our video.

I want to wear this for you, Daddy. <[ link]>

Noozle you’z…

a’

We both reread it, nodded in agreement that it looked good, and Paul hit Send. I had seen a couple emails where she ended them with 'Noozle you'z'. I have no idea what that meant exactly; hopefully it was the right bait to get him talking. Time would tell.

March 12th, 5:26 p.m.
"And then the car just stopped..."

I looked up from my basket of Buffalo wings, licked a couple fingers, and gave Paul a look.

"I'm listening silly... I'm not sure why you started talking about a car chase."

We'd decided on something casual and quick for dinner, so we wouldn't be away from our test email for too long. This led to learning we both had a love for good Buffalo wings and how we ended up in an upscale bar in Scottsdale known for its Buffalo wings.
"No, something is up. What's got you tuning me out?" he asked.

OK, 'Yes'... I was tuning you out. I heard everything you said about working for Cisco Systems or whatever high-tech firm with a name that sounded like Cisco. Then you thought it would be funny to talk about a police car chase you'd seen: 'And then the car just stopped...' To the point of tuning him out – guilty. I was thinking about so many things: Amber and her trying to contact her 'Daddy' and the email from Lisa about Janet and Martin possibly breaking up the firm.

"It's nothing. I hope."

"Okay, it must be something. I don't usually bore a date so much that she tunes me out," he chuckled. "What else is rolling around between those pretty ears?"

I knew I was blushing, so I picked up my rum and Coke, taking a sip. If we're going to 'date' guess there's no harm in sharing, right?

"Okay, you asked... I got a weird email from Lisa today; I'm not sure how to process it."

"She's talking about her espresso guy again?"

A little, but not like she had a number of times in past emails she’d sent me. I wondered if some IT guy somewhere... Wait, had part of Paul checking me out included hacking into the firm's computer systems and tooling around my email? How did he know about Lisa and Bryant? He has snooped! I hadn’t picked up on it last night when he mentioned Lisa, but you dropped one too many breadcrumbs. Let’s see if he’ll share with me…

"You already know about Janet and Martin, don't you?" I asked, giving him my best stink-eye look.

Now it was Paul's turn to squirm. He reached for his beer and took a long pull before saying, "I might..."

::: --- :::

I would like to acknowledge the assistance of Bronwen Welsh in proofreading and giving me insightful advice. She is an accomplished author in her own right and I appreciate her time more than I can say...

Don't be afraid to click the "Thumbs Up" icon for this short story if it's done anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so, and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter (I’d have bot’ed that bitch long ago if there was)). If you comment, I will reply, so let’s chat or not or whatever floats your noddle.

If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected](link sends e-mail)(link sends e-mail)(link sends e-mail)) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

The author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Last Updated: 2/16/2024 to smooth out portions of the story.

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March 12th, 5:38 PM
I looked at him, the shock on my face evident, “You know about Janet and Martin trying to take the firm over?”

“Augh... Not really supposed to be talking about this Liz,” he replied uncomfortably.

I didn’t generally like being called Liz, but Paul saying it felt oddly good. This was the second time he had done that, I think I like it. I kicked him under the table playfully.

“What the hell! What’s going on here? You ‘do’ know!” I protested.

Now he looked very uncomfortable and his look matched the tone of his last statement.

“I’ve been working for Jacob for six months,” he paused to count them in his head, “No, seven. I started in August of last year.”

“And?”

My heart was racing a little, I wasn’t sure why, but there had been all those oddities in my conversations with Janet was this take-over the reason? I had no one to talk with about this stuff and hoped Paul would be able to help me clear those oddities up.

“Well, and… Hey, you have to realize I’m not supposed to talk about this with anyone. I work for Jacob, he pays me a crazy amount of money, and I really shouldn’t even have said anything.”

“Who am I going to tell?” I complained.

“I don’t think you would say anything to anyone Elizabeth, but if you slipped, that could alert people. You get it right? Shit, I shouldn't have let it get this far.”

He was back to calling me Elizabeth – was he freaking in my head again!?! HEY! I like it when you call me Liz! I shook my head at him.

“Look, this cat is out of the bag already. I'm not putting a wet cat back into a wet paper bag. How about if I share some oddities I’ve experienced with Janet since coming here?”

He looked interested and without waiting for an answer, I detailed everything Janet had said to me while being on this assignment to assist in finding Amber.

Paul listened patiently and then said, “They, Janet and Martin, have Bill Blass the IT director working for them. He’s been monitoring emails between Jacob and Gillian. Janet slipping and using David’s name isn’t a surprise really. More that she underestimated you.”

I knew Gillian, she was Jacobs personal secretary and the firm's office manager. She was all business, polite, and always seemed to know everything about anything that was going on with cases, people in the office, and everyday operations. I wasn't accustomed to being complimented, so I'm sure I was blushing, a little flush about having someone say they’d underestimated me.

People probably underestimated me all the time. I worked really hard to fly under the radar, to not be on anyone's radar. In truth, underestimating anyone was generally a bad practice.

“If you suspected they were monitoring Jacob, why have him put in details about Amber in emails? I assume Janet got David - Ambers’ ‘Daddy’ name, from one of their exchanges.”

“Can’t have their correspondence look different, would be a tell Jacob knows something is going on.”

My mind was spinning a couple different directions. How did Jacob even get wind of this I wondered?

“How…,” I began slowly.

“Did Jacob know something was up?” he finished my question for me.

“Do you have mind reading capabilities?” I asked frustrated.

“Huh? No, would have made my divorce easier and a lot of other stuff too.”

I smiled, but with a look of questioning whether he was being honest – which I knew he was, but God how does he do that and so often? He knows so much about me, could he have profiled me somehow? Learned my tells; that is a poker term right? I would have to give this a little more thought later - right now he was staring at me.

“What?” I asked.

“You can’t say anything to anyone about this Elizabeth… Not Lisa, not anyone.”

“I won’t… Wait, did you know about my email from Lisa before I mentioned it?”

“Yes, I have access to the firm’s network. Trick is to move around without being detected by Blass. I don’t think he suspects anything yet and why would he? I’m careful to only snoop during office hours when Janet and Martin are in and network traffic is heavy. Gillian lets me know via texts when they are in. I was looking at emails and saw hers to you. That tells us she’s overheard something. So, while Jacob’s been away there’s been some slippage of someone’s resolve to keep their plans moving forward only in the shadows.”

“Shouldn’t I reply to Lisa? I can help; maybe put something out there as a red herring or something?”

“Jacob and I talked about that, we were kind of waiting to see if you would reply and how you would – organically – not coached.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes, why would you ask that?” he complained.

“Then tell Jacob I figured out you were working with for him or I mentioned Lisa’s email and I can help in some way. Come on! Do you want me sent back to Seattle?” I pleaded.

“No, but… Augh! Don’t look at me like that. Jacob might not want anyone else involved with this right now,” he said, taking a long pull from his beer after his whining about Jacob.

“OK, fine… Tell me how he found out that there was a mutiny.”

“Argh Matey… It is not like that Liz. It actually happened by accident. Jacob was talking to one of the candidates running for Seattle City Council in June last year - Gary Sang, he's one of the guys who lost his bid in November. Anyway, Sang mentioned that both Michelle and Angela…” I made a face like I didn’t know who he was talking about, “Angela, Janet’s partner and Michelle was Martin’s…”

I blurted out, “Oh, yeah, I know who you’re talking about, sorry…” I felt embarrassed, I knew who they were. Stupid! Pay attention!

“OK, so the partner and ex-spouse, not partners of the firm, made inordinately large contributions to two of the eventual winners of the city council races. State regulations state those donations have to be disclosed, but who really pays attention to that, right? Sang and Jacob go back a ways I guess and he wanted to know what was up with the firm supporting his opponent. It caught Jacob by surprise, so he decided to do some investigating. That’s where I came in – he asked me to see what I could find out without any of the players finding out.”

“Oh wow. To what end though does helping a couple council members getting elected,” I stopped mid-sentence. Oh crap! Port of Seattle Union contracts – grease the political skids – avoid city council issues by having two of the seven council members in your pocket and likely a couple or more sympathetic council members collecting campaign donations from the union. And there was the news the mayor wanted to squash the unions bargaining power. Yikes, this was crazy!

The Port of Seattle is the second largest port on the west coast - there were huge implications and of course money involved with the firms representation of them. It was more than just boats coming into Seattle - it was the airport also. The union was powerful and we represented them because of Jacob!

“I have a feeling you’ve seen the light,” he said smiling.

“That’s, that’s like corruption level shit,” I replied shocked.

“Says who?”

“I don’t know,” I stammered, “But if it ever got out or it even remotely looked that way there would be hell to pay, right?”

“Yeah… Pretty sure the liberal press in Seattle wouldn’t have trouble frying their own liberal leaning city council members or a corrupt law firm generating a lot of money representing the largest union in the state.”

“Okay, but why force Jacob out? Why not just buy him out or something?”

“Money, power, influence? Couldn’t really tell ya,” he said.

March 12th, 6:15 PM
We had just entered my room and Paul was opening up his laptop when his phone began to ring. He pulled it from his pocket, checked the number and mouthed ‘Jacob’ before answering.

“Jacob… How we doing?” He put the phone on speaker, “You are on speaker, I’m here with Elizabeth. We took a break to get dinner and just got back. We were just about to check if our email got any traction with David Lafleur …”

“Oh…,” he sounded like he wasn’t expecting me to be on the call. “Hello Elizabeth… Paul, quickly – got word from Landon the RCMP in Vancouver is picking up Lafleur tonight. I believe they will be charging him initially with Sexual Misconduct with a Minor per British Columbia law. There may be other charges levied as well – it’s enough to hold him so he doesn’t pick up and run. The Phoenix DA will be initiating extradition papers Monday after they determine the charges he intends to file. Of course he needs to coordinate with the prosecutor in Santa Fe, who wants her pound of flesh from Mr. Lafleur. A lot of jurisdictional wrangling yet to come, Landon thinks the feds may want the case deferred to the Phoenix DA - though they have first chair rights.”

In school we'd spent nearly a month on jurisdictional law and the bottom line - the federal government got first crack at most cases they had an interest in - especially when there were international implications. I thought about saying something to that effect, but Jacob already knew this.

"If the RCMP charges him with Human Trafficking do you think our extradition request will go anywhere?" I asked instead.

"Possibly, couldn’t hurt leveling something like that on him Elizabeth. No country is immune from human trafficking and with better than 90% of that for the sex trade - you're probably right, Canada will want to make an example of Mr. Lafleur," Jacob said as if he were processing another thought.

"Organized crime," I said aloud accidently.

Paul was looking at me and asked as if he hadn't heard me, "How does that fit?"

I was embarrassed, but repeated my thought, "Human trafficking is one of organized crimes larger focuses, stupid I know, I... It was something we discussed in school. I was thinking, maybe David Lafleur is connected to something bigger, maybe?"

"Paul, what do we know about Lafleur," Jacob asked.

"Not much, he drives truck for Canada Post. The lewd conduct with a minor and prostitution charges were his only run-ins with the law. Divorced, thirty years old, no kids - typical stuff really. That's the basic profile I got from Tim at the bureau. If there was some kind of criminal connection the FBI would likely know I'm guessing or at least have been clued in by the RCMP."

Worth a try I thought to myself before Jacob said, "Interesting angle Elizabeth, we need to keep thinking outside the box. I was just thinking, if Lafleur is charged with human trafficking - the minimum sentence for that is four to six years in Canada. Amber's age at time of their first contact should up that a little since she wasn't eighteen. They do have a maximum penalty of life imprisonment, but to my knowledge no one has ever been given that sentence."

I felt better about my Lafleur mob connection thought spoken aloud - it wasn't really an outside the box idea, more like grasping at something intelligent to add to the conversation. Jacob and Paul continued to talk about a few other details and I zoned them out.

What if David Lafleur was somehow... Wait, what if the chat room exchange Amber had wasn't with David? What if that was someone in his stable of women? Classic approach – have someone non-threatening follow her online, befriend her, buy her things - but stay removed, and then be an intermediary to Lafleur. You didn't have to be a runaway to fall prey to this kind of thing. Amber may have felt marginalized by her friends - given her lack of social media presence - which is akin to isolation. All traps, no matter how much support her parents were giving her. If only she...

Paul was waving at me and my lip reading of his read - 'Anything you want to ask?' I nodded 'No' and he told Jacob he would call him later if we found out anything. I watched him put his phone in his pocket, then clicking to login to Amber's new email account we'd used to emailed David Lafleur.

"You check out for a couple seconds there?" he asked.

"Yeah, just the trafficking thing had me thinking..."

"What?"

"I am not an expert with this stuff, but a lot of the pieces of her life put her in a position where some shit head like Lafleur could snatch her up. I mean, the Carson’s by all appearances are the perfect parents. Heck, I'm jealous, but I know feeling lost and empty and the lengths you'll go to for a positive stroke. It can make you vulnerable and you aren't really thinking the snake you're petting is going to bite you."

"OK, but besides being an preditor, David Lafleur doesn't fit the sex trafficker profile," Paul said like he was trying to gingerly pull me back from the edge.

"What if, totally hypothetical, that wasn't Lafleur in that chat room? What if it was some girl who's already working for him?"

"Aaah, I don't know Elizabeth," he said flustered, "Every time we look at something regarding Amber it seems straight forward - until it's not."

"Exactly... In her other email accounts do you remember her talking to anyone regularly? Like, besides the losers hitting her up for pictures or videos. I'll give her credit - she didn't give much away for free. Her PayPal and Patreon accounts were what, five months old? Better than twenty-grand in five months? That's a lot of money for a teen."

Paul looked to be trying to remember Amber's email contacts, "There were plenty of people she talked to via email. More on Tumblr and within her Patreon account. No names jump out at me Liz."

I watched a smile grow on his face, was it because he knew I liked when he called me Liz? Then I looked at the TV screen - there was a reply to our email! I felt my heart begin to race!

"Oh shit...," I whispered.

"Seriously," he said clicking the email open.

There were only two words in the email - 'Fuck You' My heart literally sank.

"What does that mean?" I asked panicked.

"Means we either got the wrong email address or... Crap I don't know," Paul began clicking on programs, typing gibberish in one of the screens.

"What if the owner of this email address was expecting a different reply from Amber? Like, like the person expected her to email them and not David?"

Paul wasn't paying attention, "Great, they used a secure VPN..." He was typing again.

"So?"

"So, they connected off the grid basically. VPN is a Virtual Private Network. They used one that bounces the packet across multiple networks, servers." I must have looked confused because he continued by explaining, "Packet - the container your data travels the internet in. Everything regarding what you sent in a web transaction is contained in the packet - sender, receiver, location, IP address, all of that - not just the content."

"Okay, then they did this to hide themselves?"

"Right, their VPN routed this message to any number of servers pushing infinite number of packets around the world, makes it virtually impossible to track where the message originated from."

"But the chat room - that was from Vancouver. You said that right?"

"Best guess, maybe that was the last server that processed the sending of the data," he paused, "No, each line sent to Amber would have been a packet. Yeah, I'm pretty sure that chat room stuff was all from the Vancouver area. We'd have varying servers showing up for each exchange from the FlowerGirl. Dang..."

Paul was obviously frustrated, but I had an idea.

"OK, so we blew the email thing, but maybe not. Let me reply, I'll say that email was for David, my ‘Daddy’. That might get this person talking."

Paul nodded his head and extended the laptop to me after hitting 'Reply' to the email. OK, how to play this?

'That email was for Daddy, not you! Just give me what he needs me to do next week. a'

"That's good. Goes with the assumption Amber knows who she's talking with now. Can't hurt at this point, especially with him about to be arrested."

I passed the laptop back to Paul.

"Maybe less is more... Did you check to see if the link in our first email was followed?"

"Yes, it wasn't followed. Whoever this is - they are certainly being cautious."

"Wouldn't you be? Lafleur is almost arrested in Santa Fe. If this isn’t him – they know the authorities are looking for him. They’ve got to be on edge as much as he is. Some kind of crazy," I said.

Paul looked like he was going to say something but buried his nose back into whatever computer thing he was doing.

"You look like you want to ask me something," I asked.

He paused, typed a few keystrokes, and then asked, "Was it like this for you?"

I still wasn't sure how I felt about Paul knowing as much as he did about my past. I didn't see 'red' at his ask, but this wasn't something I wanted to really rehash. That part of my past was an embarrassing and a pathetically low-point in my life, how to say that without getting into too many details?

"Look, you don't have to answer that. I get it - a time of your life you'd like buried. I'm not trying to intrude or judge or whatever..."

Okay, he gets it.

"Yeah, there was some crazy. I was hit on a couple dozen times a day. I usually had twenty people fucking with me during my webcam sessions. Typical crap you'd expect - 'Do this'; 'Show that'. Solicitations daily were five times that. I ate it up, but it got old. When my first video hit I got over a thousand messages the first night. Sick shit, lonely fucking losers, fetish junkies preying on my need for acceptance, needing to be validated."

I got up and went to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and marveled at the neat rows of twelve water bottles and as many cans of assorted soda - they replenished the stock daily.

"You want a Coke?" I asked.

"Nah... Thanks. You got out though, that couldn't have been easy."

"No, it wasn't. I hit bottom. Not something I wanna talk about Paul. I choose to live as the real me basically, that became my focus and my escape of that hell. I haven't looked back until volunteering to help Jacob find Amber. God, I wish she wouldn't have gone down this road. I just don't understand, given all she has going for her with her family."

Paul stood and met me at the door to the kitchen.

"You made the right choice. You were brave."

"I was stupid for not being who I knew I was from the beginning."

Paul took my hands, "Well, I'm glad you're you now."

He pulled me close and just held me. It felt amazing to just be held. I didn't want it to end.

March 12th, 7:48 PM
I had been moving slowly and was finally sitting on the edge of the bed. It felt like an exaggerated slow motion contortion act I'd been putting on for the past two minutes. The clock said 7:48 PM, which meant we'd been laying here for just over an hour. There was a little kissing when we climbed into bed to unplug for a bit. We both needed to unplug.

Sleep came quickly for me, especially while being spooned by Paul. After twenty minutes though - his snoring, even with repeatedly jostling his hold on me to get him to stop - I'd had enough. The snuggling was cute, the snoring - not so much. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and headed to the living room, pulling the door to the bedroom nearly shut.

Was I ever going to have a story for Lisa when I got back to Seattle. I smiled as I pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Yeah, she was going to freak! The first sip was cool and I ended up sucking down over half the bottle. I was a big believer in hydration, mainly because of all the running I did, but the climate here in Arizona made me feel thirsty all the time. Probably had nothing to do with being here, more likely I was being hypersensitive like I always was about wherever I was or whatever I was doing.

I went over to Paul's laptop sitting on the coffee table in front of the TV and jiggled the mouse to wake the system up. A password screen popped up - guess I won't be checking to see if we got any traction from the email to our 'Daddy' or other actors. I grabbed the remote and pulled up the TV guide screen, deciding to watch a repeat of a mountain bike race from last weekend in a place called Slick Rock. Beautiful country just north of Sedona, Arizona. The chainsaw noises from the bedroom stopped and I looked toward the door, listening for Paul thinking he might be getting up. No noise, then it began again - he must have rolled over.

I stretched out on the couch and while I may have been staring at the TV, I wasn't seeing much but movement. I couldn't focus on anything but whether David Lafleur was connected or was someone else working with him. I prayed he was a solo shit head and Amber was his only victim. I closed my eyes. God I wished I could make my brain stop thinking…

March 12th, 8:06 PM
Fuck! My phone ringing and the vibration startled me awake and I jumped to a sitting position on the edge of the couch, almost slipping off the leather cushions. I fumbled with the phone to get it right side up so I could read the number - I didn't recognize it and there was no caller ID available. T-Mobile wasn't saying ‘Scam Likely’. I had to think about who knew my number?

The Carson’s, Amber, and then I wondered if it could be the FBI or Phoenix Police. It was certainly a Phoenix number and as the phone began to ring for the third time I answered, "Hello..." Silence. I waited five seconds - I could hear breathing on the line, "Hello?"

Then I could hear what sounded like muffled sobs, a woman possibly, crying...

"Hey, hey... Take a breath... Who is this? Amber?" I was trying to sound calm, but could feel my chest tightening, I felt panicky.

"My," a sob and something was said I couldn't make out. "... arresting him. How can...," more hard breathing mixed with crying, a few words I still couldn't make out again, "Is that true?"

It was Amber, Oh shit!

"Amber, look, you need to relax, calm down... I, I can't understand some of what you are saying... Start from the top, slowly."

Oh fuck! Had she found out David Lafleur was being arrested tonight? How?

There was a long pause and I could hear her breathing slower, maybe trying to compose herself.

"My... I heard them say David was being arrested, is that true?"

No... Not me, don't ask me about this shit, kid!

"I, look, he's broken the law Amber. If he's innocent a good lawyer will have him out of trouble in no time,” I replied.

Great, give her hope the pedophile is actually innocent given all I'd seen of their interactions.

"I approached him. I'm the," more sobbing made whatever she was trying to get garbled again.

"If that's true, his lawyers will use that Amber, but I think we both know that's not true."

"That's bullshit! This is a fucking," the line went silent. In a quieter restrained tone, she said, "It's a fucking setup. This is my parents and Uncle Jacob trying to ruin my...," the last part of her sentence was lost to the whispered tone she was using.

Was she trying to hide that she was talking to me? Where did she get a phone?

"OK, well it's out of our hands... If he's arrested then it's for the courts to decide." I was trying to remain calm, but I was feeling very anxious - wishing my purse was handy and I could pop a Xanax.

Nearly thirty seconds of silence, and she asked, "Why are you helping them?"

"I'm not helping them Amber, I'm here to help you."

"No, you know... You know fucking... God damn you!" Her voice was straining and I could feel the anger in the words as she spoke.

"I know a lot and I know not being true to yourself is a big mistake. I've been down this road Amber, it sucks, and you have to believe that. People are going to use you..."

"Yeah, well fucking everyone uses everyone... Don't fucking give me that shit!"

She'd cut me off and I was having trouble feeling like I could stand up to her.

"Mmhuh, that's true. What's also true is you knew that you were different and you were brave enough to make that shift to trying to be the real you," I wasn't sure what I was trying to say, but let the words flow. "Then... I don't know what happened - you lost friends, got bullied, whatever - and instead of fighting for yourself you took the first comforting hand extended to you. That hand was all the bullshit fetish crap you thought was gonna save you from all the 'Boo hoo - whoa is me...' bullshit thrown at you. Well listen up, you got fucked by a piece of shit loser, who got you to expose that shit on the internet for a couple bucks. And for what, twenty seconds of feel good and some cash? I'm not preaching Amber, I'm telling you all this shit coming down - it's all on you. All you because you gave up being who you knew you were inside."

I was shaking slightly and stood, and as I did the door to the bedroom opened. Paul was looking at me concerned. I turned away. Fuck!

"That's not true... I'm going... We're going to have more money than you ever will know... I..."

"I doubt that," I could feel Paul staring at me from behind me. "You'll be used until there's nothing left worth using and then discarded.” I lowered my voice, slowed down my cadence, "That life you think is so easy, it's not, and one day you'll wake up in a hospital not remembering how you got there, a couple broken ribs and a fucked up face. Yeah, some kind of wonderful life that'll be. Or you'll be dead. You wanna be a big girl, a woman - give this shit up before it gets you killed! This isn't a video game or some Facebook-love-fest... This is you being used by a sick fuck."

"You don't kno..."

"The fuck I don't!"

"Yeah, well... David loves me and," she sounded desperate to have some kind of win from our exchange.

"If he loved you, he wouldn't be using you. No... Love, real love looks very different Amber. You have no further to look than your parents." I hoped they had a solid relationship or I'd just screwed my whole point.

"Davi..."

"No, David is a user, a fucking thirty year old fuck who stole from you something you will never, never get back..." I was heated and Paul standing behind me was not helping. I was glad he couldn't hear both sides of this conversation. I turned to face him, motioned for him to sit. After he had I went into the bedroom - closing the door behind me.

Amber droned on about David loving her and I wanted so bad to just beat the piss out of her. I found my purse, opened the Xanex bottle, and dumped the pills on the counter. I picked one up, turned the sink on, and sucked in a mouthful of foul tasting water from my hand to swallow it - no wonder the bottled water is free in this place!

When Amber paused I asked, "Who were you talking with in the chat room last night?"

"I wasn't talking in a chat room," she protested.

"Don't lie... I know you were talking to someone named FlowerGirl last night. I know about next week. What the hell are you thinking?" When she didn't answer right away I tried to soften my tone, but I wasn't confident I sounded anything but confrontational, "Was that David or someone else?"

"It was some...," and she stopped talking.

There was another voice in the background, a man, he sounded angry - "What the hell are you doing in... Who is that on the phone?"

"Dad... It's not what you," Amber yelled in protest.

There was a thunking noise, and then, "Hello! Who the fuck is this!" a man's voice yelled into the phone.

"Mr. Carson, this is Elizabeth Gallagher, I work with Jacob. I, I gave Amber my number the other night and, I... I told her to call me if she wanted to talk..." I had no doubt I didn't sound confident in any of that ramble. He was so angry and I could barely form a sentence.

"Elizabeth? Okay, well, we don't want Amber talking to people right now, so... Ah, yeah, thanks for speaking with her. Please... I'm sorry about the," and he stopped speaking.

"No, I totally understand Mr. Carson. Thank you."

The line went dead and I took my first breath since he took the phone from hr. Oh my God! There was a ringing in my ears and I felt light headed. I backed up and plopped my ass onto the toilet seat, then buried my face in my hands. Breathe... Nothing is going to happen, nothing is...

March 12th, 8:29 PM
"You okay? Didn't hear you yelling, thought I'd check on you,” a concerned Paul was saying.

I tried to sit up straight, but put my face back in my hands and leaned over my knees again.

"Think so," I squeaked. That was a lie.

"Trouble with your," I heard Paul putting my Xanax back in the bottle, "Alprazolam?"

Nice, he knew how to say the prescriptions real name.

"Yeah, little bit..."

"You and Amber have another heart to heart?"

"You could say that... Then again maybe I was just being a bitch. I really don't know what to think right now."

Paul chuckled, "Sounds like you gave her a good thrashing. I think she probably needed that, rather than being coddled like I've seen Stephanie handling her." He tried to laugh after saying that, but it sounded a little nervous to me.

The ringing in my ears was beginning to really freak me out. I sensed Paul standing in front of me, and then I saw through my fingers him kneeling and placing his hands on my knees.

"You want to lay down?"

"No, I'm just gonna sit here. Might need to puke."

"Anxiety?"

"Yeah... Typical panic attack shit for me... This one's bad. Talk to me, need to get my head in a different space to help get over this."

"Sure, ah... No email reply yet."

"It's not David... The chat room wasn't David."

"Amber tell you that?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think that's what she was saying before her dad blew a gasket on the phone."

"Oh... You got to talk to Gary? Given all the shit he's gone through, I imagine anything to do with Amber could tip him over. I can't imagine what this has been like for him. Did Amber say anything about next week?" he asked.

"We didn't get that far, not for lack of trying... Her dad kind of blew getting an answer to that question."

"We need them to parent Liz, they need to step up. I get the sense Stephanie is afraid to put her foot down for fear of having her run again. I could be totally wrong on that though."

"I can see where it might be difficult for them. That kid frustrates me so much Paul," I complained softly.

Paul's phone began ringing in the bedroom, "I'll be right back..."

He patted my shoulder and left to get it. I heard him answer, it was Jacob, and then he asked him to hold on.

"Okay, you're on speaker, Elizabeth is here."

"I just got off the phone with Landon. RCMP in Vancouver just finished a two hour standoff with David Lafleur. When they entered his apartment they found him deceased in his bedroom. He was shot in the head..."

"Suicide?" Paul asked.

Oh my God! This isn't happening - I looked at Paul for some understanding of what we'd just heard, he just shrugged in return.

"No. No weapon recovered, they think he was killed sometime early this morning," Jacob replied.

My stomach dropped and began to roil. No, that can't be...

"Landon said to expect a call from the bureau and the Phoenix police in the next couple hours. They'll just want to know where you both were the last twenty-four hours. Nothing to worry about - just standard procedure. I've given them my information already; they will be contacting the Carson’s shortly."

Were we suspects somehow? No, everyone is a suspect until ruled out. We'd been deep into trying to find Lafleur, only logical to include us on a list of people hunting him and maybe wanting to take out their own brand of justice on him. Jacob didn't say murder though, but no weapon being found? That has got to be foul play?

"So, the Carson’s don't know yet?" Paul asked.

"Correct. Again, they are just checking people off the list, nothing to worry about; we know where everyone was the past twenty-four hours. Also, as of right now you are to stop all investigation into Lafleur, Amber, or anyone else, understood?"

"Sure Jacob..."

"Elizabeth?"

I was feeling sick, but managed, "Yes Mr. Wentz..."

"Paul, connect with Tim at the bureau - he's expecting to meet with you tonight. Give him everything you've uncovered if he doesn't have that already. Elizabeth, you might as well tag along - in case they want to interview you or you have anything that could help."

Paul was looking at me, but I must not have looked in any condition to speak.

"Jacob, Elizabeth just finished talking to Amber not ten minutes ago. We're pretty sure she said the chat room transcript was not a conversation with David Lafleur... Our attempt at emailing what we thought was his email address ran into an unexpected reply. This could require the investigation into others I'm afraid - especially with Lafleur being no longer around."

"Damn it," Jacob sounded annoyed. "Lafleur's passing and if what you're telling me is true means this isn't all going to go away quietly or quickly. Alright, make sure Tim knows all that - I'll call Landon back. I'm going to talk to Stephanie, I think it's time Amber was thoroughly pressured for details. Elizabeth, would you be available tomorrow to assist?"

I was waving at Paul frantically to leave, while dropping to my knees, spinning around to lift the toilet seat - he got the message. I heard him saying, as he closed the door to the bathroom, that I would be available tomorrow. That's all I heard before I began retching into the toilet. The vomit burned my throat, so did the little that came out of my nose.

When I focused contents of the bowl, it was a putrid red color - not what I was expecting... I started to see grey closing in around my periphery. Shit...

::: --- :::

I would like to acknowledge the assistance of Bronwen Welsh in proofreading and giving me insightful advice. She is an accomplished author in her own right and I appreciate her time more than I can say...

Don't be afraid to click the "Thumbs Up" icon for this short story if it's done anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so, and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter (I’d have bot’ed that bitch long ago if there was)). If you comment, I will reply, so let’s chat or not or whatever floats your noddle.

If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected](link sends e-mail)(link sends e-mail)(link sends e-mail)) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

The author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Last Updated: 2/16/2024 to smooth out portions of the story.

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March 12th, 8:36 p.m.
"Whoa, Whoa! Hey… Elizabeth, are you OK? Wait, hey, hey... Just sit still; don't try getting up. You're OK. Just relax; stay sitting."

I could hear Paul speaking and feel a hand on my shoulder, trying to hold me steady. Then someone’s hand was trying to get my hair out of my face. I felt woozy and cold, like sweat cooling on my body after a run.

"I'm a good," I mumbled.

I hadn't totally blacked out, but this panic attack was one of the worst I'd ever had. I could feel my heart racing still, then I felt the urge to throw up again. I got my head over the toilet in time to dry-heave and cough into the bowl, but nothing came up. I spit a coating of nasty from my mouth into the bowl. Paul flushed the toilet to get rid of the vomit, so there wasn’t really anything in it besides what I’d just spit.

"Guess the Buffalo wing sauce didn't sit well?"

Wing sauce... Ah, okay, that explains the fiery burning and red liquid I'd spewed into the toilet. I guess I'm not bleeding internally. Well, probably not bleeding right? Blood was in me but contained, so not... Fuck! Get a grip! I took a few slow breaths, and then tilted my head toward Paul.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered.

He chuckled. "You're kidding, right? Don't worry about it, you cool just sitting there a second?"

"Yeah," I replied, leaning my chin on my arms which were sitting on the edge of the cold porcelain toilet rim.

He pulled my hair back and let it fall over my shoulders, then tentatively removed his hand from my shoulder, keeping me steady. I guess there wasn’t an extra set of hands in here. Thank GOD!

When I didn't fall over, he moved to the sink. I heard water running, and a moment later he was placing a wet, cool washcloth on my neck. Then he handed me a damp hand towel.

"Here, wanna maybe wipe your face? I can take you to a hospital."

NO! Please no! No hospital! I shook my head, 'No' slowly, and took the hand towel so I could wipe my face. I spit a few times to get more of the acrid aftertaste out of my mouth.

"Can you grab my bottle of water?" I asked.

"I'll get you a new one. Don't go anywhere."

"Yeah, sure..." Not like I was in any condition to move about anyway.

I felt a little disoriented, but things were in focus, and I heard Paul trot off to get me a new bottle of water. Okay, I'm aware of my surroundings. JUST RELAX! I thought about that: how many times does telling yourself to relax really do a damn thing? Pretty much never! Breathe...

I needed to straighten my shit out quick, or Paul was going to insist on a trip to the ER. God, no hospitals! That would make this panic attack even more uncomfortable, adding another thing to stress over. Breathe...

"Here, I wouldn't guzzle that or anything. Give your system a chance to reset. Small sips," he coaxed.

He sounded pretty motherly right now, but I really did appreciate him being here. Wanna get over this? Think about him. If he wasn't here, where would you be—wedged between the toilet and bathtub? I cracked the slightest of smiles.

"What's funny?" he asked.

I didn't realize Paul could see me in the mirror in front of the vanity, even though he was behind me.

"Nothing, I’m just feeling stupid right now," I offered.

"Yeah, well, it’s been a pretty packed couple days for you. Be nice to get the hell out of here and back to your real life."

What did that mean? If I go back to Seattle, that's it; I don't get to see you again. I felt a pang in my gut and an uncomfortable rolling in my stomach. Why did I have a headache? Augh...

"You know, you'll have to deal with me back there. I mean, I'm not Bryant Caliper, barista extraordinaire, or anything, but I’ve got a few skills."

What? He's messing with me! Why do I go to the extreme worst case? Fuck!

"Hey, I'd like to get off the floor, think you can help me to my bed?"

"Really? You're in the middle of a panic attack, and all you can think about is getting me in bed."

"Haha... Not funny. I mean, it is, just not right now," I complained.

I extended my hand, but he hugged me beneath my arms and got me standing. I felt good enough to walk, but I let him keep an arm around me until I was sitting on the bed.

"Are you sure you want to lie down?" he asked.

"Mmhuh... Yeah, I think I'm about over this. Maybe the Xanax kicked in a little before I threw it up."

"Alright then," he said as he spun my feet around slowly and I laid back. "You good?"

"You told me I was... You questioning that now?" I tried smiling after questioning him, and pulled at the comforter to get it over me. Paul chuckled and helped pull it over me.

"Yeah, guess I did. I'll stand by that still. Let me refresh your washcloth," he said, heading to the bathroom while pulling out his phone. "Hey Tim... Jacob said you want what we have on the investigation tonight?"

That was the last I could hear before he went into the bathroom. I could hear the water running, and then he was back.

"Yeah, that's the last stuff; I have some email stuff to turn over too and some VPN ideas."

Paul put the cool washcloth on my forehead.

"Yeah, that was a bit of a surprise... Thirty minutes... No, just me; we can call Elizabeth after we're done... Sure, see you in a few."

He put his phone away and was studying my face.

"I can go. I'm fine," I offered.

"It's going to be tech talk, and I know how that crap thrills you. Stay here; Tim can call you for your statement about where you were, which might involve telling him about, ah, well, this morning."

At first I wasn't following, then I got it, 'this morning...' - he left my room at 2 AM - that technically was this morning. I would have just said last night we had been together.

"Think that will raise any eyebrows?" I asked.

I was studying his face for a sign telling someone we were together was going to be a problem. It didn't seem to faze him.

"Not going to bother me... A problem for you?"

I just smiled. Are you reading my mind again, Mr. Kline? ?

March 12th, 9:25 p.m.
I answered my phone on the first ring, "This is Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth Gallagher, I'm Special Agent Timothy Warren of the FBI, and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions."

"Yes, I can answer questions," and as soon as I said that, I felt foolish, but I was very much awake and focused. I can do this, nothing to worry about.

"Thank you... Miss, there really isn't an easy way to ask this, but, well, first, I want to inform you that this call is being recorded. You are not obligated to answer my questions without the presence of an attorney. I am not reading your Miranda Rights; this call is an informal whereabouts check. Do you understand that you do have a right to refuse to answer my questions at any time?" he asked.

I knew he had to state some specifics, but it was no less daunting to hear his little preamble.

"Yes, Agent Warren, I understand."

"Alright, as I stated, there is no easy way to ask this, and I want you to know I respect your privacy, but I have to ask for your legal name for the record. After you answer, you can request that I refer to you going forward, however best makes you comfortable. Understood?"

"Yes, Agent Warren. My legal name is Edward Anson Gallagher; I would prefer to be addressed as Elizabeth."

I didn't fault Tim; since this was an official inquiry, he had hoops to jump through. Why hadn't I at least gotten my name changed officially before this? Yeah, that would be a lack of money! I wondered if he would allow me to call him Tim, nah, to informal.

"Thank you, Elizabeth. Can you tell me if you have a cell phone?"

Alright, that's an interesting start.

"Yes, Agent Warren, you are speaking to me on my cell phone currently. I assume you got my number from my employer."

"Actually, Mr. Kline made your number available to me; I hope that's alright."

"It is," I replied, and I thought about it some more after answering his question. They can track the phone; that's why he asked me that.

"Did you leave the general Phoenix area at any time during the last twenty-four hours?"

"No, I did not..."

Tim went on to ask for people I had been in contact with since noon yesterday, and I rattled that off quickly, including being with Paul until 2 AM this morning and a good part of today. I told him I could produce a receipt from my breakfast this morning and likely a statement from the server. He actually chuckled at that offer, and we wrapped up our official "alibi" conversation, which is what the purpose of this call was. Tim did mention that the Phoenix Police would be repeating this call with me tomorrow, and he apologized in advance for that. I told him it wasn't a problem.

"OK, that ends this interview. Elizabeth, do you have any questions?"

"No, I'm good. Thank you, Agent Warren."

There was a chuckle in the background. "Hold on..." There was a clicking sound, then, "You likely recognized the chuckle, Elizabeth... I've got you on speakerphone. Say hello, Paul."

"Hello Paul," Paul said in a funny-sounding voice.

"You're an idiot. You know that, right?" Tim said.

"Hi Liz," Paul chimed in.

"Hello, Mr. Kline," was my reply, and I couldn’t help but smile at Paul for being silly.

"Elizabeth, Paul handed over the email chain and detailed your intentions. I like it. Too bad we didn't get anything from the email. Excellent try, though. Paul mentioned you spoke to Amber Carson, and she said the person from the chat room may not have been David Lafleur."

"Agent Warren, may I call you Tim?"

"Oh God, yes, please!" he replied enthusiastically.

"Thanks Tim... Yes, I think that's what she was going to tell me—that it was someone else."

"Do you recall what you asked her and her answer?"

"Think I asked something like, 'Was that David or someone else?' and she started to reply, 'It was someone...,’ and that's when her father grabbed the phone. He wasn't too happy with either of us."

"So she didn't say specifically that it was someone 'else'?" He annunciated the 'else'.

"No, but given how our conversation was going, I think I backed her into having no other option but to tell me."

Tim interrupted me, "You backed her into a corner? Can you explain that?"

After Paul had left, I got up and took another. 25 mg Xanax because I knew this call was going to stress me the fuck out. I had no idea how much of the drug was in my system keeping my 'fight or flight' adrenaline shot from tipping me over after barfing earlier, but I wasn't going to take any chances. I was really scared of going down the crazy panic attack/ barfing route again.

Even Xanax fortified, I could feel the flutter in my chest and the slight tightening feeling in my stomach. FBI agents were smart; Tim was no exception, even for a tech junkie like Paul. Just answer the question; don't over think it.

"Tim, Amber, and I have had two conversations—I wouldn't say we're buds, but in this last one, I pretty much called bullshit on some of the crap she was saying about David Lafleur. Not sure it was the right tact, but in the end I told her we knew about her chat room conversation with 'FlowerGirl', we knew about a planned meeting next week, and I asked her straight out if she was talking to David in the chat room. I'm pretty sure she was going to tell me it wasn't him, and now with his murder in Vancouver, well, that might make sense."

That was the first time I'd spoken the word 'murder' aloud. Paul and I hadn't even discussed it before he left to meet Tim.

"You might be right. We checked her email for a reply on your last sent message; nice job on that one, by the way - no reply yet. I have everything Paul was working on, so I'll be moving forward with that, including trying to trace the VPN activity. Paul told me that Jacob wants you to assist with an agent interview with Amber tomorrow. That's awesome; your rapport with her should make that go easier," he said.

"I'll be assisting an FBI agent in her interview? No one told me that." I’m sure I sounded defensive in that reply.

Paul chimed in, "Jacob and Landon worked that out, Elizabeth. You won't be running it or anything—mostly just there to be an advocate for Amber in case she needs someone to confide in or advice. It will only be the three of you, so it shouldn't be too bad."

Are you kidding?! Are you serious right now?! I'm going to be with some agent grilling this teen who is full of herself. Fuck! How do I get out of this?

"When is this happening?"

"Tomorrow morning, 11 AM," Tim replied.

Great! I answered a few other questions Tim had, and then it was obvious we were done. Paul mentioned he would stop by after he got back to the hotel. I told him I was going to take a shower and go to bed, and that I still wasn't feeling great. He sounded disappointed, but I just wasn't in the mood.

Too much had happened over the last couple hours, and I needed to shut it all down. I did hope I didn't embarrass him in front of Tim.

After the call ended, I got a text from Paul a couple minutes later: "U OK?"

I replied, "Yes, just wasted."

"OK. Breakfast? 9 AM?"

I replied, "CU then."

"Good night. I hope you feel better. Call me if you need anything."

"I will. I feel a lot better; I'm just tired. Good night. XO."

And the conversation ended. There was no way I was getting up to take a shower, though I'm sure I needed one. I shimmied out of my jeans, worked the gaff off, then my blouse and bra—I left my socks on. The AC was droning, and I rolled over and hit the light on the nightstand after plugging my phone in.

Time to check out...

March 13th, 10:47 a.m.
I could only get myself to eat toast and a banana at breakfast. Paul seemed like he was full of energy. I felt like I was eating my last meal before being taken to the electric chair—in reality, entering an interview room at the FBI building. There was no lack of talking Paul was doing, and I tried to smile and keep my emotions in check, while appearing interested. Right now, I wish I was back at breakfast or better yet, in bed still.

We had arrived early to the FBI offices; why couldn't we have been late?

I got a few moments with Jacob prior to meeting the agent who was going to interview Amber. He reassured me that I had the full support of Carson’s and that this interview was exploratory in nature, but it did have an urgency factor given what had happened to Lafleur. I wanted to tell him I wasn't up to this, but before I had a chance, an agent interrupted us and took me to the interview room.

When I entered the room, there were four chairs and an attractive woman looking over notes on a legal pad. She stood, extended her hand, and said, "Hi, I'm Special Agent Carr. You must be Elizabeth Gallagher."

She was all smiles—one of those that showed way too many teeth, was polite, dressed impeccably as expected, and certainly had the look of someone not to be underestimated.

"Yes, nice to meet you," I said shaking her hand politely.

She pointed to a chair across from her, and I sat and said, "I like your skirt, Calvin Klein. I have one just like it."

I nodded and thought, there was no way you shop at second-hand stores.

"So, I've talked to Agent Warren, and he's detailed some of the specifics we're looking for today. He mentioned you might have had a breakthrough with Amber Carson last night regarding the chat room. Is that right?"

"Yes, but we were interrupted by her father though before I got a definite admission."

I wondered what else Tim had told her.

"Agent Warren said he was a little angry."

"Understandably so; he's trying to keep his daughter in check," I replied, feeling a little confidence building.

I knew I couldn’t hold my own with Agent Carr, but I had some skills. She hadn't given me her first name, so this was likely the extent of our buddy-to-buddy rapport. I didn't feel like she was judging me yet, so we were off to a good start. Don't over think this...

"Why do you think she got involved with David Lafleur?"

"That's something you should ask her. You might have to read between the lines to pick up the reasoning, though. Could be validation, could be the thrill factor... May I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Agent Carr said.

"Do you know much about transgenderism? Sexual dysphoria?" I asked.

"To be honest, I'm not in my element regarding transgender studies. I'm a USC graduate with a Masters in Psychology. I understand the dimensions and breadth of sexual dysphoria, but to say I know everything related to something so complex would be foolhardy. I've performed many psychological examinations and evaluations for the bureau, so it was felt by Director Keith, I might be a less scary and non-adversarial interviewer. I can assure you, we just want to find out what we can, as delicately as we can, and not inflict damage on Amber."

I think I could warm up to this woman. She put on no airs, no falsehoods; I liked her.

"Thank you for that. I will assist as best I can."

There was a knock at the door. Both Agent Carr and I stood as Amber was brought into the interview room. She looked nervous. Agent Carr handled the introductions, set some basic ground rules, and assured Amber that nothing she said would lead to any legal problems for her. She seemed to be reading the same introductory script I had been given last night by Tim. Agent Carr asked if Amber had any questions; she nodded 'No'.

"Amber, do you recall when you first met David Lafleur?" Agent Carr asked.

"No, it was last year though; maybe around summer? It was before I went back to school," she said, sounding a little nervous.

"You are a senior this year; congratulations. Do you have problems in school, like bullying? We noticed your Facebook account is pretty sparse for a teenage girl."

"No more than anyone else. My mom kept my Facebook account free of the couple idiots who initially tried to start crap. She shut those people down pretty quickly, didn’t mean I didn’t get hassled at school. There were plenty of times she went to the school district to get people off my back. I just didn't post there because it was more of a pain than it was worth, and she was monitoring it pretty much daily. I don't care what people think of me," she replied.

"How did you meet David Lafleur?"

"He subscribed to my webcam sessions," she said with more confidence than I would have been able to muster. "I'd like to know if you have arrested David,” she stated.

Here we go, I thought. Agent Carr looked at something on her note pad, scribbled a '+' sign next to something she'd written, and then looked at Amber for a moment.

"The Royal Canadian Mounted Police were dispatched to arrest Mr. Lafleur in Vancouver, British Columbia, last night. They really haven't told us much about it, Amber. They know we want him extradited back to the States so he can face charges here, but that's not going to happen quickly. That's really all I know at this point."

"What charges? He didn't do anything," she protested.

"Amber, I think we know that's not entirely true. You just told me he subscribed to your webcam sessions sometime last summer. That would mean you were still a minor, and at a minimum, he could be charged with sexual exploitation of a minor. But let's not get wrapped up in those things because Canada will need to figure out the laws he broke there before we..."

Amber interrupted her, "That's not how it happened!"

"We have your statement, Amber, and we have more than enough interaction between you and Mr. Lafleur over the past six months from your Tumblr account and Patreon subscription service to back that up."

I thought, Please don't add that Paul and I helped get you that information.

"I want to talk to him... I'm not telling you anything until I talk to him," she said with less confidence than she probably thought she was showing.

"Amber, if you really want to help David, you'll help us by answering our questions. Something you tell us could help him, and I promise you this: we will supply his lawyers with every bit of information they request; you have my word on that."

OMG! I was believing this woman! She was slick, and she just personalized Lafleur in their conversation by referring to him as David. She eased into that so effortlessly.

"Fine...," was Amber’s answer.

Legally, Lafleur's lawyers would have to be presented with a listing of evidence intended to be used against him so his defense could be prepared, which included witnesses. Amber was being played, but not necessarily being lied too—well, maybe a little. Agent Carr continued, but it was like a reset: a couple non-threatening questions, then one about her subscription income. Amber was talking, less like the bitchy teen I'd run into and more like, her parents had told her to knock this shit off and come clean? I hadn't said a word since the interview started, and we were nearly ten minutes into it.

"The other night you were in a chat room with," Agent Carr paused to look at her notes, "Someone named 'Flowergirl'. Do you remember that?"

"Yes, that wasn't David; I told her that,” she said nodding her head toward me.

"Who is this person?"

"I don't know. She's someone David said was cool and could help me with stuff. She had different names when we would chat online. She sent me things sometimes. That's all I know," Amber said with a huff.

"And this person was going to get you connected with David next week in Vancouver," Agent Carr asked.

"Yes. I was supposed to already be with David, but that didn't happen. I was supposed to email her to get directions on how I was going to get there, but I couldn't remember her email address," she replied.

"What kind of stuff was she going to help you with?"

"Stuff," she looked embarrassed to say, but finally spoke after Agent Carr looked to be waiting and not about to speak until she got an answer. "Like getting into making videos and commercials, that kind of thing."

"Did she work for a specific company, a talent agency, or something of that nature?"

"David said she knew people."

"And was there a cost for this service she was going to provide?" Agent Carr asked.

"Yes, ten thousand dollars, which I have but you people," Amber was looking at me. "Locked me out of..."

"Besides money," Agent Carr interrupted her. "Were there other things this person asked for? Like demo videos or pictures?"

"Of course, I posted things online; I sent her stuff."

"Was it all sexual in nature?"

"Some of it was, yeah... It's how they get things done in the business, she told me. David was going to be my manager. It was going to happen until you people got involved,” she said, looking at me again.

Agent Carr asked a few other questions, and when she ran into resistance from Amber, she would change her approach, reeling Amber in by appearing to be on her side. It was masterful! I was in awe for most of the questioning. I couldn't get hardly anything from Amber without fighting her every step, and Carr was playing her like a piano.

"OK, well, I think I've got everything I need, Amber. Elizabeth, is there something I might have missed?" Agent Carr asked.

I wasn't prepared to be put on the spot, but judging by the questions asked, she had asked about everything they needed to move forward.

"I think that covers it," I said.

March 13th, 12:46 p.m.
Agent Carr asked me to stay behind while she returned Amber to her parents. She was only gone a couple minutes, and upon reentering the room.

“The Bureau appreciates your assistance with this investigation, Elizabeth; I want you to know that. This could have gone very badly for Amber, given her activities online. Statistically, we have a three-hour window after the report of a child abduction before it goes badly. After that time, it generally turns into a recovery operation.

“There are over two thousand reports of missing children daily; not all are abductions; some are runaways; and some are kids being forgetful about where they are supposed to be. Around here though, being so close to the border, more often immigrant children are abducted and not reported for fear of reprisals by gangs or being of deported.”

“I had no idea,” I said, surprised.

“We will investigate this fully, but it’s likely to end up being filed as a recovery for the victim with no after-action. The actors—one deceased, unknown others—will be out there operating until they slip up, I’m afraid. With the international implications and Canada needing to investigate the murder of Mr. Lafleur, well, there’s a lot going against us to actually make an arrest. Nothing Amber told me during this interview is significant enough to put us on the right trail.”

I agreed with her last statement. It was certainly eye-opening to witness Agent Carr handle Amber with such ease during the interview, though I wondered if she was also a lawyer to go along with her degree as a shrink.

Amber certainly opened up more than she had with me—it could have been Agent Carr’s approach, or maybe I just sucked at getting close to her. I still couldn’t understand how Amber thought stardom, fame, and boatloads of money were going to come her way while making a show of her new-found sexuality. Sure, short-term, she could maybe make some money, but long-term, I couldn't see it. She was being used; that was the bottom line.

“Oh… It, well… I mean, it sounds like a trafficking case, right? I was hoping the emailing we’d done might have given us a lead.”

“Yes, likely a sex trafficking case. It was a very good tact, trying to lure whomever was in the chat room into talking via email, but as of this morning, there still has not been a reply. Either that actor has moved on or is leery of the exchange. It could be that any number of things have spooked them into going dark. I understand Director Keith has made it clear to everyone that they are to stop all attempts to investigate further. You or Mr. Kline continuing to be involved may jeopardize our efforts going forward. Is that understood?”

I’m sure she was being polite; she sounded that way, but the undertone of her message was clear: don’t stick your noses where they don't belong.

“I totally understand Agent Carr. I’m actually headed back to Seattle tomorrow, and I’m looking forward to resuming my dull and boring life as a paralegal investigator for Mr. Wentz. I’m very much ready for some normalcy.”

“Excellent, well, I won’t keep you any longer, Elizabeth. You’ve done the Carson’s great service and have given the Bureau excellent leads to investigate. Thank you.”

Agent Carr extended her hand, which I shook. She was polished, a real ‘no shit'—straight shooter. I thanked her for her time and was escorted out to a conference room where Jacob, Paul, and Landon were talking about something, baseball, I think.

“Director Keith, we’re all wrapped up here,” Agent Carr announced.

“Good… Okay, anyone have any last questions?” When no one spoke, Landon continued, “I want to thank everyone for their assistance. Jacob, you’ve got some good eggs here with these two,” he said, looking at Paul and me. “If we need anything from either of you, we’ll be in touch.”

There were the customary handshakes all around, and then Paul and I were escorted out by Agent Carr. In the outer lobby, she thanked us again and shook our hands. Paul and I walked out into eighty-five degree sunshine, free of any more Amber responsibilities. I had mixed feelings about that. I do not like things left unfinished, but I got the sense from Agent Carr that the odds of getting to the bottom of this were slim no matter the resources thrown at it.

“So, what do you want to do now?” Paul asked.

“Eat… I’m starving!”

March 13th, 1:01 p.m.
At the car, it was decided we’d return to ‘our’ Mexican restaurant. We laughed thinking that and had virtually said it to one another at the same time. Paul said he was happy I was feeling better. I explained it was the drugs, but now that we were officially off the case, I did feel a whole lot more relaxed.

I asked about the Carson's, and he clued me into the conversation the Carson’s had with Landon while they were waiting for Amber to be finished with the interview. It sounded like until she was out of school, there were going to be some real restrictions put on her. One of the things he needed to do tomorrow was set up a permanent monitoring system of the internet traffic at Carson’s. It would include notifications when that traffic involved particular sites, the presence of international VPN traffic, abnormalities in packet trafficking, the sending of certain file types, or webcam usage.

It sounded like they weren't going to take any chances with her—that was a good plan!

She was eighteen, so technically an adult, but Paul said that Gary had told Jacob, “As long as she is living under our roof, that’s just the way it’s going to be.” referring to the new restrictions being put on her. Paul mentioned Stephanie didn’t have much to say during the exchange. I commented that she needed to be the parent, not the kid's friend.

I also added, “Of course I’m not a mom, so I can only imagine how this is tearing her apart.”

I wasn’t heartless, and a good portion of the blame for this altered path Amber went down belonged at her feet, even though she was just a kid. I mentioned all that, but in a less combative tone than I was thinking it.

When we got to the restaurant, we were seated right away; it was only about three-quarters seated. We ordered food, Paul ordered a beer, and I stuck with a sugar-laden bottle of Mexican Coke. Chips and salsa arrived with our drinks; we ‘clinked’ bottles together and began plowing through the chips.

God, this salsa is amazing!

“You looking forward to getting back,” Paul asked.

I finished the chip in my mouth and took a sip of my overly sweetened Coke before answering.

"Yeah, I wish I felt this was more of a success.” I put the bottle down and took a couple sips of water.

“It would have been nice to wrap it up in a pretty bow, but I guess it’s the nature of this kind of thing. Landon was saying they have over one hundred unresolved missing child cases so far this year, and those are just the ones that have been reported. All of those are girls, except for two boys. That’s some scary stuff.”

“Carr told me something about that also. It makes me sick,” I said, shaking my head in disgust.

We were silent for nearly a minute, internally processing our own feelings about this mess with Amber—maybe we were just annoyed we didn’t get the ultimate result from our efforts.

“What are you going to do when you get back?" Paul asked after taking a pull from his beer.

That’s an interesting question. Do you mean, like, do my laundry, go out for a run, and just generally hang out until I go to bed? Or are you talking about work or the idea of us seeing each other?

“I’m not sure,” I said sounding as non-committal as I could.

Two can play the beat-around-the-bush game.

“Any chance you, you want to continue this back home?” he asked shyly.

“Do you think our food will last until I see you again in Seattle?”

He looked really confused, but I began smiling, and he caught up.

"Yeah, seriously... No more food problems with you, Miss.”

“Oh God... Yeah, no more hugging the toilet for me! I'm so sorry about all that, really sorry," I whined, embarrassed.

"Don't worry about it," he paused like he was going to ask something, instead taking another pull from his beer.

OK, Mr. Kline, what's on your mind?

"And?"

"And... and what?" he replied.

"I don't know; I asked you."

I raised an eyebrow for effect.

"I'd like to see you after Phoenix Liz," he finally put out there.

"I think that's something I'd like to explore, too, Mr. Kline," I said, feeling a warmth spread all over my body.

"How do we do that? I mean, you have an end goal, a want to be you, like whole. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable getting there while around me. Know what I mean?"

Paul looked worried he'd crossed a line, and I'm sure the blank look on my face probably wasn't helping. How do I answer this?

"Well, I guess, I have some things to accomplish yet, Paul. And the truth is I'm going to be uncomfortable with you on so many levels until then and that’s scary to me." I paused to think about where to go next.

"See, that's something I don't want to lay on you—stress, fear, or discomfort."

I had no idea where this conversation was going to go or end up. Maybe I should have had a drink? OK, here goes nothing...

"You could be perfect—even flawless—in everything you say or do with me, and I'm going to be uncomfortable. This," I pointed a finger toward him, then back at myself, "is new territory. I didn't date when I was younger; sure, I've seen plenty of relationships, and I have a pretty good idea what I want from one. I... Jesus, that doesn't... No, that’s not what I was trying to," I tried to not sound frustrated, but I hadn't thought about this in any great depth—well, I had, but not how to explain it to someone.

"No, I get its new, but it's new for me also."

"Yeah, but until I’m 'whole'," I used his word to make the point, "Every day, everything you can imagine you do with your own body—like your male body—resets my, no, puts my very core... Not puts," I needed to slow down. "It tips my very core belief in who I am upside down. God, why is this so difficult to discuss? Look, bottom line: I was born in the wrong body. I got the wrong chromosome combo, but the right brain. I'm working on fixing that, but being uncomfortable and suffering—that's just the price I have to pay right now."

He took a couple seconds to consider his response: "OK, I am not going to say I totally get it, but I get some of it. I can accept that you get uncomfortable, and I'll try to not making that worse. But you have to let me in; trust that I'm your friend and want nothing but the best for you."

I couldn't help but tear up and lower my head.

"Whoa... Hey, that's not..." I heard him sliding his chair back, and then felt him hugging me. "That's not the reaction I was expecting. Relax kiddo... Only a couple people are looking at us right now," he said with a little chuckle.

I'm not sure why, but I didn't care that people were staring. I tried to gain some composure by hugging him back. When I eased out of the hug, he kissed my forehead, kissed me quickly, and returned to his seat.

"This is new for me," I half croaked, dabbing my napkin at my eyes.

"I know, you said that," he replied, smiling.

"Why? Why are you, would you want to be with me?" I couldn't finish without breaking into a silent sob, and I just ended it there. I hoped he knew what I was asking.

"Do I need a reason to want to get to know you better, Liz? Come on, I like the woman I've gotten to know these past couple days. That's probably the biggest reason; I really don't," he stammered just a little. "You have a quiet confidence I find really, I mean... It's attractive to me, I guess." When I looked at him, I could see he was smiling. "There's certainly a physical attraction. I don't know who blessed you with those legs, but I have a hard time not wanting to, I admire them, but not like a perv or anything. Come on, I'm a guy for God's sake; you're cute and beautiful."

That was absolutely the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me, but I wondered if he knew how debilitating the internal struggles could really be. I had told him I tried to end it all at my lowest point. That hadn't been for effect or sympathy; it was the truth. Every day was a battle—some days not so much, but most days there was a chipping away at everything I was trying to build. Did he get that?

"I'm damaged, Paul. I..."

He interrupted, "OK, let me help fix what I can, and what we can't, we'll deal with together."

This wasn't exactly how I thought lunch was going to go. I wanted this, wanted the normalcy, and wanted him and his happy ending. I wanted the help—to love and feel loved. I was worried that I would end up pushing him away. Did I deserve this? Did he, taking on all my problems?

::: --- :::

I would like to acknowledge the assistance of Bronwen Welsh in proofreading and giving me insightful advice. She is an accomplished author in her own right and I appreciate her time more than I can say...

Don't be afraid to click the "Thumbs Up" icon for this short story if it's done anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so, and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter (I’d have bot’ed that bitch long ago if there was)). If you comment, I will reply, so let’s chat or not or whatever floats your noddle.

If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected](link sends e-mail)(link sends e-mail)(link sends e-mail)) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

The author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Last Updated: 2/23/2024 to smooth out portions of the story.

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March 13th, 2:35 PM
“I’ll come by your room at 7, okay?” I nodded and opened the door of the rental to get out, but Paul reached over and caught my arm. “We good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” I smiled back at him, leaning over to give him a quick peck, and then swung my legs out of the car. I smiled as best I could again at him as I closed the door and watched him drive away.

Paul had gotten two text messages that brought our lunch date to an end quicker than I’d hoped. They both hit his phone right after I’d shared what I thought we were getting into as far as a relationship went. I had his full attention during that part of lunch, but the text messages seemed to take his attention away from our conversation about ‘us’ after I’d shared my feelings on the matter.

I’ll give him credit though; he tried valiantly to smooth the transition back to the subject at hand, but it was obvious something was up, and I could tell his wheels were turning behind his smile across the table from me. When I pressed about him being distracted, he said the first text was from Jacob, and he’d asked him to call when he was free. He didn’t offer anything more than, “I’m not sure what that is about.”

Sure, it could have been anything, but I was no less curious and wished he’d shared more about what was going on regarding the firm and whatever he was doing for Jacob. Maybe I should have pressed, but then maybe he wasn’t at liberty to say? It was too late now to overthink that one; maybe over dinner tonight I’d try to inquire subtly.

The other message he had gotten was from Tim at the bureau, and all Paul would say about that was that he needed to show him something. When I asked if it was related to Amber, he said, “No. He’s going to show me a few tricks regarding the software I was using to backup data to the cloud.”

He seemed excited about that. I just smiled in support while he rattled off some tech stuff that was way over my head, and I didn’t get or care to get it. I wish there was more substance than tech talk—like, what data are you trying to back up? Was it the Amber investigation stuff, and if so, why? Maybe it was the data from the firm?

Oh well, another lost opportunity to find out what was really going on behind the scenes. Two opportunities were missed at lunch to get clued into what he was doing. I would absolutely try to fix that over dinner.

My immediate plans, however, were to get back to my room and get checked in for my flight tomorrow morning at 7:58 AM. After that, pack, and then burn off some excess stress by going out for a run. When I get back from that, I'll shower, maybe get a nap, and then get ready for our last dinner together in Arizona.

March 13th, 3:04 PM
Done! I checked in and confirmed seat assignment for 3A, a window seat in First Class. Kendal had arranged it all, even transportation from the hotel to the airport in the morning. A car would be here at 5:45 AM – Augh! At lunch, Paul said he would take me, but I mentioned the firm had already set that up, and I think he was disappointed I didn’t try to get out of the car service in the morning. In Seattle, there would be a car waiting to get me to my apartment in Kent.

I’d be in familiar surroundings in just a little under twenty hours. Part of me was looking forward to that, but there was, of course, the ‘Paul’ factor. I was still trying to get my head around. Would we be different on our home turfs? Would things change? Of course there would be change—everything changes! What am I doing? Augh… Don’t overthink this, just pack your stuff up already!

I looked around the room and gathered up a few things I’d laid out this morning to wear until I’d decided on what I ended up wearing for the Amber interview. I hated every indecision I had with my ability to coordinate my clothing choices and wished I could just pick something out and be happy with it. I blamed HRT, and I’m positive all those chemicals made me scatter-brained and unable to make a decision on something as simple as a blouse at times. Certainly, HRT had an effect on my mood and emotional balance—why not my ability to choose and stick with an outfit selected? Right… I’m sure that’s the root of my clothing issues—hormones! Geesh!

I took the trashcan liners from the bathroom and from under the desk area in the living room, and tossed my dirty clothes in them. When I picked up my running gear from yesterday, I was none too impressed with the stink of stale sweat. Good thing I was bagging my dirty clothes. I chose what I intended to wear tonight: a cute linen skirt, blouse, slip I was still wearing, bra, panties, and flip-flops that didn’t exactly go with the outfit, but it’s the best I could do. For tomorrow’s flight, I laid out a pair of jeans, an Old Navy-branded t-shirt, a bra, underwear, socks, and my sketchers. Oh, and a light jacket because the Seattle weather was about forty degrees cooler.

Okay, that should do it. I arranged the outfits on the dresser and looked everything over at least three times with a critical eye. Augh… Can I just move on?!

Time to get out of here and run! I undid my blouse and stuffed it in one of the trash bags. I slipped out of my Calvin Klein skirt, which Agent Carr had said she had; I’m still not sure I bought that. I put my slip on the pile of clothes I was wearing for dinner tonight with Paul. Bras, panties, and gaff joined tonight’s clothes pile; if I were staying any longer in Arizona, I would have either hit a laundromat or gone out and bought some new clothes.

I caught my naked form in the mirror across the room. Don’t go there. No time for put-downs! Run! Go for a run!

I grabbed a pair of boy short panties and slid them on, followed by my last clean pair of compression shorts, and then my last clean pair of loose-fitting running shorts. I checked the mirror again. Okay, that’s better. I did have long legs, and it was interesting that Paul had mentioned them, even admiring them in a non-pervy way. I smiled at that, and then frowned, catching a glimpse of my shoulders.

No! Get dressed, get running!

Sports bra pulled on, loose-fitting tank top after that. Running shoes were next. I was ready to go, and it only took about two minutes. I so needed to get my head in a different space right now.

Bottle of water, key to the room in the phone case, phone in its armband, headphones... I jumped when my phone began ringing on my arm. I fumbled to get the earbuds in and pressed the mic/volume button to answer, “Hello.”

“Elizabeth… Hello. You sound like I caught you in the middle of something.”

“Oh, a… Hello, Ms. Larson. No, I… I’m just hanging out,” my heart was racing. Why was she calling me?

“Excellent, so you’re set to return tomorrow? Anything you need?”

“Ah, no, I think I’m all ready,” I replied. She sounded like she needed something; get ahead of it by asking. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

If she didn’t need something, was it creepy that she was checking to see if I needed anything?

“I’m trying to get a hold of Jacob. He’s pretty good about answering his phone, but I’ve called twice now and he’s not answering. Have you seen him today?”

Oh crap! I wasn’t going to lie, but should I tell her everything that had transpired today? I stopped giving updates after she said I was free to unwind over the past two days since Amber was recovered. Did she already know about the interview with Amber today?

“Yes, we were, the FBI conducted an interview with Amber this morning to get some additional information regarding David Lafleur.”

“Did she know anything that could help them?” she asked.

Ah! What do I tell her? If I try to guess what she knows and withhold that and she already knows, that isn’t going to look good! Crap! She likely knows about the email from Lisa with the rumor about the firm being split up. What do I say? Shit! Shit! Shit! I didn’t like the position the partners had put me in!

“No, she didn’t have anything that would put them on the right track. At least that’s what the agent interviewing her told everyone.”

That was the truth. I wasn’t going to mention I was in the interview. God, I hoped she didn’t know that.

“That’s too bad; I’m sure the Carson’s are frustrated that this thing can’t be put completely behind them with the conviction of those involved. As a sex trafficking case, the extradition of David Lafleur would have been difficult for the State Department to attain. It is best that this situation has some permanence they can be comforted by,” she said, as if not all that interested.

She knew about Lafleur; she had too, or she wouldn’t be referring to him in the past tense! Permanence? That’s an odd way to describe Lafleur having been murdered. Sex trafficking?! I never mentioned that to her! She knows as much as I know, I’ll bet! What crumbs had Jacob left in emails for Janet and Martin to find?

“Yes, I guess... There's still a lot of healing needed for the entire family. I can’t imagine what that is going to be like,” I said, praying she wouldn’t ask me any other questions about Amber.

“Oh, of course. What time did you last see Jacob, Elizabeth?”

I told her and mentioned he had stayed behind to talk with Director Keith. Did she know that already? Did she know they were friends? Would she be worried about that? The call ended with her thanking me for being here to help Jacob and the Carson's, and finally her saying, “We’re looking forward to having you back Monday.”

No mention of changes coming, the email from Lisa, or whether I had mentioned it to anyone—nothing! She was cool, calm, and, matter of fact, the entire call. Was something waiting for me Monday? Where was Jacob? What did he need to talk to Paul about? Augh! There are too many questions!

I looked around the room. Do I even want to run now? No! Wait, yes, go for a fucking run! I pulled the door to my room open and headed for the nearest exit. When I popped through the doorway, the sky was still ablaze in a beautiful shade of blue, with the occasional pillow-like cloud slowly making its way across the sky. I hit my music, then got going at a faster pace than I expected.

March 13th, 5:18 p.m.
There was nothing like taking a long shower after a good run. Since I wasn’t responsible for the heating of the water, that’s exactly what I intended on doing. I let the water flow and roll over my twenty months of chemically produced hips, that giggly ass due to generous fat redistribution, and, of course, my perky small breasts. I had hopes they would naturally be larger, but it wasn’t to be. Whatever, at least they were real!

I had to be pushing the thirty-minute mark under this powerful stream of hot water. My fingers were starting to show those water-logged wrinkles. I needed to get a move on it and quickly shaved my legs, rinsed a second round of conditioner through my hair, and finally called it good.

I reached for a towel and began patting my face on it gently when my phone began to buzz and ring on the vanity. I pulled open the shower stall door, got the towel wedged under my arms, and looked at the number—it was Paul.

“Hey you,” I said, cheery and happy to be talking to him.

“Hey yourself… What are you doing?” He asked, sounding like he was in a good mood.

I hoped he was going to want to meet early for dinner because I wanted to see him; maybe I’d missed him. Okay, that sounds sappy and needy! Geesh!

“Just getting out of the shower after getting in about seven miles, I think. Now, just get ready for later. What’s up?”

There was a pause, “Yeah... Well, it's going to be a little later. Any chance we can do dinner at 8?”

Okay, at least he wasn’t interested in being late and was warning me. I wondered what was going on, though.

“Sure, that’ll work. What are you doing?” I tried making that sound as if I wasn’t probing.

“Ran long with Tim, having problems with my backup, actually,” he replied.

“I saw some wonderful clouds out there while running today. They didn’t look to be having backup problems.”

“Ha ha… Very cute. I need this stuff done before I can unplug for the evening. Are you sure you’re good with an hour delay?”

Jacob MIA, help from Tim at the bureau with some cloud computing stuff. What are you up to too?

“Sure, let’s play it by ear—come get me when you can,” I said, wondering if I could loosen his lips anymore. “I got an interesting call before going out for a run.”

“Janet?”

“And you knew that, how?”

“I just pulled the entire stack from the firm’s network and am in the process of backing it up to the cloud. Tim got me pointed in the right direction after a failed attempt yesterday. Jacob is avoiding contact with Janet and Martin in case Blass has told them the network has been compromised—there’s no way that message hasn’t reached them though, Blass isn’t an idiot and he knows someone’s pulled a copy of every file,” he’d just outlined what he had been doing. “Figures she would try hitting you up looking for Jacob. Things are going to be coming to a head pretty quickly, I think,” a chime in the background caused him to pause, “Hey, gotta go... See you at 8.”

“Sure, but I want details.”

“I figured you would. I’ll come clean, I promise. Gotta go…”

March 13th, 7:39 p.m.
Getting ready was the typical struggle. I hated my body, and I hated the way the blouse I had picked out looked with this skirt, but I had only one other choice and it totally wouldn’t have worked. I thought about just wearing my outfit for the flight home tomorrow instead, but jeans weren’t going to make the lasting impression I wanted on Paul. The skirt showed off my legs, which he liked; I had more of a love-hate relationship with them, but I wanted to leave him to remember them regardless.

In the scope of it all, I just didn’t have a wide breadth of clothing options that were clean, or, well, I just didn’t have a lot of clothes, period. I certainly didn’t plan my wardrobe options very well for this trip. I should have packed more, even if I didn’t have a chance to wear what I packed – at least I’d have options. Likely no better if I was being honest with myself.

I had been watching a ‘Reload’ version of the TV show ‘Live PD’ since the top of the hour. It was interesting and even had police action from right here in Phoenix, though from a couple months ago. Some of these people captured on the show were none too bright. When there was a lull in the action, I reached for my Android tablet and checked my work email—nothing new.

I thought about replying to Lisa’s email about the firm but held off; hoping Paul was going to shine some light on things over dinner. Plus, Lisa wasn’t likely to see it until Monday morning, and I would be back to work then anyway. That was my...

A knock at the door, and I jumped. Shit! What am I nervous about? I closed up the tablet and went to the door, opening it to see Paul’s smiling face.

“Whoa… You look nice,” he said.

“Thanks… You’re early.”

“I caught a break; things just fell into place. You ready?”

“I’m starving; let’s go.” I grabbed a small clutch from the kitchen counter that had some basics in it: my phone, wallet, and, of course, the corporate credit card.

March 13th, 8:13 p.m.
The drive to the Brazilian steakhouse we’d decided to try didn’t take much time—maybe ten minutes. Paul had made a reservation for 7:15 PM but was able to change it to 8:15 PM when he knew he was going to be late. There wasn’t a wait when we got to the hostess stand, and we were seated right away. Drinks pretty much arrived within a few minutes of sitting and ordering them.

Paul was drinking a true IPA imported from Brazil, and to be different, I ordered a Caipirinha after the server described its distilling process as being similar to rum but the fermentation process being done with fresh sugarcane juice. The first sip was interesting; I could see liking these on a hot day out by a pool—not something you’d probably drink often in Seattle due to the weather.

We perused the menu, settling on two different cuts of steak, and agreed to share. To this point, not much had been said about Paul’s afternoon. I was getting impatient—do your mind reading thing, dude! You know what I want to hear about.

“You all packed?” he asked.

“I am,” I said, taking a sip of my drink. “This is interesting; you want to try it?”

“I’m not a connoisseur of alcohol like you, but I’ll try it.” He sipped the drink, made a little face, and handed it back. “Think I’ll stick to the beer. Brazilian beer, not bad actually.” He raised his glass, and we clinked our drinks together.

“You look tired,” I commented when it took him a second to recover from the sip we’d both just taken from our respective drinks.

“Yeah, been an interesting couple of weeks—months, actually,” he said, rubbing his neck.

“Tell me about it.” Double meaning, Mr. Kline, double meaning! Spill it before I ask you straight up.

“So, you know the score—Janet and Martin are making a play for the firm. They offered to buy Jacob out yesterday for fifty million dollars; the terms are five years for the full payment.”

I gasped, “OMG!”

“Terms are pretty basic; everything stays the same in regard to the staff of seventy-six lawyers; twenty-one of those are partners; fifty-two support personnel; the book of business; and a long list of other pieces that make up the firm. The real change is in the name; they’d be dropping Jacob’s name.” He took a sip of his beer, put it down, and then picked it up to take another.

“How does he feel about that?”

“Not so good. He started the firm twenty-nine years ago, and he’s not ready for retirement. I can certainly think of plenty of things to do with ten million dollars a year for five years.”

“But I don’t understand why they want him out.”

“Money… They want to restructure the firm to increase profit, and to do that, they need to realign staff. There’s talk about expanding to other metropolitan markets even.”

“They want to get rid of partners?”

“No, just the opposite. Look, from everything I can piece together, each lawyer in this firm generates on average about seven hundred fifty thousand dollars in revenues annually. Hack out twenty million for overhead, office space, and support staff—that’s sixty-seven million in gross profit—before paying those generating those revenues for the firm. The math is funky, but for reporting purposes or the public’s perception of profitability, the profit margin runs over 70%. If you’re trying to bring in new clients, you want to look like you’re doing a better job than others.”

Numbers, okay I get that those are big numbers, but I don’t understand the motivation yet. Add partners? Wait… Add partners; their salaries aren’t considered in the profit margin percentage calculation, but their generated revenue certainly looks more profitable to potential clients. Shit… What the hell is going on?

“You in there,” he waved a hand over the table.

I’d spent more time than I thought trying to understand what Paul was telling me.

“I’m getting it, but it’s not making sense yet. Look more profitable?”

"Well, don’t feel bad; I’ve been doing this for Jacob for seven months, and it was only through repetition that I began to get it,” he said thoughtfully. “Yes, look more profitable, so if you want to expand, you bring in more partners, more revenue, and the bank accounts keep growing.”

Expand the firm?

“So, Jacob doesn’t want to expand the firm?”

“Correct… He’s happy with the little kingdom he’s built in Seattle; he says he doesn’t need the added stress.”

“But they’re all managing partners; two to one vote against Jacob, and they're in expansion mode, right?”

“Generally, yes, but when Janet and Martin were brought on as managing partners, they split forty-nine percent of the firm's voting power. Jacob holds fifty-one percent.”

Partner, managing partner, associate—all titles that dictate your compensation package as a lawyer, including salary, bonus, and profit sharing. Our seventy lawyers, not counting the managing partners, make on average two hundred thousand a year in salary, plus—for giggles—half their salary in bonuses, a little thrown in for profit sharing, and that sixty-seven million in gross profit really shrinks to about eighteen million to share among the three managing partners. Jacob getting 51 percent of that is around nine million...

“They low-balled him,” I muttered aloud finally.

Paul was staring at me. “You’re better at math in your head than I am. I’d be like, ‘carry the seven, divided by zero’ and still be way off.”

His joke was lost on me; I was thinking too hard about the numbers.

“The Port of Seattle contract alone generates $10 million annually, I would bet. Expansion, I don’t get it.

Then it hit me! Crap! Martin is always traveling and speaking abroad at various colleges! There would be plenty of newly minted lawyer grads for him to cherry pick from if the idea was to expand the firm. The markets he’s probably researched are likely all over the country, and any city with port activities and a union could look attractive too given our firms work with the Seattle port union.

“Wow! Show some success negotiating with the new city council, which you helped get elected through generous donations, to circumvent the new mayor's desire for a better contract with the union favoring the city. This would be one way you could pick up new clients. Likely pretty easily…”

“It’s a game within a game, Liz,” he said.

I was about to speak, but our server was setting down a plate in front of me, then placing one in front of Paul. The smell wafting from the beautiful steaks on our plates was intoxicating, and being as hungry as I was, it was hard not to switch my focus. We were asked if we wanted to refresh our drinks, and after questioning looks at each other we decided we did.

“Let’s eat; we’ve got plenty of time to talk business later, deal?” Paul asked.

I agreed… Little did he know the break in talking about the firm only gave me time to organize the things I knew to this point. I had so many more questions I wanted to ask.

March 13th, 9:37 p.m.
The walk from our table to the exit was nice, as Paul had his hand on the small of my back the entire way, and once out the door, he took my hand as we walked to the car. It felt unusual holding someone’s hand, but also comforting in a stomach fluttering, joy-inspiring, whatever kind of way. I’m probably just feeling that second drink with dinner, right? No… I think I like this guy.

When we got to the hotel, Paul ran around and opened the car door for me, which made me giggle a bit. It was special, and I was having all kinds of lustful thoughts concerning this man. As I got out, I had an urge to kiss him, and as I turned into him, I put a hand on his chest and leaned in to satisfy that want. He wasted no time reciprocating—our tongues telegraphing those urges we both had.

Telegraph? Does that even exist anymore? Wait… Oh, God… I felt him wrap his arms around me, and I was melting, my knees weakening. He pulled away and was looking into my eyes.

“Where’d that come from?” he asked.

“I don’t... I...”

“It’s OK,” he said, kissing me briefly. “I wanted to kiss you when I picked you up,” he said slyly.

“Well, then you should have,” I said, bolder than I felt.

“Next time, I will.”

We decided to get a last drink at the hotel bar before calling it a night. I tallied up the number of drinks I’d had on this trip, and they were more than I had consumed in total over the last three years combined. Mostly because I was perpetually broke and just didn’t have money to blow on alcohol or a host of other frivolities. I did enjoy the effects of the alcohol, the buzz, and feeling more relaxed. I just needed to keep my tongue from getting me in trouble.

March 13th, 9:56 p.m.
On a Saturday night, there wasn’t much of a crowd in the hotel bar, which is odd since the restaurant on site had a Michelin star and was seating its last guests at 10 p.m. No matter, we found a booth and caught the eye of the bartender, who came over to take our drink order. Paul stuck with beer; I did the rum and Coke standard.

“Alright, I’ve had an awesome evening, but it’s time to get back to some questions,” I said with a pouty-faced smile, but full of playfulness in my tone.

“Oh, really? What do you want to know?” Paul asked.

What did I want to know?

“What have you been doing with all this cloud stuff? Oh, and no tech talk, please.”

He chuckled, “Fine, ruin my whole answer. No, actually, I’ve been gathering evidence of misconduct. Mostly emails between Martin and a couple of the players within the union.”

“Evidence for what? Is Jacob filing a complaint with the state board? Ethics violation?”

“Yeah, it’s a ‘Cover his ass’ move. Between the campaign contributions and positioning Martin has made via email with union representatives, Jacob feels there have been some ethics violations. Strike first, be transparent, and hopefully save the union representation contract and any public backlash.”

Whoa! That meant a disciplinary board would convene, review the information, and hand down a ruling. Martin could be made to attend judicial classes at the low end of the punishment scale, all the way to being suspended or disbarred. Jacob’s move kept the firm above board but made Martin look a little dirty. Throw in any of the city council or union representative connections, and this was a serious play to save the firm.

“So, he’s not selling out. Did he make an offer to buy Janet and Martin out?” I asked.

“Exactly…”

What? What ‘exactly’?

“And?”

“He did that this morning, via courier. He basically rejected their offer and is offering them the same deal they offered him.”

“Did he tell them about filing with the state board?”

Paul smiled, “He didn’t have too; the pulling of all the data today caught them off guard. Blass has since shut down the network—parts of it at least. He’ll be let go tomorrow when Jacob gets back to Seattle. Jacob had me send an email request to the firm’s offsite data repository company for some specific periods—some of the Exchange email server data has gone missing. I’ll be able to get anything deleted back. Oh, and Landon sent an email to Jacob offering assistance with the state attorney general—pretty sure everyone knows there’s a fight coming.”

“Janet?”

“She chooses her side; she’ll be facing the same disciplinary board charges as Martin; though her work with the union is minimal, the city council's contributions don’t shine the best light on her.”

“Do I still... The firm will continue to function then; I just go to work Monday and pick up where I left off.”

“I'm pretty sure that’s what Jacob expects from you. Look, nothing is going to change overnight. The big dogs have all postured up. Janet and Martin might not even show up for a few days while they try to figure out their next moves. My money is on Jacob. I pretty much think they are on their way out, though. The firm has plenty of clients and work going on that can’t just stop.”

Of course, Paul was right; the business couldn’t just shut its doors without hosing hundreds of clients and jeopardizing cases in progress, but... Oh shit!

“Where does that leave you?” I asked, concerned.

"Well, I guess you get to see a little more of me than you might like.”

“Huh? You taking over for Blass?”

He smiled and said, “Temporarily, but I’ll be heading up a search for a new CIO. There are a couple guys there who work as network administrators and do basic support, so I won’t be alone trying to keep the lid on the firm’s network.”

“But, you said... You’re cluster-phobic. How are you going to make it up to the office?”

Why the heck did I bring that up? I shook my head, annoyed at myself. No more alcohol for me!

He reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

“Guess you’ll have to help me with that.”

March 13th, 11:21 p.m.
The walk back to my room was nice—no handholding—but there was a calming, connected feeling I had about being with Paul. At my door, he said he had to get back to work; his kiss goodnight and firm grasp on my ass during that kiss said he wished he could stay. I had to be up in like four hours, so while it might have been fun to do a ‘Netflix and chill’ kind of end to the night, I was good with how it ended. Alone in a quiet room with just the AC humming away, I did feel a little lonely.

There was no time to pout though as I needed to get my face ready for bed. When that was done, I did one last check to make sure everything was set for tomorrow: teeth were brushed, two alarms set, and t-shirt-only sleeping attire. My mind was spinning from all that had happened today. I hoped I could get to sleep before the alarms went off.

Phone on charger, ‘click’ the light out, very quiet in here, very…

March 14th, 12:55 p.m.
My apartment was cold; more to the fact of it the general Seattle area was cold. I’d been up since 4 AM, and pretty much to this point, the day had gone exactly as expected. The surprise of the day was not getting any additional screening at the airport full-body scan machine. Granted, my jeans were maybe a little too tight, and being tucked in tight jeans, while not comfortable, must have been what the TSA agent expected since I’d warned the agent at the scanner. I’m sure my little boobs helped get the ‘Transgendered Woman’ alarms from going off given my crotch area was a muddle of my junk.

Here and now, though, it was quiet in the apartment complex and like a tomb in my unit. I’d picked up my mail—mostly junk, unpacked, and changed into a tattered pair of sweat pants and a Pink! branded sweatshirt. I texted Paul when I had landed and was getting ready to call him after he texted back that he missed me. I was soaring from something as simple as that! It really was a boost to my psyche.

I pulled up his number and hit ‘Dial’.

On the third ring, I got a hearty, “Hey! You all settled?”

It was nice to hear his voice and the cheer in his voice directed at me.

“Yup, I look like a slob, and I really don’t care. I'll probably take a nap after this; I’m wasted. I think that’s the most booze I’ve drank in a very long time. My body isn’t used to the poisoning. I can feel it coming out of my pores.” I heard him chuckle at my complaining.

“I have a beer every couple days; it takes the edge off.”

“Well, back to the real world for me, and no disposable cash for that stuff.”

"Seriously, the real world, I’m ready to get out of here and back to some norm.”

Did your norm include me? I hoped things hadn’t changed in the past twelve hours.

“You done at the Carson’s’?”

“Mmhuh, ‘little’ icy while I was there. I saw Amber once when she went to the kitchen for something and Stephanie was a ghost, I didn’t see her at all. The boys must have spent the night at a friend's. Gary looked pissed and acted that way towards me. I got what I needed done though, explained it, and got out of there pretty quickly.”

“Honestly, gonna be a while before that family see’s eye to eye. I hope they get the help they need and Amber gives up her porn star ambitions,” I added.

We talked for ten minutes more and I learned Jacob was probably just now getting to Seattle about now. That meant the Blass issue would be taken care of shortly. Paul said he would likely be in the office tomorrow late afternoon and hoped he’d see me. I was disappointed he didn’t ask about maybe having dinner, but as he talked about all he needed to do it sounded like he was going to busy into the late evening.

He asked if I was running later. I said I was taking the day off. And after that the conversation seemed to peter out... I knew he was busy, but I missed him. Did he know that?

“Okay… Well, gotta go finish up some things before Jacob cans Blass. Not the same around her without you kid…”

“Yeah… I wish we were hanging out – with less drama swirling around us of course,” I replied and couldn’t help but smile.

“Me too… See you tomorrow?” he asked.

“Yup… Call me if you have elevator troubles, I’d be happy to hold your hand,” I got out quickly and felt flush, maybe a little embarrassed with offering that.

“Will do and I’d happily take the assistance… Catch ya tomorrow Liz.”

“’bye, Paul…”

March 15th, 9:07 a.m.
I’d gone to bed early last night, having forgone the nap I thought I was going to take due to vegging on the couch and zoning out in front of the TV. Now I felt sluggish, like I’d slept too much. I should have gone for a run last night instead of wasting my evening away; I would be running tonight for sure.

The bus commute to the office was as it always was: long and uneventful. I wasn’t sure what to expect when walking into the office, so it was comforting to see everything appear to be ‘business as usual’. I went to my office, got my coat off, put my purse in my desk drawer, and jiggled the mouse to wake up my PC. I entered my credentials and was presented with my desktop.

I guess our systems are still up. I started the Outlook email program and was greeted by a handful of unread items in my inbox. All their titles led me to believe they were work-related, so I could stop worrying about needing to look for another job for the time being. Guess it’s really back to reality time...

March 15th, 10:26 a.m.
As the morning progressed I saw plenty of people walking past my office, got a few head nods and waves. I thought about stopping by Lisa’s office, but I knew we’d be doing coffee about now.

“Hey,” I said, looking up when she finally got around to poking her head in my door.

“Where’s the tan?” she asked.

“No time… I get out for a run every day, though. The weather was amazing down there.”

“Do you see my email?”

“Mmhuh, not until Friday night though, and I knew you wouldn’t see a reply until today. I thought I’d save the internet the trouble.”

“You heard Bill was let go yesterday?”

“Bill?” I knew who she was talking about, but I wanted to make it look like I didn’t know much of anything.

“Bill Blass, IT Director, server God,” she rattled off rolling her eyes.

"Oh, did they say why that happened?”

“No, but it probably has something to do with the partners fighting. I saw Jacob earlier, but no Janet or Martin yet.”

"Sure, it seems like a lot of drama has been going on since I left.”

“Are we getting coffee or what? Pretty sure Bryant’s been missing me,” she said with a wolfish smile.

“Let’s go, girl,” I chuckled.

March 15th, 11:06 a.m.
It was good to see Bryant; I guess I did kind of miss their bantering while I was away. They were sort of cute together, but I still didn’t think they had the chemistry to last if it ever progressed beyond the espresso stand.

While we stood at a table in the atrium, drinking our lattes, Lisa grilled me about what I was doing in Phoenix. I told her I was helping Jacob with a case he was consulting on that involved the potential extradition of someone from Canada. I cut her off from asking any more questions with the “The case is confidential...” line twice before she got the message. I probably shouldn’t have said what I said about it, and I made her promise she wouldn’t say anything to anyone. She happily agreed.

The rest of our break was pretty tame; there was some talk about the partners, but nothing I didn’t already know. When I got back to my desk, there was a meeting request in my email: All-hands Support Staff, Cascade Conference Room, First Floor, 2:00 PM. Here we go I thought. This will be the defining moment for the firm and likely all of our employment.

I checked the participant list—no attorneys, but Jacob would be attending. I had gotten a text from Paul when he got to the airport in Phoenix; it was likely he would be here for this meeting. I was excited, and I hoped how I was dressed caught his attention. Lisa had mentioned I looked nice and then asked if I had an interview. We both got a good giggle out of that one! I had worn this skirt today to accentuate my legs for Paul - in case I got to see him and to keep him interested. Was I pushing it? I hoped not.

One plus to the coffee break with Lisa - she hadn’t brought up her ‘Get laid’ comment from her email telling me about Janet and Martin. I’m not sure I could lie my way out of answering her without a smile I couldn’t suppress when I thought about Paul.

March 15th, 1:54 PM
Lisa and I rode down the elevator to the first floor together, and not knowing where the Cascade Conference Room was, we just followed the herd of other support staff. A couple times Lisa would have brief conversations with others from the office, and I pretty much smiled a lot and stuck to her hip. Inside the theater-sized auditorium-like conference room, we were able to get seats near the middle of the crowd of others attending. There looked to be about forty-five support staff gathered and wondered if I was the only one worried about their job.

Augh! Let it go! Think about something else! I looked toward the stage and could see Jacob, Gillian, the office manager, and a few of the supervisors.

“Oh my,” Lisa leaned over and said in my ear, “Stage left... Guy in the suit. Mmm…”

I looked to the left and saw Paul. I know my pulse rate increased a bit, and a little nervous energy began to flow. He was looking around the room, and when he saw me, he smiled. I felt flush, like a spot light had been turned on me from the stage area. He had looked for me and I felt…

“Now that’s a good-looking guy... I'm a little older than I care for, but I might make an exception,” Lisa said.

Her comment made me bristled a little.

“Really? You think he looks old?” I asked.

“Mmm, maybe mid-thirties. I think five years on either side of my age is the right spread.”

“Really? Why do you think that?” I asked.

“Five years and you’re dealing with someone who can’t name a song you used to jam to in your high school years, hasn’t seen a movie you love, and just is not in the same headspace, know what I mean?”

She said all that with so much matter-of-fact confidence it made me wonder if I should be worried about the age gap between us. Paul was almost thirteen years older than I was—was he in a different headspace? What did that even mean?

“What do you think?” Lisa asked, breaking my train of thought.

“I… I don’t know... I really haven’t given it a lot of thought. What if he was really nice and supportive?” I asked.

“Look, the man is certainly good-looking. He’s probably married or gay. No, married for sure.”

Lisa was annoying me pretty good right now—did she have no filter? Was this ‘girl talk’?

“I think he’s cute,” I finally replied, to see if that might shut her up.

“Okay… When this is over, I’m introducing you.”

“No… No, that’s okay. Thanks anyway, I can manage,” I said nervously, not wanting some awkward moment with Paul in front of Lisa or anyone else for that matter. Grrr!!!

Jacob was climbing up the stairs near where Paul was standing and walking to the center of the stage. The room’s volume went from loud to nearly silent.

“Good afternoon. I wanted to have a quick meeting with everyone to set things straight with some rumors you may have heard floating around the office this past week. The firm is going to be transitioning over the next couple of months. Janet Larson and Martin Brandt have decided to pursue opportunities outside of the firm."

There were murmurs throughout the conference room theater.

"I want to assure you that nothing we are doing today—be it the clients we represent or the day-to-day operation—is going to change much. There will be a few new partners brought on board to take Janet and Martin’s places and likely some other staff additions," Jacob paused, and the tension felt less suffocating.

"Everyone will be gainfully employed for as long as you continue to perform at the levels you’ve exhibited since you’ve joined the firm. No one is being let go, and no reductions in staff are expected for the Seattle or Bellevue offices."

You could feel the room finally take a much-needed breath before Jacob continued.

"We did let Bill Blass go, but that was part of the management change needed to move forward. His position as IT Director will be temporarily held by Paul Kline.” Jacob waved a hand toward Paul, who raised his hand for everyone to see.

“If you have questions or concerns, please start by requesting a meeting from your supervisor or Gillian. Thank you for your continued support.”

The hush in the theater went on for a good twenty seconds before the first groups of people stood after realizing Jacob was done speaking to state of the firm. People began to exit the conference room and head back to work.

Lisa was looking at me. "I wonder how sudden Janet and Martin's exit really were."

I just shrugged and made my way with Lisa in tow to the aisle, then joined the line of people exiting. Ahead at the exit I could see Jacob, Gillian, and Paul had gathered. Jacob was occasionally shaking someone's hand, offering a smile or head nod, or a greeting of some type. I hoped we could skate right by without being noticed, but I couldn’t help but look at Paul.

And I noticed he was watching, no staring at me! When I was just about to squeeze by the gauntlet of power players I felt Lisa brush past me, and posting up in front of him,

"Mr. Kline," she said with an embarrassing amount of cheer, "I'm Lisa Scott, and this is Elizabeth Gallagher. We wanted to welcome you."

I know my mouth dropped, and if there was a rock nearby, I would have made an attempt to get under it.

Paul was all smiles and said, "The Elizabeth Gallagher?" He stuck out his hand towards me, and instinctively, I reached for it to shake it. "I've heard a lot about you from Jacob. I look forward to working with you, even if it's just temporary."

I was flush, and I could feel my body shiver slightly. There was an air void in my throat and every thought I was having was making it hard to hear any sound other than a dull ringing in my ears. I couldn't speak, so I just smiled. Paul let my hand loose after a longer than comfortable handshake, and Lisa and I made our way out of the conference room theater towards the elevators.

"What was that?" Lisa asked.

I shrugged, still not sure I could speak. I was smiling broadly, though; I couldn't help it.

"Oh my God, you know him! You know him, right?" she asked.

::: --- :::

I would like to acknowledge the assistance of Bronwen Welsh in proofreading and giving me insightful advice. She is an accomplished author in her own right and I appreciate her time more than I can say...

Don't be afraid to click the "Thumbs Up" icon for this short story if it's done anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so, and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter (I’d have bot’ed that bitch long ago if there was)). If you comment, I will reply, so let’s chat or not or whatever floats your noddle.

If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected]) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

R

Authors note: I'd posted this story on a couple other sites and got a few requests to properly tie up loose ends. Think I've done that in those six additional chapters I'll be posting here every couple days.

The author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Last Updated: 3/20/2024 to smooth out portions of the story.

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March 15th, 2:23 PM
Lisa pulled me aside in the hallway outside of the auditorium when I didn't reply right away. It wasn't very gentle or tactful, and a few of our coworkers even glanced at us to see what was going on as they passed. Thankfully, no one stopped, but we absolutely did get a few questioning looks and I tried my best to smile, uncomfortably, through the attention we were getting. I prayed someone wouldn’t ask me about it later.

"What the hell, Elizabeth?" she asked with a serious look on her face. "You and that guy? Details girl! Come on!"

A grin slowly made its way to the corners of her mouth, replacing the gruffness of the scowl she had right after she’d called me out.

I wanted desperately to have someone to talk with about Paul, but I wasn't sure Lisa was that person, especially after that crack about him being too old. Really, his age is all you saw when you looked at him—no consideration for his personality or who he might be as a human being? And Jesus, he in no way whatsoever looks old! Maybe I could give a little and get more in return if I shared with her?

"Nothing happened. I just know him," I replied tentatively still debating whether I felt like I should confide in her.

"You 'just know him' or you 'knoooow him'?" She enunciated the word 'know' all hot and sexual, like she did when talking about her barista crush.

Did she really think I wouldn't know what you wanted to 'know'? Grrrr! This was a mistake; I should have kept my mouth shut.

"You aren't being very supportive,” I began to complain. “It's not like I'm a CIS woman and this all comes naturally for me."

"I know, but do you know how many times you've said something about guys to me since we started here? Not once! Zero, none, never. If you think I believe you've never taken that body for test runs, well, you're crazy," she complained right back at me, not giving me any quarter.

We stood for a few seconds staring at each other, each contemplating who was going to speak.

"Look, I'm sorry if I come off too strong,” she said breaking the standoff.

"OK, well, you have to take it slower with me, like don't push so hard. I'm not… I don't know my way like I would if I’d started life as you did. I didn't get to experience so many of those things that formed you into the woman you are today. Like, you know shit, and I don't because it is your norm, okay? I struggle a lot with the simplest of things you can snap a decision or opinion on as a woman without even thinking. I need help, not harassing."

I was worried that the last statement was going to be the defining moment in our friendship. I bit the inside of my lip and knew the concern on my face couldn't be missed.

"Fair enough... I treat you like any of my other girlfriends because that's what you are to me. I don't say stuff to bring you down or put you down; I hope you know that."

"I do, but sometimes I wonder if you get all I'm dealing with every second of my day. Everything is worrisome, and I never know whose watching or judging me. It really can be depressing to navigate my existence as a woman..."

"You know it's not all easy sailing for any woman, me included. I want you to be comfortable with me and trust that I'm not here to judge or whatever. I just want you to be happy and treated as you should be. You know I'd put a beating on that guy if he hurts you," she said seriously, though smiling.

"He's very nice, you'd like him."

"See, was that so hard?" she asked. She tilted her head slightly, looking at something behind me.

When I glanced back, Paul was exiting the auditorium with Jacob and Gillian. Shit!

"We need to go," I whispered.

"Not like they didn't see us," she said in a hushed tone. "We're getting coffee."

"What?"

"Well, hello again, Mr. Kline," Lisa said with more cheer than I had hoped she would.

Why weren't we just fading into the wall, going to get that coffee she just mentioned, or being invisible right now?!

"Ladies, what are we up to too?" Paul asked all smiles.

"About to get a cup of coffee, want to join us?" she asked.

I cringed and thought, 'What the fuck are you doing?!'

"I would love to too, but I have a meeting in," he said, looking at his phone. "Two minutes. Rain check?"

"Absolutely," Lisa said with an all-teeth smile.

I could only stand there like some doe-eyed deer caught in headlights on some dark country back road. I wished the truck approaching would just run me over and put me out of my misery!

"Excellent," he said, smiling and continuing towards the elevators with Jacob.

Gillian hung back and put her hand on my shoulder. "Elizabeth, could you come see me this afternoon, after 4:00?"

"Yes, yes, of course."

She smiled at us both and made her way to the elevator, entering it after the guys, and the doors closed.

"What are you doing!?!?" I complained to Lisa.

"I wanted to see you two together," Lisa replied, giggling.

"No! Not here, not at work. Oh my God!" I huffed, exasperated.

Lisa giggled at me. "You need to relax, girl."

I looked at her dumbfounded and asked, "What part of I don't have the life experiences you have, don't you get?"

She laughed a little more at me before asking, "You see the look on his face?"

I'm sure the confused look on my face was enough to answer her question, but I nodded ‘No' anyway. I hadn't even looked at Paul. Why was that? Was I just nervous about Jacob or Gillian saying something about getting back to work or wondering why we were loitering? Augh! Good God!

"Firstly, he may have been talking to me, but he was looking at you the entire time. Second, I think he was disappointed he couldn't join us."

"I can't have people think I'm in a relationship with him," I whined.

"A relationship?" she asked. "Oh, now we're getting to the real story. You two are in a relationship."

Fuck! Were we? I mean, we were. No, we are... Augh! Damn it!

"I, a… It's early, and we still need to figure out what we are doing."

"You met him in Arizona?"

"Yes, he," I hesitated, saying more, but she'd already gotten enough of the story to know we were together there. FUCK! I gave her a serious look and said, "You can't be telling anyone about this. Paul is just working here until he can replace Bill Blass, and then... Well, I hope to not be some office gossip flavor of the month."

She looked at me seriously. "And who's going to tell the office that?"

"I'm just saying," I replied uncomfortably.

"Yeah, you're saying it'll be me. I told you, I wouldn't say anything."

"I'm sorry. It's just that this is new, and I don't want to screw anything up.”

That probably sounded like I was complaining, which, to the core of all this, I probably was. But this thing with Paul was huge for me, and all I could think about, crushing and consuming at times. How is she not getting that?

"I understand, but you can't hold on so tight to this guy, thinking another one won't come along if something gets screwed up. You are an amazing woman; he needs to be amazing too. You need to be yourself, not someone else to fit his mold of perfection," she paused for a second. "So, he 'knows'?"

She sounded uncomfortable asking that question.

"Yes..."

Yes, he knows I'm Trans, and 'Yes', I was being super cautious about every facet of my life right now, probably to a fault. I can't be afraid to let my guard down, trust, and still be true to who I am. Why was all of this so hard?

"Well, he just impressed me big time then, and I want to know more. This is so cool, Elizabeth! I'm so happy for you."

"Thanks, but can we just take this slow? I really could use a friend right now to help me figure out whatever Paul and I are doing."

"We can do that," she said, leaning in to put her arm around my shoulder as we began walking toward the elevators. "So, he's got a nice ass, huh?"

Augh! Really?!

March 15th, 3:57 PM
I had set a calendar event to meet Gillian, and per my normal operating mode, I was early getting to her office. All of our offices had glass anterior walls and doors, so I could see Gillian was on the phone when I got to her office. Seeing me, she held up a finger for me to wait before entering. I smiled in return and nodded my understanding. I looked over the handful of supplies I brought with me for this meeting yet again, and by the time I looked up, Gillian was walking towards the door. She waved at me to come in, and I opened the door just before she got to it.

"Thank you for coming to see me, Elizabeth."

I wasn't sure what to say, so I just smiled and made my way to a chair in front of her desk as she returned to hers. Gillian was in her mid-to-late fifties and had been the office manager for the firm for twenty-five years. Every interaction I had with her during the nearly four months I had worked for the firm confirmed why she had this job—she knew how to run this office and the business of the law firm. Every lawyer I had seen interact with her treated her with the utmost respect.

Gillian had a quiet confidence about her. I admired the strong woman she was and how she seemed to really care about the people who worked here. Everyone described her as firm yet fair and that she expected everyone to perform to the highest of standards. I was a little nervous about this meeting since my assignments came from my supervisor generally, but I didn't have any of my usual impending doom-type feelings yet about why she wanted to meet with me, why was that? Why hadn't I wondered more about what this meeting was about?

"I wanted to first thank you for all the work you did in Arizona. I appreciate all you did for Jacob's family. Jacob is also very appreciative of all you did to assist in finding Amber."

I continued to smile, not really sure what to say, but managed to eke out, "Thank you."

She, in all likelihood, knew all of the details of what we were doing in Phoenix, so what could I say other than ‘Thanks’?

"Paul also gave glowing reviews regarding your contributions as well. He told Jacob that he really appreciated your investigative skills and keeping him on track. You have certainly proven to be a valuable addition to the firm," she said, opening a manila folder on her desk. "And with that, Jacob asked that I give you this."

She handed me a letter written on the firm's letterhead. Before I began reading, I wondered for a fraction of a second if I was in trouble, and this was some kind of legal notification regarding my assistance. I took a slow fluttered breath and read the first couple lines, which were basically repeating what Gillian had said about Jacob being appreciative of the work I had done in Phoenix. The next line stunned me: 'As a token of my appreciation for your efforts, you are to be awarded a one-time bonus in the amount of $5,000.00'. The letter ended with a salutation, encouraging me to continue the good work, and was signed by Jacob. I looked up, confused.

Gillian was all smiles. "One thing you will learn working for Jacob is that he appreciates those who give more than is expected. In addition, he often rewards you for exceeding his expectations. By all accounts, this is a well-deserved award. Congratulations."

I heard every word she just said, but I was having trouble processing the ‘award’ portion from the letter. I had no expectation that anything like this would be forthcoming. I was speechless.

"The thousand-dollar stipend you received for taking the assignment should already be in your account. That was taxed as regular income; unfortunately, this award is considered a bonus and is taxed at a rate of around 37 percent. There is nothing we can do about that. Payment will be processed tonight. Do you have any questions?"

I’d sort of forgotten about the stipend, but not the idea of getting my hair done with some of that money. Should I ask Paul about going lighter? Would it matter to him? Focus!!

"I... This is very unexpected; I'm, I don't know what to say," I replied, trying not to worry so much about letting my emotions show.

"Well, you deserve it," she said, smiling.

"Thank you," I replied, wondering if that sounded like a question, and stood thinking this meeting was over.

"Wait, please sit," she asked.

"Oh, I'm sorry." I had honestly thought the meeting was over. I sat, put the letter inside a folder amongst my supplies, and readied a pen and a pad of legal paper.

"You won't need that," she said all business like. "Jacob would like you to assist Gina Barnes with some legal processing necessary to facilitate the ethics case against Janet and Martin. She's expecting you after we're done here. We've cleared this with Alicia. This will be a great opportunity for you. Do you have any questions?"

Whoa! Gina Barnes was one of the firm's top grossing trial lawyers. She was all business and feared by the majority of the firm's support staff due to the intensity she displayed outwardly for all to see. She was not my first choice of lawyers to work with, and the idea of assisting her made me a little nervous. Since my work assignments had been divided up prior to my Phoenix assignment, assigning me to this effort was probably easy for my supervisor, Alicia, to make.

The opportunity was either going to kill me or grow me. I was hoping for later.

"No, questions, thank you. I'll check in with Mrs. Barnes,” I replied.

When there weren't any follow-on statements, Gillian thought she needed to make, I stood.

"Thank you, Elizabeth, and congratulations on the award," she said, smiling.

"Thank you Gillian…"

March 15th, 4:31 PM
The door to Gina Barnes' office was open. Her office was on the west side of the building, and had a bank of windows that looked towards Elliot Bay, with a view of the Olympic Mountains beyond it. Of course, today you couldn't see the mountains through all the rain, but you could see a ferry coming into the bay through the misty rain.

I knocked on the open door and said, "Mrs. Barnes, I'm Elizabeth Gallagher."

"Come in, close the door, please," she said, waving a hand toward the chairs in front of her desk.

I closed the door behind me, sat down, and noticed her office was very sterile. No pictures, nothing on her desk—that wasn't necessary. The office was as sterile as an operating room I would bet. I knew she was married and had a couple of kids, but there was no evidence of that anywhere in the office.

She stood after I got pen and pad ready.

"We're going to be busy the next couple of weeks. This assignment will require some overtime, and I expect we will put in some time on a few Saturdays. Is that going to be a problem?"

Her standing was a little intimidating—a power move on her part, I assumed. I was already intimidated; there was no need to accentuate your scariness by standing. Regarding work, the truth was, I didn't mind long days or even working on weekends. My only concern was not getting to spend as much time with Paul as I hoped. Assuming he hadn't changed his mind about me and we were... Augh! Answer her question!

"I can be available as necessary, Mrs. Barnes," I replied with as much confidence as I could muster.

She took a second to weigh her next words.

"I understand that while you were in Phoenix, you reported daily to Janet Larson. Are you at all conflicted about helping this firm build a case against Ms. Larson?"

Wait a second, 'conflicted'—am I being cross-examined? How did she know that? The only way she could have known about keeping Janet in the loop while in Phoenix was from Paul; he's the only one I told. He wouldn't have said anything. Was she fishing for something and if so, why?

"I can assure you that I will not be conflicted in my assigned duties for this firm, Mrs. Barnes."

I could feel my heart beginning to race. Did Janet mention an update from me to someone? Maybe she did in an email and Gina knew. Shit!

"Good." She shifted some papers on her desk so they were in alignment with some other papers, then sat down and said, "The firm's interests are my interests. I take exception to both Mr. Brandt and Ms. Larson's inappropriate conduct during the recent elections of the newest city council members. Their actions could very well end up jeopardizing our twenty-year relationship with the union for the Port of Seattle and bring unprecedented financial losses to the firm. Are we clear?"

I could hear a slight ringing in my ears, and my hands felt chilled, as did my legs. What the hell have I gotten myself into? I nodded, 'Yes'. Was she pissed about me being assigned or that Janet and Martin might have screwed the firm? Did she think I condoned their behavior?

"Perfect," she said, reaching for a folder and handing it to me.

I took it from her and opened it. There was a list of at least fifteen research requests. The first item was to comb through the previous two years of expense reports for both Janet and Martin. Another was the review of any emails they had sent, specifically to the city council and the port union leaders. There could be thousands of those just for Martin alone since he was the lead counsel for the union. I felt a knot in my stomach tightening.

Her list had miscellaneous items that included researching a list of potential campaign violations in the state as they related to the Revised Code of Washington, case history in regards to ethics violation cases done by the Washington State Bar Association—she had provided a list of specific cases she wanted data on—and a few other items.

When I looked up, she continued, "I would like those items completed by the end of business Monday. If you run into issues or have questions, find me and we can discuss. Do you have any questions for me?"

That slight ringing in my ears was now full on buzzing, and it was making it difficult to concentrate. To complete a thorough research investigation on a few of these tasks on her list could easily take a week. Why did it feel like I couldn't breathe? I needed to switch gears. Think: How am I going to get all this done in one week's time?!

Gina moved slightly, and I refocused on her face. She was all business still, and her face showed no emotion. This is going to be impossible! Think! Research takes time. I had to push back.

"Mrs. Barnes, I understand the assignment, but your timeline. I just don't... I won't be able to deliver all of these things by next Monday." I could hardly believe I had said what I just said.

Why am I not breathing?

She looked confused. "I'm sorry. I believe, with your staff, this list of research is certainly attainable by Monday, maybe even sooner." After snapping that retort, she looked impatient, like I was keeping her from something.

Wait, I have a staff?

"I am not aware of anyone else assigned to your efforts Mrs. Barnes..." I began saying until she held up a hand to stop my reply.

I felt like I'd just been scolded by an annoyed parent. What the hell is going on with this woman? Gina picked up her phone, dialed a number, and waited for an answer.

"Hello Alicia, I'm with Elizabeth Gallagher, and we're discussing the project she's assigned to me for." She was listening to my supervisor, I assumed during a short pause, "Yes, that's what I'm calling about." She shifted slightly and then said, "Yes…" There was a long pause this time, "She is unaware of that it appears, but that does answer my question, thank you. Goodbye."

I watched her replace the handset into its cradle.

"Well, unfortunately, there has been some lack of communication on Alicia's part; she thought you were going to meet with her prior to coming to see me. She apologizes for that and would like you to stop at her office after this meeting. I am to tell you that you will be leading a team of two paralegals; she will discuss the specifics after this meeting. To address your concerns about the time, I am allowing your team to complete those required items in a week and feel that’s a generous allotment of time give my requests. We do not have the luxury of time, and I expect quality research on all these items, as they will be used for the preparation of my briefs. You and I will gather next Tuesday morning to begin reviewing, if not earlier. Any questions?"

I hadn't taken a full breath since she began talking on the phone, but I gulped one as inconspicuously as possible before answering, "No, Mrs. Barnes."

"Alright, I believe Alicia is waiting for you. I'll be here until seven if you have any additional questions. Thank you for stopping by," she said, rising from her chair, which was my queue this meeting was over.

March 15th, 6:11 p.m.
I felt like I had been run over by a bus. Not the one I should have caught fifty minutes ago when I would have gotten off work at 5:00 PM. No, I'd been flattened by the one chartered by the firm to reward me, to test me, and to break me.

It seemed to all be going my way while meeting with Gillian, until I got assigned to work for Gina Barnes. And my luck, Alicia hadn't clued me into being assigned a staff of two prior to meeting with Gina. That made me look like I had no idea what I was doing when I pushed back about the amount of work she had assigned my team. Augh!

After meeting with Gina, I got caught up on my new assignment by Alicia. She apologized for not getting me the information about having a team I was going to lead. I appreciated her saying she was sorry, but still felt like I was out of my league with this assignment. I wondered who thought this was a good idea!

I met with my team after the visit with Alicia, and was happy it had gone so well. Both Cal Gardner and Michelle Cole were good-natured about joining me, and neither seemed to mind that I was the lead. I had barely any experience here at the firm and they knew that, but neither seemed bothered by that. I was happy Alicia hadn't assigned Lisa to help me, which could have been a nightmare, possibly, to keep her focused on work and not Paul and me.

Cal and Michelle happily accepted the assignments I gave them and seemed to sympathize with me about being in the direct line of fire for all of Gina Barnes' intensity and inevitable ire. We all knew she was going to be difficult to work for, but I told them I would be their liaison and shield them as best I could, given all my new 'lead' powers. On her list of thirteen research tasks, I took the hardest ones, going through the emails and finances for Janet and Martin. What was I thinking?!

"You look miles away."

I sat up straight as if jolted by electricity passing through the seat of my chair. Holy shit!

"You startled me," I tried to eke out calmly, though I wasn't even close to being calm at the moment.

"Sorry about that. Are you okay?" Paul asked.

"I was ten seconds ago," I flashed a feeble smile that was probably more scowl than a 'Happy to see you' smile.

"I stopped by earlier, but you weren't here; I assumed you'd left for the day."

"Yeah, well, my 8–5 normal schedule just got flipped upside down."

"I heard..."

"Oh, really? What did you hear?" I asked with a raised brow.

He hesitated a moment, "That you're leading a research effort for Gina Barnes."

"You have anything to do with that?" I asked with a little more bite in the question than intended.

Again, Paul hesitated, "Yeah, I might have been in a meeting with Jacob, Gina, Gillian, and a few others. I might have mentioned I thought you would be up for the challenge."

I watched his lips crack the slightest of smiles and lost it.

"Are you kidding me?! Gina Barnes eats Para’s up and spits them out. Three people have quit working here while working for her since I've been here, Paul! What were you thinking? I haven't even been here four months, and I'm directing others and assigning work for this huge, high-profile assignment! I can barely keep up with my regular assignments," my voice trailed off as my complaining ran out of steam.

"You underestimate yourself, Liz. Hell, you were directing me in Phoenix; what's the difference?"

"The difference is we're not in Phoenix, Paul! Gina Barnes, she's a huge difference! Researching data on Janet and Martin for an ethics case? That's a huge, high-profile difference!" I ended my snarky outburst by taking in a long, slow breath.

Actually, if I took the time to think it out a little more, helping find Amber was higher profile, higher stakes, and easily more stressful.

I knew I had been staring him down through all of that spewing I’d just done and sat back, spinning my chair so I could look out into the darkness outside my office window. What the fuck was he trying to do—get me fired? The office was eerily quiet, except every breath I took sounded like roaring in my ears.

I saw movement in the reflection of the office behind me and watched as Paul came over to my side of the desk and sat on it. I'm pissed at you and I'm not talking to you right now! I continued to study the windows of the building across from ours. I didn’t rate a fancy view like the partners in the firm.

"Okay, be pissed at me; don't talk to me, but this is a great opportunity," he paused, "As soon as I mentioned you for this assignment, Jacob was like, 'Gillian, let's make that happen'. I swear, that's exactly what he said. And there were no complaints or weird looks from Gina or the others in the room. Look, you can do this."

When I didn't say anything, he continued, "What assignments did you take from the list Gina gave you?"

Nope, not talking to you right now! Paul tapped the back of my chair.

"Really? The silent treatment," he spun my chair slowly, so I was facing him. "Maybe I can help you? Be your silent team member."

"Look, I'm not... Do you get any of this stress that this just laid on me?"

"I get it, but you run into an obstacle and you figure out how to get around it or over it. You've been doing that for years, Liz; this work is no different."

"I'm reviewing emails and financials. There's probably over one hundred thousand emails for Martin and probably that many for Janet. I've got six days, Paul..." I was looking at his face for a sign of understanding. "That's like," I paused to do the math. "One hundred and forty-four hours." Another pause for math, and after a few seconds, I gave up. "That's over eight thousand minutes at least. How am I going to review all their emails and financial shit by end of day next Monday?" I asked, my voice trailing off with that rhetorical question.

"Where's the file cabinet with all these emails?" he asked.

I shook my head absently, like I hadn't heard his question, "What?"

"Emails, Liz, electronic mail—emails. Those are stored on servers; I can help with that. I've got tools that can scan those two hundred-K emails for key words in a dozen different ways in probably ten minutes. That result set can be sliced and diced in a hundred different ways. As for the financials, where does the firm keep its money records? Not in some book form ledger. On servers and I can help you with that task also."

OK, so I didn't think my assignments out very well, maybe, but don't talk down to me!

I looked out toward the window and said, "Sure, you're my silent team member. When do you want to start?"

"I don't know, but not any time soon. I'm starving; how about dinner? Your treat with that big bonus you…"

My head snapped back toward his, and I blurted out before he could finish his sentence, "And how do you know about that?!"

"Ah, I was part of the conversation with Jacob about the award," he replied sheepishly.

Is he stalking me? He reads my mind, and he knows about all this shit that is going on around me! Augh!

"Really? Then why only five thousand and not ten?" I asked.

"Actually, when Jacob asked about a fair amount, I said a grand; he's the one that pushed it to five thousand," he said with a smile. "You're lucky he doesn't listen to me sometimes."

"So, what was your bonus?"

"Twice yours, but I had Jacob let me add that as a line item on my next invoice, so it will be taxed as regular pay. Save a few bucks that way."

"And you want me to pay for dinner? I think not, Mr. Kline. Let's get out of here."

March 15th, 8:49 p.m.
About this time on any given work night, I would be pulling my comforter over my body and likely sound asleep before the clock hit 9, but I wasn't. Instead, I was sitting in Paul's car in a guest parking spot at my apartment building, wondering if I should ask him to come in. Did I want that? I wouldn't have thought about it if I hadn't, right?

I didn't have the flashiest of furnishings or even live in the nicest of areas. That in itself was a bit embarrassing and concerned me that he might get eyes on my living conditions and think less of me. Luckily I hadn't just lain around all day yesterday after getting back from Phoenix and did spend some time cleaning up the apartment because I had hoped to ask him to come over sometime this week. And here I was nervous and unsure about wanting to do exactly that. Would seeing more of my existence scare him away?

"You know, I've seen your Facebook posts, right?"

I snapped back to the present and I just watched him for a moment. I had posted a few shots of my apartment when I first moved in a year ago. He must have been pretty bored to go through any of my posted photos to get a look at my living conditions. I absolutely should lock down my account more!

"Is there anything you don't know about me?" I asked. In the dim light, I could see he was smiling.

"I'm sure there are a host of things, and I am anxious to learn more, can you blame me?"

"You want to do that tonight?" I had no idea what my mouth was doing and waited for his reaction to the suggestion. He didn't flinch, so he must be game…

"Liz, I'm happy to just be spending time with you. Come in, don't, do lunch tomorrow, dinner... I just want to be in your orbit."

He looked more serious about that than at any other point of our conversations tonight. Up until this point our conversations flowed easily, with topics generally work or Amber related or digging into our own lives a bit. We did end up laughing a lot about nothing and everything not work or Amber related, but now it felt like everything had shifted firmly to the idea of 'us' and the opportunity to push those boundaries if we wanted. That's not a bad thing, right? It’s us progressing whatever this is between us forward and that’s what I wanted, right?

I leaned over and kissed him quickly. His want was clearly returned in that faction of a couple-seconds kiss.

"Okay, come on up, Mr. Kline," I said softly not breaking eye contact.

::: --- :::

Don't be afraid to click the "Kudos" (Thumbs Up) icon for this short story if it's done anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so, and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter (I’d have bot’ed that bitch long ago if there was)). If you comment, I will reply, so let’s chat or not or whatever floats your noddle.

If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected]) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

Rachel M. Moore

Last Updated: 3/22/2024 additional chapter.

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March 15th, 8:58 p.m.
The tour of my six-hundred and ten-square-foot apartment took all of two minutes. I didn't know what to do with myself through the tour and felt fidgety the entire time. I hoped he wouldn't...

"You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm... I just don't entertain or anything," I replied softly.

"Not expecting anything," Paul began. "Well, maybe some water?"

"Yeah, sure, I've got water... Sit, I guess, and a, wanna see if there's something on TV or whatever?"

I turned toward the kitchen, and within a couple steps, I was at the refrigerator. I pulled the Brita pitcher out, pouring a couple glasses of water for us.

"Here you go," I said, handing him the glass. "Nothing on?"

"You don't have to try so hard, Liz. Look, if I weren't here, what would you be doing?"

I looked at him, "I'd be showered, done with my nightly skin regime, and in bed."

"Your regime works exceptionally well, I gotta say."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I challenged playfully.

"Those legs, I mean, they are very appealing," he said, smiling.

"Come on... They're pasty white and too long for my body. It's like I've got a shorter span than normal from my waist on up," I complained.

My arms were too long, too, but I held back from complaining any further about my features because I didn't want to spiral out of control. Don't get me started on my boney, wide shoulders and thin arms I thought!

He laughed politely and then looked at me with a serious gaze and said, "I strongly disagree." After a moment, he added, "I should probably get out of your hair, eh?"

No!! That's not what I want. Do that mind-reading thing you do! I don't want you to leave! Do I press him? Screw it!

"You just got here," I replied, maybe a little shyly on purpose.

"Yeah, but you've got an early morning, and so do I. It's late, I... I just wanted to be…"

I interjected, "Then 'be' and quit this talk about leaving."

I had been standing in front of him since giving him the glass of water, and when I reached for it, he passed it back to me with a confused look on his face. I placed our glasses on the coffee table, and without considering what I was doing, I straddled him on the couch, sitting in his lap, our faces mere inches apart.

Luckily, the wispy skirt fabric made that an easy endeavor, though I had to hike the slip underneath up a little. Wearing this today was so he could get a look at my legs, so mission accomplished there.

I could feel his hands on my hips; see the smile on his face.

"Oh, well hello, beautiful," Paul said, looking into my eyes.

"Hello, yourself," was my reply before I leaned in to kiss him.

The kiss was sensual, soft, and passionately slow. His hands left my hips, one finding its way to my neck, which made me shudder slightly, and the other was at my back, pulling me in closer. I was literally melting...

Paul was the one to finally break the kiss, and when I opened my eye a moment later, he was staring at me intently.

"I've got no expectations, Liz. I just want to, well, to be with you."

"I'd like that, and I have that same feeling," I said as I wiggled myself off of him and stood. I offered him my hand, which he took, and I guided him to my room.

March 15th, 9:16 p.m.
I excused myself after a little bit of heavy kissing and groping besides my bed to go change out of my work clothes into something that was more comfortable, yet not revealing too much. I left Paul in the bedroom with the suggestion that he get 'comfortable'. I pulled his dress shirt from his pants to emphasize the request. I hope he understood what I meant, as I would be returning wearing very little after changing in my bathroom.

When I got to the bathroom, I did the basics: got undressed, got out of the gaffe and tape holding things securely out of sight, and donned a baggy t-shirt. I wasn't sure if I was up for more than we'd done this past Saturday night, but I did prep with lube in case. Well, in case I decided I wanted to go a bit further, if he wanted to, maybe...

Yeah, maybe this was a bad idea. Am I rushing this? I don't want to push him away or come on too strong. Augh! Screw it! I grabbed the little bottle of lube and found a condom in the back of the bottom vanity drawer. It was a couple years old, and I wondered if these things had a shelf life. Good grief! As if I don't have enough other things to worry about, and here I am thinking about expiration dates!

When I returned to my room, the lamp on my nightstand was on, the covers were back enough for me to climb in, and Paul was bare-chested and covered from the waist down with the bedding. I could see him watching me, and I wondered what he was thinking. Was he worried about this? What even is 'this'? Did he notice the bottle of lube and the condom?

FUCK! Of course he did! Had I just stated my intentions?!

I wasted no time closing the bathroom door behind me to a sliver and making it to the lamp to cut off the light source that would give him a clear visual of me before I became too embarrassed to function. There would be a tiny sliver of light coming in from the living room with the crack in my bedroom door, but not enough for him to clearly see me or me him.

I fumbled in the dark to set the lube and condom down on the nightstand. Why am I so nervous?

Didn’t I want to see his body? He had a beautiful body, and ever since seeing it, I had spent a lot of time thinking about seeing more of it, experiencing more of him—like MORE OF HIM! Of course, the flip side of the coin was that I didn't want him to see me, for obvious reasons. Augh! Get over yourself!

I hurriedly climbed into bed and snuggled up next to him, giving him a quick kiss as we situated ourselves under the covers. He got an arm around me, and I took a relaxed breath.

"You okay?"

I leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

"Yeah, I'm... I'm just whatever."

What? I can't speak a coherent thought with his aroused manhood pressed against my midriff now can I?!

"I'm happy to just lay here. Hell, give me ten minutes, and I'll be asleep," he said with what sounded like a nervous chuckle.

Was he nervous? What do I do now? Do I... I let my hand wander between us and found what had been poking my upper belly. He stiffened as I wrapped my fingers around his aroused cock. Well, this has progressed quickly I thought smiling in the dark.

"I'm hoping for more than ten minutes... Well, unless you really want to go to sleep." I was sure that sounded like I was nervous.

"You believe me when I say I'm just happy to just be here with you, right?"

"Yes," I said and squeezed his cock a little, pulling on it lovingly. "And you believe me when I say I don't want you to go."

Through clenched teeth, he replied softly, "Yes."

"Good... We just need to be slow about, well, you know...”

That came out all nervous for sure! I wanted to add that I wasn’t exactly your typical girl, but he knew that. Maybe I should slow down all this...

I felt my body being rolled on top of him, and instinctively, I spread my legs to get settled and in a straddling position. I could feel his manhood resting on my ass cheeks after I got comfortable and he’d adjusted to be comfortable too. Alrighty then! That progressed quickly! I guess he wants what I'm wanting.

What also moved quickly was us greedy kissing of one another, with one of his hands on my ass squeezing me gently and the other moving beneath my t-shirt to gently kneading my breasts. There was tugging and pinching of my nipples, and it was driving me crazy! There was moaning, there were hips moving into one another, and there was a freedom I felt—a soaring I couldn't ever remember feeling before.

When we came up for air, I whispered in his ear, "This... I'm sorry, but it could..."

"Liz, I'm pretty sure I understand. I'll follow your lead as best I can," he said, trying to study my face as best he could in the darkness of the room.

He gave my thigh a reassuring caress and we…

March 16th, 9:33 a.m.
My morning had started off a bit more awkward than usual. Reason being, I’d woken up to there being a man in my bed. Last time that had happen was well over two years ago I think. All of that awkward hit me when my alarm started blaring and Paul stirred beside me.

When he rolled over to hug me, we might have gotten carried away a bit exploring one another, but we knew the clock was ticking and still needed to get to Paul’s place so he could get ready for work. That’s normal though right? I mean, everything about being with him feel that way. So we’re normal…

While maybe not the norm to wake having a man in my bed, it was a comforting feeling for a little bit. At least until I thought about what him being here had produced the night before and worrying about how he felt about all that had transpired. Sex… Raw and urgent and slow and dare I even think it could have been just two people making love?

However I wanted to classify it, the experience had been a shift in my world’s orbit and thinking about having been with him had my whole line of dominoes I'd neatly placed in a row over the past couple years tumbling over while getting ready for work.

It was interesting that even Paul seemed to be feeling his own version of my awkward stresses and afterglow drunkenness. I took that as a sign that he didn't sleep around all that often, though it could have been he felt awkward knowing he hadn’t been a typical CIS woman. If that was the case, he sure wasn’t putting out that vibe as we got moving to get out of my apartment.

On the way to his place he'd said something to that effect he felt a little nervous about how I felt about last night. Damn his mind-reading abilities! I assured him, after much tripping over my tongue that we’d done well. To which he answered, “That’s what I was thinking. We just sort of fit…” He’s comment warmed me and I knew I was blushing, so had purposely looked out the window to avoid eye contact, but agreed with him after a moment.

Another bright spot of the morning—I didn’t have to commute by bus to the office—and I got to see Paul's home, which was a townhome in Alki with peek-a-boo views of Elliot Bay and the Seattle skyline when the trees were moving just right in the wind. After I'd gotten a quick tour, he bolted for the shower and a change of clothes. I had thought a lot about asking him to shower with me at my place, but he missed the signs or wasn't reading my mind. We'd probably have been late to work had we showered together I was pretty sure on that point.

As it was we arrived at the office ten minutes early, and no one noticed us while we were in the parking garage or getting off the elevator together. They did, however, notice him in my office for nearly an hour as we went over keywords I wanted him to search for within Janet and Martin's emails and their financials.

He was sitting behind my desk, and I was standing behind him when Lisa made her first pass by my office at 8:30. Then again at 9, Paul caught that she was passing and waved at her which caused her to pop her head in to say 'Good morning...' and thankfully was gone after that.

Now she was at my office door with a shit-eating grin, and I was not looking forward to what was coming.

"Coffee, early," she asked.

"I'm super busy, Lisa." I'm sure it sounded like I was complaining and worried that the complaint might be misconstrued.

"We'll be ten minutes, fifteen tops. Come on, I'll buy."

She was too perky; something was up.

"Fine..." I gave in because I knew she would be on me until I'd been worn down and agreed.

March 16th, 9:45 a.m.
Surprisingly, the elevator ride down was fairly tame, given we're usually making faces at guys in suits or just being silly. And then her coffee banter with Bryant was about the usual amount of playful flirting and suggestive innuendos. But the ride back to our office had one little question I couldn't ignore.

"Mr. Kline, give you a ride in today."

My heart sank, and I felt the hot cup of coffee teeter in my hand momentarily. I thought about denying it, but she already knew. Had someone seen us? I was about to be...

"Before you go freaking out, I saw you in his car when I was waiting to cross at 4th and James just before 8," she said, now looking directly at me.

I shrugged and as I was getting ready to answer her, the elevator door opened on the third floor, and a couple guys in suits joined us for a ride to the floor just below ours. I sighed, but I knew this conversation wasn't over.

Lisa diverted her eyes to the guy just in front of her, scrunching her lips, licking them, and mouthing 'nice ass' at me. I rolled my eyes and had to look away so I wouldn’t burst out laughing.

Once they got off, she just looked at me waiting for an answer. I stalled as long as I could and got out, "It's complicated..." before the doors were opening to our floor.

"Lunch then?" she asked.

"I'm really hosed right now... You know who I'm assigned to right now; she's relentless!"

"I'll cut you some slack, but you've certainly got me interested in what you're up to."

She was grinning and sounded like she just wanted to give me a chance to share. I prayed there wasn't going to be any drama or fallout from this Paul thing. What if I enlisted her help? I'd said something like that in a complaint to her yesterday; maybe she could be a sounding board for me?

"I could really use some guidance; I like him, Lisa... I don't want to screw this up."

"I got your back, girl. Let’s discuss this later, okay?" She asked, hugging me before we went our separate ways to our offices.

Augh! Why does everything have to be so damn difficult?!

March 16th, 1:06 PM
I'd blown off lunch with Lisa, which was a good thing because Gina Barnes wanted the status of our progress. I'd queried Cal and Michelle, and they'd knocked out sixty percent of their assignments, which was great, but my progress wasn't even close to that. I explained that I had just received the results of email and financial scans before lunch, and there were several thousand of each to go through.

"The best project managers attack their assignments with enthusiasm and integrity," Gina began. "Those characteristics tend to be contagious for teams. You're more than competent, Elizabeth, and I've heard your problem-solving skills are quite advanced. There's a hard deadline; I can't extend it."

The funny thing about anxiety for me is that I either sail through stress or crash hard, wanting to curl up in the fetal position when not medicated. I'd taken a Xanax prior to meeting with Gina, so I sailed right through it without much doom or gloom clouds drenching me with rain, like I had seen through her window as we talked. In the end, I all but guaranteed I'd have everything she'd asked for by Monday. Now if I can only deliver.

Staring at my computer screen and scrolling through emails, looking for even a shred of inappropriate correspondence with the Port of Seattle's union, was tedious. My method of attack was to skim and bucket emails into categories of interest varying from 'None' to 'Potentially Investigate' to 'Explore'. The bucketed emails from Janet had seven hundred and forty-six in the 'None' bucket, seventy in the 'Potentially Investigate' bucket, and one hundred and fifty-two in the 'Explore'. Fuck! Was I...

"You look deep in thought..."

I looked up and couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, well. Not the kind of thoughts I'd like to be thinking," I replied.

Paul was all smiles. "I've maybe had a few instances of that today, thinking about... That was a really special Liz."

I knew I was full of blushing and wasn't sure what to say back, but I squeaked shyly, "You weren't so bad yourself, Mr. Kline."

"Oh, we're grading now," he asked with mock indignity.

I could feel the flushing now, the little bit of nervousness in my stomach, maybe even my shyness showing, though I'd started this whole flirting banter between us. I needed to get back on task, or I'd be a puddle of pudding on the floor.

"What's up?"

"I hadn't thought about deleted emails or whether Blass had tried to dump stuff. I'm running scans now and have asked Iron Mountain for backups going back a couple years. I talked to our rep, and there hadn't been any requests for backups or to outright delete any backups, so we should see if there were any attempts to bury emails."

"Oh, you can do that?" I asked.

"Well, I can do a lot of things," he chuckled. "But this will take a couple days; I'm sorry about that." He looked like he'd let me down or something.

"Don't worry about it, but I'm certainly curious now. Thanks for thinking about that."

"Are you going to be working late?"

Ask me to dinner... Say you want a repeat of last night...

"Liz?"

Augh!

"Sorry, I... I was thinking, from this set of emails you've collected, can we filter them anymore? Throw some keyword searches to new things I’ve found, maybe come up with a subset."

"Absolutely! You want to email me your keywords?" he asked, enthused.

"I'll do that..."

We talked a little more about what I was doing, and he was supportive but wasn't sure how he could help anymore. I told him he'd already made my job easier and thanked him for the assist. He left without asking me about either of those thoughts I'd had. Mr. Hit and Miss on the mind-reading thing he seemed to do!

Back to work...

March 16th, 9:12 p.m.
At 8:49 PM, Gina Barnes had stuck her head in my office to see how I was doing. We talked briefly about the progress, but I didn't get the sense she was too impressed. She was leaving for the day and told me if I needed a ride home to get an Uber and I could turn in an expense form for that. I still had the company Amex card, so I had a way to pay for it, unless I wanted to find an ATM somewhere around here.

That bit of our conversation reminded me I needed to fill out an expense form for my trip to Phoenix and cash that bonus check Jacob had authorized yesterday. Augh...

I was starving, tired, and stressed. My search for snack options within the office got me nothing worthwhile, so I'd hopped the elevator to the lobby and got a pre-made sandwich and a bag of chips right before they closed at 9. When I reentered the office, the cleaning crew had just begun doing their thing, so I closed my office door to drown out the vacuum cleaner noise. I'd settled in to staring at my computer...

FUCK! I about jumped out of my skin as my cellphone began to ring! I fumbled to get it from my purse and caught the caller ID: Paul.

"Hello you," I tried to sound like I wasn't fazed or startled.

I'd last seen him around 6 p.m. when he popped in to say he was heading to his parents place for dinner. I'd like to have been invited, but I had too much to get done. Well, dinner with him, not his parents – not yet! Guess life would have to take a backseat for a few days, maybe weeks—I hoped not.

"You're still at work.”

It wasn't a question; he knew—how did he know? I wondered how much I could mess with him.

"No, I'm home," I replied trying to sound like I wasn’t hiding anything.

"Don't think so, Liz... I see you just scanned your keycard to get back into the office. You need a ride home?"

Ah ha! Sneaky, Mr. Kline, very sneaky.

"Nah, I can Uber it. Gina said to expense it."

"Oh, okay..."

He sounded disappointed. That's a good thing, right?

"I'm beat, Paul... I think I just want to shower and get some sleep."

It's not all I wanted to do, but if he came to get me, it would be an even longer night, and I'd be paying for it tomorrow. Come to think of it, I was paying for last night still—a little sore down there still. I smiled, thinking it was so worth it.

"Gotcha... Yeah, long day, I guess. Making any headway with that subset of emails?"

"Yup, but I'm probably being too analytical about my categorizing of them. I think I can get some help with these from Cal; he sounded like he might have bandwidth in a day or two."

"Cool... Well, get out of there soon and text me when you're home."

"You sound like you care, Mr. Kline," I said playfully.

"If that's what you're hearing, then I'm glad there isn't any confusion. Really, Liz, pack it up and get out of there. Let me know when you make it home, please."

How couldn't I feel a glow spreading throughout my body from hearing that?

March 19th, 11:52 AM
It was already Friday, and I was drowning in this assignment. The only bright spot in the last couple days had been seeing Paul—inside of work only, unfortunately—and that Cal and Michelle had finished their assignments and were now combing through the financials I hadn't even begun to get to.

The emails from Janet and Martin were taking forever to review. I'd made it through the bulk of the sent emails and was beginning to look at the deleted set Paul had given me. Most were crap, nothing but... Wait a second, what the fuck?

From: Jones, Vincent
Sent: Wednesday, August 11, 8:05 AM
To: Larson, Janet
Cc: Barta, Peter

Subject: RE: [EXTERNAL] Classification Standards V8.2

Janet:

We're good with the changes according to our legal team. The software is being updated and pushed to Peter at the Port of Seattle for final testing and approval. Let me know if you need anything additional.

I will text you the information on that other matter shortly. I found someone who can assist.

Vincent Jones
PM Comsware Logistics
Vancouver, BC, 604.667.7156
[email protected]

-----------------------------------------------------------

From: Larson, Janet,
Sent: Tuesday, August 10, 4:54 PM
To: Jones, Vincent
Cc:

Subject: Classification Standards V8.2

We'll need a status on this Vincent—the software update. Also, that other item we talked about.

Janet Larson (she/her)
Brandt, Wentz, and Larson
Office phone: 206-844-1612. Cell Phone: 206-918-1577
[email protected]

What was the 'other item' Janet had mentioned and the reply mentioning 'someone who can assist' from some guy in Canada? I'd seen easily a few hundred emails from this Vincent guy to both Janet and Martin—all normal-looking, work-related kinds of things, non-judicial gray areas, and mostly generic crap—but this one had been purposely deleted. Why?

I scanned the folder Paul had created for me on the network and found that Janet's original email had been deleted, as was this reply I was looking at. I then combed through the other directory of emails and eventually found emails related to whatever this V8.2 software stuff was—all of them business, no extra mention of any 'other item'.

Okay, that's unusual. When had this been deleted? Wait, it was sent back in... FUCK!

March 19th, 12:19 PM
"This doesn't look good, Jacob," Paul said after giving him a printout of the email I'd found and inserting it into the timeline we knew about Amber's online activity.

Jacob took a long time to answer; he was deep in thought for easily a minute, maybe more.

"Legally, we'd be hard-pressed to get any traction from this," he replied stoically. "Chain of evidence could come into play, and honestly, it doesn't say much, though possibly a slip by both Vincent and Janet."

I felt seeing the email and the gravity of the implication had hit Jacob hard, harder than he was letting on given his long-standing business relationship and friendships he'd had with both Janet and Martin. Could he reconcile that maybe either or both of them had planned the distraction with Amber to open up their chance at taking over the firm? Augh...

"Janet wanted constant updates from Elizabeth while in Phoenix; that's got to be something," Paul complained.

"A senior partner of the firm looking out for me, and for an employee new to the firm who was being thrown into a stress-filled assignment," he replied quickly, not even appearing to think that answer through much.

He was right, though; there wasn't enough in that one email—out of the thousands I'd reviewed—that would implicate Janet or Martin. Was there other evidence we could tie to the email?

"Any chance there's some phone records we can tie to David Lafleur? Maybe something in the financials my team is combing through," I asked quietly.

Jacob turned to really look at me for the first time since we entered his office.

"More evidence would certainly help. I'm not so sure we'll find anything. Janet, and hell, Martin too, are crafty, careful, and cautious actors in every aspect of the law. That you've found even the thinnest of possible connections to what happened to Amber—while disappointing, I'm certain in court it would fall on deaf ears. I doubt they made calls or plans from the office, and no court is going to give us access to their personal phone records or banking records without cause—more proof of wrongdoing might not even get that stuff unless egregious."

Paul chimed in, "Unlikely, any contact with Lafleur was done with their personal devices, unless they were burner phones or something like that."

I couldn't keep letting it be, "Lafleur, he's dead and possibly murdered, based on what the FBI shared from the RCMP. Couldn't we give them a couple possible suspects? Vincent Jones? Maybe he would turn on Janet?"

"Let me reach out to Landon and see what he thinks. Maybe it'll shake things up a little, or maybe not," Jacob offered.

March 19th, 12:31 PM
Alone with Paul in my office, I couldn't hold my tongue any longer and barked, "What the fuck! I think she set up Lafleur to groom Amber somehow and Vincent got her hooked up with that pedophile."

"We can't prove that, Liz," Paul said, sounding as frustrated as I was.

"How though?"

"I don't follow," he said, scrunching his eyebrows at me.

"How did she know Amber was online or Trans?"

"Maybe it was Martin that found out?"

"Maybe, but... Have you looked at their computers? Like browser history or whatever?"

"Unlikely, they would look for her online presence while at work, but the question is valid, and I can certainly scan their computers for anything like that. I think how or when they knew Amber was Trans would be a good thing to know," he said, picking up the handset for my phone and dialing and extension.

"Hey... You ever mention to Janet or Martin about Amber being Trans before she went missing?"

The answer came quickly: "Okay, about when was that?"

I figured he was talking to Jacob and tried to listen, but could only hear Paul's side of the conversation.

"Sure, I'm," he paused to listen to something. “I understand. I'll get back to you. Thanks."

He set the handset down and looked at me concerned.

"Jacob mentioned it was close to about the time Amber came out. He said Martin didn't give it much thought, but Janet was curious, and they had a few conversations about Amber over the past couple years. I think he thinks we're wasting our time on this though."

"During my interview with Janet, she brought up the fact that she was active with her wife in the LGBTQ+ community. I wasn't sure whether she was a supporter of my choice to transition or if there was something more to that. It wasn't awkward or anything, but her bringing it up did make me wonder."

"Well, I guess I'll get a look at their computers then. We good?"

"I'm pretty sure we're good," I said, smiling at him.

He grinned, got up, and left. I'd like to have joined him, but I had a lot more emails to plow through, and it was going to be another long day at this rate.

March 19th, 8:51p.m.
Gina Barnes had popped her head in my office on her way out and encouraged me to call it a night. I had sent her an email earlier saying Cal, Michelle, and I would be in tomorrow at 10 a.m. The last thing she said to me was that she'd be in tomorrow also and wanted to go over the RCW (Revised Code of Washington) findings. She had a few questions, a concern about one of the findings, and additional research requests. My heart sank, and it took every bit of effort I could muster to not break down in front of her. When she left, I laid my head on my desk, trying to figure out how I was going to manage this growing assignment.

"Not sure that looks comfortable..."

I didn't look up, but spoke to my desk, "Yeah, well, it's the best I can come up with."

"Ran into Gina, who says we need to get out of here for the night. She even said something about working tomorrow with your team. I think she's impressed with you, Liz."

I looked up at him, "Yeah, well... When I don't deliver what she's looking for by Monday, I'll be just another road kill paralegal she's left in her wake."

"Drama much," Paul asked, smiling.

I chuckled, too tired to be pissed.

"My go to,” I replied.

"Is there a costume change?"

I laughed, looked over my desk, picked up a large paperclip, and threw it at him.

"Let's get out of here... I could use a drink, maybe even one of your fancy rum drinks," he said.

I slid my chair back, locked my computer, and grabbed my coat and purse.

"You could use a little fancy, I can help you with that," I said with a little mischief in my tone. Are you hearing what I’m thinking about you right now Mr. Kline?

"If I got you by my side, it's an upgrade for sure," he said, helping me get my coat on and then hugging me.

I didn't want him to let me go, but we were at the office, and there was no telling who was still around. I smiled at him and, for a moment, considered kissing him, but held back the urge.

He held my office door open as we made our way out, and I asked, "Any luck scanning Janet and Martin's computers?"

"Actually, that's why I'm still here."

::: --- :::

Don't be afraid to click the "Kudos" (Thumbs Up) icon for this short story if it's done anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so, and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter (I’d have bot’ed that bitch long ago if there was)). If you comment, I will reply, so let’s chat or not or whatever floats your noddle.

If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected]) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

Rachel M. Moore

Last Updated: 3/25/2024 additional chapter.

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March 19th, 8:48 p.m.
"You found something on their computers?"

"Let me ask you a few questions first. Where did you go to school?" Paul asked.

"Why's that relevant?"

He tilted his head and smiled, before saying, "I'm asking the questions... Play along."

I chuckled and pressed the 'Down' elevator button.

"Tacoma Community College, why?"

"Not yet... You know who the Dean of the Law Program there was?"

"James Norton, I think that was the guy's name. Not like I made any academic list while attending, pretty much a solid 'B' grade student overall," I replied, wondering where this was going.

The elevator opened, and he waited for me to enter, pressing the 3rd garage level button. When the doors closed, he asked, "When did you apply for your job here?"

I had to think that one out, "End of," I paused to think, "Beginning of October... Why?"

"When did you graduate?"

This was getting annoying, but I was stuck playing along.

"I graduated late. I had to challenge a class I'd failed after a summer school retake of that class." I wasn't sure how much more embarrassment I was willing to lay out there for him.

"Anyone encourage you to apply at Brandt, Wentz, and Larson?"

"No... Wait, I got a letter from my guidance counselor about Brandt, Wentz, and Larson."

He scrunched his brow and said, "Crap…"

"Alright, what? Why the questions?"

He pulled a couple sheets of paper from his jacket and handed me a couple, holding back one. I looked at him, then the pages. It contained emails between Janet and James Norton. I read what looked like she was making an innocent inquiry into how his latest class of paralegals was shaping up and that the firm was interested in the top students. He said it was a decent class, diverse, and a couple stars he would guide her way, and I stopped reading to look at Paul.

"You don't think," I asked surprised.

He shrugged. "If you'd said Norton encouraged you to apply, then I would wonder if maybe his comment about 'one transgender student' had more weight than what else I found."

"What does that mean?"

He had a concerned look on his face. "Janet, have you checked out? Did you notice the dates on those exchanges with Norton?"

I looked at them; they were from June of last year. That would have been about the time I should have graduated.

"So?"

He handed me the piece of paper he'd held back. It was another email chain, an original message, and its response. They were in reverse order, like the thousands of emails I'd scanned from Janet and Martin. The reply was at the top of the page and from a name I didn't recognize. It only said, 'She was deep into the scene. I'll call with details.' The original email message from Janet below only said, 'Please look into this person, Elizabeth Gallagher. She's a transgender woman who's applied for a position. I'm curious as to her story. Do this quietly.' The date of the original email was June 7th of last year, four months before I had even heard that Brandt, Wentz, and Larson existed.

March 19th, 8:50 PM
"You okay?"

I had to read the email twice, and when I was done, I shuddered. What the fuck?! Was my past the impetus to lure Amber into shit with Lafleur? Did Janet really think every Trans girl turned to feeding the fetish machine out there? Was bringing me onboard all part of some sick plan to screw with Jacob by distracting him and using that distraction to go after the firm while his attention was on his sister’s family?

I shook my head absently. These emails would have been before David Lafleur began grooming Amber. Jesus!

"Something is not right with that woman, Liz," Paul said softly, placing a hand on my shoulder to guide me out of the elevator when I hadn't moved after the doors opened to the garage.

I followed him to his car through the nearly empty garage, opening the door, sitting, and buckling the seat belt. Why? That sick fucking bitch!

When Paul was settled and the car was started, I asked, "Why would she do that?"

"I wish I knew... But there aren't enough breadcrumbs to follow, though the ones we have certainly can't be ignored. I wanted to talk about this with you before suggesting we compile what we suspect and ask Jacob again for a legal reading. There wasn't anything of significance on either of their computers, and the only reason I went searching for her emails was that she'd looked up Tacoma Community College a few years ago, and I scanned her emails looking for the connection, finding Norton. That email chain had been deleted. There's always a digital trail."

Yeah, I knew that all too well.

"I wonder how she figured out Amber had an online presence. Did she somehow encourage it? Like that bullying stuff Amber put up with and her mom fought... I just don't get it."

There were too many unknowns. Coincidence or not, these emails said to me that Janet may have had a hand in Lafleur's entry into Amber's orbit. Nothing concrete, but there was something there; I could feel it. Was she somehow involved with his murder? Fuck! God damn bitch!

We'd exited the building, heading towards I5 in light traffic, and I couldn't get over this feeling of numbness, hurt, and disgust. I listened to Paul talk about theory and additional search options he could try. When we were on the freeway heading south, I asked, "Can we get something to eat?"

He took my hand and said, "Of course. You care what we eat?"

I shook my head, ‘No'.

March 20th, 10:15 AM
We'd eaten burgers at a Red Robin just down the street from my apartment in Kent. I'd had two drinks; the first hit me hard since I'd skipped lunch and the second went down quickly when our food arrived. I could sense Paul was concerned about me all the way up to dropping me off at my apartment after we ate.

I assured him I would be fine after a good night's sleep. I told him I just wanted to go to bed and apologized a couple times for being such bad company. I wanted him to come in, but my heart just wasn't up for company. He got it, hugged me gently, and kissed me quickly before I exited his car. It was just the right amount of support and affirmation I needed last night.

Now, in the conference room where my journey to find Amber began, Gina Barnes was asking Cal some questions about an RCW he'd pulled in regards to an ethics case she'd wanted precedent for.

"I can recheck that," he said, typing something into the laptop before him—the results showing on the screen we were all looking at, reading it ourselves, and considering the argument Gina was making.

Gina asked, "Elizabeth, Johnson vs. State of Washington, point seven. What are your thoughts?"

"I think there might be some leeway. Cal's got the right RCW reference here. In that particular case, I think Johnson's LLC was determined to not be the shield the owner could hide behind for the half-million dollar donation to the Republican gubernatorial candidate."

"I think it's thin, but let's add it to the brief material. We can pull it if there isn't enough for it to stand on its own." she said.

"If you reference the Bentley and Cambers case, it should stand as viable," I replied quietly.

I knew she'd put a lot of focus on that case, and the connection to the Johnson case would strengthen the argument she was trying to make. How I was regurgitating these legal case recollections right now, given my mind was more consumed with Janet's possible involvement with Amber's abduction and how my past transgressions might have given her that idea, I couldn't explain.

"You mean Bentley and Chambers, correct?"

"Yes, Mrs. Barnes. Apologies. Chambers, not Cambers."

I guess I wasn't all here in the moment. I saw Michelle roll her eyes, and I shook my head imperceptibly to say, 'Leave it alone'. She immediately looked down at her notes and began writing something. I was fine being the target of Gina Barnes wrath, and I would take it all if it spared Michelle and Cal. We just needed to get through this as best we could, figure out where she thought we were deficient with our research, and hope we'd delivered enough or could by the close of business Monday to satisfy her.

This was just the beginning of a long, long day.

Gina finished typing something on her laptop and looked up.

"Okay, I'd like to discuss Morgan Trucking vs. State of Washington."

March 20th, 1:33 PM
"Lunch... Let's meet back here in an hour. Bring a receipt, and I'll expense it," Gina said, still looking at one of the financial records Michelle had just gone over with us on the screen in the conference room.

Cal, maybe more Michelle, looked like they needed a break. The truth was I needed to pee going on at least a half hour now. When we stood to leave, Gina asked me to stay for a moment. The other two quickly made their escape. Augh... Gotta pee!

She waited for Cal and Michelle to leave the room before speaking.

"You seem distracted."

Fuck! Do I tell her what's going on, or do I throw out an excuse?

"I'm just worried we haven't; I mean… I just want my team to deliver everything you need." Excuse me, it was going to be.

She looked thoughtful; maybe even a tiny smile graced her lips before saying, "Your team, they've delivered if that's helps. I'm impressed. Cal is very thorough, and Michelle is your detail asset. I like what she suggested about a possible quid pro quo relationship being built with Council Member Perry's wife and Martin's ex-wife. Very insightful work; she's your ace in the hole."

"Thank you, Mrs. Barnes. I appreciate hearing that." I was actually both elated and relieved. When I had a chance, I would be passing those comments on to Cal and Michelle.

I think they were as worried about this assignment as I was, though officially my ass was the one on the line. She hadn't complimented me or my contributions, but I would take that we'd met her expectations thus far and she hadn't held me back to chew me out—well, other than to say I look distracted.

"You know, Janet and I didn't generally see eye to eye," she began. "There are a lot of 'style' differences, and the truth is, I'm quite excited about the opportunity to sling a little mud at her with this case we're building. Martin too; he's a pompous ass that should have been brought up on any number of ethics charges due to countless improprieties over the years."

I tried to hold back my shock at hearing what she'd just said, but I couldn't keep it from my face.

"Go, get some lunch, Elizabeth. Oh, and your contributions have been exactly what I was hoping to get. Your relationship-building focus is how I want to present Janet and Martin being in bed with the City Council Members via the financial contributions of their spouses. Martin left such a trail of compromising emails—good God! What an idiot!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Barnes... He tried to hide most of those by deleting them, but there's always a digital trail," I said, smiling. Think about who’d mentioned that to me just yesterday.

I should be the one to talk about compromising digital trails. I doubt Gina would think Martin and my trails were even remotely close in comparison—at least on the compromising point.

She nodded in reply, and I figured I was dismissed when she began typing. PEE! I need to pee!!

March 20th, 5:57 p.m.
"Hey...," I collapsed into the front seat of Paul's car. It was warm, and the heated seat was on. I leaned over to give him a quick kiss before he pulled away from the curb, and I was buckling up. I had texted him during lunch with a status, and he'd insisted on picking me up so I wouldn’t have to catch a bus home. I didn't argue; this is where I wanted to be - with him.

"How'd it go?"

"Surprisingly well. I was certain Gina was going to rip everything we did apart, but it went well. I mean, we've got stuff to do yet, but I should be set for my meeting with her Tuesday morning. I'll be curious to see where the next phase of this assignment leads," I replied, placing a hand on his thigh and giving it a little squeeze.

"So... you're saying I was right then?"

"Ha ha... No, I'm saying that without Cal and Michelle's help, I'd have probably quit that first day. Gina is a hard woman to work for; I don't think you get that."

"But you did the job asked of you, leading a couple other paralegals, and it worked out."

"I guess... this time at least." I looked out the window, wondering where we were going. "Are we going to your place?"

He smiled and said, "I made you dinner. I hope you like lasagna."

"You cooked?" I probably asked that with more skepticism than I should have.

"I've been known to dabble," he chuckled in reply.

March 20th, 7:06 p.m.
When we got to Paul's, it was obvious something was in the oven baking, and it smelled amazing. He'd set the table; there were linen napkins and nice-looking dinnerware. He lit a couple candles, put some music on, and I was seated with a gentle hand and a long kiss that spoke volumes. I felt like he missed me, and I hoped he knew I felt the same. Work was certainly eating up a lot of each of our existences of late.

When dinner was served, I couldn't help but eat until I couldn't bear to lift my fork. I must have complimented him three or four times on how really good it tasted. I was seriously impressed—this man had skills in the kitchen and other areas I was hoping we'd enjoy at some point before the night was over. He confessed that the recipe was his Nana's and couldn't take credit for it, but was happy I enjoyed it.

We agreed to not talk 'shop' while eating; instead, we spent a lot of time talking about movies we loved, music, and concerts we'd seen over the years. He'd seen both Pearl Jam and Nirvana in concert; I hadn't seen any big names like that. Lisa had said the age difference would keep us from appreciating these kinds of things; I think the opposite was true. The truth was we had more in common than either of us probably realized.

I tried to help with the dishes, but Paul was insistent that I just sit and that there really wasn't much to do anyway. He wrapped the remaining lasagna up, saying it would be better tomorrow, rinsed our plates and salad bowls, putting them in the dishwasher, and was escorting me to the living room in nearly no time at all. He talked a lot while cleaning up, almost like nervous chatter.

"Are you okay?" I asked once we were seated on his couch.

"Yeah, of course. Dinner was a success. You're here... I," he looked to be measuring his next thought, "Missed you."

I squeezed his hands and kissed him. Slowly at first, but there was a building of desire he couldn't mistake that said I was happy, content, and might have missed him also. When I pulled away, I looked him in the eyes, wondering if he could read my mind right now. What am I thinking, Mr. Kline? Come on... Do you mind reading the stuff you do?

"Did you want to hang out for a while?"

Nope, not what I was thinking, but it does involve hanging out some more. Try again.

"I'd like that..."

"Cool... So, how are you feeling about those emails from Janet?"

Augh... I actually hadn't been thinking about them since we agreed to not talk shop over dinner. And there were other thoughts I'd prefer to be putting into motion rather than talking about Janet and my past. You really can't tell what I'd rather be doing right now?

"I'm still a little hurt over them. I don't understand why she'd have approved my hiring if there wasn't something she was hoping to get from knowing about my past. Hell if some client of the firm figured it out... If that came out somehow, there would certainly be some discomfort around the office for the partners and me, of course."

"Those are good points."

He looked like there was more he was going to say, so I asked, "And?"

As soon as I asked, he looked uncomfortable.

"I spoke with Jacob today..."

"I thought we were going to do that after compiling our thoughts," I asked, sitting back and searching his face. Guess that may be why you seemed nervous and chatty while doing the dishes—you knew you were going to have to lay this on me.

"He called, and we were talking about some stuff, and I slipped, mentioned the recruiting email. I had to explain what we'd found."

His voice trailed off, and I'm sure he saw me bristle. Fuck!

"And how much does Jacob really know about my past, Paul?" I asked, feeling my stomach roil a bit, the fringes of anxiousness beginning to constrict my chest.

He had a pained look as he began to speak, "He knows it all. I'm so sorry."

"Why?" I barked, rubbing my palms over the jeans material at my knees, while trying to control my emotions and my panic.

"Look, he doesn't ca..."

I didn't let him finish, "I care! I fucking care, Paul! I work for the man! You've seen the shit I've posted! Do you think I want Jacob, or anyone for that matter, looking that shit up and finding me?! 'Daddy fucks femboy', 'Step brother fucks Trans sister raw'—you know how easy it would be to find my past online? I'm in the first couple pages of search results for 'Transgender' on most porn sites! You think I want that?! He didn’t know the extent of my past in Phoenix and now he does!" I was fuming mad.

"No one..." he tried to say, but I cut him off again.

"Right! No one is going to look up Elizabeth Gallagher and find me linked to porn I’m in posted from two years ago when I was gutter trash Paul! But if they look up 'Transgender' or 'Sissy' or any fucking derogatory gender-bending term, it is likely they're going to see my face in a video or picture eventually. I messed up, Paul; I can't fix that! There's no do-over; there's only damage control, and it's tiring." I was running out of steam and could feel the tears welling in my eyes. "I'm tired of all that shit. I can't do..."

I felt his arms around me as the tears began to flow and the sobbing that followed racked my body hard. My heart was...

March 20th, 7:48 p.m.
There were hugs, handholding, gentle strokes of Paul's hand against my cheeks to wipe away my tears, and all manner of assurances that all would be alright, but the aching I felt wouldn't subside. He tried to talk me off the ledge, but I'd already had a foot poised over the abyss, and truthfully, I was fine with taking that freefall because there was no fixing my past, and I really was tired of trying to manage the shame. I wouldn't ever repeat that part of my life again, but it was a part of me I would have to deal with for the rest of my life.

Eventually I excused myself to use the bathroom and ended up having to wash my face to get rid of my tear-ruined makeup. I tried to reapply some blush and fix my face, but eventually gave up. I didn't have the energy or want right now. The last couple weeks had been trying, had bright spots I was holding so tightly to, and I wasn't sure...

A tap on the bathroom door startled me. It was followed by Paul asking if I was alright.

It took a second before I could reply, "Yeah, I think I'm going to call an Uber and go."

There was a long pause before he said, "I can get you home, Liz."

"I think I... I just need some down time, Paul. Probably best this way."

March 20th, 9:13 p.m.
It took twenty minutes to get my Uber, and in that time we did very little talking. One of the last things he'd said to me before I left was that he didn't want to lose me. That brought on a brief round of tears for me, several more hugs between us, and assurances that I had to work some things out, but I wasn't giving up on us. It was a defining moment for me in that we'd both just acknowledge there was an 'us', something we both found important, valuable, and wanted to pursue further.

Now, alone in my tiny, quiet apartment, I was struggling with the fact that Jacob knew everything about my past. Also that Janet may have used me in some way to get Amber hooked on posting shit. Fuck it! I pulled my phone out, found the number I wanted, and dialed it. It was picked up on the third ring.

"This is an unexpected surprise. How are you, Elizabeth?" the voice asked.

"I wasn't sure you'd answer."

"Why's that?"

"We've uncovered a few things that don't paint you in the best of lights," I replied nervously, but resolved to see what I could learn.

"I'm not sure I follow..."

"I think you do. I just want to know why. Why involve Amber? Why hire me?"

"You aren't making any sense. I don't know what you're talking about, but I certainly hope Amber is alright."

"She is, but she's going to carry these scars for the rest of her life. Was it worth it?" I asked defiantly, a full-on bitch bleeding out in my tone.

"Elizabeth, I'm still not sure I follow..."

"You emailed James Norton; he told you about me."

"I email him every year looking for the best paralegals to recruit from his graduating classes. James and I go back a long ways."

"Then why have me checked out by Ryan Flint? What did he tell you about me when he called you?"

There was a long pausel, "We do background checks for every applicant, and you were no different."

It was the first time since she answered that Janet sounded like I'd struck a nerve. I could have Paul check to see if her statement about emailing Norton yearly was true; then the deletion of last year's correspondence would look even more deliberate. I wasn't going to show her all my cards, but I was going to leave her with something to worry about before this call ended—like, I was now worrying about my job, Jacob, and others discovering the truth about my past.

"My background check was different, wasn't it?"

She was slow to answer, "Look, I don't know what you're implying or if you think there is some discrimination angle to be had, but you're outside your league, and none of that is viable anyway. I think this conversation is over. Goodbye Elizabeth, and don't bother calling..."

I interrupted her. "Not to worry, I won't be reaching out again; I got what I needed to hear from you," I said with enough accusation dripping in my voice to say 'Fuck You' right back to her. "Oh, by the way, we've turned over information to the FBI regarding Lafleur and CLogistics in Vancouver. Now this conversation is over."

I didn't give her a chance to reply before killing the connection. Fuck you, you pompous manipulating lying bitch! I had been used, and now she knew I knew it. It might have been a tiny lie to have said the FBI had gotten the Janet to Vincent Jones of CLogistics to possibly a Lafleur connection, but I was determined to stick it to that woman for all she'd dumped on me and screwed up in Amber's life.

Maybe in a court of law, what we'd found was circumstantial, irrelevant, or without legal footing, but I knew to my very soul Janet was somehow involved with Amber's abduction. She’d confirmed it in my mind from her answers and her tone... And even if Jacob wasn't up for passing the wisp of a connection in the data we'd found to Landon at the FBI, maybe I could convince Paul to reach out to his new-found friend Tim at the FBI. Maybe Tim would drop the possible connection with the RCMP in Vancouver.

Okay, now I feel better! But very much alone...

March 21st, 2:31 AM
The pounding on my door startled me awake, and at first I wasn't sure what was going on. I heard a voice and then more pounding. It was urgent, maybe even angry, and I almost felt like whoever it was might already be in my unit. The banging was so loud.

I rolled out of bed, my heart thumping out of my chest, threw on a t-shirt, and grabbed a baseball bat I had in my closet before poking my head out of my bedroom to see if the door to my unit was still closed and the lock was holding.

"Heather! God damn it, I know you're in there with him!" More pounding, and then, "Open the God damn door!"

I jumped back and retreated to my nightstand to grab my phone, dialing 911 with one hand while clutching the baseball bat for dear life in the other. What the fucking hell?!

"911... What is your emergency?"

I whispered, "There's someone at my door trying to get in."

"Alright... I see you're calling from a cellphone," the woman paused for a few seconds. I could hear her typing, and then she said, "I've got you located... It looks like an apartment complex on Kent East Hill, South East 244 Street, off of 104th Avenue South East. That's the Meadows Apartments; what unit are you in?"

There was a loud thump at the door, like someone was trying to kick it in or something. Fuck! A second thump followed a couple seconds later. Oh shit!

"Sir, are you still there?"

I cringed, sir. Did I really sound that bad?! Fuck! I retreated to my bathroom and locked the door.

"I think the guy out there is trying to kick the door in."

"What unit are you in?"

"203... I'm... Shit, I'm in the bathroom... Is someone coming? The police?"

"Yes, they should be there within a minute... Do you know the person?"

"No! Of course not; that guy is fucking nuts! He's yelling for Heather."

"Okay, does your bathroom door lock?"

"Yes… I do not know who that guy is," I hurriedly complained just above a panicked whisper.

"Understood... I see this phone is registered to Elizabeth Gallagher; is that you?" she asked, almost as if she'd recalled that she'd addressed me as 'sir' a moment ago.

"Yes..." I could hear a tapping out by my front door and what sounded like a woman speaking.

"There are two officers in your parking lot, but I want you to stay in the bathroom until I tell you it's alright to leave, understood?"

"Okay... There's a tapping on the door, and I think it's a woman's voice."

"Stay in the bathroom... It should just be a minute. I know this is really frightening, but help is there. Hang on... You got this, Miss Gallagher."

I could hear the dispatcher talking to someone, then a distinct knocking at my front door and a man's voice. I couldn't make out what he was saying.

"Alright, Elizabeth, there's an officer at your door. Can you go meet him?"

"You're sure?" I asked that, but felt stupid. Of course, there's an officer at my door! She wouldn't have me leave my locked bathroom if there weren't!

"Yes, Officer Price and Samson are on site," she paused. "Price is at your door... Stay on the line with me until you've been secured by the officer, alright?"

March 21st 3:18 AM
Officer Price turned out to be at my door, and the bad news was that no one was found lurking around or fleeing the general area when they arrived. Officer Samson had walked the grounds and spoke to my neighbor two doors down, who happened to be up, and poked her head into the hallway to shut the idiot up who was trying to kick my door in. According to her he’d left quickly after that confrontation.

I got to meet my neighbor officially, though we'd seen each other coming and going from the building the past couple months, smiling at each other politely on those occasions. She gave the police a rough description of the man trying to kick my door down and hung out long enough to make sure I was okay. There were two large foot prints just under my door knob, where whoever tried to kick the door in might have succeeded had they gotten a third or fourth kick in.

When my neighbor left, I got to answer all kinds of questions about boyfriends, possibly spurned ex-lovers, or whatever. The one question that made me most annoyed was whether I'd used the name Heather before. Why ask that question, because I was Trans?

Since I had to produce my driver's license, which had my dead name and picture on it from before I transitioned, Price was making assumptions. It didn’t make it any easier to navigate his suspicions. I explained I was Trans and hadn't gotten around to fixing my legal documents yet. And ‘No’ I didn’t pick a woman’s name weekly to use as I tried to trick men into being with me. Pretty sure he got that his question annoyed me.

Price made some notes, and I eventually got a copy of a police report I could reference should I need to contact them or have another run-in with whoever thought my apartment contained some bitch named ‘Heather’. The officer had done his job to get the facts, but I don't think he was all that open-minded. You'd think with as much hate as there was for the police out there, he'd be a bit more empathetic of the hate thrown at someone who was Trans. Whatever!

All I wanted to do now was sleep, but I was wired. If it had been light out, I probably would have gone for a run, but since it was the middle of the night, I was stuck trying to calm down enough to get back to sleep.

Where the hell was my bottle of Xanax!?

::: --- :::

Don't be afraid to click the "Kudos" (Thumbs Up) icon for this short story if it's done anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so, and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter (I’d have bot’ed that bitch long ago if there was)). If you comment, I will reply, so let’s chat or not or whatever floats your noddle.

If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected]) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

Rachel M. Moore

Last Updated: 3/27/2024 additional chapter.

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March 21st, 8:58 a.m.
My phone vibrating on the nightstand prompted an annoyed rollover to grab it, to see who was calling me so early, and finally answering it on the third ring when I saw who it was.

I croaked out a strained, "Mmellho..."

"Liz?"

"Hey," I said with a little more effort and clarity.

My mouth was bone dry, and my tongue felt like wet used sandpaper caked in sawdust. What time was it anyway? I looked at my alarm clocks blazing digits - 8:59…

"Crap, did I wake you? I'm really sorry."

I huffed a little too loudly, "Long night. What's up?"

I could have used a few more hours of sleep. No sooner had I finally fallen asleep, after my 2 AM visitor, than a car alarm started going off in the parking lot. I think that was probably about 4:30 AM. Then, at around 6 AM, someone taking their trash out let the dumpster lid clang shut, and in a panic, I grabbed the bat laying next to me, thinking someone had knocked something over in my living room.

I felt like the world knew I was frayed at the seams and intent on making me pay a toll for my past sins.

"I... I was wondering if you wanted to do something today; maybe get lunch and talk," he asked meekly.

Damn it – drop the attitude! I wasn't purposely trying to be a bitch to Paul, and I needed to absolutely get my shit together quickly about how I wanted to navigate his telling Jacob more than necessary about my compromising past. I’d thought about it enough last night, what did I want to say to him?

"Hey... I, Whew... Crazy night. Some idiot was trying to kick my door in this morning around 2. He was certain 'Heather' was in here with some guy."

"What?! Someone tried to kick your door in," Paul asked, concerned.

"He didn't make it in; he just pounded, yelled a lot, and looked to have kicked it twice. My neighbor stuck her head out into the hallway and scared him off. I was on the phone with 911, and the police got here quick. They didn't find him unfortunately."

I laid back down, put the phone on speaker, and set it on the pillow next to me.

"That must have been scary!"

"Just a little," I said, looking at the ceiling, then towards the window, where I could see the sun peeking through the sides of the curtains. I wondered if it's nice out.

"Has anything like that ever happened before?"

That was a question I didn't want to share details about, at least not with him. The easy answer was 'No, not while living here.' and was the truth, which was my eventual reply to Paul.

The real answer was that I'd had several past incidents of shit like this happening when I was posting content online. There were assholes I’d be fooled into thinking they wanted a relationship, but were just chasing their fetish, which was me. One of those instances ended with some guy raping me, but not before slapping me around first when I told him to leave and began to protest his groping me.

He wouldn't take 'Not interested!' for an answer when I turned down his advances. He told me after he was finished that I had 'asked for it'. And his last words to me as he wiped his cock off my face before getting dressed and leaving were, 'Say anything, and I'll fucking kill you...'

Yeah, not sharing that bit of my past with you.

“I feel bad... If I hadn't said anything to Jac…"

I stopped him midsentence, "I'm fine, Paul... I probably would have had to cross that bridge with Jacob or someone in management at the firm at some point anyway. It was bound to come out sooner or later. And last night was just some drunken idiot looking for his girlfriend, wife, or whatever. I hope she's alright and he slept it off somewhere."

"Yeah, but I shouldn't have said anything or maybe have bent the truth," he complained.

"Look, I'm not happy about that, and I wish my past wasn't what it was, but going forward, anything between us or in my past stays between us and in the past, okay? I'm not that person anymore. I can't keep telling you that..."

Did he understand the depths of my scars from my past mistakes? That posting shit was the lowest I thought I could possibly get, until I had been raped. I’d hit bottom hard after that, and it made me take a serious look at what the fuck I was doing by pimping myself out. If none of it had been recorded or hadn't been posted online, maybe my life would have...

"I know who you are, Liz... I get it, and I'm so sorry. I screwed up and I hope you know I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you. I hope you can still trust me. I care and I, I care about you. I am really sorry.”

He'd rambled a bit, but there was sincerity in all that he was saying. I could feel the desperation in his voice as he apologized again today, as he had last night before I got in the Uber. I was disappointed he'd said anything to Jacob, but it was spilled milk, and I'd pretty much moved on. There were other jobs out there for paralegals like me, so if it came to that, well, I'd deal with it and make a fresh start at a different firm. One thing is certain: I was going to keep on this track and not screw up my life like that ever again.

Had I leveled my expectations with Paul in regards to whatever this relationship between us was becoming? I hoped so. I wasn't going to say, 'That's your final warning buddy...', but I also wasn't going to let a man abuse me ever again, including one I may have developed some deep feelings for and...

"Liz?"

"Yeah... I was just looking at the clock and thinking I needed to get up, get a run in to decompress, and get ready for some handsome guy to come over and take me out to lunch. That was the offer, wasn't it?" I asked playfully, trying to lighten the mood between us and block out those past memories that only made me hate myself.

"Well, I don't know what handsome guy you're talking about, but I'd be happy to stand in for him."

"How about noon… Are you going to pick me up, or do I need to hop a bus to some restaurant?" I knew the answer, but I was feeling sassy.

"Oh, a little sass, huh? I like it, and I deserve that. I think I can manage coming aaall that way... See you at noon."

Damn his mind-reading abilities! I smiled at the phone on the pillow next to me.

"Yes, you will. Bye handsome..."

I picked up my phone and was about to press the button to hang up when I heard him whisper, "Thank you."

The line went dead before I could reply. As I replayed our conversation, it occurred to me that he wasn't feeling too confident that we were okay. Maybe we could come to a better understanding of where we ultimately wanted this relationship to go at some point today.

I rolled out of bed, tired, but maybe a little energized. Time to get a couple miles in...

March 21st, 12:24 PM
I extended my run by a mile and a half, but only because I'd noticed an older red Acura following me—maybe. The guy, who I got a good look at the second time he passed by me, was a young Hispanic male. The description of the guy trying to kick my door in this morning was a white guy, six to six-one in height, and two hundred plus pounds. Mr. Red Acura wasn’t a match by any stretch, but I was on edge and maybe just being paranoid. I finished my run after about the seven-mile mark, the last couple miles without any red Acura's reappearing.

Paul was four minutes early, and judging by the greeting I'd gotten at the door - the flowers, the hug, and the kiss I'm sure we both enjoyed it - I got the message loud and clear that he was happy I'd agreed to meet him for lunch after our falling out last night. It was only the second time I'd ever gotten flowers from a man, and his giving them to me choked me up a little.

As we were leaving to go get lunch, he stopped to examine the footprints left on my door. I watched him run his hand over one of them. He noted there was a small impression left at the heel from one of the kicks in the metal door. I hadn't noticed that, but it made sense given how loud the guys' kicks were and how they sounded—even while locked in my bathroom.

Now at Famous Dave's BBQ in Tukwila, having just finished ordering, he was saying something about his parents. Wait, what?

"You told your parents about me," I asked, a little surprised. I tried to rewind what he'd just been saying about them—something about cooking his Nana's lasagna and maybe telling them he was cooking to impress someone. I think that's what he'd said. I needed to pay better attention!

"Well, I'd asked for the recipe; I didn't have it," he said, taking a pull from his bottle of Coor's.

"And that led to me, how?" I raised an eye brow but was smiling because I was teasing him that there might be someone special he was cooking for.

"You don't think my mom was curious? I was asking for a cherished family recipe. She knew why, and I got grilled! No, cross-examined!"

He chuckled, and it wasn't strained at all. He'd relaxed a bit since the call this morning and was pretty much back to being that confident guy I was attracted too. I felt like we were about to get back to our normal operating mode with one another, which made me feel better that he felt better or less stressed or wasn’t going to dwell on last night.

"Okay, but let's take the dissemination of information slowly. You think your parents are going to like me," I asked leaning in to suck some sweet tea from the straw in the glass before me.

"I think they'll love you, Liz. I love," he stopped speaking, catching himself before blurting out any more of that train of thought.

I sat back slowly and just stared at him, one brow raised. What did you just about say?!

"You love what Paul," I challenge softly.

"I... you know, like lasagna, and a... long walks on the beach," he offered quickly, trying to smile, but looking uncomfortable.

He was obviously embarrassed. That slip was unexpected, but I felt good that he had maybe slipped a little and that it was done organically, without any pressure or expectation.

He was cute, and I reached across the table, squeezed his hand, and said, "I love lasagna too... Left-over’s might make for a nice dinner."

"You're on!"

"Good... So, let's talk about Tim," I said, all cheery to steer the conversation elsewhere. If we were on for dinner later, we could talk about 'us' then in greater depth.

He looked confused by the redirect, "FBI Tim?"

"Yes. You talked to him recently," I asked.

"Ah, not since last Tuesday," he said, questioning himself. "Yeah, Tuesday. What's up with Tim?"

"I got the impression that everything we've thrown at Jacob still has no legal leg to stand on."

He nodded. "That's how he explained it to me after I told him about the Norton email and the check Janet ran on you."

"So... I think she's dirty, and I called her on it."

"You did what?!"

"I called her last night and told her I suspected her fingerprints were all over Amber's abduction... Not in so many words, but I wanted to hear her squirm."

He looked to still be processing what I had said and shook his head as if worried about something.

"Liz... Let's say she was involved, and... Well, I feel like maybe she is, but reaching out to her? That probably wasn't a good idea."

"I didn't tell her anything she didn't already know. She knows she's being investigated for the ethics hearing. I just asked about Norton and her having me checked out. Why she did it."

"Yeah, and you just asked me about Tim. You told her we turned over this information to the FBI, didn't you, as a bluff to rattle her?" he asked, more concerned now, and his face showed it.

I felt a little embarrassed and could only nod that I had.

"And you don't think some random guy showing up at your door last night wasn't put into motion because of that threat?"

No... That's not possible, is it?

March 21st, 12:31 PM
"Liz...," he began, "I would bet that guy at your door wasn't some random shithead."

"No. That, no...," I tried to reason, shaking my head slowly.

"Really? You level a threat at Janet, and randomly, some guy is at your door trying to kick it in a few hours later. That's no coincidence. Shit, none of the stuff we've found on her possible involvement is without suspicion; I don't care what Jacob says about the legal side of it. She's involved and dirty. Liz, seriously, I think you should stay with me tonight," he said forcefully, and now sounding very worried.

My head was beginning to spin, and I needed a moment of calm to put the pieces in place. I wanted to study what I knew, but I couldn't... I felt chilled and placed both hands on the table to steady myself. The red Acura? Twice while running?

Fuck! Not now... I felt less steady and I grabbed for my purse, fumbled to get it open, fought the pill bottle, and eventually removed a single .25mg Xanax. I tossed the foul-tasting pill in my mouth and got it under my tongue to get the effects of the drug into my system quicker.

"Are you okay?" Paul asked, sounding even more worried. I watched him stand and come to my side.

I nodded, 'No' through a haze I felt blanketing me and a blackening of my peripheral vision.

"Alright, I got you..."

I felt his hands on my shoulder, and he was speaking to someone about getting our order 'To Go’, and he'd be right back. You're leaving me?! I turned to look at him, panicked.

"I'll put you in my car and come back and deal with the food," he said softly. "It’s going to be okay, come on… Slow, I got you."

I felt my body moving and was standing and walking with him. I couldn't breathe. Air?! Breathe... And I blinked a few times, and then we were outside of the restaurant and at his passenger car door. I was seated and the door shut with a thud; my purse was on my lap; my hands had been placed one over the other on top of my purse; and he'd said he would be right back sounding very far way.

When I saw him opening the door to the restaurant, I opened the door and felt a cool gush of wind brush over me. Breathe. I closed my eyes praying I wouldn’t throw up.

"Liz? Liz..."

I felt my shoulder move, and my eyes popped open, trying to find the voice that was speaking to me. I had to look down as Paul was squatting in the open door next to me. He looked worried. Fuck!

"You good?"

"I'm so sorry," I got out just before losing my shit and beginning to cry.

"Whoa!" I felt his arms wrap around me. "Easy... You're safe, all good. I got you."

My body rocked uncontrollably, sobs rolling on like crashing waves, as he just held me.

What have I done?

March 21st, 4:11 PM
We'd made our way back to my place, and half way there, I'd finally gotten this panic attack under control. I contemplated taking another Xanax but held off because I was feeding off of Paul's calm and him distracting me. I don't think he realized how much his being there for me had walked me back from the ledge of a really big cliff. Janet was still on my mind, though, and I did my best to not appear worried or guarded, but I think he knew I was trying to put on a brave face.

Paul helped me pack the suitcase I'd used for the trip to Phoenix with the clothes I would need for the coming work week, since it was decided I would be staying at his place in the short-term. Two separate large plastic bins had various other items, including shoes, makeup, and personal care items. When we were done, my bathroom and closet looked as though I was in the process of moving out. I didn't have much to begin with, so maybe it looked as though I hadn't fully moved in?

As we were on our way to pack my stuff up in his car, we ran into my neighbor, who'd interrupted the idiot at my door this morning, and she asked if I was moving out. Paul told her I was staying with him for a couple days and thanked her for helping out. The exchange ended with her saying something about understanding and that she would keep an eye out for the guy and call the police if he came back. When we were in the car and about to leave I remembered the flowers he'd bought and insisted on getting them. I think he knew they meant something to me by my crazed instance for having them with me.

Now lying on his couch, in his arms, I was finally feeling myself again. I hadn't even considered arguing about staying with him. Getting settled was easier than I thought it would be, and most of my stuff was unpacked and had a place. He’d made room for my clothes in his room, and I tried to be organized about putting things away, but I was running low on desire and just wanted to sit – which led to us snuggling on the couch.

We talked a little about Janet and eventually he said he would reach out to Tim to lay our suspicions out. We were hoping the RCMP investigators would consider looking into a possible Janet link to Lafleur via Vincent at CLogistics. Legally thin, but maybe…

"You need anything?"

"You need to get up," I asked, worried he was going to leave me to go out to the store or run some errand. I need to relax! Good God! He probably just needs to go to…

"Yeah, thirsty... Bathroom break. You want some more water?"

I nodded and moved my body off of him so he could get up. I lay back down after he'd walked out of the living room and wondered what it would be like being here all the time.

March 21st, 8:49 PM
Dinner was good, but I couldn't eat as much lasagna as I had the night before. I had to assure him I was fine multiple times and that I was just tired, which was the truth given the chaos my day had consisted of.

Generally speaking, our conversations were good since I got my head screwed back on after my lunchtime breakdown. He had me laughing more than a few times, which was nice. I insisted on helping with the cleaning up after dinner, and he gave in this time. It might have been the kiss I'd planted on his lips that helped convince him I wouldn't take 'No' for an answer.

We worked out an understanding of how we'd get ready for bed tonight and what the morning needed to look like. I was obviously the one needing more time to get ready on both ends of getting into bed and out of his townhouse for work. There was no awkward posturing or awkwardness when it came to our sleeping arrangements. I was happy about that because I really didn’t want to sleep alone and being with him is where I wanted to be tonight anyway.

I'd gotten up from the couch about an hour ago. Teeth brushed, showered, and legs shaved. I'd wash my hair in the morning, so all I needed to focus on was my nighttime skin care routine. I had just started applying lotion to my legs when I noticed Paul coming into the bedroom. When he saw me, he smiled.

"Damn those legs," he said, coming up behind me to wrap his arms around me.

"Too long, too skinny," I said, leaning back into his embrace and watching his face in the mirror next to mine.

He kissed my neck saying, "I'd argue that and win."

I turned to face him and said, "Oh, really? Which of us has more legal training?"

"I doubt in court you'd stand much of a chance," he said, kissing me.

His lips were tenderly over mine, our tongues slowly exploring, his hands making their way to my ass. I was wearing only an oversized t-shirt, and while it hung just below my ass cheeks, his hands wasted no time getting around the bottom of it and onto skin. I broke the kiss and studied his face; his hands hadn't moved. Was he reading my mind? Did he know I wanted him?

"Go shower... Come to bed," I said, kissing him quickly. "I need to finish up here. No need to rush; I'm not going anywhere."

He smiled, said something about how it would be hard to not rush, and grudgingly let me go to get his shower in.

March 21st, 9:23 p.m.
Paul opened the bathroom door to a darkened bedroom and was holding his towel in front of him, while patting his face dry. The look on his face when he finished said he was anxious to join me. He turned back to the bathroom to lay the towel over a rack, giving me a view of his very nice ass. Thank you very much for that! When he finished that and turned the light off; the room was now very dark. I heard a noise, saw a shadow moving, and a moment later felt him climb onto the bed, to slide under the sheets, and sidle up next to me.

I rolled away slowly so we could spoon, and once he'd adjusted for his arousal, his body was against mine perfectly and his cock sat comfortably between my legs. His arms were around me; there was a single kiss at my neck and a single slow grind of his hips into mine, which got a return push back of my hips in kind. Yes, that's what I'm thinking, Mr. Kline...

"I'm happy to just lay here with you," he whispered.

"If that's all you want, I... I might be disappointed," I said softly.

There was a moment when neither of us took a breath. He moved first, pulling my shirt up slowly, and I got the message that it needed to go. After a little bit of squirming, which hadn't dislodged his manhood from between my upper thighs, I got the t-shirt off. His hands found their way to my chest, cupping my breasts, and I stiffened, stifling a moan as his tongue traced a path to the back of my right ear and his lips pulled on the lobe. His fingers tugged at the nipple of my...

Oh, fuck! Ooooh fughk... I felt as if the whole bed had moved and jiggled slowly under us, though I knew it hadn't.

I reached between my legs, and my fingers could feel the head of his cock had found its way through the lube I'd applied down there before getting into bed. His body stiffened as I moved a single finger over the tip, tracing around the slickness of its fully engorged helmet and dribbled pre-cum. I moved the entirety of his cock between my thighs lower, then back up towards my ass. He pulled his hips back, and his cock was removed from my finger tips, but he slid it slowly back towards them, and I guided him up and towards...

He was frozen, but I encouraged my want by shifting my hips back into his. His right hand moved from my breast to my ass, pulling my ass cheeks a little wider open; he moved his hips slightly; and his cock was now firmly and pensively positioned at the tight rosebud opening.

I wanted him inside of me and tried again to encourage him to push himself into... Wait, he was waiting; why? I tried to relax, knowing there would be a few moments of pain and a need to relax, but I wanted...

And as if out of my body and my mind, I said, "I want you, Paul."

"I want you too,” was the reply I got in the darkened room whispered in my ear.

March 22nd, 7:09 a.m.
I was sitting, a little gingerly, at the dining room table, eating a piece of toast, while Paul was finishing up getting ready for work. My mind had been solidly focused on us and last night as I got ready for work this morning. We hadn't talk afterward we’d exhausted our collective wants for each other, instead we just held each other until we'd both succumbed to sleep. It was one of the most contented night’s sleeps I'd had in years.

I'd talked to Lisa about what I'd experienced the first time Paul and I had sex, skipping any crazy details but sharing enough to maybe get an explanation as to whether those feelings I’d had were normal since they weren’t like anything I’d experienced ever before. She was quick to say she knew what had happened. I was like, ‘Really?’, to which she proceeded to congratulate me on having my first big 'O' as a woman.

“You know, orgasm, climax, getting to the promise land!” she’d said happily, giggling all the while as I complained for her to stop and that someone might hear her since we were on our way to coffee.

I understood what she was saying certainly, but was having trouble believing that’s what had happened. At least until it happened again last night and was even better!

Of course she couldn’t stop razzing me the entire coffee run we’d be on when I asked about what I’d experienced. Some of her razzing was hilarious and delivered in a full-on typical Lisa manner, dripping with sexual innuendos I could only roll my eyes about while she expounded on some of what I’d experienced. For a few days after we'd talked, I’d catch her with an open mouth in an 'O' expression or holding her hands together in the shape of an 'O' every time we saw each other at work. Luckily, she dropped it after a couple days, but I'm sure it wouldn't be the last time I'd get that treatment from her.

Would she be able to tell I had a 'glow' today? I felt like I was glowing.

Were those feelings I had last night really an orgasm? I remember sensing something and feeling different, and my body absolutely being rocked last night. I was certain something was different last night for me, even without having any ejaculation to speak of like before I’d begun HRT. Something deeper and more powerful had rolled on and over me, and I was a feeling I wanted to capture that again and again.

Was this some kind of HRT benefit? If so, I would take it if it could be that every time we were in the throes of passion, I thought while smiling.

"Morning... You're smiling; I can't say I haven't had a few of those this morning."

Momentarily embarrassed, I got up and met Paul at the coffee maker, took his face in my hands, and kissed him softly, but with purpose. I could get used to this, being here with him.

"You make me smile... Thank you," I said.

"You're welcome. I'm glad I have that effect on you," he chuckled, turning to pour a cup of coffee.

"You've had quite the effect on me, Mr. Kline."

I carefully hugged him from behind as he set the cup down and turned to study me.

"Everything okay?"

"Absolutely... It couldn't be better."

March 22nd, 9:33 AM
We'd gotten to work with a couple minutes to spare, and after getting off the elevator on our floor, Paul and I went our separate ways. He had a busy day with interviews for the CIO position, his replacement, and a bunch of other techno babble he tried to lay on me on the way to work that I tuned out. He was pretty cute, though, and I did try to listen like I cared. I’m pretty sure he knew I didn't.

The kiss before we got out of his car in the garage brought smiles to both our faces. I think some of my smiling was because I knew we'd be going home together, so I had something to look forward to all day. No sooner had I entered my office than my phone started ringing—it was Gina Barnes, and judging by her tone and desire to see me immediately, my 'couldn't be better' morning was about to become a steaming pile of excrement.

In her office, she was composed and her usual cold self. By now, though, I'd figured that was her standard mode of operation, but when she began the dumping of her issues, it came quick and hard and was going to be painful for my team and ultimately me.

Her first issue, the Johnson Trucking LLC case, had gone to appeal, and was settled out of court. The ultimate ruling exonerated Johnson Tucking LLC of violating state campaign contribution laws. They did plead to a lesser infraction, but the center piece case she was relying on did nothing for the ethics case we were building with this cases new disposition. This case was the one that Gina had put a lot of emphasis on in her brief, and we were now going to be scrambling to strengthen the Bentley and Cambers case points as they related to Janet and Martin's ethical violations.

If that wasn't enough to ruin the morning, the hearing had been moved up to this Thursday, and the venue had been changed to an appellate court conference room. That wasn't that big of a deal for Gina, but the reassignment of the mediating party from a retired judge neither side had ties to, to a retired state supreme court judge who had ties to Janet was going to be a problem. Gina had a call into the state bar to find out how, why, and when these changes were made and to let them know of the possible bias or conflict of interest. To say she was pissed would be an understatement.

But the worst piece of news delivered in this meeting was that I was to assist Gina in the actual proceedings. I'd be a glorified paper pusher, but I would be there in the same room as Janet and Martin as Gina tried to screw them in this ethics hearing. She caught the concerned look on my face while belaying her desire that I assist.

"Is there an issue with that request?" she asked, annoyed.

Fuck!

"No, Mrs. Barnes, I'm..."

I stopped speaking when she stood, then walked around her desk to lean against it, just to the right of the seat I was in. She had used this 'power move' on me when I got this assignment, and while intimidating, I was used to her doing scary Gina things like this by now. I sat back and waited for the barking to begin.

"To this point, Elizabeth, I have been quite impressed with your team's efforts, even with the setback with the Johnson Trucking case. I am, however, wondering why you have issues with assisting me in the hearing against Janet and Martin. Help me understand your reservations," she asked none too gently.

"I have no problems assisting Mrs. Barnes," was my hushed reply. Think!

"But there 'is' something, some problem I'm not aware of, correct?"

Fuck! I was done hiding crap, and I trusted her allegiance to Jacob and to the firm. She was his pit bull in court, for God's sake, and I was just fodder to be easily chewed through and spit out as a lowly paralegal. Here goes nothing!

I spent the next eight minutes describing at a high level my involvement with investigating Amber's disappearance and left her with enough sprinkled 'coincidences' to say I thought Janet may have been involved.

"I was not aware you were that involved in retrieving Amber. I apologize for doubting your commitment, Elizabeth."

I was a little taken aback, shocked by the apology.

"Thank you, I... I value my job and the opportunity given to me by the firm. I would be happy to assist you at the ethics hearing."

She smiled, and then chuckled. "Happy might be an overreach, but I think this experience will be good for you. Plus, I fully intend to screw both of them; even with what I'm certain was Janet's meddling to getting someone at the state bar to make concessions for her regarding the hearing."

::: --- :::

Don't be afraid to click the "Kudos" (Thumbs Up) icon for this short story if it's done anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so, and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter (I’d have bot’ed that bitch long ago if there was)). If you comment, I will reply, so let’s chat or not or whatever floats your noddle.

If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected]) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

Rachel M. Moore

Last Updated: 3/28/2024 Last of the additional chapters written for this story.

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March 22nd, 8:13 PM
The day had gone by in a blur, and I was mentally drained but happy to be heading home with Paul rather than back to my place on the bus. Getting out of work two hours earlier than I expected was certainly a bonus, though I'd fully expected another 9 p.m. exit given the prep Gina and I needed to get done before Thursday. Gina had knocked off at 7 PM due to needing to attend a family function and told me to wrap it up also; she didn't get any arguments from me!

She and I had been pretty much attached at the hip all day except for bathroom breaks. Gina ordered lunch in for us, which was a relief because I hadn't packed anything to bring after staying at Paul's last night. We ate in silence, not even talking about something as generic as the weather, before we were back to work. I felt like I’d been a prisoner most of the day in her office. And as usual, she was tough, stern, and prickly, but I admitted to Paul as we made our way out of the Seattle, I was actually learning a lot.

As a mentor, and I doubt she knew I saw her that way, she was very good about explaining her thought process for solving the legal challenges of this ethics case. I told Paul I could see why Jacob put so much trust in her. She was still a bit scary to me, but I was getting used to her gruffness.

On the way home, we stopped for dinner at a teriyaki restaurant down the street from Paul’s place. I got spicy chicken teriyaki, and he ordered Kung Po chicken with spicy crispy noodles. I might have insisted on sharing after he offered me a taste. He was a good sport about it, and I might have eaten more of his meal than my own, which was decent, but his Kung Po with those spicy noodles! Lordy! It was so damn good, or maybe I was just really hungry?!

I did have another hunger I was hoping he'd help satisfy. Let’s call that dessert, I thought smiling, taking a quick peek in his direction as he drove the last block.

"You going to want to go out for a run tonight," he asked as we were turning onto the street he lived.

"I should, but I'm..."

"Oh crap," he interrupted me, the concern heavy in his voice.

He'd startled me, and my head snapped back towards him.

"What! What is it?!" I couldn't see anything on the road or...

"Look, ah... That's my mom's car in my driveway." He said as he pulled over to the curb about half way down the block from his townhouse.

"Your mom?!" I barked with more force in the ask than intended.

He was looking at me, "I was not expecting her to be here. My dad might even be with her, I’m not sure."

He sounded even more concerned now and I didn't know what to say, so just stared at him blankly. This is not what I wanted to be doing tonight after a brutal day mentally, and my mind resigned to a long hot shower, maybe a little extracurricular activity, and crashing hard to do it all over again tomorrow.

And besides that, his mom and possibly his dad might be in his townhouse?!! No, not what I wanted to be dealing with right now!

"This is unplanned, right? Like, do they drop in often without warning?" I know I sounded like I was complaining, but I was really beginning to feel panicky. Then I thought what if I had been here alone and they had come over and just walked in?

"Liz, I did not ask her to come over. If she's here, she's just checking up on me or dropping something off."

"Like what, your laundry?" I asked, trying to chuckle and make light of what I'd quipped.

"Of course not! I have no idea what she's doing here. This is a complete and total surprise to me too. I can't even fathom what or why she'd be here right now."

"They have a key to your place?" I asked and realized how stupid that question was.

"Yeah, but it's not like they drop in unannounced or barge in very often," he said, chuckling.

"Very often?" I asked, concerned.

"Look, stay here; I'll walk up and see what's up," he finally said, a little exasperated that this was happening.

"And if they don't see your car? Then what?"

"Shit... Okay, good point; I'll just call her," he said, reaching for his phone.

Ah!

"Just go... I was bound to meet them sooner or later, right?" I wasn't too sure I should have asked that question, and it seemed to hang longer out there than I thought it should.

Paul took my hand, "Of course, but this wasn't how I envisioned that happening."

Nice save, I thought.

"Promise me, this is a quick, 'Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Kline, I'm Elizabeth, and I work with Paul' kind of meeting. Promise me," I pleaded.

"I promise..."

March 22nd, 8:22 PM
The introductions were pleasant but awkward for all parties loitering in Paul's living room after we’d entered through his garage. His parents were a bit embarrassed to be there unannounced; though his mom said she'd texted Paul they were stopping by. He told her he hadn't gotten any text messages from her, so she checked and showed us she'd typed it out, but forgot to hit send.

Of course, Paul and I were doing our best to make it look like their being here wasn't a big deal and we had nothing to hide—like the fact I was staying with him or maybe we were an item. That last point might be kind of a gray area yet, but after last night, I had better be considered more than a fling! Augh!

According to his dad, they'd just come over to drop something off and were just leaving. His mom piped up to expand on that, saying they were here to drop off a book of family recipes she had compiled for Paul and got the idea for that after he'd ask for his Nana's lasagna recipe. We watched her go to the kitchen to retrieve it, and she proudly handed it to Paul.

He flipped a few pages with her looking over his shoulder, and she commented about the various recipes, pointing out tips she'd written in the margins. It was all very sweet, and I could see the love she poured into the book, her son, and maybe more impressively, his love for his mom. They hugged, and she returned to her husband's side after a couple minutes of page flipping.

She was certainly excited about this compilation of recipes, getting them compiled, notated, and the book completed. She apologized for wanting to deliver it tonight, saying again that she thought she'd texted that they were coming by and how embarrassed she was. She added that she was not tech-savvy in the slightest, which got a round of polite chuckles from everyone. She assured me they didn't just 'pop in' unannounced and that they weren't overbearing nosy parents or whatever.

All that came out as a rambling run-on sentence, and Paul's dad, Adam, had to slow her roll—politely, but with enough oomph—to get her rambling under control.

To his credit, Paul did his best to keep her in check too, right up until his dad asked to borrow back a tool Paul had borrowed from him. I watched in horror as the men walked out to the garage without giving his mom or me a second thought! I was barely able to contain my shock that Paul was leaving me alone with his mother! What the...

"We're really sorry to have intruded on you two tonight, Elizabeth," his mom said after the door to the garage clunked shut.

"Oh, that's alright. We'd just come back to pick something up, and Paul was going to run me home."

It was a lie, but what was I supposed to say? 'We're about to jump into bed together because I'm staying here temporarily?'

"Where do you live?" she asked.

"In Kent, an apartment on the east hill, nothing fancy," I squeaked, trying to sound confident but likely failing miserably. I heard a clanging noise coming from the garage and hoped that meant the men were soon to return. It had only been fifteen, twenty seconds, so that hope was likely unrealistic.

"He seems," she stopped speaking, studying my face, "Happier of late. I hope that's because of you."

I felt my throat tighten and my chest constricting. Where was this going?! Is this the beginning of an interrogation or grilling? Where the hell was Paul? I tried my best to smile and replied, "I'm... I really like your son, Mrs. Kline."

"Melissa, please. Mrs. Kline sounds so formal," she said soothingly. "She really did a number on him; I'm glad to see he's finally able to put that behind him."

Okay, this wasn't in the scope of how I thought this evening was going to go and certainly not where I thought any conversation between Paul's mom, Melissa, and I was going to take shape. I'd just met the woman, and she was bringing up Paul's ex-wife?! Paul was out of earshot for 35 seconds, and she's laying that on me?!

"I'm," I tried to organize a response, "We really just work together, and..."

She stepped closer to me and put a hand on my shoulder as voices from the garage got louder. "He's told me about you and how happy you make..."

The door to the garage was opening and Paul and his dad, seeing us standing there as we were, stopped talking to try to understand what might have been going on since they’d left us alone. Adam spoke first, saying to his wife they needed to get going, thanking Paul for the return of whatever tool he was holding, and ending that by saying it was nice to meet me. His mom got in line quickly with the exit protocol he'd just implemented, saying it was nice meeting me too and even gave me a little kiss on the cheek, which shocked me and Paul, judging by the look on his face.

Paul walked them out after that, and I just stood there alone in the living room, baffled by what had transpired over the last couple of minutes.

March 22nd, 8:39 p.m.
"Well, that went better than I expected," Paul said as he came back in through the garage.

I could only stare at him. Was he crazy?! Seriously, 'Better than I expected'?!! Did he not think his mom was going to grill me or whatever that was?! What had he told her about me?

When I didn't say anything, he looked worried and asked, "Are you okay?"

"How much have you told your mom about me?" I asked. My tone was borderline challenging; there was an edge to it, and I felt bad for not being able to control myself.

"Nothing really... I told you, she grilled me when I asked about the lasagna recipe. All I said was that I'd met someone, and it was going really well. Nothing else, nothing, and I mean that. I promise," he said, looking uncomfortable.

Paul hadn't told me much about his ex-wife, and I didn't want to rehash the little he had told me or pass on that his mom had made it sound like there was a lot worse that went on between them prior to the divorce. Had he really moved on? Did I make him happy?

"Liz?"

Shit!

"I believe you... Your mom was very sweet; she loves you, and I love that you've got that kind of relationship with your parents."

"But?" he asked, knowing there was probably some other concern I had yet to spit out.

"No but... I mean, this, us... It's new, and we're." I stopped speaking as he came over to me and put his hands on my hips. "This is good, right?" I asked.

He smiled and said, "Yes, it's very good, and I'm very happy. What did my mom say something about me being 'happier' lately?"

I nodded, she had.

"Well, I can't help she picked up on that. She knows me; she's seen me in a darkened state for a while, and well, she's a mom, and it's her job to worry. I'm fine though; I know what I want, and I want to be happy with someone who makes me happy."

He was watching for a reaction, but I could barely breathe. Slowly, his lips were on mine, and the kiss was what I needed to feel, as though everything he'd said had come from his heart. He was happy; I made him happy, and I couldn't be happier with that.

March 22nd, 10:02 PM
It was late, but something had clicked and comfortably seated itself between us tonight. More than likely an understanding and a deep assurance that whatever we were doing together was viable and this relationship was meaningful. I didn’t think I’d misread what he’d told me, which was he wanted this to grow into something to be cherished—to be something more.

I couldn’t get his mom's words from replaying in my head about how Paul seemed: 'happier of late'. With as much crazy as I brought to the table I wondered if that would last. Could I ever just be a normal woman? With Paul by my side I’d bet I could…

Much as last night had gone, after all my various routines for getting ready for bed were completed, I was in bed first again, but this time completely naked. Paul exited the bathroom wearing only a towel and a smile, maybe ten minutes after entering to take a shower. I could see that smile in my mind even after he turned the light off and joined me in bed.

Tonight there was a difference—a mutual urgency to give of ourselves to the other and greedily take that which we desired in return. There was no slow spooning and gently working into the union of our bodies as last night had started. Instead, as soon as Paul had slid under the sheets, I was pulling him on top of me, spreading my legs in acceptance of his position, and stating my want through a kiss that was pure undeniably lust driven. I felt starved for the passions I’d experienced last night and was anxious to feel those sensations build and move me again to my core.

When he broke our kiss and his lips found my breast I shuddered.

"Paul..." I whispered.

He stopped for a moment to look up at me in the darkened room; he resumed what he had been doing slowly, glacially, and I began to squirm beneath him.
.
"Paul..." I ventured again softly. I wanted him to know I was...

He replied softly, "I know..."

Did he? Did he know I was happy, I was his, and I wanted him?

March 25th, 11:18 AM
Up until this point, my week could be classified as 'rinse, wash, and repeat'. I would absolutely describe work that way, but add in late nights of preparation with Gina to that laundry list. Tuesday night we knocked off at 9:30 PM, and last night it was just after 10 PM when she declared we were ready for today’s hearing.

The last two nights, I'd told Paul to go home and ended up taking an Uber to his place. Gina approved the expense, which I was thankful for since it meant I didn't have to endure an hour-long commute on public transportation to get within a couple blocks of Paul's townhouse.

Gina and I were now in the conference room at the appellate courthouse for the ethics hearing, sitting across from Janet and Martin. I felt a little nervous and anxious, but things were under control due to the Xanax I'd taken before Gina and I left the office. Paul wished us luck, while I prayed we had enough to screw them both over good.

Janet had barely looked at me as she arrived and sat opposite us. Martin, on the other hand, had stared, but he was an odd man anyway. I just ignored his gaze, but began to wonder if he was staring because he knew about my past. Had he seen my... FUCKING LEAVE IT! Don't go there, focus! Screw them both – that’s the mandate! We're here to bury them in ethics violations that should hurt their careers going forward!

Martin eventually gave up ogling me and got into a quiet sidebar with Janet just before the presiding State Bar Association representative called the proceedings to order. This wasn't a legal court case, but the implications could be huge for them both, depending on this guy's ruling. They could lose their licenses to practice; there could be fines; and I knew Gina was gunning for the worst-case scenario for both of them. While it didn't appear the two sitting across from us were taking this lightly, something felt off, and I just couldn't put my finger on it.

After introductions and the laying of ground rules were done by the retired State Supreme Court Judge, Walter Milton, Gina was given the green light to begin, which required that I pass out documents detailing the scope of the firm's ethics case against Janet and Martin, including all the reference material she’d be citing and the evidence of wrongdoing—everyone got an inch-thick binder. We were loaded and ready!

Everyone appeared to be looking at the information as Gina began her introduction of the six ethics violations we were accusing them of while employed at Brandt, Wentz, and Larson. She hadn't said two-hundred words when Martin raised his hand.

"I'd like to skip some of this posturing preamble, Mrs. Barnes, and ask for an expedited ruling based on one count of failure to declare a political contribution I did not know was in excess of state-defined maximums. These other items are frivolous and outright insulting. I expected you'd know better than to go tabloid legal here today."

No sooner had he said that, Janet recited nearly the exact same line as Martin had—minus the 'posturing' and 'tabloid' digs.

Gina wasn't fazed by any of it and was quick to object: "I believe we have more than the financial contribution issue on the table. I'm happy to let this information become public knowledge or supply it to the tabloids of your choice, Mr. Brandt."

Milton shut the barbs down and asked for a moment to review our list of claimed violations. He flipped several pages back and forth in the binder, closed it three minutes later, and said, "I am quite familiar with the points you're trying to make in your presentation Mrs. Barnes, and while I've only skimmed your supporting documentation, I'm inclined to consider Mr. Brandt and Ms. Larson's requests for the benefit of all parties concerned in this matter."

It felt as though the air had been sucked out of the room! Gina began to protest, but Milton cut her off.

"My ruling is for a thirty-day suspension of each of your licenses, a fine of $10,000, and forty hours of legal counseling to be provided to residents in underserved or impoverished communities when your licenses are reinstated. Thank you for your efforts, Mrs. Barnes; this hearing is adjourned."

What the fuck just happened?! I looked at Gina; she smiled, picked up her phone, and looked to be texting someone.

"Are we done?" I asked quietly. I noticed Janet and Martin had pushed their chairs back and were gathering up their briefcases.

Gina was smiling at me. Okay, something is very wrong. There was a knock on the conference door, followed by its opening and a man's head poking through the door. Oh shit! I recognized him…
.
"Ms. Larson," he asked, speaking in Janet's direction.

She acknowledged him, and he entered the room, followed by two other people. He posted up in front of Janet, pulling his leather-bound credentials from his pocket and showing them to her. By the look on her face, she had no idea who this man was or what he was doing here.

"Ms. Larson, I'm Special Agent Timothy Warren of the FBI on loan to the Seattle office via Phoenix. This is Inspector Carlton Hale of the RCMP and Belinda Compton from the Criminal Intelligence Service Canada. We'd like to speak with you for a moment if you don't mind."

Janet looked pale, and any smug look she might have had while gathering her things up was now long gone. Martin looked uncomfortable, but since he wasn't spoken to, he figured he wasn't who any of these people wanted and proceeded to walk around the small group and exit the conference room. Former State Supreme Court Judge Milton also didn't waste any time packing up and heading toward the door either.

Who wasn't in a hurry to get out of the room? Gina... She was packing up her materials into her briefcase slowly, smiling even more broadly while doing so, and watching the group gathered in front of Janet with glee. I was supremely confused, but I did my best to just pack up the items we had brought and try to stay out of the line of fire.

"I'm not sure I have time for this right now, Special Agent," Janet started to say.

"I apologize for that, but both Inspector Hale and CISC Compton have made the trip down from Vancouver to specifically meet with you. You certainly don't have to speak with us without representation," he said, interrupting her, "But I could escalate this inquiry and do have the authority to detain you. Since your meeting appears to be over and likely sooner than the opposing council expected, you might want to reconsider my request."

It took a full minute for her to reply.

"Alright, and what is this in regards to?"

Tim looked over at Gina and me and said, "I'll get into that in a moment; let's wait for the room to clear."

March 25th, 11:52 AM
I'd pulled the conference room door shut, and when I turned around, Gina was already a few steps down the hall. I quickly caught up to her as she got to the elevator and pressed the down button.

She turned to look at me and said, "That felt good."

"But... they barely got a slap on the wrist. And all that work we did," I complained.

"Rule one for any case; never under-prepare. You do that, and you are screwed. We prepared for war, and what the State Bar Association sent was an inside man for both Janet and Martin set on making a mockery of the judicial system in this state. He basically made this a water balloon fight, not a legal proceeding."

She paused to think about something and then continued, "I got a call from a friend this morning, and they pretty much told me what was coming. So, while I'm pissed, there's not much I can do about it. The ruling is the ruling, and it's not without consequences for either of them. I'll be filing a grievance against that idiot who oversaw this hearing, and hopefully he doesn't get to pull this shit with another lawyer's review in the future. Who knows, maybe this becomes a news item later today," she finished with a wolfish grin.

I knew there was no appeal process, but I was still pissed.

"All that work we did!" I chirped louder than I expected.

"Let it go... Did you learn anything?" she asked.

"Of course I did, and I'm... I want to thank you for the opportunity and…"

"For being a first class bitch," she said, smiling as the elevator door opened and she entered.

I watched her enter and just stood there shocked she’d said that. As the doors started to close, my brain engaged, and I scooted in, which caused them to reopen momentarily.

I looked at her and said, "No, you're tough, you've got high expectations, and you're damn good at what you do. You're the type of strong woman I want to be."

She cocked her head at me, the smile fading a little.

"Let's put a pin in that idea for later."

"Okay," I replied, now thoroughly confused. Then it hit me—the text message—she knew! She knew more about the investigation into Amber; she knew Tim was...

"Jacob and Paul set that up," she said as if knowing exactly what I was thinking.

"But... Jacob had said all along that there wasn't enough evidence we'd found to even shine a light on her."

"There wasn't, until the FBI looked into an international bank transfer to Vincent Jones of CLogistic’s from Janet. They could do that without probable cause or a warrant given the beefed-up terrorism laws since 9/11, especially with money flowing in and out of countries that paid for 9/11. It was enough of a hook to convince the RCMP and their version of the FBI to play ball. I guess Jones may have incriminated Janet; that's my guess as to why they are here."

I'm sure my mouth flopped open, and try as I might I couldn’t speak. Then it hit me - Paul! Why hadn't he said anything to me about this!? All he'd said was that he had talked to Tim last week...

March 25th, 1:52 PM
"Hey..."

I looked up to see Paul standing in my office doorway and just stared at him. I had gone looking for him when Gina and I returned to the office, but he was interviewing a candidate for the firm's CIO position. Then it was lunch time, and Lisa wanted to know how the ethics case panned out, so we got lunch and ended up talking more about Paul and me than the case. Go figure!

I got busy after lunch and hadn't gone looking for him, but I had questions, and he was going to come clean! He knew stuff I wasn’t privy too and I was going to get that out of him today!

When I didn't immediately say anything, he came in and shut the door, walked to the corner of my desk and sat.

"Look, I couldn't say anything about this morning. I told Tim you'd confronted Janet, and then 'by chance' some idiot tried kicking your door down later that night. He asked me not to say anything about today. It was killing me. But look, here's what I know: they dug and found a possible link to Janet and Lafleur via Vincent Jones. From what I understand, Jones couldn't speak fast enough to avoid legal troubles. Oh, and I didn't even know this was for sure coming until yesterday. So it's not like I've been hiding information from you for very long... I'm sorry."

I wasn't sure I liked that excuse, but I was a realist, and I got it. He was trying to protect me, and...

He reached out a hand and asked, "Still friends?"

I studied his face.

"Is that all we are?"

His hand dropped, and a hurt look overtook his face.

"No, Jesus, no!" He looked behind him towards the glass wall that enclosed my office, then back at me. "Weren't you that amazing, sexy woman in bed with me last night?"

I smiled, and his hand popped back up, the hurt gone from his face and eyes. I took it, we shook, and he kissed my hand before letting it go.

"Much better... I heard the ethics case was screwed from the beginning anyway with whom they assigned to mediate."

"Yeah, Gina sort of knew that going in, I guess. I'm not a fan of being kept in the dark; are you hearing me?"

"Gotcha... After today, if I know something, you'll know it. I feel bad for you both; you poured a lot of effort into that. I'm sure people noticed."

"Yeah, I'd have liked Gina to have been given a fair shot at screwing Janet. The Tim thing was a pretty nice ending too, though," I said, smiling. "Has he given any indication where it might lead?"

"Full disclosure?"

I snapped his knee and he barked a complaint, acting as if I'd injured him, but he was smiling the whole time.

"It kind of depends whether they can make any connection stick. She could certainly say she doesn't know what they are talking about; say the money she transferred was for hockey tickets or whatever. Jones admitted to a crypto transfer of the money to Lafleur. Oh, and he's got an alibi for when they think Lafleur was murdered, so that’s yet to be figured out. Tim said the trail runs cold there, but the Canadians are looking into an organized crime link for the possible sex trafficking of Amber. Wonder where that idea came from?" he said, smiling.

I'm sure I was blushing a little. Then I thought about Janet: "She was so calculating, you know?"

"I think maybe she wanted to be removed from the dirty details and just didn't remember the terrorism thing giving away her possible involvement. She should have made a crypto payment to either Jones or directly to Lafleur. They'd never have been able to make a connection, even with Jones singing. What they have is probably thin on her right now... Time will tell, though with the Canadian’s investigating it from their side and likely Tim digging into it more they might be able to pin something on her."

I studied him for a few seconds. I didn't want to think about Janet, Amber, or anyone else, for that matter.

"You find your replacement," I asked, half dreading the answer.

"Actually, I did," he said happily. "Guy has a ton of experience and is all about transparency, protecting the firm, clients, and sensitive information. I think Jacob likes him. Finding someone with skill was my assignment and they’re going to make an offer to him tomorrow, pending a background check."

I made a face and said, "As long as I'm not the one being checked out."

"I wouldn't mind checking you out if you're up to it later," he chuckled.

"Might be worth...," I caught the time and panicked. "Crap, I'm supposed to be in a meeting with Gina in three minutes!"

I stood, grabbed my usual bundle of supplies, the ethics folder, which I assumed this meeting was going to be about—maybe a shut-down or lessons learned kind of thing. I wanted to give Paul a kiss but settled for a quick squeeze of his leg, getting a knowing smile in return.

He had a 'look' on his face, though. I'd have stayed to question him what was up, but I didn't do LATE!

March 25th, 1:59 PM
I was later than I'd intended to report for my meeting with Gina. When I rounded the corner to where her office was, I could see her door was open. I hoped she wasn't in there and that maybe she’d gone for a bathroom break before we dove into whatever it was we were going to be doing? Then she'd come back, and I'd be standing there, appearing to be early.

Wishful thinking! As I got closer to her office, I could see she wasn't alone. Jacob was talking to her and stopped speaking as she waved me in. I hadn't seen Jacob, let alone spoken to him, since Paul had spilled a reportedly G-rated version of my past life to him. I was instantly on edge. Augh...

"Hello Elizabeth. I was just going over the ethics case with Gina. It sounds like your team produced some excellent supporting data," Jacob said politely.

He wasn't looking at me any differently than all the other times we'd spoken—that meant something, right?

"Thank you, Mr. Wentz... It would have been nice to get a fair shot at presenting our case this morning," I replied, trying to keep my nerves from showing through.

"That's our Bar Association for you," he chuckled, and then looked towards Gina. "I think her being confronted by the FBI was a nice ending to that farce of a hearing."

Gina was smiling back at him. I hoped her mood held when it came to whatever I was doing after Jacob left us.

"I'll leave it to you to get things implemented," he said to Gina. "Thank you, thank you both, for all your efforts.”

He saw himself out after saying that, closing the door behind him. Gina waved me to a chair and jumped right in after I was seated. I had my pen and paper ready to go.

"Let's discuss that 'pin' I'd mentioned in the elevator as we were leaving court."

I knew what 'pin' she was talking about; I just wasn't sure what it had to do with my statement about her being a strong woman. I nodded, and she continued.

"I've worked for Jacob for seventeen years. He's not only a competent litigator, but someone I trust completely - unlike his former partners Janet or Martin." She let that sink in a moment and could see I'd caught the inference—‘former' partners.

"As of thirty minutes ago, both former partners agreed verbally to the purchase of their interests in the firm. Last week Jacob asked if I would be interested in becoming a partner, and I accepted." She thought for a moment, "This, of course, is sensitive information still and not for dissemination beyond this office. By the end of the month it’ll be old news and I hope received well."

"I understand, Mrs. Barnes... And congratulations, I'm excited for you and for the firm's future."

My mind was absolutely reeling, though. I was happy to be rid of Janet and Martin and, oddly, excited for Gina. She was...

"I didn't get to where I am today by taking 'No' for an answer or letting someone detour me from my intended career goals. My priorities are my family, this firm, and the clients I represent. It would have been much easier to roll over and take the easy way out over the years. Men, society, and workplaces tend to like women who fall in line. I'm wired differently, and it's rubbed people wrong over the years. I always knew what I wanted; I had the drive and the passion to succeed through whatever was thrown at me. Those I work with and that I want to work with tend to have that same drive."

I nodded. I understood.

"You mentioned in the elevator that I'm tough and have high expectations. You're correct. I know my reputation for chewing through Para's and junior lawyers within the firm. And I'm going to tell you that anyone who works for me either raises their game or cries foul and runs for the exit. That's their choice; I'm not their mother or babysitter, and my end goal or beliefs in what I do or can accomplish won't be denied or slowed by those that can't pull their weight. I will not apologize for what I do and do well for this firm to anyone, including Jacob, though we'd talk through my being difficult civilly and have several times over the years."

Fuck! Where is this going? Is she about to tell me I didn't measure up?! The last thing Jacob said was to get 'things implemented'. Had I screwed something up and not kept up with her wants? Had they, the new managing partners, considered my past as a problem moving forward for the firm?

"Is there a question?" she asked, seeing I was trying to keep up.

Huh? Questions? Yeah! Like a hundred of them! Okay, get a fucking grip! Push back!

"I, I'm just trying to understand the direction of this meeting, Mrs. Barnes." I could feel my hands going numb and cold; could she tell?

"Excellent question, Elizabeth. Let's 'pin' that for a moment. I'd like to ask you a question first. Do you believe you are, as you described me, a strong and tough woman?"

What the hell?! Was I now an issue for the firm because I was a Trans woman? Where was she going with this line of questioning? What do I say?

"Mrs. Barnes, I realize you might not know that much about someone being..." I stopped speaking because she'd raised her hand.

"It's a simple question; please don't over think it," she stated, almost as if she were challenging me to think past being Trans or being Trans was an issue.

I felt a pulse of anger, followed by fear, and tried to shake it off as best I could before stating, "Yes, I believe I'm a woman."

"Not the question I asked. I think you're most definitely a woman, but I want to know if you're hardened in your belief that you belong here and if you are both strong-willed and tough. That you can do any job thrown at you and manage expectations that may not seem realistic in the scope of an assignment with the same energy you put into the ethics case we just wrapped up?"

The fuck!? Was that a partial compliment?! A kick of adrenaline shot through me, and I sat up a little straighter, looked her square in the eyes, and said, "There is no job or task you could give me that I won't complete... And yes, I'm a strong and tough woman, but I'm still learning my way."

And for the first time since entering her office—since being assigned to work with her on the ethics case—I felt like I'd exuded enough confidence to match hers.

"That's what I was hoping you would say. All pins and cards on the table—three of the staff members working for Martin on the Port of Seattle Union representation team will be let go at the end of business today," she paused to see if I had any reaction, which I didn't, so she continued.

"I'll be taking on the roll of lead council for their legal representation, and that will span everything from contract negations to labor and industry claims to a whole host of legal minutia that's not relevant at this moment. Six of the firm's lawyers will be solely focused on that arm of our business. And as I get my head around where we're at to keep this contract, there's a lot of work we need to do, a few messes to clean up, and we're going to be very busy over the next couple months heading into their contract negotiations with the city."

"I understand, Mrs. Barnes; how can I help?"

"Good, again, what I was hoping to hear from you," she said, smiling as if seeing my head finally got seated in what this meeting was. "After talking with Jacob and laying out my vision for how I want my team to function, I asked that you be assigned to me. I've spoken to Alicia, and she's already begun reassigning your work load, though those taking on some of those assignments may have questions or need guidance."

I was in a state of shock and could only nod that I understood.

"What we're offering you is a bit more than just joining my team. What I would like is for you to lead the team of support staff for the Port of Seattle Union representation. It would ultimately entail five Para's, including yourself. As it stands, you currently have a staff of three. I won't tell you how to fill those two additional positions, but I might suggest cherry-picking from the pool of talent we already have, or we can try to hire from outside. That's your call; I'll support your decision."

Okay, had I heard her correctly?! She wanted me to work for her, offering me a job overseeing the support team! I couldn't help but smile.

"I appreciate yours and Jacob's faith in me, Mrs. Barnes."

"We've got high hopes for your continued growth here. This position comes with a number of responsibilities, which I'll outline in a moment. I discussed what I feel is an appropriate salary increase with Jacob, and we've approved a new base salary of $92,650. You’ll have a performance review in six months and could be eligible for a small increase at that time. There will be clearly defined performance goals and a bonus structure – which I’m still working on. Lastly as the lead of the support team you’ll perform many of the managerial duties for your team, though I expect you to continue to contribute to our efforts."

I wasn't sure why, but I was solely focused on getting a raise! And not just a tiny bump, but a third more than what I was currently making. I could pay my mom off finally. I could probably even buy a car! I knew my mind was going in twenty different directions and I’d tuned Gina out for a moment, but recovered by saying, "Thank you."

"The last part of this new position I negotiated on your behalf. We, the firm, will pay for continuing education up to a maximum of $15,000 per year. You will be working heavily in contract law, and I need you to be proficient in dealing with the city’s legal team as these contract negotiations progress. I'd like you to register for the summer session at the UW Law School as soon as possible. I think that's about it. Do you have any questions or anything you would like to discuss?"

March 25th, 2:26 PM
I tried my best to not rush out of Gina's office, but it was almost impossible to not look as though I was in a hurry to get somewhere quickly. She'd dumped a twenty-point list of things I needed to get organized by next Wednesday—six days from now if I worked over the weekend.

But my mind was somewhere else, on someone else...

I needed to see Paul, to share the news, and to be with him. As I approached his office, he was just hanging up the phone, smiling at my approach, and stood behind his desk. I headed straight towards him; tears began to flow, my face contorted and hanging low, visibly aching from the heart outwards. I dumped the crap I'd been carrying on his desk unceremoniously; a folder went sliding over the edge and hit the floor as I was reaching out to gather him in my arms.

When he returned my hug, I began full-on sobbing. He just held me silently like that for a couple minutes while I cried. I didn't care if people walked by his office and saw us. I needed to release, to soak up that I was wanted by Gina and Jacob, and... My body racked uncontrollably as I thought about him leaving, about not seeing him daily, and about us possibly growing apart.

"I'm so happy for you, Liz," he whispered.

I smashed my face into his chest even harder, hugging him tighter, and I cried even more deeply and freely.

"That's the last of it; no more secrets. Told you after today you get whatever I know when I know it," he cooed soothingly.

I croaked into his shoulder, "You... you knew?"

"Yeah, I don't think you realize what the right people think about you."

That brought on another short sobbing fit he just let me get through in my own time, holding me, kissing the side of my head once, and letting me nuzzle close to him. I did my best to recover and pushed back from him slightly.

"Thank you... Thank you for being there for me, understanding..." I barely got that out without losing it again.

He was looking at me oddly. I raised my hands to wipe my eyes, and he let me go to open a desk drawer, pulling out a box of tissues. I took a couple and tried to dab carefully, though I knew my face was a mess.

"I'm happy you let me in, Liz... I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. I hope you know that we’re not done," he said softly.

"I hope not, but my life is... You know what a mess my life has been."

"None of that matters," he said, looking very serious.

"Why, how can’t it?"

"Because," he paused to focus on my face while searching for something in my eyes, "I know who you really are Liz, and I'm in love with you..."

FIN

::: --- :::

Don't be afraid to click the "Kudos" (Thumbs Up) icon for this short story if it's done anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so, and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter (I’d have bot’ed that bitch long ago if there was)). If you comment, I will reply, so let’s chat or not or whatever floats your noodle.

If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected]) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

Rachel M. Moore

Author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.
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Friday June 8th, 9:28 AM, Phoenix, Arizona
When the room was cleared Carol asked, “You two know each other, right?”

“We meet at the Christmas party…,” Valerie offered.

“Yeah, and we’ve talked a few times around the office – last fire drill,” I replied.

“Good… So, you heard what Mike wants – update known details and to boost the traffic for this story. I’m not entirely sure why this is a hot button for him, but that’s beside the point,” Carol paused to consider her next words, “I think we know why Mike brought you in on this Cassidy.”

I managed to eke out a weak, “Yes…” I couldn’t decide whether that last statement was a dig or she was pissed about being micromanaged on this story.

“Alright… Well, you two divide and conquer. Going forward you two can decide your angles and division of work on this one. Valerie will add you to the byline. Questions,” Carol asked. When neither of us replied right away she stood, “I’ll get with Allen and let him know we’re borrowing you for a couple days Cassidy... Valerie, I want to review the updates by 11:30 and we’ll push it up the chain and get the story updated by noon…” Carol didn’t wait around for a reply and was out the open conference room door before I’d taken a second breath.

Friday June 8th, 9:31 AM, Phoenix, Arizona
"Well, that was awkward," I offered meekly.

"Yeah, with Lynn out this story got dumped on me. I thought what I had written was insightful and I reported the known facts of the abduction of Gabriella Estrada...," Valerie said with a little confidence, "I'm not sure what more I could have added..."

"I read both yours and Lynn's stories and they seemed on point. Curious this one has Mike's attention...," I replied not really thinking about whether I should be sharing that thought.

"I don't know why the increased interest... I mean, not that it's not a story that deserves any less attention or... You know what I mean...," she said backtracking her comment, maybe a little worried that I might be offended due to being, you know - a Trans Woman.

I considered my approach for a second and decided to just lay it all out, "Look, since we're going work this together - up front and all my cards on the table - it takes a bit of work to get me riled up about being Trans. Not that certain situations or triggers aren't out there, but I'm not a 'snowflake' by any stretch. Please, don't hold your tongue or walk on eggshells around me. If you say something that rubs me wrong, I'm going tell you straight up and politely. If it's really egregious I'll let you know and we’ll get to the root of the issue before moving on. I get I'm not the societal norm, but I promise I'm really no different from any of your girl friends or sister - if you have one. Can you live with that?"

Valerie looked relieved, "Oh God, Thank you... I don't know enough about being Trans or about all the LGBTQ issues, but I do care and... Well, I'm...," she looked like she was getting flustered, "I really appreciate your understanding of my ignorance...," she looked down at some papers in front of her.

"Just relax, we'll get through this and I promise it will all work out... So, how do we move this story up in the 'hits' and traction department?"

Friday June 8th, 11:44 AM, Phoenix, Arizona
This, this feeling I was experiencing right now, this is how I wanted to feel every day as a journalist. This was a real story I could get behind and maybe build an opportunity to branch out from my usual story assignments. I felt energized and nervous, but alive and anxious to dig into this story.

After Valerie and I had level set our working relationship and gotten past the first pangs of awkwardness, we divided assignments and my first task was to talk with the detective assigned to the Gabriella Estrada case. I knew through the grapevine that it would be next to impossible to get anyone on the phone at the police station, so the in-person approach was how I was going to get anything meaningful from the Phoenix police.

I checked in at the police stations front desk, filled out a form, got a visitors’ badge, and was led to what I guessed was an interrogation room to wait. Single table in the room with handcuff anchors, one-way mirrored window, and a camera in the corner on the ceiling. I assumed the camera was on, though there wasn’t an indicator light of…

A knock at the door made me jump, and as the door opened, I was trying to look calm and put together – I doubt I pulled that off…

“Ms. Ruiz, I’m detective Kovachev, how can I help you,” the man who had entered the room said.

He had a distinct accent, Eastern Bloc country I would guess, “Detective,” I opened a notebook and tried to guess how to spell his name. I could feel him watching me, he hadn’t sat, just stood at the chair across from me, “Can you spell your name for me, please?”

He moved a hand to his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and removed a business card, placing it on the table and sliding it towards me.

“Oh, perfect… Thank you,” I picked up the card read his name, ‘Detective Victor C. Kovachev’, then noticed a cellphone number, “Is it best to reach you via your cellphone,” I asked.

“Yes,” he paused, “You represent the Phoenix Post Intelligencer?”

“Yes…”

“No other affiliates?”

Interesting question, I wonder why he asked that, “No, just the Post Intelligencer. Are you concerned about media outlets contacting you?”

He thought about my question for a few seconds, “We try to control the number of sources we release information to…”

Okay, I'll buy that. It could be a full-time job having to wrangle the release of information and the need to keep some of the details out of the public domain. “Anything new with your investigation into the Gabriella Estrada case?”

He was staring at me, “I’m interviewing Ms. Estrada shortly… Do you speak Spanish?”

“I do…,” I wondered why he asked me that, was it because I was obviously Hispanic?

“Would you like to assist me with the interview? The hospital can be hit and miss with translators. You would not be able to use everything you hear during the interview, but you would be closer to her story than any other media outlet.”

Oh crap! YES! Yes, I would like to assist! I tried to maintain my composure, “How would this work? We go to the hospital, I ask her your questions, relay the answers, then get permission to publish the content of my story once I’ve written it,” I asked.

“Exactly like that, though you’ll work with our PIO officer about the facts you’re allowed to use.”

Wow, this was turning out to be a worthwhile meeting. “I can live with that… When do we meet with her?”

“If you’re free we could head over there now. I can drive and return you to the station or the Post Intelligencer…”

Friday June 8th, 12:39 PM, Phoenix, Arizona
It took twenty minutes for Kovachev to get whatever he needed wrapped up at the station done before we headed to the hospital. I texted Valerie while waiting and she was excited about our ‘in’ with the police. She also said the story had been updated on the site – which I skimmed on my phone because I had nothing else to do while waiting for the detective. The wait didn’t dampen my excitement, but I was aching to get this show rolling!

Once in Kovachev’s car, a standard issue unmarked police vehicle, the conversation between us was hit and miss. I pressed for details Mike had said the Times had reported and Kovachev confirmed everything to be accurate. When I'd exhausted my questions about the assaults, I took a stab at his feelings about the defunding of the police. Off topic, but I had plans to put something together on my own and shop the story, if my work on the assaults got positive results. Beyond just a story idea, I was genuinely curious about how he felt about the defunding - he didn’t disappoint and I appreciated his frankness, though not really surprised by his stance. It felt like he had more to say, but he stopped talking once we were parked and headed to the administration offices.

Once checked in, we waited at least twenty minutes to get a doctor to clear giving us access to Gabriella. Kovachev didn't look like he wanted to talk, so we sat waiting in silence. When we got the green light to go see her Kovachev stopped just outside her room’s doorway, “Here is a list of questions,” he handed the single sheet of paper to me and I looked them over quickly - I wished he'd have given these to me on the drive over or while we waited so we could have discussed them... Augh!

When it looked like I had finished skimming the list he continued, “Ask a question, translate her reply exactly as she states. I’ll be recording the interview, but her answers may spawn additional questions I might have. Do you have any questions about how I expect this interview to proceed?”

“No… Am I free to ask her questions of my own?”

“Ask me first, but it will be likely you can ask her your questions,” he replied, turned, and entered the room.

I followed after Kovachev, Gabriella was in bed, hooked up to monitoring machines, an oxygen hose at her nose, and two IV-bags – one plugged into her arm and the other in the back of her right hand. She had bruising on her left cheek that couldn't decide whether to be yellowish purple or deep purple and blue. Her lip was swollen on the left side and there were a few bruises on her arms as well as her wrists - likely from her struggling with her assailant. She had certainly been roughed up, I hoped it wasn't worse...

Kovachev touched Gabriella’s hand and her head moved slowly toward us, “Talk to her please…,” he said softly.

I moved to the opposite side of the bed, looked at Kovachev, then at Gabriella… I cleared my throat, she looked at me and began to cry. Shit, “No, no… It’s alright Gabriella…,” I spoke gently in Spanish.

“Do not make any promises, we need answers and leads. Just ask the questions…,” Kovachev said soothingly as if to not tip Gabriella over any further.

That was a little cold. You really are clueless on the dangers we face you asshole. Focus, I can enlighten him after the interview. I sucked in a heavy breath and exhaled slowly, taking her hand in mine. I started by telling her who we were and what we were here for. Kovachev showed his badge when I said 'policia' and I explained that I was a reporter there to assist him with questioning because he did not speak Spanish. She nodded slightly as if to say she understood. She didn't appear to be in pain, likely one of these drips in her arm was for pain.

I looked at the list of questions, but before I could ask the first one, she croaked, “He does not understand us?”

I smiled, “I’m sure he understands some words, but he says he does not speak Spanish…”

She turned to look at him, Kovachev looked at me, “What is she saying,” he asked.

“She asked if you speak Spanish...”

“I can say beer, bathroom, and I know how to count to ten…,” he said looking down at Gabriella. He pulled a digital recorder from his pocket and placed it on the bed.

She looked at it and shook her head and whispered, “I will not speak if he is recording…”

“Put the recorder away, she says she will not speak to us if you’re going to record her…”

He looked from me to Gabriella, picked up the recorder, clicked it off, and put it back in his pocket. “Ask her my questions, please…,” he said trying to smile, but certainly not happy that he could not record the interview.

I squeezed her hand lightly, “Do you know where you are?”

She looked confused by the question and replied, “Hospital…”

I smiled, “Yes, but do you know what city you are in?”

She hesitated, “Is this Phoenix?”

I nodded, “You are in Phoenix. When did you get here?”

“Can I speak without fear of being sent back to Mexico?”

I translated that for Kovachev, “She won’t be sent back to Mexico…,” he hesitated a second, “I can’t promise her that, but there are enough resources that will be made available to her after what has happened to her that it is unlikely, they will deport her.”

I relayed that to her, she said softly, “I cannot go back to Mexico…”

“I understand, he’s saying you won’t be deported. When did you cross the border?” It was Kovachev’s third question, but I figured it fit in better in the flow of things than his second question, which was whether she knew who did this to her.

“The sixth… What day is it?”

“Today is the eighth…”

She looked at me trying to gauge her next question, “How long?”

“Well, I’m not sure, but you were admitted yesterday, early morning… So, it hasn’t been but a day and a half here in the hospital...” I know I sounded confused, but I wasn’t sure what she was asking. Maybe she wanted to know how long she’d be out of it?

She shook her head slowly, winced, and set her eyes on me, “No, how long for you?”

Oh… Well, hello dysphoria my old friend! Haven’t talked to you in like a couple minutes. Augh! She could tell I was Trans; did she think my being here was planned? Had Kovachev invited me to assist because I was Trans? Whatever, it is what it is I guess, “About five years…” She was watching me, and I wondered what she really had on her mind. She had an air of quiet intelligence about her which made me wonder about how she got mixed up in this. Kovachev tilted his head, and I took that to mean he wanted to know what was said, so I told him, dumping a little more in the dysphoria bucket. Thanks for that you two.

“Ask his questions before he wonders about my willingness to cooperate…,” Gabriella said when Kovachev had looked as though he was up to speed on what had just transpired between us.

Interesting… She realizes there are pieces in play and knows there are processes being adhered to by Kovachev and the system. Did she not want to appear as a hostile witness or victim for fear of being sent back to Mexico? She was playing along - but aware, processing the context of the interview. Based on what she’d just said I was sure Gabriella was educated and more worldly wise than your typical immigrant trying to escape to this country.

“The detective was hoping that maybe you might remember some things that happened to you, even the smallest of details,” I explained, “Do you know who abducted you?” I pointed to the question for Kovachev, he nodded.

“I will handle part of that…,” she said.

“I don't understand, you do know who did this to you?”

“Tell him I don’t know,” she turned slowly to looked at Kovachev, “No se...” (I don’t know)

“She says she doesn’t know who did this to her…,” I relayed, but inside I was worried about her knowing who did this to her. What did she mean by 'handle'?

He nodded, “Are you concerned with that answer?”

Huh, concerned? Not if she’s going to track this fucker down and ruin their day – then no. I shrugged at him, looked back at her, “Can you tell us where you’ve been since entering the country?” That was his fourth question.

“A place called Gila Bend for food and a house…," she paused to think about that, "They said it was in Buckeye. I don’t remember much, but I remember being in an old hotel room somewhere remote, the road was very rough with many holes, I don’t know where... I don’t recall how far from the house in Buckeye, but I remember being in a car shortly after dinner on the sixth…”

“Why do you think the hotel was old?”

She thought about that question before answering, “The smell... Graffiti on the walls... It was a big building and looked to have many rooms. A dog was barking all the time outside somewhere...”

Okay, probably stale or whatever, “The detective says you were drugged…”

“I am sure I was…,” she said quietly.

“Do you remember much else? Can you describe any of the persons who did this to you?”

“I was very out of it; my mind and body were paralyzed... I couldn't...,” she stopped for a moment and began to cry.

I took her hand again, then looked at Kovachev, “She crossed the border, went through Gila Bend and then to a house in Buckeye. She says she doesn’t remember anything other than being taken somewhere, an old hotel possibly, somewhere remote and over rough road. It smelled, had graffiti on the walls - so someplace abandoned I'm guessing. She can’t describe her assailant.”

“Did you tell her about being drugged?”

“She knows…,” I replied squeezing Gabriella's hand.

“Does she know it was GHB?”

“I doubt that… What would that matter,” I asked.

“Wouldn’t matter... She wouldn’t have known it was administered; it could help with any guilt feelings she might have…”

“Guilt? You think she feels like she deserved this and being drugged is her get out of guilt free ticket,” I asked a little more gruffly than intended. Gabriella looked at me as though she was trying to understand the conversation I was having in English with Kovachev.

“That is not what I am saying, but whatever she walked into may have already been set up to exploit her. It usually is when these kids cross the border and get mixed up with the wrong people…”

I felt Gabriella squeeze my hand, “What is he saying?”

Kovachev looked at me, “She is asking what we’re talking about…,” I said.

“Next question…,” he chided.

“Are…,” I began in Spanish, paused to look at him, pointing to the question, “You want me to ask this question,” I asked in English.

He nodded.

“Are you a sex worker,” I asked her in Spanish.

She turned to look at Kovachev, “No…”

“You did not do this kind of thing from where you came from?” That was the next question on his list and I was kicking myself for not reordering them before this began.

She was still looking at Kovachev, “No…”

“She wasn’t a sex worker prior to coming here,” I relayed, even though I had pointed to the question I had just asked her. He nodded for me to continue.

I didn’t want to ask, but it was Kovachev’s script and pushed on, “You said your name is Gabriella Estrada… There wasn’t any ID found in your backpack and the fingerprints they took do not tell us who you were before your transition. There is no record of you having lived in Mexico; you came from and lived in Mexico, correct?” I noticed the word ‘backpack’ had caught her attention - had Kovachev?

She looked around the room, “Is my backpack here?”

“Yes, I think so… Is that it,” I said pointing toward the sink area.

She seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, then answered the question, “There would be no record of me with any government agency, I have never been in trouble… I came from and lived in Mexico before crossing your border.”

“I think they want to know who you were before your transition…,” I said tentatively.

“That is not something I will share…”

I looked at Kovachev, “She said she’s never been in any legal trouble and will not share who she was prior to her transition… She came from and lived in Mexico.”

“Continue…,” he said dryly.

I asked the rest of his questions, which produced vague answers or that she didn’t remember. She did say she was eighteen, which was younger than I had originally thought, but maybe that made sense with some of her answers. She looked to be early on in her transition, I wondered how long she had been transitioning.

Kovachev seemed to listen to the exchanges, but something was up with him, I could feel it. He asked if I had any questions I wanted to ask.

I looked at him and decided to cut him out of the conversation. Do and ask for forgiveness after the fact, that's how I was going to roll. "You are not the only woman this has been done to Gabriella," I paused because there was no easy way to get to where I was going, "In just under two weeks you've become the third Trans woman to be assaulted in the Phoenix area. Each came from Mexico. Can you can remember any details, something spoken or some act or pattern of behavior? Anything could help lead them quicker to who did this possibly..."

Kovachev was looking at me concerned but remained silent.

Gabriella locked eyes with me, "I do not remember anything like that... I was," she struggled to continue, "I... He posed me for his cameras. I do not... What happened to me...," she stopped speaking to sob silently.

I squeezed her hand gently, then decided to bend close and hug her, "I'm so sorry... This is not your fault," I whispered.

When I finished hugging her, I could see Kovachev was not happy with me, "I asked if she remembered any details of the assault, some common trait. She said she was filmed..."

"You should have cleared that line of questioning with me first... There is more to information gathering, and victim considerations should not to be trampled," he said coldly, clearly annoyed.

"I understand that, but in our community these kinds of things end with the victim damaged much worse - like dead. You know that, you know this makes these three cases highly unusual," I paused because I was trying to maintain my cool in front of Gabriella, "I'm done here, are you?"

Kovachev nodded.

Gabriella must have sensed the interview was coming to an end and asked, “Would he allow us to speak privately?”

I looked at Kovachev, “Would you mind waiting outside? She asked if we could speak privately...”

He paused, “I will allow that. Consider what has happened to Ms. Estrada, she needs to work what happened to her out with professionals... Tread carefully."

Gabriella moved her hand towards his, he held it briefly, smiled, and looked at me, "We will talk about this private exchange – understand?” I nodded and he continued, “Tell her I’m sorry this happened to her and that we will do our best to find the person or persons who did this to her…”

I did as he had asked and without another word, he left the room.

When we were alone, she said in perfect English, “He understands more than he admits…”

Oh, shit! Well, aren't you just full of surprises! “You speak English? Why hide that?”

"I don't need to be asked ridiculous questions I don't have the answers to by someone I do not trust..."

"Why do you think he understands more than he's letting on?"

“I don’t know, I just think he knew what we were saying. I think he speaks Spanish better than he told you. You are a Trans woman, he used you to get information from me... I do not trust him.”

Shit... She was probably right about Kovachev using me, I suddenly felt stupid for having trusted Kovachev so blindly. It would be kind of shitty of him to use me like that and fake not speaking Spanish. “I think he just wants to help…,” I said finally, but deep inside I knew I'd been played.

“I’m sure... That is his job. Can you bring me my backpack, please?”

I picked it up from where it sat next to the sink in the room and gave it to her. One shoulder strap was attached at a single point as if it had been torn off in a struggle. The backpack felt empty, which would probably not come as a surprise to her. I watched her expression as she examined the backpack, looking inside of it, then running a finger along the one strap that was still intact. She looked relieved, which was odd since the thing was clearly empty.

“I need to get out of here, can you help me?”

Shit… That wasn’t what I was expecting her to say. “I really can’t… I mean, the police are going to need to get to the bottom of this and they really need your help,” I replied, but felt like I was complaining about my inability to assist.

“I wasn’t the only one they had at the hotel…,” she said softly.

“What? There was another woman being held?”

“Yes, there was one other woman like us at the hotel… She was younger, I think. He,” her voice broke, “Was filming us... Together and taking...," she tried to hold back the flood of emotions and began to cry.

I bent over her and hugged her, then got a box of tissue from the sink area, "We need to tell the detective this... Was there anyone else?"

It took a full minute for her to compose herself enough to continue, "There were three men...," she paused to consider her next statement, "I know more about this place, but I am not talking to the detective. Help me get out of here and I will tell you what I know..."

Fuck me!

Friday June 8th, 1:22 PM, Phoenix, Arizona
When I exited Gabriella's room, Kovachev was standing at the nurses' station. He finished speaking with the nurse and made his way over to me, "What did she say?"

I had to give this guy props, he wasn't hung up on Gabriella or myself being Trans. Not once did he misgender her or act as though she wasn't worthy of compassion, respect, or his help. But now, now I was at a crossroads and what I did or didn’t do to help her was going to be a problem. If I am truthful, I won’t be tripped up by a lie. Then again if I’m truthful I betray her trust. Would he understand? Would she? “She wants me to help her get out of here…,” I said waiting for an adverse reaction on his part.

“Why would she ask you this?”

Augh… “She said she was not the only Trans Woman being held…”

He thought about that a moment, “Why not tell us that?”

"I'm really not sure... She said they were filmed and that there were three men. Was she sexually assaulted," I asked.

“Another victim,” he sighed, “This is not good…,” he looked back to the nurse’s station, “No, the nurse confirmed she was not raped, but that does not mean there wasn't any sexual encounter. The other two victims reported there were two and three men involved. The abandoned hotel, this is new information for this case. Her not being raped is also different from the other two victims. Why do you think she asked you for help getting out of here," he asked.

“I’m not sure… But she suspects your motives to involve me in the interview and is sure you speak Spanish better than you let on.”

Kovachev’s face did not show any reaction to my accusation. In perfect Spanish he replied, “I speak four languages fluently and two others I can get by in most social or official conversations. I asked for your help because I thought she would be able to relate to you and you could gain her trust. I’m sorry I did not tell you…”

Fucking asshole! I was angry, but not surprised. “Not really a way to garner trust – from either of us,” I huffed.

“Correct, but let’s not lose sight of the problem at hand…”

I interrupted him, “Which is?”

“Gabriella is the third woman abducted in the past two weeks and released. She says there was another Trans Woman at the hotel, so we have a soon to be fourth victim. All the victims we know of so far all crossed the border and shortly afterwards ended up being assaulted. The first two, Solis and Morena, admitted to being sex workers. Gabriella claims she wasn’t a sex worker, so how does she fit with the first two victims? Why no sexual assault?”

This guy didn’t have a clue about the dangers of being Trans. I wanted to ask him if he knew about the rise in assaults and murders in our community? Kovachev looked like he was pondering something. His silence was annoying me, so I volunteered, “She said she would help me find the hotel; I don’t know how though…”

He snapped back to the present and looked at me for a long moment, “You don’t think she was part of this?”

“You’re kidding right? She’s an innocent and the fuckers who abducted her are sick bastards…,” I barked louder than intended. The two nurses looked up from the nurse’s station at me, I looked away. Did he really think she was part of these assaults or some fucked up sex ring?

“Both the other women mentioned being sought out while in Mexico and then being brought here with promises of lavish lives and lots of money. That isn’t what happened to them because they ran into 'sick bastards'. Do you think she was recruited,” he asked.

I hadn’t asked her that because no one knew that the other two women had been recruited. The police were holding a lot of facts from the public, so this case had to have more scope than present on the surface. I felt in my heart Gabriella wasn’t recruited, she was running from something, “I don’t think she was recruited… Why didn't you release that the other women were recruited for the sex trade?”

"We are investigating these cases from multiple directions. Mexican police, Border Patrol, FBI, and US Marshal Service. Last month a similar string of abductions and assaults occurred in El Paso. All the victims were illegals. It was decided to hold certain details from the public for now,” he stopped speaking as a nurse walked by us, “I agree with you, I think she came here to escape something, possibly her family, possibly something else…”

Whoa! This shit happened in Texas? Where's the effort been at stopping this crap?! Why haven’t you asked me about her asking for my help to get her out of this place? Bigger yet, why did it seem that Gabriella’s case was so different? Oh, and you know she said she would 'handle' these fuckers - that could blow up in everyone's face.

When it was obvious, I had nothing to contribute Kovachev asked, “If you were to help her, how would you go about that?”

Was this guy in my head? I was shocked he’d even consider that option. It really was the million-dollar question though, and one I hadn’t even decided whether I could help her with. “I'm not... I don't think she should just pick up and blow out of here. I'm really not comfortable with the idea of breaking her out of here and tracking down these assholes... Didn't you say there were resources available for her?”

"You were in the military," he asked, ignoring my question.

“And how did you know that," I asked taken aback.

“The paperwork you filled out for the visitor pass at the station; it says we may do a background check…”

So much for reading the fine print before signing. I was a little miffed that I hadn’t paid more attention to what I was signing, “Yes, I served. Did you?”

He thought about that for a moment, “Yes, but for a different country.”

“Which?”

“I was an intelligence officer many years ago in Chechnya. I worked my way into an immigration opportunity when I was twenty-six,” he replied with a smirk.

“Do you still have family there?”

“I do have a few family ties in that region," he said solemnly, the smirk gone.

"What do you mean by you worked your way into?"

"That is a long story for another time.”

Well, that tells me nothing, but my guess is he defected or something like that. “How old are you now?”

“I’m forty-eight,” he said, smiling because the shock on my face showed – he looked much younger, my age, late thirties at most. “Your leg,” he nodded, “Afghanistan?”

Really? What don’t you know about me? I nodded, I’m sure the frustration on my face spoke volumes.

“It is only logical. At the time of your military discharge that was really the only active conflict out there. You favor your right leg when you walk, barely perceptible. And your right shoe shows uneven wear at the heel,” he said pointing as if he were casually commenting about the weather.

Lovely… He knows more about me than he should and I’ve got nothing on him to hit back with because I was pissed and I wanted to hit him back with something! I was especially annoyed he noticed my gait, the wear on my shoe, and his ‘barely perceptible’ comment - did he think I needed that? I’d worked hard over the past six years to get to where I was today and had thought short of the four-inch scar on my right knee people wouldn’t notice any favoring of my right leg. I walked fine, could run… It wasn't like I had an artificial limb! Asshole…

“The nurses shift change is at 4 PM, and visiting hours end at 8 PM. An exit,” he pointed back towards Gabriella’s room, “Is right there, three flights of stairs and you would be near the main lobby entrance. The nurses told me her injuries will take a week to heal, but her health is not in any jeopardy. She just needs time. What is your phone number,” he asked pulling out his phone.

Not thinking I rattled it off for him as he tapped it into his phone.

“When you figure out what you’re doing, text me...,” he looked at me as if inspecting every strand of unruly hair on my head, "I'll leave you here, unless you want a ride back to the station or The Post..."

Seriously? Did he really wanted me to help her get out of here? What about her handling the person or persons who did this to her?

When I didn't answer he said, "Don't let her do anything stupid..."

I nodded that I understood, but truth was I had no idea how I was going to help Gabriella or if I could prevent her from doing anything stupid. How was I going to navigate this shit?

Friday June 8th, 1:39 PM, Phoenix, Arizona
I watched Kovachev walk away and when he'd entered the elevator, I went back to Gabriella’s room. A nurse was taking her vitals, and looked over at me, “I’m assisting the police, just a few more questions before I leave…,” I squeaked nervously.

“Sure…,” she said after finishing up and typing something into the hospitals record system, "We're going to get her up walking after you're done. Her body needs to move, it'll help her heal quicker."

I nodded and waited for her to finish. When she exited the room Gabriella spoke first, “The detective will allow you to help?”

I nodded. She had a fifty-fifty chance of knowing whether I would tell Kovachev about her request. She must have sensed I would, “You may not realize this, but there is something bigger happening here than what happened to you…”

"That is not my concern, I need to get out of here, out of Phoenix."

I had to think about her statement a moment. She was eighteen, alone, and had nothing to her name. I should cut her some slack, right? I couldn't help myself, "Whether that is a concern or not, what happened to you has happened to three other Trans Women locally and last month the detective said this same thing was happening in Texas. It needs to stop. You have to know these things don't usually end the way they did for you. Those other women all endured much worse. If you can help the police," I paused because I felt as though I was preaching, "You should..."

"Do not mistake caring for concern. I care, but I have other," she looked toward the door as a cart went past, "Pressures I need to manage. I am well aware of the deaths for women like us... I did not expect to be spared."

Whoa, she speaks as though she's twice her age, worldly! "Why do you need to get out of Phoenix," I asked.

I could see she was thinking about how to answer that question, "I have no fears now that I am in this country, but my past will want to bring me back home. I can't go back..."

"Why?"

"It is a family issue. You are Latina, do you have a relationship with your family?"

"My sister still talks to me... My parents, that's a long story," I said feeling the weight of sharing that.

"I have the same issues with my parents and it is a complicated story...," she smiled a little as if this was another similarity in our paths, "When can we leave?"

That million-dollar question hadn't gotten any cheaper over the bunch of minutes spent with Kovachev in the hallway, "Do you have any clothes?"

"I... I was not dressed when the police found...," her voice trailed off.

"The other two women had said the same thing." Kovachev had offered that nugget when I asked about how and where Gabriella was found.

She nodded that she understood.

"Okay, so we need some clothes. I could go get some things for you to wear, return around dinner time, ask if I can escort you to the cafeteria to eat, get you into a bathroom, you change, and we walk out of here..."

"I will repay your kindness Cassidy..."

"Cass... Cassidy is what my," I hesitated, "My mom would call me if we..."

Gabriella interrupted me, "It may happen one day, you cannot lose hope. Thank you, Cass. Thank you for helping me."

“I don’t have much of plan beyond getting you out of here, but if I help you – we are going to find that hotel and the other woman before you can leave Phoenix. Give me your word, promise me that, and I will help you…”

“I promise…”

She was slow to offer that promise, which was a little concerning, but I felt things had already been set in motion and I couldn't change the flow anyway. This was now more than a story and the chances it would break me were just beginning to weigh on me… We discussed clothes and shoes, what sizes for both she would need, and her preferences. When that was done, she had one last request - a pre-paid cell phone with the ability to call Mexico. I didn't ask, but if she didn't want to return to Mexico, why would she need to talk with someone there?

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If there are problems or you have criticism you'd like to share privately feel free to message me on the site or via email ([email protected]) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a story teller, I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated. Thanks for reading...

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Friday, June 8th, 4:51 p.m., Phoenix, Arizona
Getting back to the office turned out to be a quicker trip than I thought it would be, though I had to use Lyft first to get my car from the police station. This late in the day, the office was almost empty, and my attempt to find Valerie and recruit her in my quest to deal with Gabriella fell way short. She'd gone home for the day due to a sick child. Damn it!

I saw Kevin while walking to my desk and asked about expensing purchases related to a story. He assured me that I just needed to keep the receipts for any reasonable expenses, and The Post would cut me a check fairly quickly. Hearing that was a relief because I really didn't have a pile of money in my bank account and had just paid twenty-three dollars for a ride I hadn’t expected to need.

I called Lena to break our date for tonight and got her voice mail. I told her I was working on a ‘real’ story, knowing she would know what that meant because I'd complained a few times about the crap assignments I'd worked on over the past year. I promised to call her later and would make it up to her with a nice dinner to celebrate tomorrow night. The act of leaving the message seemed very hasty, and I felt a pang of guilt, but I also needed to get moving if I was going to make it back to the hospital by 6 PM.

Target was my next objective, and upon arrival, I was glad to see the parking lot wasn't very full. Not that I was worried about 'passing' most days, but in my current state of rushing around barely in control of my shit, I didn't feel as in control of any 'passing' confidence I normally had. That one little thing—that constant fear, gnawing at your core—was extremely taxing emotionally and mentally at times.

Why do people even give a shit? I wasn't hurting them or getting some advantage in life over their existence by being myself. I shouldn’t have to worry about what others might say or think about me while in public or doing something as simple as shopping.

Little kids tended to have the best ‘Trans-dar’, aka tTrans radar. While maybe a little comical to watch some suburban housewife try and squash her three-year-old from pointing out ‘that lady is a man, mommy’ – I just didn’t need the distraction right now or unwanted attention.

Shop and get out of here that’s the plan. I made my way to the women’s clothing area and picked up three push-up bras, size 32 A, with extra padding per Gabriella's request. The same quantity of boy shorts panties - size small, three cute but blank T-shirts - size medium, so they would be baggy, hang low, and reduce tucking concerns. I had tapes and probably every item known to the Trans world necessary to solve any tucking concerns at my condo—there might even be ‘emergency’ tape or something in my car – I’d have to remember to check.

What’s next? I looked toward the athletic clothing section of the store. Two pairs of workout tights and a pair of shorts, all size small, made it into the cart. Shoes - I decided to keep it simple: one pair of white skateboarder-style tennis shoes. And the last clothing item was a three-pack of anklet socks. I hit the makeup section for a hairbrush and the basics: mascara, eye liner, a palette of eye shadow, foundation, and a cheap lip gloss. On an end cap for toiletries I grabbed a toothbrush.

The last item to get hadn’t been on my list of essentials, but was a request from Gabriella—a pre-paid phone with international calling ability to Mexico. The guy behind the counter assured me it would be simple to get activated and was the most cost-effective model for dialing Mexico. My 'Latina' look got me that assurance from him, as if I needed to call home or something. His sales tactics were very annoying, along with his assumption of my desire for the phone.

My debit card took a $162.88 hit to pay for all this stuff. Payday was at the end of the week, so my car payment should be safe if I don't use my debit card for anything else. My disability check from the Army was still two weeks out, so I guess I'll be loading up my VISA card for anything else—not ideal. I probably should have charged all this stuff rather than depleted my ready cash. I needed to slow my thought processes down or I was going to make mistakes at some point—maybe one neither Gabriella nor I could afford.

When I returned to my car, I organized my purchases into a nice stack and put them into my now-emptied backpack, which I used to cart my lunch and laptop to work. My work items were dumped unceremoniously into the empty bags from Target and placed in my trunk. What else would she need immediately? Think… Crap! An image of her in the hospital bed popped into my head, and I immediately thought about her request for bras with extra padding. She had breasts... Yeah, of course she did, you idiot!

Not that that was a surprise or anything, but that means we’d need to figure out her HRT medication and get a refill. If she'd had some with her during her border crossing or a prescription, it was long gone now. Okay, nothing I can do about that—maybe the hospital could step in temporarily? Slow your thought processing down! Cross that bridge when it becomes necessary. I just need to spring her from the hospital and move on to finding the other Trans woman who had been abducted with Gabriella.

Friday, June 8th, 5:57 p.m., Phoenix, Arizona
I still had my visitor pass from earlier, so I clipped it on and went to the floor Gabrielle was on without anyone giving me a second look. When I entered the room, she was sitting up and only had a single IV connection in the back of her hand. There was relief in her eyes; I could see the stress draining from her as she smiled at me.

In Spanish, she said, "I asked the nurse if I could go to the cafeteria with my guardian to get dinner, and she said I could."

I answered in Spanish, "Are you ready now? Do we need an IV holder thing?"

"Yes, I’m ready... I'm going to disconnect this tube," she said, twisting the base of the tubing and removing it from its connection point. "They will think a nurse did it; they are very shorthanded. It is only a hydration liquid. I can remove the flexible needle later."

"Are you sure?" I asked, sounding a little worried and kind of grossed out. We’d eventually have to ditch the IV; I guess it made sense to do it here and now.

"I am not fearful," she said, smiling as if this were something she did every day.

God, I would kill for half of her confidence right now! Focus...

"I have everything," I replied, patting the strap of the backpack on my shoulder.

"I need the old one; is there room for it?"

I looked towards the sink and picked it up.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes..."

Okay, it looked like shit, but if you say we need it, I'm not going to argue, not right now. I unzipped my backpack and folded hers into it.

"Let's go..."

I walked to the side of her bed and was present in case she felt woozy or something, but she stood without issue and took hold of my arm.

"For appearances..." she said, smiling.

Cafeteria, here we come!

Friday, June 8th, 6:07 p.m., Phoenix, Arizona
We stopped at the nurse's station on the way to the cafeteria, and Gabriella played the clueless, non-English-speaking illegal perfectly. I asked for directions, and she asked in Spanish what I was saying. I explained to her that I was asking for directions, and then told the nurse what she'd asked. The nurse told me to keep an eye on her and that if she felt dizzy, faint, or ill, she should call for assistance right away. She added that there were no dietary restrictions. Gotcha...

We took the elevator to the first floor, made a left, followed a long hallway, and could smell food wafting towards us as we walked slowly. Gabriella was still holding onto my arm. We could win an award for our acting skills, I thought absently as an older couple passed us going in the opposite direction. Just prior to the cafeteria, there were two single-person bathrooms capable of handling people in wheelchairs – it was just what we needed. We would certainly have plenty of room to move around and get her changed into street clothes comfortably.

I pulled the contents of the backpack out, setting her backpack aside, and let her choose from the limited choices of outfits I’d bought. She looked relieved to finally get a chance to wear clothing that validated who she was. She picked up a bra, removed the tags, which I should have done back in the Target parking lot, and turned away from me to put it on beneath the hospital gown. She made quick adjustments to the straps, and she turned back towards me, smiling as if she were pleased.

I offered a pair of boy short panties, which I'd removed the tag from while she made on last bra adjusted, and she didn't waste time shimmying up legs that looked pretty good for having been shaved a couple days ago. There was another smile.

"It has been a couple days since I have shaved my legs..." she said, a little embarrassed. I nodded, smiling back at her and offering her a choice of T-shirts. She chose the yellow one, snapped the tag off, and got out of the gown to dawn the shirt.

Given her legs needed a shave, I figured tights were the right answer rather than the shorts I’d bought, so I removed the tag from one of the pairs and waited to hand them to her. She turned, draped in the T-shirt that was sort of like a shift dress, and raised an eyebrow.

"We don't have a lot of time or resources just yet, so to help with," I paused, "The need to tuck, I thought this was the easiest solution." I had guessed that she hadn’t had any surgeries yet.
She looked at how she was swimming in the shirt, then back at me.

"Yes, you are probably right; this is good," she said with a little more confidence than the look she’d given me. She patted the fabric down around her hips and seemed satisfied with the choice I’d made.

I handed her the tights, and she wasted no time getting them on. I busted a pair of anklet socks loose from their packaging and gave them to her when she was ready to put them on. With each item of clothing she put on, she looked more and more comfortable with herself. Finally, the shoes, which apparently fit judging by her smile after she tied them, I gathered the gown and robe and hung them on the back of the door. Her slippers found their way underneath used paper towels in the garbage can. All that was left was a little makeup and whatever she could do with her hair.

"I'm sorry this stuff is so cheap." I said, placing the makeup and hairbrush I'd bought on the sink, "It's the best I could do."

I felt a little self-conscious about the things I'd purchased for her, but in truth, it was difficult enough to buy things for myself even after five years of doing things my way, in my comfort zone, let alone trying to do them for another woman. The age gap alone, styles, tastes...

"No," she said, reaching out to take my hand. "Everything is perfect. You did very well."

"Yeah, well, compared to you, I'm an old lady," I replied with a chuckle.

"You are," she huffed in a quick breath. "Very kind..." She lowered her head, trying to stifle sobbing outright.

I pulled her close and hugged her.

"It's alright...," I cooed. "Let's get finished up. You'll feel a lot better when we're out of here."

She squeezed me tight, then pulled away to wipe tears away. I smiled back at her and nodded toward the sink. She approached the sink and studied her face in the mirror, shaking her head a little and touching the still-swollen lip gently. There was resolve in her eyes; she was going to be alright. I laid out the exit plan while she began applying her foundation.

Friday, June 8th, 6:37 p.m., Phoenix, Arizona
I'd planned how we were going to make our exit from the hospital and where we were going to lay low. Once out of the hospital, we would crash at my condo. It certainly wasn't ideal, legally speaking, but easiest place to stash her.

Throughout this process, the lure of helping someone like me who was in trouble really pulled at my heart more than I expected. Having firsthand information for this story helped my 'All In' attitude, but helping her was my first priority, followed by finding the other Trans woman she’d mentioned. The story was frosting and M&M’s on the brownie.

How to get her out of the hospital was a loose plan I wasn’t so sure of. It involved leaving Gabriella to finish getting ready in the bathroom while I made my way back to my car in the parking garage. That would provide plenty of opportunity to get myself captured on the hospital's video system, and that was part of the plan. I would act like any other visitor, take the elevator to the visitor parking garage, get my car, and appear to leave. Then I would drive to the hospital's outdoor parking lot across the street and wait.

Before parking in the garage, I had cruised the outdoor parking lot checking for cameras; if we were lucky, there would be a blind spot somewhere so she wouldn’t be seen getting in my car. Optically speaking, chances were good the resolution of the cameras out there weren’t all that great, so they might capture her getting into my car, but good luck proving that in a court of law.

When Gabriella was finished in the bathroom, she was to retrace her steps to the elevators. The main entrance to the hospital was across the lobby from those elevators. There were no security guards, only a visitor’s center desk. She could walk right out the front door, cross the street, and I would be waiting for her in the parking lot. I’d see her coming, and I would flash my lights so she would head straight towards me. Video cameras would certainly capture each of our exits; the key was that we wouldn't be seen exiting together. I was hoping that would be enough to cover or deflect any blowback by officials—police, hospital, or both.

If or when they reviewed their camera footage, the best they could do was claim I got her clothing for her escape. Likely nothing legal would land at my feet, but I should have gotten written assurances of that from Kovachev. A text message, at least. So much for thinking I was doing better with my planning and execution, given I’d missed that detail. I’d been out of the game to long and my remembrances of complex military operations weren’t what they used to be; I certainly was showing my rust. Whatever!

It was only a matter of time before the hospital contacted Kovachev, and he called me. He'd sanctioned this operation, proving that would be something I would add to my bucket of stresses and find a solution for if it became necessary. I should call Lena for legal advice at some point. There were so many moving pieces, and this was just the beginning.

My biggest fear was: would Gabriella stick to the plan or bolt once out of the hospital and leave me high and dry?

Friday, June 8th, 7:02 p.m., Avondale, Arizona
"Are you alright?" she asked.

I know I was radiating stress, but I was hoping Gabriella wasn’t paying attention. I chuckled. So much for her not sensing my stress.

"Yeah, just a lot I need to process..."

"Helping me can't be more stressful than when you decide to transition," she said with a little giggle and smile.

I laughed. "Let's just say it's a different kind of stress today." She looked like she was going to ask something, and then thought better of it, so I pressed, "Do you have concerns?"

"I have many, but I feel like I need to hurry my journey along," she said, turning to look at the family who had just crossed the street in front of us at the light.

"Your transition?"

"No, but that is always on my mind. May I ask about your transition?" she asked.

"Everyone's transition is different, so mine is likely not going to be like yours..."

I hoped that didn't sound like I didn't want to talk about it. Over the years, I'd talked about the internal struggle with plenty of counselors and people I'd met along the way. My story wasn't remarkable by any stretch, and it wasn’t that I didn’t want to share, but right now I could barely keep my thoughts straight.

"I believe that is true, but," she paused, "I am only a few months from a year into my transition, and my HRT results are not like yours."

I looked at her, and then went back to concentrating on making our way through traffic. She looked uncomfortable about having admitted that.

"Again, everyone is going to react differently to HRT and T-blockers." I reached over and squeezed her hand. "Trust in the process; it can't be rushed."

She shook her head. "I have some, many anxieties, though."

"If you didn't, you wouldn't be human. I know CIS women who are more anxious than I am about the way they look or are perceived. Seriously, it takes time, and battling against the process will only make you go crazy."

"When I started HRT, nothing happened. Then I was sad all of the time, and it was very difficult to continue to present as male without making those feelings worse," she said, as if putting that out there was cleansing.

The obvious question was to ask was why she couldn't live her truth, but I decided to defer the question.
"You're progressing at the pace your body needs," I encouraged. "Do you have a prescription we can access for you? To get you back on track...

She nodded. "It will take a little bit to get that and resume." She looked like she was struggling with something. "My mother and aunts have had much breast growth at a very young age; I have seen their pictures. You also... I have not much..." she stopped abruptly and looked away.

"Whoa, not everything is as it appears," I smiled. "When I started HRT, my doctor said I was probably not going to see much breast development due to my age and being well past puberty. After a year of struggling with virtually no breast development other than enlarged puffy areola areas, the anxiety of 'passing' and crushing dysphoria because I felt like a man wearing a dress, I got implants. The best money I ever spent on myself... Which brings me to the greatest piece of advice I can give you: do not compare your journey to others. You certainly aren’t doing this for them, so why involve them in the equation?"

She nodded, but I felt like she wasn’t buying it or something else was weighing on her, which was probably true given her border crossing and subsequent abduction. Were those things connected? We drove on in silence, and when I would look over at her, she appeared to be studying our route—filing landmarks, signs, names of streets—or maybe she was just curious about being in this country. So much I wasn’t sure about with this kid...

We entered Avondale and turned off West Buckeye Road to enter my gated condo community. Mine was the middle unit of three units per building, with an attached garage, which was a mess, but I could still park in it to keep the car out of the sun. I pulled in, cut the engine, and when the garage door closed, I said, "It's kind of a mess out there; watch yourself getting out."

She smiled, squeezed through the door, and walked around the back of the car. I waited for her at the door to the stairs leading up to my unit. She looked anxious.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, but the phone," she said, looking at the backpack. "I must make a call."

"Absolutely... Let's get upstairs and get it activated," I said, smiling but a little concerned.

Friday, June 8th, 7:08 p.m., Avondale, Arizona
We sat at my small dining room table and worked through the phone’s activation process. My 'friend' from Target was correct; it was simple to get the phone setup and activated. The first call was to my cellphone so I could capture the number. I handed her the phone after that.

"Okay, I think you're good to go." I watched her consider something, and then she set the phone down.

"There are many complications in my life, Cass. I am a complication for my father. People would be very happy to hurt him because of who I am as I become my true self. My father," she said, looking away. "He is a difficult man to please, and he does not understand who I am, but he is trying. I do not fear him, but there are others I do. I did not ask for this mind that cannot accept the body it resides in. You understand this struggle, and like you I must live for myself."

Shit... Part of what she had said sounded ominous; the rest was just what you get from trying to live life as yourself.

"I can understand all that... My parents would not accept who I was either. I feel empty because of that some days. But I can't live my life for them, so I don't dwell on it much." That was a lie; not having a connection with my parents weighed on me all the time, but I wasn’t going to say that.

"I wish this wasn't our burden, as we live for ourselves. The people my father works for are more troubling..." She looked around me to the kitchen, then towards the living room. "I must do something I was hoping I would not have to do, and you shouldn't know about it. Do you understand?" she asked.
I was beginning to figure her out a little – cerebral like me. That blade cut both ways though. What did she need to do?

"If you need to make a private call, you can do that in the spare bedroom. I certainly don't want to intrude."

I might not want to intrude, but I was certainly curious. Two lies in the course of twenty seconds, though—what kind of trust was I building? I needed to show trust to gain it, right?

"Thank you for this," she said, grabbing the phone, standing, and waiting to follow me to the bedroom.
I showed her to the room, took some boxes from the guest bed, and placed them on the floor near the closet.

"Take your time. I'm going to order pizza if that's alright."

"Yes, thank you... I am hungry," she approached me and, without hesitation, gave me a hug.

Friday, June 8th, 7:43 p.m., Avondale, Arizona
The pizza arrived quickly, and not knowing how long Gabriella was going to be, I inhaled a couple slices. Since she was making her call, my belly now full I had things I needed to do. The most pressing was getting something written that could be turned into the PIO (Public Information Office) at the police station. After they'd edited out details they didn't want released, I would probably have some rewriting to do. I was probably pushing my luck with some of what I wanted to get published; I guess we'll see after their review.

Regardless of what I submitted to them, what I wrote needed to be worthwhile and ultimately had to get past Carol Black. I was stressed, but as I typed, the story just poured out of me quickly as my fingers flew over the keyboard. There would of course be a rewrite and questions about the included facts, but I knocked out what I thought was a worthwhile addition to our story about these abductions and assaults.

Surprisingly, when I was done, I didn't hesitate to email what I had compiled to the PIO Office—my usual mode of rewriting and rewriting thrown aside. Shocker, where did that confidence in what I wrote come from? Was it because I had a personal connection with Gabriella that the story almost wrote itself? Had she inspired me?

I called Lena after grabbing another slice of pizza. She was happy to hear from me at first, until I started telling her about the story I was working on. I didn't hold back any of the details; that might have been a mistake. To say she wasn't pleased would be an understatement. She was stressing hard about the blurry line Kovachev had let me cross without guarantees of police support or immunity from prosecution if things went sideways.

I was legally exposed—by at least a half-dozen ways, and she complained about a few of those exposures pretty hard. She asked for Kovachev's phone number and said she would call him to get guarantees in writing and protection for my involvement with Gabriella. I pitied Kovachev. Lena was a partner at the second largest and most prestigious law firm in Phoenix; she would not take any crap from him. I was in good hands legally speaking, even if she was a little miffed at me right now.

She stressed a number of times that Gabriella was the responsibility of the Phoenix Police or the immigration authorities and that my involvement was a bad idea, which made her complaints about what I was doing seven times during the call. I had to assure her I wouldn't do anything stupid and tried to justify my reasons—she wasn’t buying any of them. I really appreciated that about her—no PC crap, just straight talk from an amazing woman who obviously cared about me.

Her last warning had to do with being careful and not taking any unnecessary risks. She was worried, and I could hear it coming through the tiny speaker on my phone. Her warning was that whoever was doing this to Trans women in the area wouldn't discriminate between US citizens and immigrants. I got the message that I was Hispanic, I was Trans, and my citizenship wouldn't matter.
The ‘Goodbye’ was tension-filled, and when I hung up, I felt very alone. Did I just screw up everything with her? I considered calling back to apologize, but the train I was on had already left the station. I’d make it up to her.

To quell my mind from screwing up with Lena and waiting for Gabriella to finish her call, I switched gears and began searching Google Maps. This was likely going to be impossible—finding an abandoned hotel or motel on a remote road, roughly twenty to thirty, maybe forty miles from Buckeye? My first couple searches got me nothing. So, I searched for 'Buckeye, AZ + closed hotel + remote'. The results only got me hotels to stay in that weren't closed. Think....

I heard the bedroom door open and the bathroom door close. I continued searching, but it was in vain. When Gabriella was finished, she joined me at the dining room table, sitting next to me to see what it was I was doing. She looked tired, her makeup was a little smudged, the fringes of her facial bruising were showing through ever so slightly, and her eyes were puffy. She'd been crying I suspected.

"You alright?" I asked.

"Yes, but my hunger could smell the pizza," she said sheepishly.

I stood and went to the refrigerator, pulled the pizza box out, got the oven going, put a couple slices on a sheet of tin foil, and slid them in.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Yes, please... water?"

I pulled a glass from the cupboard and began to fill it, but when I turned to bring it to her, she looked disturbed.

"Would you prefer bottled water? I wouldn't blame you; this water won't taste like home."

"No... That is how they drugged me," she whispered.

Oh crap...

"Let me get you a bottle of water..." I said, putting the glass in the sink and returning to the refrigerator to grab a bottle.

"Thank you..."

While she certainly saw me fill the glass, maybe it was a trigger of sorts. I wasn't going to discount her discomfort, and to switch the focus, I asked, "Were you able to get a hold of who you need too?"

"Yes," she said, taking the bottle from me when I offered it.

"Is everything alright?"

Gabriella looked down at the table and asked, "Do you believe there are consequences for our actions?"

"I suppose... actions have consequences; it's how we learn sometimes," I offered, thinking her call set something in motion she was battling with.

"I agree...," she said, turning her focus to the laptop and the Google Maps satellite image of Buckeye on the screen. "It was not a hotel I was brought too. It was a large building with many doors, a fence, and an angry dog that barked all the time."

"Why tell us it was a hotel?"

"Trust," she said, bowing her head. "Since I've been in your country, I have had little to trust in. I believe I can trust you, but I needed to get out of the hospital and continue my journey. Too many details presented to your detective may have made that impossible." She squeezed the bottle slightly, and it made a crinkling sound.

I wasn't sure how to react to that. On one hand, I'd certainly hung my ass out there to move this kid along on her journey—admittedly partly for my own gains—but come on! Did I need to bleed for her to cement some trust in me? Was her trust issues due to what had happened to her or something else? Grrr! I needed to remember that she was eighteen, and while she played the 'I've got worldly experience' game, in truth she was just a kid.

"Okay, trust begets trust, Gabriella. I trusted you at your word that you would help us locate the other woman who was with you. I trusted you at the hospital that you would meet me in the parking lot. I'm trusting you in my home... I've got plenty to lose here; legally, what I did today, sanctioned or not by the detective, could get me in a lot of trouble, even arrested."

"It was not my wish to make you feel as if I did not trust you or to put you in this position. Things went very wrong, very different than they were planned," she looked up. "If I involve you more, I fear it will endanger your life even more."

"These people who did this to you can't get at us," I stated as confidently as I could. I considered that statement for a split second; did I really believe that?

"What about after I am gone and you write your story for your newspaper? I cannot accept putting you more in danger."

There was certainly a chance there could be blowback from some shadow group of assholes doing this to Trans women, but I felt like the risk was pretty minuscule.

"I can handle myself, Gabriella, I promise..."

She was studying me, calculating her reply, "How?"

"How do I know I can handle myself?"

She nodded.

"Well, I may not look like it, but I was in the Army not too long ago." It felt odd to say that out loud after all these years, but also a little liberating and empowering: "I've been in battles with the Taliban in Afghanistan and Iraq... I'm still here; I don't fear these people who did this to you."

"Is this true?" she asked, surprised, maybe a little shocked.

I smiled at her, "Yeah, I can show some of my records if you don't believe me. Maybe I can even find my combat boots in a box someplace, probably in the mess you crawled around in the garage." I chuckled thinking about how keeping my combat boots after all these years was a little odd, especially since they wouldn't go with any of my current wardrobe.

"I believe you, but..." she stopped speaking.

"What's wrong?"

"How are you a Taliban fighter and now a Trans woman with much confidence?" she asked, sounding unsure if she should believe what I was saying.

"Oh, I am not that confident; trust me on that. I also told you that everyone’s journey is different. For me, thousands of hours of counseling," I smirked. "Counseling is what helped me understand the lie I was living. I had thought that if I joined the Army, that would fix my doubting my gender and make me a real man. It did not, and I wasted a lot of time, time I can't get back pretending to be someone I wasn't. I thought joining would reassure my father that I was man enough. I had to come to grips with, as you'd said about yourself that my mind could not function in the body it presented as.

“The Army never had a chance of making me the 'man' everyone thought I should be. And the Army certainly wasn’t going to make me happy with whom I truly was inside. That's been my journey, and I can tell you I've made a lot of mistakes along the way. I have many regrets and things I would do differently."

"Your sister, she is of support."

Her English was a little off, but she was trying, and I respected that.

"Yes, but we are not as close as we should be... I'm lucky to have that connection, though," I said, shrugging as if I couldn’t really explain that any better.

She turned to the computer and said, “I was not aware as they took me to this place, but when they were through, I had to act as if I were still drugged. I saw two signs when we left the bumpy road: ‘Arlington Wildlife Area’ and a sign that said, ‘Highway 80’. The man who took the pictures and video was Asian, but the other two were Hispanic—Mexican, I'm sure. The Asian said something about a restaurant we passed not being open very quickly after we were on this road, ‘Highway 80’.”

I sat at the computer and entered ‘Arlington Wildlife Area’ in Google Maps—so close to Buckeye, likely less than twenty miles depending on where she was originally stashed in Buckeye. The restaurant was there, but was there a building that matched her description? I zoomed in on the satellite image; there weren’t many options for large buildings.

"Here,” Gabriella said, pointing at the screen. “This is the building. I remember this house on the road here.”

“Are you sure? It had to be the middle of the night when they left there to go dump you,” I said, not considering my choice of words and regretting the use of the word ‘dump’.

She looked at me for a long moment and said, “I was nothing to them... They dumped me, but I remember this place.”

Certainly, it was a remote location, but did it fit with the other abductions? Would someone still be there? Was this a new location for them to operate from? Was this where the other women were taken? So many questions...

She interrupted the beginnings of my endless list of impossible-to-answer questions: "We must go there... But first, I must do something very important..." She looked at a clock across the room and said, “I am behind schedule.”

"Okay,” I said, not so confidently. “Is there something I can help with?" I asked.

"Does your computer operate with a VPN?"

Huh? She must mean my internet connection. That's an interesting question, though.

"Yes."

"May I use your computer to remotely connect to another computer?"

Where was this going? If this second computer was also on a VPN, say in a foreign country, tracking what she was about to do was going to be nearly impossible. Terrorists operated like this: shadow agencies, people with something to hide. Was this a consequence?

"You want to remote into another computer? May I ask why?"

"I need to initiate a bank transaction," she said, pulling the laptop square in front of her, then waiting to see if I had other questions.

"Is this an illegal movement of money? Are we talking crypto currency?"

She hesitated, stood, went to the stove, and pulled the pizza from the oven onto the plate I had set out. She figured out how to turn the oven off and returned to the table.

"My backpack contains a micro-SD card; do you have an adapter?"

"It does?”

“Yes, but I need an adapter,” she said.

“I have one... But back to my question, where are we with the legality of this transfer?"

I went to the living room and retrieved her empty backpack, which now explained why she was concerned about it in the hospital and needed it before we left. I found in the kitchen junk drawer a micro-SD card adapter she could use to plug into my laptop and scissors to cut the SD card out of wherever it was hiding in her backpack. Hiding it in the backpack was planned and certainly covert. Who was this kid?

"The money was gotten illegally by the employer of my father. Some will become payment for enslaving my father," she said dryly.

"Wait, I thought your relationship with your parents was strained?"

For someone who didn't want to divulge details about what she was up to and endangering me, she'd certainly changed her tune in the last couple of minutes. Trust?

"It is, but not because they are not supportive of me, but because of their fear of his employer."

"Who is?" I asked as if on cue.

"He is a man involved with many bad businesses—drugs, weapons, many bad things."

Fuck...

Friday, June 8th, 8:29 p.m., Avondale, Arizona
I watched over her shoulder as she pulled up a Word document from the micro-SD card she'd removed from the intact backpack strap. The document was in Spanish, but I could read the instructions, which she didn't seem to mind that I was doing. She would be connecting from my computer to another, and from that second one to yet another. Whoever came up with this plan wasn't expecting that her initial connection would be via a VPN, so in total, her transaction would be hidden three times instead of just twice; whatever she was about to do would be impossible to track depending on the backend setup of these computers and anyone else who might have access to them. Tracking software or keystroke trackers wouldn’t be of much use.

Gabriella certainly didn't strike me as being a terrorist, but if she was about to steal money from some cartel weapons or drug kingpin, there were going to be fireworks in Mexico tonight. Then it hit me: "What about your parents?" I asked, concerned.

She replied calmly, "They are already dead."

The look of shock and concern on my face was obvious.

"Dead!" I barked, surprised!

"Yes..." she said with no detectable emotion in her voice as she typed a computer IP address into a Remote Desktop Connection panel.

I could only stare at her in shock. There was no way she was this cold-blooded and heartless. Something wasn't adding up...

"I don't understand... How do..."

She interrupted me and said, "They are not killed, but it will appear that way shortly. I need to do these things to ensure their deaths were part of their captors torturing my father to get at the accounts. It must appear as though my father gave the account information to a rival."

She finished typing credentials, gained access, and then repeated the steps to another computer's IP address. Once connected to the second computer from the first, she opened a browser and navigated to Banco Mexico del Mundo, a bitcoin exchange bank, and clicked the 'Login' link. She entered the credentials from the instructions, typed the password, and hit enter.

The message was clear: 'The username or password entered does not match our records; please try again'. The page presented the two entry fields again, but they were now empty. The IP address of the request was captured and shown under the message. I pulled my phone out and took a picture of the IP address while she reentered the credentials. This time she clicked the 'Login' button rather than hitting enter. Same result: bad credentials. Gabriella looked on the verge of panic and froze.

"What if you just copy and paste from the document? Maybe you fat-fingered the password; I mean, it is a twenty-character or more mixed-case, numeric, and symbol password. I think the username looks correct," I offered.

"I may be too late..." she replied, defeated.

"Just try it..."

She copied the credentials from the document and instinctively hit enter. Success! She looked relieved but wasted no time celebrating the success. I watched her navigate to the 'Wire Transfer' option within the account. Two clicks later, she had the destination exchange account entered, and was asked how much she wanted to transfer. She entered the type to/from as Bitcoin, and then the amount of 3,149.10038, with a current individual Bitcoin value of $44,270.31 per coin (and fluctuating)—the total was over one hundred thirty-nine million US dollars.

"Are you serious? You are draining the account," I asked, surprised.

"This is one of many that will be taken. There are consequences for one's actions," she replied with a raised brow and the tiniest of smiles.

"Whoever's money this is, they are unlikely to rest until they've tracked this transfer down and who did it. Your parents and you are about to change your lives forever. Are you sure about this?"

She hit enter, and less than a second later, the screen showed the transfer as having been completed. She logged off, closed the browser, did something within the Remote Desktop Connection settings, and reopened the browser.

She navigated to Il Banco Espana el Intercambio, logged in, and verified the transfer was complete. All 3,249.10038 Bitcoins were sitting there. She took a deep breath, clicked 'Wire Transfer' and entered the routing information for another account in the document, this time to a different crypto exchange. The amount for this transfer was three hundred Bitcoin, or just over thirteen million US dollars. Completed, she verified that the crypto had been transferred and looked relieved.

"My family is not entitled to all of this money, but we are entitled to the three hundred Bitcoin I just transferred; that was the arrangement with your government."

"My government?" I asked, unable to hide the surprise in my voice.

"Yes, for the financial ruin of the Corbino drug cartel."

Shit...

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If there are problems or you have criticism you'd like to share privately feel free to message me on the site or via email ([email protected]) - I'd love to address them if I can.

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Author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.
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Friday June 8th, 8:46 p.m., Avondale, Arizona
"Wait, you are working with my government?"

She nodded, "My father is the accountant for Louis de la Vega Corbino or as is he is better known Lupe. That name means something about a wolf and a river,” she said as if it was a ridiculous nickname.

I figured Lupe was short for Guadelupe, but was pretty sure it was generally a name given to girls. Maybe the ‘wolf’ was part of this guy’s mystic or fear campaign over his territory and assets?

“When I was thirteen, I could not hold longer my feeling of my gender being in conflict. My parents tried many things, quietly, to understand this and that is when the fear of Corbino began to grow for them. If Corbino were to know of my being Trans or his enemies, my family would be killed because of the shame, the weakness this presents to his organization. It is just their way; you know our culture. I do not know the government people who made the agreements with my father, but they will get my parents to freedom in exchange for Corbino’s money..."

"Your father agreed to bring Corbino down for thirteen-million dollars? Then what? Where are you going to hide to be safe?"

She looked to be confused, "My father never wanted this life. He is expendable in Corbino’s eyes. He is only doing this to protect his family... It is planned, your government will know at first where we are going to hide, but we will try to hide from them eventually also. What I took, which was the agreed upon amount, should help keep us hidden."

"Don't be too sure of that Gabriella. I cannot imagine a place on earth where you won't have to be looking over your shoulders for the rest of your life from Corbino or even my government...," I replied exasperated.

She tried to smile, "In any place we are, people would want to kill you and I. For Corbino, it is better to give him a little pain first, and hide after he is beaten by your government... I do not think Corbino will be alive for too much longer, his obligations too many will speed up his ending. He will be replaced by others, but they will be too busy recovering his business to look for us. I just hope your government can be trusted."

Oh crap! What was a story, a sick story, about Trans Women being abducted and abused, just got blown to hell with the revelations Gabriella had spilled. A weapons / drug cartel torn down by an operation being sanctioned by the US government? We were using citizens of a foreign country to screw with a cartel? Not that that wasn't in the typical playbook for our government, but Holy Fuck! Was this some kind of clean-up from the Obama era 'Fast and Furious' gun running? Had their pet Corbino out lived his usefulness or had he threatened to bite the hand that fed him? This was insanity...

Gabriella beginning to type again snapped me out of my going down a rabbit hole without a bottom.

"What are you doing now?"

"I have six other accounts to transfer. Your government and Corbino are surely aware now. My father said that they will try to block my access, but I must try..."

I watched her empty another crypto account, but on the third she could not gain access. She moved on to the fourth, same result - the credentials had likely been changed on these two accounts. Whoever was monitoring the money for Corbino as her father's backup was trying to stop the leaks. They knew they were under attack. It didn't slow Gabriella down. She methodically went to the next account if she couldn't get logged in. She was using the copy / paste method, so any error message trying to login meant she was too late at this point. Onto the fifth, sixth, and seventh crypto accounts - same results - no access.

In crypto transfers alone she had moved nearly two-hundred and fifty-two million US dollars. Totally untraceable... Her list of crypto accounts completed, she switched to a list of three standard banking institutions - the first two she had no luck gaining access. The third she was able to transfer the balance of nearly sixty-three million dollars to the il Banco Espana el Intercambio crypto account as cash.

That made the final total she’d stolen a little over three-hundred and two million US dollars. I didn't know how big of an operation Corbino ran or how much was in those accounts she didn’t get access too, but losing this money was going to hurt. Heads of innocents were going to roll, maybe even Corbino' at some point if her family and our government was lucky. It was going to be a bloody night in Mexico.

"We can go to the building... Yes," Gabriella asked after she had logged out of each remotely connected computer and was back on the Google satellite image of the building where she said she'd been taken.

I could only stare at her, still in disbelief of what she’d just done…

Friday June 8th, 9:29 p.m., Avondale, Arizona
I opened my bedside gun vault and pulled the Smith and Wesson 9C it contained. It felt cool to the touch, weighted in my hand as though it was something foreign I was holding. It did not lack a flood of unresolved emotions I had kept buried deep for a long time, from a previous life.

I could have to use this thing tonight and that realization made me anxious. It had been months since I last held this thing, and it had easily been a year since I’d squeezed off any rounds. Augh! Don’t over think the use of this tool…

I changed into a pair of dark black jeans, with a belt, and secured the pistol in a IWB (In Waist Band) holster. I took two extended round magazines from the vault and put them in a back pocket. That gave me 51 rounds, plus one that was already in the barrel. I would need to pay attention to my round count if there was a gunfight – I hoped that wasn’t going to be the case. I adjusted a black baggy shirt over my holstered weapon - am I ready for this, right?

No way I would be going anywhere near this abduction sight without an equalizer… If confronted I could either throw nasty words or hot nasty hollow-point bullets – the choice was easy. I had a concealed carry permit, so legally I wouldn’t be violating any laws – being legal, on the side of right – while a justification for violence was not a pleasant thought. Fuck it! Don’t over think it…

Before I left Gabriella at the table to get ready, we discussed Kovachev’s involvement - it was a point of contention between her and I. We agreed, after much discussion, we would contact him once we were through searching the property. This excursion was probably a huge mistake alone and especially without backup. Not to mention we were likely impeding a police investigation and possibly contaminating any evidence at the scene.

I did not like the plan or the lack of backup, but Gabriella was insistent we needed to go and said that she cared about bringing this part of her journey to some kind of conclusion. She seemed different after the money transfer; I wasn't sure why. Then I remembered Kovachev asking whether I had thought Gabriella was involved with these abductions. At the time it seemed like a stupid question, but now I was wondering about her motives. She had insisted that we check out the building tonight, why? To say I wasn’t concerned would be a lie. Could I trust her?

I left my room and found Gabriella at the table closing up the laptop. I nodded; she knew we needed to get going. I mentioned as we walked down the stairs to the garage that I planned a quick stop along the way and hoped it wouldn't take too long.

Friday June 8th, 9:52 p.m., Avondale, Arizona
"You want to keep Kara over night?"

"My friend is considering adopting her," I nodded towards Gabriella, she smiled, "And she just wants to see how Kara fairs in her townhouse," I replied trying to sound like it wasn't a big deal or an odd request near the end of a volunteer’s closing shift at the shelter I volunteered at.

"Kind of an odd request Cass..."

"I know, but Gabriella works from home now and after her breakup with her boyfriend, she'd just feel more secure having a dog around... She has the cutest little fenced backyard, patio area – plenty of room to run and play. I promise I'll bring her back tomorrow, fill out all the paperwork if this is going to work, vouch for Gabriella, and even pay the fees. What do you say?"

Marty shook his head a little exasperated, but agreed after flirty looks from both us women. His shift was nearly over and he just wanted to be out of there. Plus, he knew me and there may have been interest in getting to know me outside of working at the shelter - though I might be all wet on that thought.

We were back on the road twenty minutes later - Kara would make a difference and it was dumb luck that I'd remembered a story I'd heard long ago in another life. Gabriella was confused by the reason for the side trip, but understood once I explained it to her in detail.

Friday June 8th, 10:41 p.m., Arlington Wildlife Area, Arizona
I missed the turn onto the dirt road that led to the building Gabriella had said she was taken too. I doubled back and as I approached the turn my phone rang. I pulled it out and could see it wasn't a number I recognized, a 619-area code number. I didn't know if it was Kovachev's phone number, so answered it on the fourth ring, I pulled to the side of an empty and dark Highway 80.

"Yes..."

"Ruiz," the caller asked.

"Yes, who is this," I asked not recognizing the voice. The caller wasn't Kovachev, no thick accent.

"You are not in an operational area you should be...," the caller stated.

Huh? This guy knows where I am? Operational? Was this guy ex-military or something?

"Excuse me? Who is this?"

"Look, you've got our assets son and we need to get him reunited with his parents..."

Shit! His words sent a chill through my body and I turned to look at Gabriella.

"I think you're mistaken, I have no one's son. Either tell me who you are or this conversation is over..." I could feel the rush of adrenaline hitting and my anxiety would be spiking like being hit with a baseball bat. Breathe…

There was a long pause, "This isn't a game Ruiz and I'm not going to argue biology with you. Go back to Avondale, we'll meet you at your townhouse around midnight..."

I shuddered, this was an unexpected twist and only added to this crazy day, "Good, I'm glad I don't need to school you on the latest studies regarding biology. Maybe one about the legality of the CIA operating on US soil would be more appropriate?" I could feel my chest tightening, I wasn't comfortable hitting back at this asshole, but I wasn't about to be steamrolled either. I was purely guessing he was CIA.

"You're mistaken Ruiz..."

"About what? The CIA not being able to operate on US soil legally," I offered tentatively.

"We just want the kid...," he said, the exasperation in his voice evident because I wasn't complying.

I killed the connection and powered off my phone. Gabriella was looking at me concerned, "That was the CIA," she asked nervously.

"I don't," before I could finish my answer Gabriella's phone began to ring.

She looked at it, and gave it over to me when I reached for it. The area code was 765.

"We're not playing this game," I stated angrily after I answered it. No one had this number, so I was sure they'd figured out I'd called her number and could see we the phones were pinging off the same cell tower.

"Good! It's not a fucking game Ruiz. Just bring the 'kid'," he said with some inflection like it hurt, "Back to your townhouse, midnight. Don't make this harder than it needs to be..."

It was the same guy, but his misgendering Gabriella had temporarily been squashed, so we were making some progress.

"Who are you, who do you work for, and where are you right now," I asked in a series of run-on on questions without taking a breath.

"Mitchell Allen, I work for the government, and I'm on a plane headed to Phoenix, I'll be there shortly and at your townhouse at midnight..."

Okay, he was sharing but was it only to keep me on the line. Why? He knew where I was obviously.

"Is someone coming to intercept us?"

Tactically that made sense, but if we knew they were coming they wouldn't have the element of surprise and we could make contingent plans, maybe even get some help. I felt distant glimpses of my military training kicking in and shuddered.

"No, but that could be arranged. We'd much prefer working together than make this any more difficult..."

I didn't trust what he said, I was sure someone was heading our way. Were they CIA or a sister organization like FBI, US Marshal? Play along, buy us some time.

"We will head back, but I'm going to have a lawyer present..."

"We would prefer not involving Ms. Cantor, the reason for that is the less people involved the safer our assets family will be," he said trying to sound reasonable.

Damn it! Lena's last name, her maiden name was Cantor, they knew about my connection to her! Think!

"I get that, but I think we're going to need legal representation to keep your organization in check. Whether you want to admit it or not, Gabriella has some rights, as do her parents given the operation you're running. I don't want to know what your deal with her parents is, but I do want to make sure you're holding up your end of the bargain," I replied trying to sound confident, but probably failing.

"The family will be protected and the money promised appears to have been acquired already, including that which was to be held by us. So far, we're holding up our end of the bargain Ruiz. Head home, let's not bother Ms. Cantor, and we'll meet you at your townhouse, alright?"

Something wasn't adding up...

"Okay," and I hung up on him.

Friday June 8th, 10:49 p.m., Arlington Wildlife Area, Arizona
"That was the CIA?"

"I'm not sure, but likely... He knew too much to not be involved," I replied trying to organize the herd of cats racing around in my mind like they'd been rolling in catnip the past however many minutes.

"We are going back to your townhouse?"

That wasn't a good idea, not public enough to keep them from hauling us away and making us disappear for a little bit. Think! I looked at Gabriella's phone in my hand, they know where we are - we needed to make them think we're heading home. Misdirection, then control the meeting venue, and make sure we've got backup this time.

I put the car in gear and began heading north on Highway 80.

"We're going to make them think we're heading that way and then we'll turn your phone off. We'll turn around and check out the building, get a hold of my lawyer friend somehow, call the detective also, and figure out how to navigate these people. I don't trust the guy who called. He said his name was Mitchell Allen do you recognize that name?" She shook her head in answer. "I might be able to check him out, but not without turning my phone back on..."

"Are we going to see if the other woman is in the building," Gabriella asked, nervous concern in her voice.

"Yes...," I said trying to squelch my own nerves. Was I supposed to check that building out? One camp said return home, Gabriella was saying we needed to check – what was I walking in to?

Friday June 8th, 11:11 p.m., Arlington Wildlife Area, Arizona
We traveled north for ten minutes on Highway 80, far enough I guessed to be picked up by a second cell tower – I hoped. We hadn't seen any other cars on the highway since the one that passed us while we were on the side of the road talking to Mitchell Allen. Time to turn off Gabriella's phone and kill their tracking of us.

I spun the Mustang around and headed south, eventually turning onto the dirt road the building Gabriella had said she was taken too was located on. We drove slowly over potholes a quarter of a mile until the building was faintly lit up by the car’s headlights ahead. I couldn’t see a dog, but I could certainly hear it. I killed the lights, used my parking brake to slow us to a stop - no brake lights that way - and killed the engine.

Besides the occasional tick or click from the cooling engine the only other sound was the barking dog. So much for the element of surprise. We were probably two hundred yards from the house Gabriella said she remembered, it's lights were all off, except for one on the porch. The building the dog was protecting was also dark, no vehicles appeared to be parked on the road or within the gated area that I could see in the darkness. I could feel my hands were slippery on the steering wheel, nerves. Recon and get the fuck out of here…

"I'm going to take Kara with me and see if I can get a look inside the building. You stay here. I'll leave my keys, push this button to start her up. If something spooks you or you see someone, drive up to the fence and I’ll come running. Flash the lights or honk and I'll know we need to get out of here..."

"Can I not come with you?"

"Best that you stay here. You're my safety valve. If you hear gun shots get out of here, turn my phone on, check my contacts, and call Lena. She's my lawyer friend and she'll get you help..."

Of course, that wasn’t going to work – her turning my phone on and getting access to it – but I didn’t have the heart or time to come up with a better sounding plan. What we were doing here was a mistake, a big one.

"I do not like this Cass..."

"I'm not a fan of this plan either, but we need to check that building out..."

Friday June 8th, 11:16 p.m., Arlington Wildlife Area, Arizona
It took a little over three minutes to carefully walk up to the fenced property and with every step the Pit-bull's barking became fiercer. I tried to mitigate the sounds of my footsteps by walking in the ruts on the dirt road, half-crouched, and half trying to keep Kara in check.

At the corner of the property, the barking monster of a Pitbull figured out that Kara was with me and the barking all but stopped. I watched it pace back and forth sniffing, panting, and occasionally jumping up against the fence. I tied Kara to a small scrap of brush near the fence and stepped away. The Pit-bull stayed focused on Kara, but would look towards me as if begging me to bring her a little closer. Sorry buddy, not tonight.

Kara was in heat. I knew this from working at the shelter the day before yesterday when she was brought in. We were keeping her separated from the other dogs until she could be spayed this coming weekend. Colonel Flagg had told me a story while in Afghanistan of how he had defeated the security perimeter of a Taliban compound by using a dog in heat to distract the dogs that protected it - hence Kara being here. It appeared to be working and I walked around the corner of the fence without the dog following me. The only sounds were my footsteps and the big Pit-bull whimpering. Thank goodness Kara wasn't a barker.

As I moved along the fence, hyper aware of my surroundings, cooled by how much I was perspiring – I realized that never happened while I was in the Army - sweating while on patrol. Focus!

I couldn't see any cameras on the build in the darkness, but that didn't mean they weren't there. The fence didn't have any obvious easy entry points, so when I was about even with the building, I began to climb it gingerly to keep the noise down, but quickly to reduce the time I was exposed. I was over it within a couple seconds. I crouched, focused on the Pit-bull, but he hadn't noticed I was over the fence. If he came at me, I would likely have to put him down – that wasn’t going to be good on a number of levels.

Friday June 8th, 11:21 p.m., Arlington Wildlife Area, Arizona
I pulled my weapon; it was warm now from my resting against my body. My hands being cold probably made it feel warmer than it was. Concentrate!

I snicked the safety off, looked around once more, and slowly made my way to the side of the building. The building almost looked like it was a storage unit, but lacked any garage type roller doors. Flat roof, only a ground floor level, concrete block construction, and certainly appeared abandoned and run down.

Along the front were eight doors, no windows. Gabriella had said the door she had been behind had red and blue graffiti on it. I couldn't see it from the corner, but figured I'd run into it eventually. First though, a peek around the rear of the building to check for access points, threats, or signs anyone might be here. Nothing…

Back to the front of the building, a look over towards the dog – still dry humping whatever fantasy he thought he was having. Time to go…

I made my way towards the first door. It was painted a dull gray and a check of the handle - locked. I would need to pay close attention to each door I passed in case someone behind one of them appeared while I was deeper into exploring the building.

Memories of my time in the Army came flooding back and I wished I had an over-watch team member watching my back right now. I looked toward the fence corner again to make sure the dog was still preoccupied by Kara, yup. I had no idea how long it would be before he got frustrated about not getting his rocks off and came looking for me. Flagg hadn't said how long his Taliban incursion had been or how long the dogs were distracted by the bitch in heat.

The second door was dull gray with some kind of black graffiti on it. It was also locked. Third door, red and blue graffiti adorned the front of it - and it was ajar. I raised my pistol, checked my surroundings, and listened. I tried peeking in cautiously, but it was too dark to see anything. I hadn't brought a flashlight and didn't have one I could have put on my pistol's rail - tactical mistake. Too late to worry about that now.

No sounds except the thumping of my heart pounding in my ears. I pushed the door open slowly until I could get a better look inside.

Nothing moved, no sounds, so I moved to where I could see inside a little better after I checked my surroundings. A faint glow was coming in through the window at the back of the room – moonlight, I’d seen that it was about three-quarter full tonight while checking out the rear of the building.

The window was half covered by a sheet of fabric or plastic though, so not much to see. There looked to be a mattress on the floor and something black looked to be covering part of it. There was possibly graffiti on the wall behind the mattress. The rest of the room, as best I could tell in the dark, looked to be dust or dirt covered. It smelled stale, musty – Gabriella had said that about this place – could I trust I wasn’t being set up?

I felt the wall with the back of my hand, and found a light switch. If I flipped it on my night vision would be shot, but without the light I couldn't see anything. I could use my phone’s flashlight, but it was a paperweight in the car with Gabriella.

I entered the room fully, closed the door behind me using my shirt to twist the knob and engage the lock. I waited a few seconds and clicked the light on with the back of my hand. The bulb in the center of the rooms ceiling shot out a creamy hue of light – nothing blinding.

My stomach dropped... The mattress was covered in what was likely dried blood and the wall graffiti I had seen in the dark was blood splatter from a gun shot. A couple small divots in the wall confirmed that thought. Shit...

Friday June 8th, 11:53 p.m., Arlington Wildlife Area, Arizona
"What did you find?"

I finished putting Kara in the back seat and climbed into the driver's seat after Gabriella had shimmied over the center counsel to the passenger seat. I rested my hands on the steering wheel and bowed my head.

"What?" Gabriella pressed.

"Nothing... No one was there and I only stayed long enough to confirm that. All the other doors were locked, so unless she was in another room, the place is abandoned." my voice trailed off.

"What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure..."

I wasn't going to tell her about the blood. It's likely the woman she was with had been killed in that room a few days ago. Kovachev needed to get out here, I needed to call him but also not have a run in with Mitchell Allen or some other government agency representative. I had Kovachev's business card, so I could call him if I just had access to a phone.

"We need to get to a phone. I need to call the detective and my lawyer friend," I finally said.

Saturday June 9th, 12:29 a.m., Buckeye, Arizona
We stopped at the first gas station we came across in Buckeye as we made our way back towards Phoenix. Luckily, they sold prepaid cell phones. It wasn't the same brand as Gabriella's phone and getting it activated at this early hour took longer than I expected. Once activated I got out of the car and walked a few feet away to call Kovachev.

"Yes," the voice asked sleepily.

"Detective Kovachev, this is Cassidy Ruiz..."

"Is there a problem," he asked, instantly more coherent.

"We were able to find the building Gabriella was taken," I began.

He interrupted me, "I'm not going to be happy to hear you went to check this place out Ms. Ruiz..."

"That's a long story detective for another time," I replied using the line he'd used on me about his immigration to the US.

"Please tell me you did not enter the hotel."

"I can't tell you that, but I can tell you I did not disturb the crime scene."

"Crime scene?"

"I'm going to send you an image from Google satellite maps of where this building is. It's near the Arlington Wildlife Area on old Highway 80. You're going to need animal control for the dog and a full crime scene team. I think the other Trans woman who was with Gabriella may have been shot."

There was a short pause and I could hear Kovachev exhale slowly, "Where are you now?"

"That's another long story, but we need to be off the grid for the next couple of days. There's another government agency involved that you and I weren't aware of," I said trying to not sound cryptic.

"That might explain a call from the US Marshal Service earlier tonight asking about where Gabriella was," he said as if trying to figure out a missing word in a crossword puzzle, “I meant to call you.”

"Did you get a name?"

"Allen Mitchell, why?"

"We were contacted by a Mitchell Allen while on our way to the site. Could he have mixed the name up on you, like in the military we were always addressed by our last names?"

"I'm not sure, but now I'm going to get to the bottom of that. I have his phone number," he said, annoyance dripping from his tone. "What are you going to do now?"

"First, get a hold of my lawyer. Next, find someplace to lay low and get some sleep," I said realizing I was certainly tired after the adrenaline dump from exploring the building they had taken Gabriella to.

"I spoke with Ms. Cantor; it would be good to speak with her. She chewed on me fairly hard," he commented as if impressed. "Am I to understand that you're not going home. How do I contact you?"

"Lena chewed on me also, I'm sure you got it worse than I did though," I couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah, we're not going to my townhouse... They wanted me to bring Gabriella there, but that isn't going to happen. I need to get some answers and I need to keep her safe. After this call, I'm turning this cellphone off. I'll call you at noon."

The pause before he began speaking almost had me asking if he was still there, "Let me make some calls, find someplace to lay low. Would you consider meeting me at the police station," he asked.

"Don't think Gabriella's opinion or trust level concerning you has changed much in the past nine hours..."

"Understood. I'll be waiting for your call. You both be careful," he said, the worry in his voice evident.

"Thank you, we will," I said before killing the connection and powered off the phone.

Saturday June 9th, 1:09 a.m., El Oso Park, Maryvale, Arizona
I'd driven around the block three times before pulling into the El Oso Park parking lot. No one was following us, no one was sitting in a parked car looking out for us on any of the streets we’d cruised. We were fifteen minutes from my townhouse and maybe twice that from Lena's place at this hour of the morning.

The Phoenix Police station I'd met Kovachev at was between us and Lena's place - close enough if I needed to crash my Mustang through the lobby door to get someone's attention. I knew these streets well enough to be able to escape in pretty much any direction, so I felt comfortable to shut down here for a little bit. The neighborhood was safe and it felt good to finally be sitting still. Kara was curled up in the back seat and didn't seem to mind either of us had cranked our seats back slightly to get more comfortable.

Gabriella had plenty of questions, especially about the contact with Mitchell Allen or as Kovachev knew him, Allen Mitchell. I wasn't ripe with answers, but tried to reassure her that things would work out. Of course, not having found the other Trans woman who was held with her wasn't something I was feeling good about. There wasn't anything we could do about that right now.

She asked what our next move was and I told her I needed to talk to Lena in a couple hours. No sense in waking her up in the middle of the night for a crisis there probably wasn't much she could help with at this hour.

Somewhere in our conversation about Lena, Gabriella figured out that we were dating. That of course lead to all sorts of questions / answers we batted back and forth at each other. Gabriella was attracted to men and I had certainly experimented with both men and women. She told me of an older man she was attracted to in Mexico, but didn't say whether it was something she could have built on. I told her about a few failed relationships – both male and female – and tried to impart some things I'd learned along the way.

"You have been on HRT for how long," she asked.

"Five years, maybe... I've struggled with becoming who I am now, so I started and stopped for a short period, and started back up. So, like four years straight," I answered.

"I have only been allowed the HRT for ten months and I have seen many changes... I am anxious for more, to be complete – but I wish these changes came faster."

"I was wondering about that, how long you'd been on HRT. I worry about 'passing' a couple times a day depending on what I’m doing. I wonder if finally becoming complete, GCS, will make things different. The dysphoria can be crushing with that appendage between my legs still," I tried to chuckle, but it sounded flat.

"I know it is very expensive. I would like to have the surgery soon; I understand the feelings and depressions. I have struggled because I am hiding every day in Mexico..."

"Anyone who thinks we transition and there isn't a lot of pain and struggle for us are fools. I am constantly amazed by the lack of understanding by those in the medical community as to what we're going through or how they can really help us. Throw in the uneducated haters, idiot politicians, and it's certainly not the easiest journey to take. Being Latina adds another layer of cultural stigma and pressures. But, one day, I'll have saved enough for GCS, so it's coming. In the meantime, I try not to get too wrapped up in that part of my body that tends to be my biggest source of self-loathing. It's hard though, a constant reminder that I'm not fully me...," I stopped speaking because I sounded like I was complaining too much. My life certainly could be worse, it could easily be better too.

"Will you have other surgeries," she asked.

"Probably not. I do a few laser hair removal appointments every couple months... Probably a trachea shave at some point," I stopped speaking to watch a black Suburban roll by the parking lot slowly - it didn't stop, but I was instantly on edge.

Gabriella watched the vehicle, "You are worried about that vehicle?"

I tried to play it off, "I'm concerned about any vehicle right now, but they," I stopped speaking as another black Suburban from the opposite direction rounded the corner and pulled into the far end of the parking lot. Shit!

"Okay, we might have a problem," I said quickly cranking my seat back up and starting the car.

Gabriella looked over at me, "They are here for me..."

"No, that's not happening..."

Saturday June 9th, 1:42 a.m., El Oso Park, Maryvale, Arizona
The back passenger door opened on the parked Suburban and a lone male exited. He raised his hands and spoke loudly, "Ruiz... Let's not do anything stupid... Just want to talk, I just need my assets kid."

Fuck! How did they find us? And as soon as I thought that I saw the On-Star button on my mirror... Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"Stay here," I said and opened my door, drawing my weapon, holding it to my side just out of sight. There wasn't anyone I could see behind me, but there had been two Suburban's, so they certainly had the numbers and someone was likely behind me somewhere. "What do you want Allen, or is it, Mitchell?"

"It's Allen, last name Mitchell. I've been talking to a friend of yours from Afghanistan, said you Rangers called him Colonel Flagg. He had nothing but good things to say about you, you were a hell of a tech savvy soldier he said..."

"Yeah, well not smart enough to know my On-Star system was going to screw me."

"Easy item to overlook. If it's any consolation it took my team twenty minutes to get the trace on you after you shut down your phones. Even the one you picked up and called Kovechev on and hour and a half ago."

These guys weren’t playing. To have that kind of free rein to track us – they were connected and whoever was sitting on the top of this shit pile had juice to make things happen and happen quickly. He mentioned Flagg, that was unexpected.

"Yeah, sorry, not much consolation. What do you want?"

"Let's start by putting your weapon away."

"What makes you think I'm armed," I asked.

"The guy in my ear says he can see you're holding a nine-mil or maybe forty-cal, probably a Smith and Wesson, extended magazine... Plus, it’s unlikely you checked out that building without some form of equalizer."

Fuck... There was no getting out of this, and a gun fight wasn't something I wanted to be in. Would they give a shit if the lead started flying and Gabriella was somehow eliminated? They had their money, they didn’t need her, right? I pulled my shirt up, holstered my pistol, and walked around the front of my car.

"Okay, let's talk, but let's agree to not do anything stupid," I said.

Allen made his way over to me and stopped about twelve feet from me, lowered his hands, "We're not the bad guys here Ruiz... Just trying to help my assets family out here. You've got their kid, we need to reunite them, get them hidden in their new lives."

"Where are her parents now," I asked.

"Safe..."

"Not what I asked," I said annoyed that he seemed to be playing with me.

"Bolder Colorado in a safe house," he replied after a moment.

If true it wasn't their final destination, so it was safe to tell me that.

"What guarantees do I get that she'll be safe and reunited with her family?"

"My word for one, I guess. Not sure why we'd go through all this trouble and not just take her from you if we really wanted to do anyone any harm. I'm trying to be reasonable here," he chided.

So, you do need her? Why?

"Yeah, well I got involved with Gabriella due to her abduction and then it turned into a story of our government taking down some drug kingpin in Mexico for a price, her family’s freedom, a bunch of cash," and as soon as I said that I regretted it. I didn't want to appear to know more about this operation than I did. Damn it - mistake...

"That's the story, but you realize that story can't be told," he said calmly.

"Who says it can't?"

He chuckled, "Be reasonable Ruiz, you can't tell that story, but I've got one you can."

"Really? One that's as big as this mess you're involved in?"

"Depends on your loyalties I guess."

"Don't fucking wave the flag at me asshole,” I barked, “I gave this country my all, my blood, they discarded me six years ago!"

He'd pushed the wrong tact at me and I could feel the anger within me boiling over. Another mistake I’d just made – losing control of my emotions.

"I'm aware of that, but where do you stand with the Transgender community and these recent assaults, the ones that were happening in Texas?"

"What do you know about that," I snapped.

"What if I can give you the whole story on that in exchange for dropping any interest in our assets story."

"What can you give me that I already don't know," I ask sarcastically.

"I don't know, maybe the warning I gave you about being somewhere you shouldn't have been?"

"In Arlington," then it hit me, "You knew what I was there for?"

"Possibly..."

"You knew what I would find?"

"Possibly, but I'm going to assume you think the wrong person died in that building. I'll lay it all out for you; you get the inside story, which leads to some international shit, maybe, you look like a rock star for your Transgender community, there's some justice delivered, and a focus on this kind of senseless violence. Are you interested in that story in trade?" he asked.

"The other Trans Woman wasn't shot?"

He shrugged, "We have a deal?"

Fucker! That means they were trying to find Gabriella, didn't know she'd been dumped and hospitalized until they stormed that remote building. They were slow to figure out her whereabouts, but they figured them out in the end. If I read between the lines, the other Trans woman had been in the building as Gabriella had said, Mitchell's people got there, and maybe eliminated one or more of her assailants, and hadn’t gotten around to cleaning up their mess. Fuck!

"And if I agree, what happens next?"

"We run to the airport, fly to Boulder, you get to see the family reunited, we talk abduction story, you write an amazing story that maybe becomes a mini-series for your newspaper, it gets pickup up by affiliates, and sheds light on this kind of issue within your community..."

I could feel the honey being poured into my ears... Mother fucker!

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Authors Note: Don't be afraid to hit the "Thumbs Up" icon for this story if it's doing anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter (I’d have bot’ed that bitch long ago if there were)). If you comment – I will more than likely reply – so let’s chat or not or whatever floats your noddle…

If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected](link sends e-mail)) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

Author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

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Saturday, June 9th, 2:10 a.m., Avondale, Arizona
Mitchell agreed to let us return to my townhouse to get the clothes I’d bought Gabriella. He let me drive us there and followed us in the two Suburbans. He was trusting me—why? He had requested I put my pistol in the trunk. I agreed because, at this point, it was dead weight unless I wanted to take on four armed agents from the US Marshal Service—at least that’s who they claimed to be representing.

Somewhere along the way, I was going to find out who Mitchell really worked for. I was pretty sure he had some connection to the CIA; he mentioned Colonel Flagg. Mitchell having possibly talked to Flagg was certainly interesting, and I wondered if he was part of this operation in some way. For now, though, I just wanted to appear as cooperative as possible.

I powered on my phone as we left the El Oso Park parking lot and called Kovachev.

“Ruiz?”

“I can’t talk long. I’m with Allen Mitchell. He says he’s in the US Marshal Service, but he’s in bed with the CIA, I think. I can’t explain that right now, but he’s taking Gabriella to her parents in Boulder. We’re leaving from Scottsdale Airport in an hour. He’s going to give up details on the abductions and how they’ve been 'resolved'. I think you should be there," I blurted out quickly, hoping he could meet us there.

"Slow down... You're going with him to Boulder?" Kovachev asked.

"Yes. It's a crazy story I can't really get into, but he says the abduction case has been 'resolved'."

"I can meet you at the airport... About Mitchell, I couldn't find any record of him working for the US Marshal Service," he said, concerned.

"I didn't press for a badge, but I will ask to see it when we get to my townhouse," I replied, trying to sound confident I had all the bases covered. Why hadn't I asked for that while we were talking in the parking lot? I'm slipping. Fatigue? Certainly, we could produce fake badges, I guess, do did it matter?

"If you can stall him at your townhouse, I will just meet you there."

"I don't think that's going to be possible; we're just picking up some clothes for Gabriella; you'd never make it there in time."

"Fine, I will be at the airport. I'm in Arlington. We were able to get a warrant to search the property. The dog was an issue, but we were eventually able to get into the building. You shouldn't have entered the room. The CSI team is processing evidence now. Did you touch anything?"

"No, and I only entered the room enough to close the door and lock it behind me. I used my shirt to do that and to turn the knob when I exited. I even used the back of my hand to turn the light on and off. I did not linger any longer than sixty seconds," I explained.

"They have found foot prints from eight different people. There are also some fingerprints, but we haven’t had a chance to get them run yet.”

"One set of footprints would be mine if they were looking at the doorway, Gabriella's, the other Trans woman, and the three men who were with them. So, we've got two sets of footprints unaccounted for," I mused. “Oh, and like I said, I didn’t touch anything—my prints won’t be found.”

"She told you about her assailants?"

"Only that there were three men, two of them Mexican and an Asian," I replied, and then thought about what Mitchell had said about the story he was offering me having 'international shit' implications: "Mitchell mentioned an international connection with these assaults."

"How does he know these things?"

"I'm not sure, but the blood you've found isn't the blood from the other Trans woman who was with Gabriella."

"He told you that," Kovachev asked, surprised.

"Not in so many words," I replied, glancing over at Gabriella, who looked shocked, maybe even worried.

"Okay, we can talk at the airport. I'll meet you there. Be aware of your surroundings, Ruiz."

"I will," and the line went dead.

We got to my townhouse in about twelve minutes, with Mitchell's contingent right behind us the entire way. He and another agent escorted us in and allowed Gabriella to load my backpack with the few items she'd used before we went in search of the building she'd been taken to—a toothbrush, makeup, and the other changes of clothes. I grabbed my laptop and noticed the SD card adapter was missing. I looked at Gabriella, and she looked away. She'd taken it; why? Insurance? Were there other things on the card?

"Why the laptop?" Allen asked.

"I've got deadlines to meet, and if you're detailing the solving of these assault cases, I need to get ahead of it and get something written," I said. It was true, and there wasn't an ulterior motive for bringing it along.

"Okay," he conceded.

"So, you work for the US Marshal Service?" I asked as I was rolling up my power cord.

"I do tonight," he said, fishing something from his suit jacket and holding it out for me to see.

It was an ID and badge in a leather-bound holder. It said his name was Allen Mitchell and all the other official stuff you might expect on a government organization's credentials, including his picture. He nodded to the other agent, who produced the same type of credentials, but there was a difference between the two. Mitchell's badge said "Marshal Service Deputy," and the other agents said "Marshal Service Marshal."

I wasn't positive, but I assumed Mitchell was functioning as a deputized member of the US Marshal Service at the moment. He likely worked for another agency, and this was his 'legal' way of functioning within the US outside that agency. Probably why Kovachev couldn't find anything on him with whomever or however he tried to check with him.

"Thank you for that; good to know we're all here on the up and up," I commented. "We ready?"

"I'm just waiting on you," Mitchell said.

"You promise to get Kara back to the shelter,” I asked.

“Yeah, we’ll get her back,” he said impatiently.

Are the bases all covered? God, I hoped so.

Saturday, June 9th, 2:49 a.m., Scottsdale Airport, Arizona
We made better time to the airport than I expected we would, and the Learjet we'd likely be flying on had just finished taking on fuel. The tanker truck pulled away as we came to a stop a hundred feet from where the jet sat. No Kovachev. I looked around and wondered how I was going to delay us leaving without having a confrontation with Mitchell or tipping him off to my asking Kovachev to meet me here.

"Wait here," Mitchell said over his shoulder as he and the other agent both exited the vehicle and began speaking to the agents in the other suburban.

I leaned over to Gabriella and whispered, "You took the SD card?" She nodded. "Is there something else going on here that I should know about?"

She took my hand, and I felt the adapter. "Keep this; they cannot access their account without you," she whispered in my ear.

"What does that mean?"

"Two factor authentication; I changed that while you were getting ready earlier and used your phone number... The site will send you a six-digit access code necessary to complete the login process. They have the initial password for the login credentials we agreed upon, but they didn't take into account the two-factor authentication requirement. These accounts are very secure that way."

Shit! Adding that was probably a smart move, but why involve me? And that they somehow forgot—someone was not on their game. But why give me access to information or make me a key player in this mess? Then I thought about it a little more—she was trying to protect herself and her family from the devil. She might have just outsmarted them with that move, or at least insured some concessions for access to that pile of money. On the flip side, I really didn't want any further involvement with whatever these two sides of the operation were up to or that third party, Corbino.

Saturday, June 9th, 2:56 a.m., Scottsdale Airport, Arizona
Mitchell returned to our vehicle and opened the door for Gabriella. "Alright, we're good to go."

Gabriella looked back at me as if needing my approval to get out of the Suburban.

"Our destination is still Boulder," I asked, trying to delay, hoping Kovachev would show any second.

"Yes, that's where our asset is, her family," he said, looking away to watch the other Suburban begin to drive away. "Detective Kovachev won't be joining us, I'm afraid. He's been called back to the crime scene in Arlington. The agents," he nodded toward the suburban pulling away, "Will brief him as I will be briefing you. If you'd have asked, I could have saved him some time heading this way."

Shit!

"Yeah, well, ferrying us away without anyone knowing seemed like a risk I wasn't willing to take," I said, not hiding that I was annoyed.

Mitchell chuckled, "You act as though I'm the bad guy here, Ruiz. I assure you, I've been on the same page with you about everything and will continue that until I either can't trust you or we run into details that you shouldn't be privy to."

If the shoe was on the other foot, you'd be making all kinds of noise about getting flown away to a 'supposed' destination. Asshole...

"Can I call my lawyer?"

"I'm not sure what that's going to get you, but if it will make you feel better, go ahead," he replied as if it weren't a big deal.

I opened my door and stepped out. I dialed Lena, and two rings later, a sleepy voice answered, "Cass?"

"Hey, sorry to wake you, but this story took a crazy turn."

She interrupted me, "Are you alright? Where are you?"

I could hear and feel the panic in her voice.

"I'm fine, but I'm with the US Marshal Service. A guy named Allen Mitchell. I saw his badge; he's a US Marshal Service Deputy. The number on his badge was 3118. The twist to all this is that I think he's actually CIA."

She interrupted me again, "CIA?! What the hell, Cass?" She was completely awake now, judging by her tone and the unhappy inflection blaring from my phone pressed against my ear.

"I know, I know... I have a long story that I can't really get into, but I'm going to take some pictures and text them to you. I'm getting on a jet bound for Boulder, Colorado, to reunite Gabriella with her parents. I had contacted Detective Kovachev to meet me, but they or someone squashed his coming along. I'm not comfortable with any of this, but I felt like I needed someone to know."

"NO! Don't even think about getting on that plane, Cass! Don't let Gabriella either. I can make a few calls and roust a judge for a protection order for both of you to slow these people down," she complained. “Where are you?”

"I think if this was a bigger problem than it appears on the surface, they would have just taken Gabriella from me already. This Mitchell guy is offering me the real story about these abductions and what happened to the other Trans woman who was with her."

"You're risking the safety of both of you for the 'hope' of a story? Seriously, Cass?" she asked, the disappointment in her voice thick.

"I know it sounds crazy, but he says he's talked to a CIA agent I worked with when I was in the Army... I can try to reach out to him." I pause to see Gabriella walking with Mitchell towards the jet. She was looking at her phone. "Shit..."

"What now?" Lena barked.

My phone vibrated, and I looked to see a text message with a six-digit account verification code. Someone was trying to access the government account.

"Mitchell is walking Gabriella towards the jet. I have to go," I whined.

"Cass, this isn't a good idea. Let me at least make some calls; stall them, please," she pleaded.

"I think it's too late. I'll send you some pictures. I... I appreciate everything you've done for me."

"God damn it, Cass! This isn't 'Goodbye'; don't even give me that... Get me those pictures. Get a number. I can reach this 'Mitchell' guy or your CIA guy from the Army. Cass," her voice became quieter, "Don't do this. I can come get you."

Gabriella and Mitchell were at the stairs to the jet.

"I'm sorry, I gotta go. I'll get you pictures and a number. I'm sorry, Lena." My heart sank, and a lump in my throat made it difficult to speak anymore.

"Cass...," she whispered.

"I gotta go..." I said, choking up and killing the connection before she could reply.

I pulled up the camera on my phone and took pictures of the Suburban's rear plate and the tail letters of the jet. Unless these things were both fake, they would be something someone could use to track us. They had to file a flight plan; we would be in shared or controlled airspace over Phoenix, and there should be a trail that could be followed. Of course, I could be fooling myself, especially if Mitchell was really working for the CIA. I texted the pictures to Lena as I walked towards the jet.

A few seconds later, she texted me back, "I'm making calls now. I'll see what I can get from these. Be careful. Don't turn your phone off!"

I put my phone in my pocket after reading her message, but it vibrated again. I looked at it quickly. Another verification code...

Saturday, June 9th, 3:09 a.m., Scottsdale Airport, Arizona
The inside of the jet wasn't expansive, but it was certainly plush. Leather swivel captains’ seats that reclined and had foot rests that extended, plenty of leg room all around, and there was even wood paneling throughout. Once we were all seated, one of the two flight crews pulled the door shut, and the engines began to spin up.

I'd flown many times while in the Army—noisy Air Force hops on their C-17 Globemaster', C-5 Galaxy', and even a couple C-130 Hercules. Being 'Airborne' qualified, I'd jumped out of many airplanes, which I was sure wasn't on the flight plan today, given the cabin would be pressurized. I felt a little caged at the moment. Was chasing this story a mistake? I needed to see Gabriella make it out of this, right? Get the real story?

I watched Mitchell pull his phone out, read something, then get up and head towards the front of the jet. He was speaking to the pilots, but I couldn't make out what was being said.

"Someone tried to access the account," I said quietly to Gabriella.

"Yes, I acted as though it hadn't been sent to my phone yet, though it was supposed to go to another number... I said it was supposed to come to mine," she replied in a whisper with a hint of a smirk.

"They are going to figure out something is up. Then," I stopped speaking when the conversation with Mitchell ended and he returned to his seat. Change of plans? I decided to probe, "What's up?"

"Unexpected detour. I'd prefer you didn't share that with your lawyer friend; in fact," he said, reaching out, "I'd like to hold both of your phones for the duration of the flight. You'll get them back once we get to Boulder, but right now I'd like to control the flow of information," he said, holding his hand out to take our phones.

Gabriella looked at me, and when I didn't move, she offered hers to Mitchell.

"Where are we going now?" I asked.

"Quick trip to Mexico..." he said casually.

Gabriella looked panicked, and I’m sure Mitchell caught the concern: "I assume this is a necessary detour, especially given one part of her family is quite valuable to the shithead you guys ripped off in Mexico last night. I would think Gabriella being anywhere near Mexico right now is a bad idea.” I had to pause a second to think about this—was I also bait or in danger?

"Noted. We're picking up other assets. Let's just call it a reunion of sorts... And as far as the 'shithead' worrying about her family," he gestured towards Gabriella, “They think they were blown up in a vehicle, so they aren’t actively searching for them.”

"Yeah, but they know they’ve been ripped off, and Gabriella could have information on that. You can’t tell me they aren’t looking for her right now. If for nothing else to have someone to throw their angst at. How about Gabriella and I get off this jet, and you can go down there? We'll wait at my townhouse with the Marshals."

The jet engine began to whine loudly, and we started moving.

"It might be a little late for that," he said, chuckling. "I can see why Flagg likes you, Ruiz. Phone, please..."

He’d mention Flagg; had he talked to him, or was he just fucking with me? I saw his extended hand beckon for my phone. Shit… I had the latest Apple iPhone, and short of Mitchell having access to the 'Hide UI' app or the Grayshift device to connect my phone too, he wasn't getting into it without my cooperation—unless I was forced.

I was worried about the two-factor identification Gabriella had set up to use my phone number and Mitchell seeing a pop-up message on my screen, so I turned my phone off before handing it to him.

"What's in Mexico we need to be reunited with?" I asked, annoyed.

"I told you to pick up assets. A little something for the both of you, actually."

Gabriella looked at me worried.

"Knock it off, Mitchell. Why are you taking us to Mexico?!" I barked at him.

"We're extracting Flagg and Eduardo Caesar Lopez."

Gabriella took in an audible breath, "Eduardo?"

I looked at her and asked, "You know this person?"

"He is a close family friend," she said. There was no mistaking the connection, and I wondered if this was the 'older' man she had feelings for.

"Flagg is part of this OP," I asked.

Mitchell only nodded. Guess I didn't need to reach out to Flagg after all—of course now I could add more anxiety to an already full bucket of worries that was beginning to spill over. A reunion with someone from my past—could this day get any worse?

I was a completely different person from what Flagg would remember. It was going to be awkward, no matter how much either of us put the past behind us and focused on the OP at hand. Stay focused on the end game I commanded; it’s going to be what it’s going to be with Flagg. He’ll understand. Maybe…

Saturday, June 9th, 4:01 a.m., Mar de Cortés International Airport, Puerto Peñasco
It felt like no sooner had we reached the cruising altitude that we were descending. Mitchell hadn't shared where we were going, and I had no idea what airports were however many miles south of Phoenix and into Mexico we'd just flown. Why hadn't I asked him?

I was tired and had let my guard down. I was never like this in the Army while on an OP. Fatigue during operations tended to get people killed or injured. Okay, focus... I'm not that person anymore; I’m not operational or an operative. I’ve moved on, but I need to stay sharp.

We'd be on the ground shortly, given my view outside the window and popping ears. The jet was beginning to make a wide banking turn close to some coastline. I guessed the view had changed from twinkling city or town lights to an expanse of black, which would most likely be the Pacific or maybe even the Gulf of California. I should have asked where we were going. I need to focus!

On what I assumed was the final approach given the angle of attack—compared to the darkness and lights below—the small jet ran into some pretty good cross winds, buffeting it around uncomfortably. By the look on Gabriella’s face, she was not liking the controlled chaos that was bringing the jet in for a landing. I think we were all happy to hear the screeching of the tires on the tarmac and to be on terra firma when it was all over.

At nearly the end of the runway, the jet turned twice to make its way back down the adjoining taxiway. We passed a single, dimly lit terminal building and appeared to be heading towards the furthest corner of a large aircraft parking area. There were two other small aircraft parked there, both prop planes, and both tied down, which I assumed would keep them from taking off unexpectedly due to the winds. The parking area could have accommodated at least thirty aircraft, maybe more. Wherever we were, we didn't rate an airport capable of large jetliners, and it seemed too infrequently used—at least at this hour of the morning.

I could see parking lights on vehicles as we approached and as we got closer to the end of the lot area, I could make out three vehicles. When we were a hundred yards away, they all turned their headlights on, lighting up the area in front of them. I nodded to Gabriella, and she looked a bit petrified. I tried to smile at her to reassure her.

When I turned back towards the window, that smile quickly faded. In the glow of the headlights, I could see dark figures emerging from the vehicles, moving into defensive positions; at least it appeared that way. Okay, that's not good... Men, armed with what looked like automatic weapons—no uniforms!

"Shit," I said, looking over at Mitchell. "We're expected, right? That's an awfully big and unfriendly-looking party out there." I stated, the worry evident in my voice, I'm sure.

I watched Mitchell lean over and look out the window. Gabriella leaned over my seat to peer out. There was fear in her eyes.

She whispered, "Corbino's men?"

"No, Dirección Federal de Seguridad, the Mexican secret police." Mitchell had heard her and commented calmly.

The jet stopped twenty feet from the nearest vehicle and rocked slightly back and forth for a second. The engines were still running, and the men outside were now pointing their weapons at the jet!

"Tell me you've got more than your sidearm on this jet!" I snapped.

"Relax, both of you," he chided.

I watched one of the flight crews undo the jet door and deploy the stairs, then step back as if surprised by something.

"I would feel a lot better armed," I complained.

"Not necessary..." Mitchell replied.

The passenger doors of the vehicle furthest from the jet opened, and three men exited. It was difficult to see them, but one of them appeared to be limping. As he passed the headlights of the second vehicle, I could see one of his pants legs was darker than the other.

"One of those guys looks like he's been shot!" I yelled and stood. "I'd like a weapon, Goddamn it!"

"Sit the fuck down, Ruiz!" Mitchell snapped.

"I'm not getting dumped here, and neither is Gabriella," I said as I stepped towards him.

He continued to look out the window and said, "If you were in danger, would those men out there be shaking hands right now?" Mitchell asked calmly.

I bent over to see the armed contingent lower their weapons and begin loading themselves back into their vehicles. Mitchell was correct; there were handshakes happening out there, and I recognized something familiar about the way the guy with his back to us was moving—tall, lanky—that had to Flagg.

Mitchell got up, before saying, "Wait here."

I had been dismissed and could only watch as he exited the jet.

Saturday, June 9th, 4:18 a.m., Mar de Cortés International Airport, Puerto Peñasco
Eduardo limped through the tiny jets’ doorway, and Gabriella rushed towards him. She was in tears, rapidly speaking Spanish, asking about his injury, her parents, and Corbino. She finally shut up and hugged him for a long moment, burying her face in his shoulder. He hugged her back, but then patted her back, signaling that they needed to get seated. She released him, took his hand, and escorted him to a seat across the aisle from me.

Eduardo looked to be annoyed—maybe because of all the attention or maybe he wasn't supposed to be here with Flagg. I'm not sure, but something was up with this guy. I clearly heard him say to Gabriella that it was only a scratch. He told her he’d been looked at by a doctor and would be fine in a couple weeks. He looked like he might be on painkillers, not just because he dropped heavily into the seat, but because his head bobbed a lot as if he were struggling to stay awake or be fully in control of his faculties.

After he was settled, Gabriella went to the rear galley and grabbed a bottle of water for him, which he gladly took and swigged two long pulls. She looked worried. Had I missed something in their exchange? A look, a gesture, or something whispered during their embrace?
He put the bottle in the seat cup holder and looked over at me. “Who is this person?" he asked, looking from me to her.

Interesting… Not, ‘Who is she?’ or ‘Who is this woman?’, but ‘Who is this person?’ I wasn’t getting a good feeling about this guy.
Gabriella rattled off the highlights of who I was, explaining I wasn’t part of Flagg’s contingent and leaving out any details of the abduction or hospital. Her lip was still a bit swollen, and he’d probably press her for an answer to that at some point—he certainly wasn’t an idiot. He nodded and reached towards me as if asking for my hand, which I offered.

“Thank you for looking after Gabriella,” he said, squeezing my hand lightly. “You are a very kind woman to look after her and keep her from danger.”

“My pleasure,” I said, pulling my hand back after noticing shadows at the front of the jet. The guy who had opened the jet's door stepped back as if to make room for someone to enter.

Mitchell appeared first, followed a moment later by Flagg, who turned and threw a loose salute to someone on the tarmac. He turned, slapped a hand on the shoulder of a flight crewman, and said something I couldn’t make out over the whining jet engines blasting loudly through the open door of the jet.

He looked into the cabin, looked down the aisle at me, and nodded, then turned to poke his head into the cockpit while the door to the jet was being secured. It got a little bit quieter, but there was a persistent ringing in my ears, my chest felt tight, and my stomach was now fully in knots.

Seeing Flagg brought on a rush of emotions. Fear—because who I was now might be a disappointment to him, shame because of that fear, and an odd excitement because I had always respected and liked him. Would he understand who I am now? Fuck! Get a grip!

I'm not living my life for him... He's either going to be an ass or the Colonel Flagg I remembered. I huffed a breath slowly out, realizing I had been holding my breath... Good God! I noticed Mitchell was looking at me from the seat across from me with a concerned look on his face.

“You, okay? It looks like you’ve seen a ghost. Shit; it’ll all be over in a second," he laughed.

He was obviously enjoying this 'reunion' and that I was visibly uncomfortable; “I’m fine..." was all I could muster in reply.

I could feel my heart wanting to explode out of my chest. The weight of the anxiety leading up to seeing Flagg again was crushing me, but seeing him in the flesh multiplied every. Augh! No amount of mind tricks I could employ, if I could remember how to do them right now, was going to work to calm my anxiety. Could I ask Mitchell to snuff me out with one of the pillows?

I sat slowly, my eyes locked on Flagg’s back. The jet engines began to spin up, and we began moving. Flagg pulled the cockpit door closed and made his way down the aisle, stopping next to Mitchell.

“Let’s get the laptop fired up,” he said, then turning his attention to me. “Ruiz, good to see you,” he said, smiling, his hand extended.

I could barely breathe.

"Sir...," I fumbled, “Colonel, good to see you." I shook his hand politely, but likely not as he expected. WTF! Why did I have zero confidence in front of this man?

“Something to drink?”

“Water. Water would be good, sir." I stammered with barely any control of my emotions.

He would sense that; he has to know how difficult this is for me, right?

He walked past me toward the rear of the jet. Mitchell was smiling ear to ear.

“You should relax, Ruiz. He’s got a lot of respect for you. On the other hand, I’m not so sure about you,” he chuckled, then added, “I’m kidding."

“You really are an ass, Mitchell."

“I’ll own that,” he grinned back at me.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and looked up to see Flagg presenting a bottle of water, which I took and said, “Thank you, Sir."

“You were an unexpected surprise,” he said, smiling. “A good one, but a surprise. I always wondered what had happened to you. Shit hand, you were dealt by the Army. Sorry about that. I wish you'd have called me,” he said, taking a seat next to Mitchell.

Flagg was exactly as I remembered. The voice, mannerisms, everything—just a little older looking, a little more white in his medium-dark brown hair, one might even say he was handsome even.

“Thank you, Sir..." I replied and looked out the window at the fading darkness. The sun was on its way up.

We were making a turn off the taxiway to the main runway, and as we got lined up, the pilot throttled up the engines to full power, and we began picking up speed. I looked over at Gabriella; she had her head on Eduardo’s shoulder. His eyes were closed, and I couldn’t tell if he was sleeping or just passed out from whatever painkillers he was fighting against until this moment.

It took nearly no effort for the jet to jump into the sky, and unlike the landing, our egress had less buffeting to contend with.

Saturday, June 9th, 4:36 a.m., Mexican airspace, 74 miles south of the US border
The wheels clunked beneath our seats, and the jet began a slow banking turn north. At least it felt as though we were heading north, given that the sun was rising outside the right-side array of windows.

Eduardo opened his eyes, looked towards me, smiled, and then closed them again. Gabriella had her head against his shoulder at an odd angle; she was asleep. They had been whispering back and forth before we started to taxi.

I envied that she could just unplug and felt safe enough to sleep given all that had happened to her. There was something going on between them; it was obvious. I wondered if he was here so that Flagg could leverage that connection. How did he even end up with Flagg?

Flagg pointed at the laptop screen in front of Mitchell, and the movement caught my attention. He looked at me and asked, “Any idea where she sent the two-factor authentication code too?”

Fuck… How do I stall?

“We could ask her,” I offered while shrugging.

“It’s not being sent to her phone, and it’s not being sent to the phone number given to her father—which is a whole other twist we weren’t expecting. That could have screwed up the extraction of her parents. Her father and I are going to discuss how she ended up doing the transfers rather than him and why they let her coyote her way to Phoenix rather than let us extract her with them. Was there a burner or some other phone she had access to too?" he asked.

Now Mitchell was staring at me; he’d obviously tried to access the account, had her phone, and there was no two-factor authentication text message appearing.

“No, not that I’m aware of, Colonel. She was never out of my sight long enough to have picked one up. When we met in the hospital, she had nothing; her backpack was empty. She asked for a phone, so I got her one from Target when I was buying her clothes to get her out of the hospital. You have her phone; maybe there’s something up with her phone getting text messages or something simple like that."

Complete and total fabrication or at least part of that story was. Would they buy it? Would they figure out that my phone was the key? I added absently, “Maybe his phone,” I asked, nodding toward Eduardo.

Mitchell got up and headed towards the cockpit, pulling a bag from the doorway where you enter the jet. He pulled out two phones, looked at their screens, and returned to his seat.

"Nothing,” he said.

“We’ve got time; we can ask her in a bit,” Flagg offered. “Tell me about you and this version of your true self,” he said while waving a hand at Mitchell, essentially saying that getting into the account could wait.

Mitchell closed up the laptop, stood, placed it on the seat, and headed towards the cockpit to join the pilots. Did that mean something?

“We’re heading to Boulder now, right?" I asked.

“Yes. Should be there in about two hours, maybe two and a half, depending on head winds. You have reservations?”

"No, sir, just… Well, it’s been a long day, and I’m fried. My operational readiness is crap right now, and I can barely hold my eyes open,” I replied, trying my best not to sound like I was complaining or stressed beyond my capabilities, which I was; he probably already knew that.

“You’re welcome to rack out Ruiz... Do you go by Cass now as your short for Cassidy?" he asked casually, but with some interest.

“Cass… I’d always been Cazz up until five years ago, and Cassidy was a way to kind of honor being named after my grandfather and still be comfortable with how people addressed me.”

I hadn’t skipped over the fact he’d asked me about becoming my ‘true self’. That was an interesting inquiry in itself and either a lucky guess at how to ask me about who I was now or he knew more about my transition than he was letting on.

Flagg was an information purveyor for the CIA; he knew how to pull information out of people and, of course, feed false information. Did I need to be on guard? Was he fishing for something? What does he know about my life now? Certainly, enough to know my new name now and remember that I was once Casimiro, Cazz...

“Why not Cassandra?”

“I considered that; it is more like my grandfather’s name, maybe, but it felt too stuffy, proper..." I answered.

“How did your parents react?”

I paused, “Typical Hispanic disdain for anything veering from the machismo norm."

He’d know what I just divulged would mean my parents thought I was gay and were not happy about that. I wondered how much data he had on me. Would he know I was bi? Did I care? Fuck!

He chuckled, “I can see that... It couldn't have been easy.”

“It wasn’t and hasn’t been, but I’m more at peace with my inner self, less doubt, less...," I didn’t want the conversation to turn dark so stopped speaking.

“You look comfortable in your skin. I had no idea back in the 'stan you were conflicted,” he mused.

“I didn’t know, or I should say, I didn’t want to accept that who I was presenting on the outside wasn’t who I was on the inside.” I felt a twang of embarrassment, but fuck it. I'm me, and I'm not apologizing to anyone for that.

"I'm not sure how you held your shit together back then, Cass, given the internal conflict, but I’m happy for you that you got it figured out. From what Mitchell tells me, you’re still operational; I warned him you had skills." He turned to look out the window, then back at me, “So, you’re a reporter now?”

I wanted to like what I just heard, but I was guarded. Was he fishing for something specific? It’s like he had just finished reading a deciare file on me and was probing the facts within, trying to find some wrinkle in those facts, trying to gauge me in regards to this OP. I needed to get this conversation moving in a different direction.

“Thank you, sir... Yes, I work for a news outlet in Phoenix, and I’m writing the story of Gabriella’s and other Trans women who were abducted, but you already know that." Now to push the envelope, “Mitchell said I would get the full story on that, but I’d also like to report on Corbino’s demise.”

I held my breath, waiting for his reply, and gave him my best deadpan stare.

Flagg pursed his lips and said, “I’m aware of the deal Mitchell floated; we will deliver on that. Corbino, that’s something I would need to look into, and it could come down to you helping us secure the account before I can lobby for that request.”

Shit… He suspects I know more about Gabriella setting up the account.

“I’m happy to assist, sir. I could talk with Gabriella, see what I can find out, and I understand why there would be concern," I said, trying to show I was a team player. "Could we talk about the abduction story first?”

Please take the bait. We were both playing a game of chess, and he had to know I was trying to outflank him on the sly.

He smiled and said, “Alright, but we’re going to talk about the account before this plane lands. I’m getting some uncomfortable pressure from those above me about not having those funds secured.”

I nodded that I understood, and he began by saying that anything I wanted to get published would first need State Department approval. I said I understood. He began with a story about a Chinese ambassador’s son, who apparently has a Transgender fetish. I pressed for the ambassador’s name, since I didn’t know it offhand, and was given Xi Sung Lu. The son’s name was Qin Lu, but he went by Bobby. He was 36 years old, bisexual, and, most recently, a person of interest in a child molestation case out of New Orleans. And, of course, the abductions of those Trans women in Texas and Arizona.

I interrupted him, “How long have we known Bobby was a predator?”

“For a while. He popped up on our radar as a sexual deviant a few years ago. Then last year, his father was appointed China’s ambassador to the US, and we passed Bobby’s background on to the FBI,” he offered.

“So, this guy has been feeding his fetish for about a year on US soil, and nothing has been done to put an end to it?”

“His father was warned we had concerns."

“Warned? Like a slap on the wrist?”

“Come on, Cass, politics... Things move slowly, and China isn’t a dog anyone in power wants to beat in the public eye,” he offered.

“Someone gaming the son? Trying to extort information from him in exchange for free rein to be a predator here?”

“Doubtful, I really wouldn’t know though, not my sandbox... From everything I’ve been able to learn, Bobby isn’t the brightest product to come out of China,” he said deadpan.

“You do understand that being Trans isn’t a popular life choice and that fucks like Bobby are everywhere,” I complained. “And if that wasn’t enough, being Trans increases your chances of being assaulted or killed by a factor of ten or more,” I added, feeling like I was preaching and shutting up before I really let my Trans flag fly.

He was staring at me, contemplating something possibly, and said, “I understand Cass... I’d put a bullet in this guy’s head if that were possible, but it’s not, at least not yet.”

Harping on the injustice of what Flagg had told me so far was pointless, so I conceded the point.

“Pisses me off, sir, that our government hasn’t stood up for my community with this asshat." I needed to stop and dial it back, so I asked, “What happened in that building out in Arlington? Gabriella had been taken too."

“We were looking for Gabriella, and we’re tipped off to Bobby being out there with her. On site, he was MIA; however, there were two Mexican nationals and another Transgender woman there. The two guys made the mistake of going for their weapons and were eliminated. The woman is safe and getting an expedited run through the citizenship process via the Marshals Service,” he said as a matter of fact. Then he smiled and asked, “How’d you get past the dog? I understand you did a recon of the grounds.”

“Some guy told me a story about using a bitch in heat once to get around some warlords camp that was protected by dogs,” I said, grinning. “I volunteer at an animal shelter and was lucky... How’d your guys get past the dog?”

“Tranquilizer gun,” he said. “Cleaner, quick, and honestly, no one thought about finding a bitch in heat,” he chuckled. “I wish you’d have called me after the Army booted you, Cass."

“Thanks, but I doubt I would have been in the right mindset for a job with the CIA after the Army."

“I think you’d have fit in just fine. You hid who you were; better than half the job is appearing to be someone we aren't."

I nodded my appreciation but was already thinking about my next question, "Where’s Bobby now? What about his collection of videos from these assaults?" I asked.

“I heard from Mitchell about the videos; I wish we could get them back, but by now they’re all over the internet or some dark web space, or he's got them someplace private. Where Bobby is, that’s complicated, Cass."

“How so?”

“Someone leaked to Ambassador Lu that the FBI was gearing up to make some very public inquiries about Bobby’s activities through Texas and Arizona. Then the New Orleans thing popped up right after that warning to the ambassador. It was enough for daddy to put him on a plane back to China. I was told he left last night, and it's been confirmed he is in China. Sorry,” he said, a slight pang of regret in his voice.

“And how do I rap a bow around this story, Colonel?”

“I expect you’ll summarize it as the Marshal’s Service led a raid on a building; they were tipped off to where two Transgender women were being held. The confrontation led to the deaths of two Mexican nationals. It’s an ongoing investigation. What you say about Gabriella is up to you, but for her safety, it’s probably best to not mention her or any of these women who were abducted, for that matter."

I nodded. “So I can’t implicate Bobby?”

“No solid proof, Cass; you’d be in for a liable suit if you blow his name up out there."

“And Corbino?”

“I told you, that can’t be reported on without the approval of someone well above my pay grade, and my help with that is going to depend on you helping us get those funds secured.”

“I think I’ve got a solid enough relationship with Gabriella to assist with that, but if she’s not reunited with her parents, it’s going to be impossible to get anything out of her."

He looked at his watch and said, “Less than three hours, and that will happen, Cass; you have my word."

“Thank you, Colonel."

There wasn’t anything else I could think of to ask, other than time to peck out the outline of a story, get it approved by the Feds, and then get it past Carol Black for publication. And I wanted to jump on that, but I was just too tired.

The chemistry between Flagg and me was casual and relaxed, like we were still doing our thing back in Afghanistan. He seemed genuinely interested in my life, nonjudgmental, and showed no outward disgust for who I was now. I had to wonder if he gaming me or was he being genuine?

Flagg excused himself, saying he needed to use the bathroom. I sat back to rest my eyes for just a moment, to contemplate...

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I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

The author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

FINAL CHAPTER?
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Saturday, June 9th, 6:51 a.m., 53 miles south and southwest of Boulder, CO
The engines throttling back woke me. Flagg was watching me get my bearings, then raised a bottle of water to his lips and finished it off.

“Get a good rest?”

Those anxiety feelings I had prior to meeting Flagg all came rushing back as if I were slapped with them all over again. I could only nod in reply. I was surprised I slept, but I was happy to get a little bit of recharging for my nearly depleted batteries. We never slept like I had just done in the Army while in the field. We always hovered above getting deep into the Zzz’s, aware of every sound, our weapons at the ready. I felt guilty for having slept and I doubted Flagg or Mitchell had clocked out.

"We should be on the ground in 10 minutes,” he said, looking out the window. “The safe house is about thirty minutes outside of the city, an old ski cabin.”

“Boulder, Sir?”

“You really aren’t very trusting, Cass; why wouldn’t we be landing in Boulder?”

“I don’t know, Sir; it’s,” I looked over towards Gabriella and Eduardo and said, “There’s a lot on the line and a lot of money. I saw the transfers happening; she nearly got to every account.”

I didn’t want to say more about this and have to dodge questions or say something without at least speaking to Gabriella. I looked at her; she was listening to the exchange and nodded. If we ended up with her parents, moot point, anything less, and it could be a problem for all of us.

“We’re landing in Boulder Cass; I gave you my word on that,” he said.

“I know, sir… I’m, I'm just not operational; it’s been awhile.”

That was so true. Would he fault me for the tactical mistakes I had made these last twenty-plus hours? Could I use being out of the Army for so long as an excuse? Excuses in the field tended to get people killed and this, whatever this OP was he was running was likely no different…

"Understood," he looking towards Gabriella and, in Spanish, said, “We are bringing you to your parents; they are being well cared for and are safe. When you’re satisfied that we’ve delivered on our promise to safely extract your family from Mexico, we’re going to need access to the account.”

In perfect English, she replied, “I understand, but your government will need to include Eduardo in their offer for protection. He cannot return to Mexico."

“I believe he wants to stick it out with you and your family, correct, Eduardo?” Flagg asked him in English.

“Yes, I would like to be included in their arrangement.”

“I figured as much and have the bandwidth to make that happen easily enough. You’re all safe; Corbino will likely be out of the picture within a week, thanks to your families' help. That’s a lot of gun, drug, and sex trafficking removed from getting across our border."

Saturday, June 9th, 7:19 a.m., Boulder, CO
Wheels on the ground, the tiny jet made its way to a large, unmarked hanger near the west side of the airport, next to one that said ‘Brungard Aviation’. I could see a group of three black Suburban’s waiting and six agents milling about.

Flagg was watching out the window also, so I decided to ask, “Marshals?”

“Yes, my team is on ‘loan’ to them while we’re stateside.”

“Understood, Sir…”

Mitchell appeared from the cockpit, smiling like a little kid, and looked over at Flagg.

“Nice landing, eh?”

“Don’t tell me they let you fly this thing again,” he said, chuckling.

"Okay, I won’t tell you that. Good landing though, right?”

“Any landing you can walk away from is a good one, Mitchell,” he replied trying to suppress a laugh.

“Ha ha ha… Screw you!”

Their playful banter continued with a few more digs at Mitchell’s expense, but was set aside quickly once the plane came to a stop and the engines were spinning down. We were ushered off the jet and secured in the middle Suburban of the caravan. No one said much of anything, and we were moving towards the airport exit in under a minute.

To set everyone at ease, each of the Marshals in our Suburban flashed their badges; all of them were “Marshal Service Marshal,” not “Marshal Service Deputy,” as Mitchell’s credentials were. I was positive now that this was the legal way for Flagg’s team to operate on US soil and not have some case, they were supporting interagency, get thrown out of court. Sneaky, but I would expect nothing less from the Colonel. I’d be interested in seeing his credentials; maybe I could stop calling him Colonel or Flagg.

Saturday, June 9th, 8:01 a.m., West Boulder, CO
We eventually got out of Boulder proper and began heading west on Highway 119, getting off of that onto Four Mile Canyon Drive and exiting that onto a dirt road that ran next to a closed yoga studio and a lodge called Boulderhaus. The dirt road took us up the north side of the canyon to a non-descript house at the end of the road. There were two other Suburban’s parked out front when we arrived.

The Marshals exited first, and when they were happy with their perimeter security, we were escorted into the house. Inside, the reunion between Gabriella’s parents and both she and Eduardo was heartwarming, if not a bit loud, and emotionally charged. Tears were flowing, and I felt a deep pang of jealousy that she had such a secure and supportive relationship with her parents. Mine were…

"Are you okay?" Flagg asked quietly as we watched the reunion from a few feet back.

“Yeah, I’m good, Sir." Was I wearing my reaction to this reunion that openly?

“Mind if we talk?" he asked, nodding toward a hallway that looked to go past the kitchen to a back door.

“Sure…”

I followed him to the door and took a seat on the patio. He looked at me for a moment, and then commented, “I’d really appreciate your help with Gabriella and securing the account... No BS, Cass, short hairs are getting pulled pretty hard right now.”

He sounded worried, and I would be too if there were over three hundred and two million dollars on the line. Certainly, a lot more than the OPthat led to my medical discharge from the Army, but likely in the scope of what I assumed were our national security interests, this OP had people’s attention up his chain of command.

“You’ve delivered, Sir; I’ll assist. But I’d like to speak with Gabriella alone; are you good with that?”

He nodded and said, “Get the account secured, and I’ll push the Corbino story access. I was thinking you could tie Corbino to the human trafficking of the women that were abducted. You can't pin anything on Bobby, but it does shed some light on the dangers to your community and how the border is less secure than it should be.”

"That’s a good angle, certainly. Thank you for the consideration, Sir... I'd like my phone; I need to check in with some people."

He hesitated. “I’m fine with that, Cass, but you can’t tell Ms. Cantor or Detective Kovachev anything about Corbino. You might not want to give either of them our address either. You want to say Gabriella is safe and the story has a finite ending? I can authorize that. Anything else," he paused, "Operationally, it could cause my team some problems, understood?”

“I do, Sir; I just want to check in to calm some nerves. No mention of your team...”

He pulled my phone from his coat pocket and handed it over.

"Figured that request was coming," he said, smiling.

I pressed the power button, and it began to boot. They hadn’t thought to check my phone after I’d handed it over to Mitchell, and since Flagg was still asking for my help, whoever had used my phone as a tracking device wasn’t actively keeping tabs on the messages being sent to it. That means I had a sliver of leverage, at least until someone woke up and realized I was gaming Flagg.

“We’ve got two Spec Ops guys out there someplace,” he said, waving his hand towards the mountainside. “Don’t go wandering off."

“Yes, Sir… Two quick calls, and then I’ll get you the account access.”

“I’d appreciate that, Cass... There is a time crunch,” he said with the slightest hint of stress in his voice as he got up and headed towards the patio door.

I nodded that I understood and watched him enter the house. When I was alone, I pulled up my text messages: four messages with two factor authentication codes, two messages from Lena, and one from Kovachev. There were at least that many missed calls from both of them and voicemails. I started with Lena.

“Cass! Where are you? Are you alright?!”

“I’m safe, as are Gabriella and her family. I can’t really expand on that, but I would guess I’ll be back in Phoenix later today.”

“Good! Something isn’t right with this story, Cass; something bigger must be going on,” she rattled off quickly. “I contacted Judge Baton and Ninth District Court Judge Billington and got warned that I needed to back away from getting involved. I know these judges personally, Cass, and they wouldn’t talk to me. They were warning me off. What the hell is going on?”

“I can’t say much, but there are international implications, and everything has worked itself out. We’re with the US Marshall Service right now, and like I said, I can’t see why I won’t be home later today, probably tonight. I’ll let you know when I know something firm on that.”

“Okay, well, that’s good news and all, but you need to be careful, Cass. I’ve been worried sick since you called this morning,” she complained. “And you turned your damn phone off!”

“I know, you said not to do that, but I’ll explain why it was necessary when I see you—promise. I’m so sorry I involved you, Lena; I promise to make it up to you." I gulped. Here comes the hard part: “I hate to do this, but I really need to go. This was the first chance I got to make any calls, and you were my first call. I promise to make it up to you.”

“Three promises in the span of ten seconds? You’re going to owe me more than a nice dinner, Cass," she said, trying to sound less worried, but I could still hear it in her voice—the concern hadn’t gone away.

“I would really like that... Dinner and owing you..." My heart was swelling, and I felt that lump in my throat grow.

Saturday, June 9th, 8:23 a.m., West Boulder, CO
“Ruiz? Where are you?”

"Boulder..." He already knew that was where I was going with Mitchell, so it wasn’t a tactical slip. “Hopefully back in Phoenix later today. I wanted to call and let you know Gabriella is safe and I’ve been briefed on the abduction story, but before I get my story updated for your PIO,” I left out, maybe needing the State Department’s blessing if I was given the go-ahead to wrap Corbino in this story, “I’m wondering if you could tell me what you were told by the Marshall Service?”

He hesitated a second, as if considering my request, but parroted back to me the same story Flagg had laid at my feet.

“Did they tell you differently?" he asked.

“No… That’s exactly what I was told. Something seems off though,” I said, wondering how far I could push him for information without showing him any of my cards.

“Yeah, this whole case doesn’t feel right. The two Mexicans who were killed in the raid on that building they held Gabriella led us nowhere—no gang affiliations, no cartel connections, nothing. There will be no inquiry into the ‘justification’ of those deaths either, which in this day seems is more problematic for law enforcement, but this case feels like way more is going on.

“In fact, it’s been my experience that when you’ve got nothing on the surface, it means the bulk of the iceberg is under water and unseen. It’s unlikely the two men killed were the masterminds behind abducting Trans women here, in Texas, or anywhere for that matter. I don’t like this, but I’ve got other cases I need to move on too. The Asian connection is an unsolved mystery at this point,” he said, sounding a little dejected and maybe realizing that the return on investment of his time wasn’t worth pursuing this case any further.

If he only knew...

“Sorry about that... I don’t do enough work with law enforcement to know the intricacies of what makes someone a good criminal,” I replied, hoping that was enough opening for him to give me an in to ask a question.

“Be glad you don't; the criminal element operating around here can really make you question humanity."

Here goes nothing...

“I’m sure… Have you heard the name Corbino before?”

“Corbino? Why do you ask?”

“Two of the Marshalls mentioned that name, but I didn’t hear what they were saying about him," I replied as if the question was an off-handed curiosity on my part.

“That’s an interesting name to be speaking, especially right now. A CI (confidential informant) for another detective mentioned this morning that someone had made a play for Corbino’s business. I don't know to what extent, but his name being tossed around by you is certainly curious. Are you sure you didn’t hear anything else?”

I ignored the question, “Is that common, cartels pushing out other cartels?” It was my attempt to show him I didn’t know more than just a name.

“When they are big enough to impose their will, it is,” he paused, “But this takeover doesn’t sound right; there was mention of Chinese backing, which would be an interesting twist if true."

“The Chinese, in Mexico? That doesn’t sound right."

“You must not keep up with China’s global expansion efforts,” he quipped.

“I keep up on current events, Detective; I tend to gloss over conspiracy theory bullshit." I swung back at his dig.

“You might want to look into the WH Group and their 2013 purchase made in this country. Maybe look into who’s pouring money into the Panama Canal. I don’t buy theories easily, Ruiz, but facts tend to strengthen truths. China is expanding and stretching its grasp on the world quietly and subtly.”

“Okay, let’s say the Chinese took out Corbino. Why? What do they gain?”

“Do you think Mexico produces fentanyl in quantities that make it worth their effort?" he began, not waiting for an answer before rolling onto his point. “No, they don't; at least the smarter cartels don’t bother with it. Mexico has nearly no control over their ports, so importing fentanyl is as easy as China shipping computers or toys to the US, maybe even easier. The fentanyl goes directly to the cartels to move north through the border at a cost to China. Wipe out the middleman and increase your profits,” he said, taking a breath. “I’m hypothesizing; the CI is probably mistaken about a Chinese connection to Corbino being taken down. But the ease at which they can get drugs across our border does screw this country. They are making a play subtly for world dominance whether you believe that or not.”

“I guess we will see..." I said, wanting to get off this call now and having something else to chew on. I hated having conspiracy theory arguments. To my knowledge, our greatest threat from China was their military, or maybe their holding of loans for all we borrowed. Whatever…

“I guess we shall. When you get back to Phoenix, call me; I’d like to go over some legal aspects of this case.” He added before I could question him, “You won’t need Ms. Cantor; you’re not in any trouble, but I have paperwork to get handled and will likely need an official statement from you and a couple signatures... All that will end up on microfiche or some hard drive in some vault and barely be a blip on anyone’s radar.”

He was not taking the dead end that this case appeared to be very well.

“I can come down to see you, but I think I’d like my lawyer there with me; it can’t hurt,” I said, smiling, thinking he probably didn’t like that response.

“As you wish... Safe travels, Ms. Ruiz, and thank you for working with me.”

“You’re welcome, Detective. I appreciated getting to work with you also.

“Stay safe…”

“I’m doing my best."

Saturday, June 9th, 8:39 a.m., West Boulder, CO
The line went dead, and when I turned to the patio door, Gabriella was standing in the kitchen, looking out at me through the kitchen window. I waved for her to come out. She did…

“I didn’t want to disturb your call."

“Just touching base with Detective Kovachev,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He’s got some paperwork I’ll need to get reviewed and signed. How are your parents?”

“They are relieved I’m here and safe,” she hesitated, “But they do not know about the abduction. I’ve made Eduardo promise not to say anything. I told them my lip was split and the bruises were from slipping in the desert while getting to Phoenix. I told them we met by chance, and you helped me when I had lost everything except the SD card."

"Gotcha—lost everything, helped out. But Eduardo knows what really happened. How does he feel about that?”

“He is still unhappy,” she said, lowering her head. “He did not have time to handle that problem before Corbino’s men came for him."

“The consequences you asked me about? You set that in motion with him; he was going to handle your coyote problem?" I asked softly, no judgment in my voice or tone.

She could only nod and say, “The coyote I used to get across the border recognized Eduardo; he was with me the night I met this man and said something to someone in Corbino’s organization. They came for him and tried to kill him, but the man you call Flagg was able to get him to safety and medical attention. I feel very guilty for this...”

I was close enough to her to put a hand on her shoulder, “Let all of that go... You’re about to get a new life,” I said, lifting her chin. “Right? And it sounds like he wants to stick around and be there for you. Take the win! You’ve got so much to be thankful for, and I’m so excited for you! Your life is going to really start moving in the direction you’ve always dreamed of."

She tried to smile and hugged me, whispering, “Thank you, Cass... Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I’m sorry to have made this so difficult.”

“Don’t worry about it... But,” I paused, “There is the matter of some money that needs to be secured. I need to speak with Flagg and get him that access. I know this man, and you can trust what he tells you. If he says you’ll be safe, he will deliver," I said as if I were a cheerleader for the CIA, Flagg, or our government.

“Yes, he has earned my trust... Do you want me to tell him?" she asked.

“No, let me... I’ve got some questions I need to ask him before we give him his prize." I smiled and hugged her quickly, “Oh, and the SD card—is this something I should hold onto or give to him?”

“He will find many pieces of information my father gathered on there that will be of interest,” she smiled slyly.

Okay, Flagg isn’t getting that until I snap a copy of it onto my laptop.

Saturday, June 9th, 9:05 a.m., West Boulder, CO
I’d seen Flagg after Gabriella and I came back inside; he was on the phone but quickly wrapped up talking to whoever was on the line. On the surface, he might not look stressed, but I felt like he was hovering—was that a sign? Things were about to start moving quickly to the end game. He gave me a look, and I nodded to the door I’d just come in. Once alone on the patio again, I didn’t waste any time.

“I’ve got your access, Colonel, but I need to understand Corbino, and I want to tell that story."

Bold move, bold ask? Was I pushing the bounds of any professional relationship we had?

Flagg thought about it for a moment: “I can’t authorize that, Cass, but I can push it up the chain, and with some oversight on what you’d like to report, maybe they’d go for it. I really am not in control of that decision, but I promise to lobby for you.”

“I understand, Sir, and thank you... Is this because Corbino’s takedown has Chinese implications or support?”

There was the slightest movement of his brow as if I’d just about hit the target, ranging that target with a long-distance sniper rifle round.

“The Chinese? Why would they be involved, Cass? Corbino was our OP.”

“I don’t know; that’s why I’m asking."

Was I pushing my luck with that lame retort?

“What makes you think I would know whether the Chinese were involved?”

“Because it’s your OP. Because Bobby the Chinese Ambassador’s son was hanging out in Arizona and Texas with Mexican nationals, no one can pin him to any group or organization. It seems a little suspicious, Sir." I thought I sounded as though I was whining, so I added, “Drugs coming north are straight out of China for the most part.”

He thought about that, pursed his lips as if he were going to say something, and then thought better of it: “I don’t know where you got this intel from, Kovachev maybe, but it’s not going to catch you anything, Cass. There’s no connection between this OP and the Chinese, loosely speaking. Red herring..."

I wasn’t sure I believed that.

“Okay, loosely then, but the fact that fentanyl comes straight from China can’t be ignored. So, why would we want to knock Corbino off his throne? What do we really gain? Three hundred and two million dollars? It makes no sense."

"China—fentanyl—that's ‘loosely’ and as much as I can comment on because I don’t know much about that, loosely speaking, mind you. The decision to hack Corbino off at the knees was handed down way above my pay grade. The money is just part of sticking to a cartel shithead,” he offered.

“No, not buying that, Colonel..." I was about to dig my heels in.

He chuckled as if knowing that’s what I was doing, “What part? I don’t make decisions about the covert operations I’m assigned to. Maybe you just have to ask the right questions if you’re looking for answers." He looked as if he were contemplating something, and then smiled, “Any news stories of late that you could tie to this mess?”

Huh? Right questions? I’m asking good questions! Was he baiting me with stories about current events? No, I did... Oh fuck!

“The President’s son?”

Flagg smiled and shrugged as if he were impressed that the long-distance sniper round had now hit maybe an outer ring of the target.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

My reply, pursed lips for a moment, then, “Is there a question in there?”

My mind was spinning; the story of the President’s son went something like, Fuck! The kid was at some, and I couldn’t recall the entire story because I tuned out those morning news staff ‘kudo’ meetings while Carol Black was 'rah rah' praising Kevin. Damn it!

“Is the President’s son really an addict?" I finally asked, pulling that question out of my ass and verbalizing it even though I knew it was lame.

"Would take someone with real juice to set this OP in motion, wouldn’t you think?”

Not an answer to the question, but then it hit me what had been reported. The kid’s security detail was around when the Tucson Police and DEA were making a drug bust and assisted in the takedown! Reportedly, the President’s son wasn’t around and was never in any danger. More likely, the kid was buying and stepped into a sting operation, but then there was, of course, the political spin. Good God!

“Colonel, I don’t buy right-wing conspiracy bullshit."

He interrupted me, “I can assure you, in this instance, no fucking wing sanctioned this OP."

“Then it’s a cover-up, a redirection of attention? Retaliation maybe? All with the benefit of maybe doing some good by stopping shit from coming across our borders, which us news reporting lemmings will lap up eagerly, spinning it to benefit the President. Is that what you’re selling me here?”

“Cass, if you want the Corbino story—that last piece about ‘doing some good shit'—is the only way you’ll get and spin it. Otherwise, kiss this story goodbye. You think after I run your request up the chain, they are going to let you rip the guy running this country or blow their narrative? Come on, ain’t happening,” he motioned a hand towards the door. “Let’s talk accounts?”

Fuck! How deep was this fucking rabbit hole?

Saturday, June 9th, 9:49 a.m., West Boulder, CO
Flagg, Mitchell, and I gathered in the laundry/mudroom that was between the kitchen area and garage. Mitchell already had the banking site up on the laptop when he set it down on the washing machine, entered the credentials, hit enter, and turned to look at me. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, pulled it out, and after unlocking it, navigated to messages and brought up the code.

Mitchell just stared at me.

“Fuck you!" he yelled angrily inches from my face, droplets of spittle hitting me, his eyes dark and menacing. He turned and stormed out of the cramped little room we were in, bumping me none too kindly as he exited and slammed the door. My shoulder began to throb from the contact he’d made bumping into me.

That shook me, and meekly I looked at Flagg and shrugged, having zero confidence in myself, and could only say, “I’m sorry, Colonel; I figured your team would have picked up on this sooner... My mission was to protect Gabriella, keep her confidence, and see this play out. Mitchell didn’t make working with him something I could trust, Sir. I had no idea you were involved and had considered even reaching out to you a number of times but got swept up in the current. I’m… I’m not operational, far from it."

Flagg moved to the computer, entered the code, and navigated around the site, confirming there was actually a pile of money there—three hundred and two million dollars. Next, he went to settings and changed the authentication phone number from mine to another. That couldn’t be accomplished without yet verifying another code sent to my phone, which hadn’t moved. He typed the code, hit enter, and a popup message appeared on the screen. The laptop was running a mirroring app for the phone number he’d changed the authentication to. A code was entered, and he hit the enter key.

The account was now secured; he logged out, closed the laptop, and finally looked at me.

"Mitchell is an ex-DELTA operator. I trust that man with my life, much like I thought I could trust you, Cass,” he began, the disappointment in his voice just barely perceptible. “What was your game?”

“My game?”

“Yeah, what did you gain from playing both sides in this?" he asked quietly.

“The mission objective - that Gabriella is safe and has been reunited with her family; I would imagine that is what was negotiated: get them all out of Mexico in exchange for financially kicking Corbino where it hurts. I stepped in not knowing the beginning OP details, so I winged it. Mitchell may not like me much right now, but my integrity is intact, Sir. I completed my mission, he did also - though in more of a round-about way," I answered without really thinking any of that out.

“And ‘if’,” he emphasized the word heavily, “Her parents had just kept her with them as planned, none of this crap would have been necessary!” His anger was showing through now.

“Understood, but I… I think she was their safety valve, their marker to make sure you, our government, delivered, for them helping you to take down Corbino,” I replied sheepishly.

There was some hesitation, restraint, but he continued, “You remember our after-action briefings in the 'stan?" he asked. I nodded I did and he continued, “This was Mitchell’s first command and control OP, I..." I could tell he was trying not to lose his shit right now. “He’s been training with me for four years. I had my hands in things, but he ran this operation, and he made the decisions on everything that was laid out, including the x-fil of Eduardo and me from Mexico. Want to guess what kind of hit your stunt just did to his confidence and the other assets under his control?”

Fuck! Okay, I feel bad a little now for playing this guy, but I... Wait—that's the nature of any covert OP. Shit goes sideways, you get a fucked-up hand, you adjust...

“Then he learned a valuable lesson, Colonel.”

Flagg looked as though he liked my answer, but I really had zero confidence in it—other than at this moment, that was how I felt. Later, when I replayed this conversation, maybe I’d feel differently and have answered differently.

My life now had different parameters I needed to navigate—OP’s, protecting the lives of people in my unit—all distant memories that did not apply to who I was now. My biggest risk to losing my life was a car accident by some old snowbird on the roads in Phoenix or running into the wrong character while in public hell bent to snuff out my existence because I was Trans. Fuck them all and fuck Mitchell! I did what I... What I did was what I needed to do, and as best I could given being out of the game for so long!

Flagg picked up the laptop and headed for the door.

“Sir, what now?”

He stopped, not facing me, and replied, “We’ll get you back to Phoenix. Better hope Mitchell isn’t the one flying you back.”

He reached for the handle and disappeared into the house. If I had to guess, this would be the last time I would probably see Flagg. That thought hurt more than I expected, and I could feel the tears welling in my eyes. I shut the door to the mudroom and sat with my back against it, silently sobbing. Everything that had happened these last however many hours was just too much to bear at this moment.

I wasn’t the same person I was six years ago; every fiber of my being had made a shift to who I was now. The emotional toll of being pulled back into that past life would be hard to deal with. This pain was going to be difficult to reconcile, just like being kicked out of the Army. Just like transitioning. My sobbing alone left me feeling emptier than I'd felt in a long time...

Saturday, June 9th, 10:25 a.m., West Boulder, CO
It took longer than I thought to compose myself and get off the damn floor. Eventually I got up and searched the mudroom cabinets above the washer and dryer set to find something—anything to clean up a bit. I found an old towel that looked clean, and I went about trying to clean my face from the dust and grime of...

My phone buzzed, a text from Lena asking what was going on and replied:

‘They are getting ready to bring me home. I can't wait to see you!’

Which was true, but I was struggling to hold my shit together right now, tearing up again just typing that text message out.

Lena: ‘I can’t wait to see you too!’

I lost it all over again after getting that reply and began sobbing quietly. A knock at the door and a tentative Gabriella poking her head in to see what was going on brought Titanic efforts to stiffen my upper lip in me. I made it appear that I was just washing my face off in the sink and couldn’t bring myself to look at her for fear I would flood the room with even more tears. Breathe, just breathe...

“Are you alright?” she asked.

I steadied myself at the laundry sink and shrugged.

“Good enough." My voice holding, praying she wouldn’t tip me over with some kind word or whatever.

“My father is with Mitchell and your Flagg; I’m worried they are unhappy that we did not do as they wanted,” she said quietly.

I huffed out a slow breath.

“Yeah, well, they weren’t too happy with me either, I suppose. I’m out of here soon. How’s Eduardo?”

“He is resting," she replied.

“That’s good,” I said, turning towards her and trying to pat my face dry with the damp towel. It felt good, but I didn’t want her to think I had been crying. I’m sure my face looked pale, even though my skin had that natural Latina brown hue even without makeup.

“Did you want to shower? I can give something to change into; the clothes you bought for me should fit, yes?"

I tried to smile, I'm sure it looked fake...

“That sounds great, but at this point I’m spent, Gabriella. The tank is empty, and I just want to get home. I’ve got a story to write yet, and I’m sure my editor is going to be a bitch about it,” I said, trying to chuckle.

“Come, my mother is cooking some food... At least eat.”

Saturday, June 9th, 11:41 a.m., West Boulder, CO
My belly was full, and all I wanted to do was get back to Phoenix to see Lena, shower first, and then get lost in her embrace for a week. I got part of my wish soon enough—a trip to the airport by the Marshal’s Service.

Saying goodbye to Gabriella was harder than I thought it was going to be, and really, we just both hugged and cried in each other’s arms. Her mom was the one to console us both, hugging me and profusely thanking me for watching out for daughter. If she only knew to what depths, that hug might be a little tighter than it already was...

And then it was time to say goodbye to Flagg. We both needed time to process, at least I did. He said he would run my request for the Corbino story up the chain and would reach out. I thanked him for that, but I could tell there was something different between us now, something lost.

He had one parting bit of advice: “Keep looking for those answers to your questions; you never know what you might stumble onto."

I got a smirk out of him with that last offering. Cryptic certainly, but that was Flagg—a riddle rolled in, whatever. Nothing else was exchanged between us; I didn’t even ask what he was trying to get at I was so spent and drained from this experience. I got a firm, quick handshake and was escorted out of the house to a waiting Suburban by two US Marshal Service agents. Mitchell and Gabriella’s father—MIA, Eduardo, too for that matter.

I felt empty beyond anything I could recall, a different kind of empty, similar to when I was struggling with who I was and my decision to get my gender righted. I needed to soldier on somehow—if that was even possible since I was nowhere near being what a soldier was anymore or could have been back when I was one for that matter. Was Flagg’s advice one last attempt at getting me to hold onto that past life? Unknown…

I had texted Lena on the way to the airport and gave her an estimated time I’d be in Scottsdale. She was quick to reply and added that we’d be alone tonight because of my promise to make things up to her. That meant she’d talked to Marisa and likely put the 'sock' on the door handle for us. I chuckled and sent her three heart emoji’ in return.

I was the only passenger on this flight to Phoenix. There's no reason to think I was going elsewhere, though I’m sure Mitchell would have been happy to have dumped me in Mexico with the aftermath of Corbino’s shit storm going on now.

See you later, Boulder! I thought as the engine began spinning up louder and louder. I watched as the pilots secured the cabin; one even threw me a ‘thumbs up’, which I returned. This felt like the proverbial rock bottom, though, I felt more like I was in a ‘thumbs down’ mood right now.

How much of my life was just one big lie? Had I just faked my way through this ordeal with Gabriella? The woman I was now conflicted with the soldier I was once... And for what—a glimpse at a story? Was all of this just a measure of who I really was? Did I even know? I need to get a grip and stop the spinning. Fuck it…

Yeah, fuck it! Fuck you, Flagg, Mitchell, Corbino... And as if slapped across the face out of nowhere, I got it! I got what Flagg was trying to tell me. Wait! The plane jostled and began moving. I need the internet, I needed to research something. Phone—this thing would work in the air, right? Better on my laptop!

I bolted to the still-open cockpit door and said, “Hey, there’s internet on this thing, right?”

I already knew the answer, but not how to access it.

The older of the two pilots replied, “Credentials are taped up in the closet right there to your left by the entrance or in the galley, maybe on the refer,” he said, unsure of that last location. “Have at it... Your phone should work too, by the way. We’re roughly two hours out of Scottsdale. There might be some food in the back still; make yourself comfortable."

“Appreciate that… You want this door closed?”

“Nah, unless you’re concerned about it?”

“You’re my Uber out of here; I’m good with whatever; just get me home,” I said, sparked with a new-found purpose and energy.

That got me a couple chuckles from the two of them and a crack about Mitchell’s landing. I rolled my eyes and went to get the credentials for the internet.

Saturday, June 9th, 12:01 p.m., in route to Scottsdale Airport, 23 miles south of Boulder, CO
It took nearly no effort to confirm I understood Flagg’s cryptic message to me before leaving the safe house in Boulder. My first search, thank you Google, was whether there was any news in Mexico regarding a car bomb.

The first listing in the search results was a car bombing in Mexicali, Mexico, that occurred last night, killing a husband and wife. Not really that far from Phoenix, I mused. I clicked the link and read the highlights: car bomb; two dead; husband and wife; identification withheld pending notification of their family; suspicious nature; property damage; no other casualties; and of course, ‘Yet another bombing having all the earmarks of cartel justice—Corbino justice. When will the government step in to curb the drugs and human trafficking to the United States?’

Even the Mexican press corps was calling this a cartel strike on innocents by Corbino, and that was some bold ass shit! Calling out the government! Oh fuck!

Kudos to Flagg for pulling off the bombing and not injuring anyone else—likely making it easy for whomever was going to investigate this to confirm it was Gabriella’s parents. Offhandedly Flagg made it so I could tie Corbino into my story of Gabriella abduction—without every detail, of course, by suggesting I look to see if the questions were already asked. I still had to keep her safe, but as Gabriella Estrada, we’d reported that as her name, it was most certainly not the last name of her parents, the two dead in the car bombing. That’s why Kovachev couldn’t find anything on her during his investigation.

I could assign blame for the abductions to Corbino without State Department buy-in and sprinkle the China/cartel connection to drugs coming across the border in support of the President and the recent Tucson drug bust his kid was probably in the middle of.

Had I just put a bow on all of this and gotten closure?

I opened up a new Word document and began banging out the outline of a story. I rolled Gabriella's story into a blend of US Marshals Service heroics—he'd given me a name to use as heading up the freeing of the other Trans woman held with Gabriella—and I tied the smuggling of women and kids across the border to the work of Mexican cartels—Corbino specifically. That last detail might get me some pushback from Carol Black, but I’d worked it into being a fact through the Marshal Service connection.

I didn’t need to involve Kovachev or the Phoenix Police; I had jumped a level above them by using the Marshal Service and the Mexican press. And my final point, my ‘get on the lemming, tow the line’ point Flagg had made—that the US Marshal Service had delivered yet again on our President's promise to clean up the border. Some wouldn’t like that, but Flagg had said the Corbino takedown was pushed from the highest levels; why not get ahead of that? Maybe get less pushback or ire from the POTUS political machine?

Proofread—a minor rewrite on something I probably could have just as easily left alone—and I was satisfied. I emailed it to Carol and then got her on the phone.

“Cassidy? Where are you?" she asked.

“Hey Carol, sorry to bother you on Saturday, but this Gabriella story took some unexpected turns, and I’ve got a breakthrough—a real story. I sent you a draft; would you mind taking a look and seeing if it’s worthy of pushing up to the site?” I held my breath.

“I can do that,” she said, sounding confused. “Are you calling from inside a tunnel or something?”

I couldn’t tell her where I was, so I just blamed it on my phone. She bought it and clicked off the line. Ten minutes later, she was calling me back, questions in hand. I must have had the right answers because she said that other than a sentence that was maybe a little ambiguous—which she proposed a change for, and I agreed with the rewrite—the story was good to move up. She said she would handle it and that she appreciated the careful and tactful focus I’d given to this kind of crime. She was certain Mike Beaty would approve too.

I was blown away, speechless to the point she had to ask, "Are you still there?”

“Yeah, yeah… Ah, my phone is really acting up. I’m sorry."

“Alright, good. I’d like you to consider a feature targeting these kinds of crimes, but I’d like it to be wider than just the Trans community. I imagine this kind of crap happens within all LGBTQ+ factions."

Speechless again, but I didn’t diddle around before replying, “I would appreciate taking that on Carol. I know of a few other staff at The PI (Post-Intelligencer) that could assist, but I can outline that after talking with them. ”

Wait a second? Factions? I didn’t like that label.

“I know we’ve got many of those ‘letters’ covered in our place of work, Cassidy, so do as you see fit. Monday, after our staff meeting, let’s discuss this some more. Excellent work, excellent work."

Shocked, speechless again to get a compliment from her, but I had a point to make: “Thank you and I look forward to working with you on this... I do want to state that those 'letters' are not a faction and not anything but real people just wanting to live a life without fear, hate, or discrimination..."

She interrupted me, “Cassidy, I’m one of those 'letters'..." Her voice steeled to the Carol Black I thought was angry all the time hit me, “I often feel like I’m looked at as part of a faction, an abomination, so don't put too much thought into my poor choice of words; it wasn’t meant as derogatory."

Whoa! Carol was one of us 'letters'. I was yet again blown away as I had no idea and hadn't heard anyone even speculate something like that about her.

“Alright then... We will discuss our tribes’ issues Monday then,” I concluded.

“I look forward to it, Cassidy; I feel like it will be liberating for us both."

“I concur…”

Carol signed off, and I sat dumbfounded, just looking at my phone absently. Wow…

Saturday, June 9th, 1:59 p.m., Scottsdale Airport, AZ
We were on the ground, and I was up at the front of this flying tin can as we taxied to where I’d gotten on this ride. I could see Lena by her car; she had her phone in hand. She then looked towards the plane. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Lena: 'Get off that damn plane!'

I couldn’t help but smile. Then I got out of the way of the pilot, or co-pilot for that matter, to pop the door and wave me out. I looked back at my seat, I had everything and wasted no time getting down the stairs and over to her. She was taken aback—a flash of shock mixed with deep worry given my appearance—but happy to get her arms around me in time for me to completely lose any composure I thought I might have seeing her.

Tears that would not stop, sobs that racked my bones, and her voice in my ear telling me, “I’ve got you..."

Saturday, June 9th, 2:43 p.m., Scottsdale, AZ
First course of business: a long, long shower. I had stubble on my legs and I happily shaved those troubles down the drain, hopefully with some of my regrets. Hair washed, conditioned, and every inch scrubbed twice—I was beginning to feel human, like the woman I was—less like the soldier I had escaped all those years ago and pretended to be the last day or so.

When I got out of the shower, there was a glass of wine on the double vanity, and I saw Lena staring at me from the corner of the bed—almost as I had done the last time I was here and she caught me staring at her. I took a sip of the wine—damn good wine, I might add—and raised the glass to her.

“Your story has been posted; I just finished reading it,” she said.

“And?”

“And I am ‘not’ happy that you got yourself mixed up in that mess, Cass."

I had a bath towel wrapped tightly under my arms over my breasts that made the lower part of my body look somehow like a botched magician’s illusion because of the way the towel hung. My hair was a complete wet mop, dripping absently everywhere. What could I do, say? I shrugged…

“You know, you’re beautiful,” she said.

Oh crap… My chin dropped, and again, I was a blithering wreck of tears and sobbing.

She had me in her arms quickly, “Hey, hey..." she cooed, taking my face in her hands. “Easy Cass... You’re safe; you’re with me now."

She took my hand and led me to the bed, got me sitting, and let me have that moment of weakness. I got to cleanse the last few days away and happily let her comfort me. She cared for me, I could feel it in my bones.

“I’m sorry, Lena..." I eventually got out, but then I rode another wave of emotions I couldn’t quite tap.

She had my face again, brushed away tears, kissed my cheeks, kissed my lips, and then kissed me deeply. I greedily took from her, my arms pulling her awkwardly closer until we clumsily fell back onto the bed, her face eventually even with mine after some fine adjustments of our bodies.

“I hadn’t thought the payback wouldn’t start this quickly, but," she kissed me again. “I know you’re probably tired; we don't…"

I kissed her to shut her up, and she had her answer as to what I wanted. She dug at the folds of my towel and got it partially off. I rolled and lifted a shoulder to help her, and the towel went flying.

Naked and wanting—not completely the woman I wanted to be—but she didn’t care, and truth be told, I didn’t either right now. We both took a breath, and while I moved to get onto the bed proper, she was stripping off her blouse, dispensing of the bra in a flash, and gliding down her jeans and panties with barely a breath taken by either of us.

I reached for her and pulled her on top of me, and we were yet again kissing like love-struck teenagers. Her hands found my breasts—so gentle, a warmth in that touch, affirming, and sensual. Her hips were slowly grinding over that last proof that I was male—even if I couldn’t achieve a much of an erection—though I could get close with enough stimuli, like right now! There was fear it would happen to quickly, like the other times we’d been together.

My orgasms prior to this moment were all embarrassingly quick with her and in my mind I kept trying to stay calm while my senses were being bombarded from multiple points of stimuli. Her body on mine was a blur of deep sensations, excitement, lust, and I could sense I was closing in on that climax—even just a minute into our passions. That final wave—the hit, the rush—was coming, and I didn’t want it to be over like those other times.

I rolled to my left, and she followed, and I was on top of her. I pushed up away from her, looking into her caring eyes, our breasts playing a game of tag, and leaned in to slowly, sensually kiss her. Our nipples touching sent sparks between us as we jockeyed for more, to give, and to feel that connection. We were two women giving their everything to one another.

Her moans were in concert with mine, and I felt the need to distract myself from the eventual finale approaching. I broke our kiss and moved down her lean frame to her breasts. To say anything but they we’re 'spectacular' would do them injustice. I did not linger and kept kissing and licking to where my fingers had found the depths of her arousal.

She bucked as my tongue licked that first taste of her love, and again from the pressure I put between those lips. I sucked at them, and my reward was her hands wrapped in my wet hair, guiding me, willing me to push her ever closer to her plateau, and when I had gotten her there, a moan and subtle shaking of her body was my reward.

But that was just the beginning. I was fighting her will, her hands in my hair, my own wants to please her battling her directions to get her more from my actions. I wanted to satisfy her, while basking in her revelry. I swear it felt like I was in a dream; this couldn’t possibly be real.

"Wait,” she huffed, almost as if she were outside her body.

I did not wait; my finger entered her slowly and easily. She stiffened and mashed my eager lips into her with that death grip in my hair, and the shuddering was intense, way beyond what I was expecting.

"Fuck, Cass,” she hissed. “Jessssus,” she moaned slowly a moment later.

Had she spoken? I was too far gone, and the flicking of my tongue on her clit, the brushing of my fingers over and against her labia, as one finger was now two inside of her. Gentle pressure, searching for the right, pressure at that spot... And through cries and moans, I felt my own plateau had been reached. I was stiffening instinctively as I felt warmth at my own hips, and that familiar glow as it was waning quickly.

Focus… I quickened every action and every movement, and she responded, awash in her own glories.

I had climaxed while moving in sync with Lena and it was glorious!

Saturday, June 9th, 3:06 p.m., Scottsdale, AZ
I had fallen asleep in her arms, but she moved, and I woke with a startle.

“I’m sorry… I gotta pee,” she whispered, sliding away from me. “You can sleep some more; it’s okay." I must have had a lustful look because she continued, “Ah, I don’t think I’ve climaxed like that since, hell, when I was in my twenties."

Her smile was infectious, and I couldn’t help but return it.

“I’m glad, because somewhere in there I hit a mark that was pretty moving for me too."

“I noticed a spot on the comforter that wasn’t near anything I had going on." She snuck back over and kissed me quickly. “I’m happy I could do that for you, but I didn’t really do anything. You did all the work..." she chuckled, then said, “Gotta pee, gotta pee! Something else?”

“Go… Go pee… I was just going to say I’m hungry."

“Why didn’t you just say that? We can figure that out when I get back..." She ran a hand over my right breast as she trotted off to the bathroom.

A flushing sound from the bathroom, followed by the sink being run, and she was back, playfully placing her them on my breasts as she kneeled on the bed.

“Hey now, cold hands!” I complained.

“You’ve got tits I would kill for!”

“Thanks, I guess... Trade them for..." I tried to reach between her legs, but she slid back on the bed playfully out of reach.

“Yeah, yeah… You’ll have one of these one day and not want this old one."

The hurt on my face at that comment must have been way too evident because she followed up by hugging me, then apologizing. I forgave her and changed the subject to make her feel better to getting something to eat. I was hungry, and said maybe after food we could satisfy another hunger - again.

Sunday, June 10th, 1:25 a.m., Scottsdale, AZ
Lena and I were similar in size, but her daughter and I were probably more so. I complained about borrowing a hoody and sweat pants that were her daughters, but happily accepted a pair of Lena’s panties to wear while my stuff was in the wash. Won’t lie, something oddly erotic about wearing one’s girlfriend's panties, I thought to myself after she left me with everything to get dressed in. We didn’t argue about need to wear bras, which seemed in line with both our wants.

Uber Eats brought us a meal, and we polished off one bottle of wine—she had opened a second, and...

I woke with a start and looked around. I was on the couch and alone, still at Lena’s, still wearing Marissa’s clothes, but alone. I panicked, stood quickly, and carefully climbed the stairs to Lena’s room. The door was open, and she was sound asleep. The relief washing over me made me shudder.

Unfortunately, I was now wide awake now. I considered crawling into bed with her, but I now needed to pee.

I retreated back downstairs, answered the call of nature, grabbed a glass of water, and decided to log into work to check out how my story was being received. Well, very well, judging by the hit counts and comments, which ranged from thanking those in service of our country (the US Marshal Service) to POTUS. Not too many crazy comments, but it was early yet. I wondered if we’d get this one picked up by affiliates.

Then I thought about the Colonel. Would he be proud that I didn’t take this story elsewhere and figured out his cryptic hint? I had a quick pang of guilt thinking about Flagg, but decided to see if there were any emails I needed to worry about instead of dwelling on that. Nope, just a bunch of praise for a well-written story—even Valeria had sent me a note.

I reached for the screen, intent on closing it up, and remembered the SD card Gabriella had given me. I should have just given that over to Flagg. But I raised a eyebrow to no one, since I was alone; and thought it couldn't hurt to peek at what was on it.

I found the card and inserted it into my computer, and Windows automatically opened up an Explorer panel. I could see the document Gabriella had worked from and a single folder that said “Facturas” (Invoices). Double-click, and there were easily hundreds of pictures. Okay, what are we looking at here? I changed the view to “Extra Large Icons," but everything just looked like pictures of paper—invoices, pretty much - duh.

Double-clicked the first one—some chemical I’d never heard of, ‘tert-butyl 4-(phenylamino) piperidine-1-carboxylate’. Whatever. The company it came from was CPR Holdings, out of Chongqing, China. Interesting… I searched for the company and found it was run by BF Kong. Eh, not familiar; would it matter if it was? The chemical search, though, that had Google screaming ‘fentanyl’ is a dozen ways just on the first page of results. Not good…

I scrolled down the folder of invoices and picked the last one; the company was Zheng Arms Limited of Anyang, China. The founder was someone named Q'Sung Lu. That name sounded familiar and turned out to be because this guy was related to Xi Sung Lu, the ambassador from China Flagg talked about. That’s certainly an interesting connection. Gun maker, China, cartel in Mexico that just got kicked in the ball by Flagg... Hmmm, no connection to China? And all I could think was that Flagg had said, 'loosely' when I tried to pin a connection to his OP and China. Bastard...

I checked out what Corbino had received—one hundred cases of twenty each of something designated as ‘191 Series’ and the initials QBZ further down the page, separate from the ‘191’ that looked like some kind of designation code. No clue what I was looking at...

I searched Zheng Arms, and their non-descript website said they made guns—after I let the Chrome browser translate. The site was a single page with pretty much a phone number and address. Lots of help, guys... That was a waste of time. I searched ‘191 Series’ and got hits for a book by Harry Turtledove—yeah, probably didn’t order cases of books. I then did a search on ‘QBZ’, and a nasty-looking weapon of war was returned in the results. Fuck…

I made the call, but surprisingly, there was an answer: “Ruiz, you were about to be my next call?”

“Okay, but first, you might have a bigger problem, Sir... China isn’t loosely an issue, but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“You still aren't asking the right questions."

FIN -

Actually... Not the end, but the follow-up to this story is slow to get moving due to other projects. Hang in there, keep coming back to Big Closet, and I'll wrap this story up for good in a sequel or maybe get it set for yet another set of questions. Thank you for giving this work of fiction a chance.

R

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Authors Note: Don't be afraid to click the "Thumbs Up" icon for this story if it's doing anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so, and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter; I'd have botched that bitch long ago if there were). If you comment, I will reply, so let’s chat or not, or whatever floats your noodle.

If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately, feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected])—I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

Author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

March 15th 9:18 PM
“…I think I'm ready now... Intoxicate me now with your lovin' now... I think I'm ready now...,” I sang into faded silence.

Bill continued to play the out bars one last time and on the final note let it hang – to fade away hauntingly. We were very much in sync tonight; he emphasized the lulls in the arrangement – helping me to recover after getting into those higher registers and then pulled back when I was in control and powering through vocally. Masterful – he had so much talent… Slowing the song down as we did was risky, but really flipped the pop-song on its axis. Then of course, Bill injected it with some jazz roots, undertones – so very different from Spears’ original pop version of Toxic. Bill was truly a musical genius…

The applause was polite, appreciative, but not over the top for the half-filled jazz club. I stood from the stool I had been sitting on center stage, pointed towards Bill, “Ladies and gentlemen, arrangement by Bill Carter…” The applause picked up a bit louder, the stage lighting swung over to the piano, and I walked over to Bill and kissed him on the cheek, before making my exit.

Gary was on the mic as I made stage exit, “Breanna Calloway…” There was a second round of appreciative applause before he was announcing the next singer and Bill was slowly building an intro on the piano – ‘Dog and Butterfly’ by Heart – I was pretty sure that’s what the next song was.

“Love that rendition Brea…”

“Thanks Mike…,” I replied. I made my way through the dim backstage area, pulling my monitor earpiece – turning it off – putting it in my clutch I had Mike watch for me while on stage. I made it around a couple corners backstage and casually reentered the club near the back bar.

I caught a couple nods from a few regulars, a few hands touching my arm – with whispered encouraging words, and a few smiles as I walked towards Kaley. Most of the patrons were now focused on the stage though, so my moment in the spotlight was just that – a brief, fleeting moment. Kaley was at a standup table close to the bar, “That was harsh…,” I offered after nudging her.

She looked at me confused, “Like when?”

“Second chorus, felt like I was mumbling… I need a better monitor earpiece – couldn’t hear myself a few times.”

“That’s bullshit Brea, you know it… Sounded good to me. You’ve been performing here like three months now - take the win, they loved it. Bill was on tonight…”

“Was he ever! Only saving grace…” I looked around the club, people were mostly watching Gina sing a straight rendition of the Heart song, and a few were having quiet conversations – typical scene.

“I’m gonna say ‘Hi’ to JJ… You want anything,” Kaley asked.

“Nah, just finish up my water and I think I’ll get out of here…”

We hugged and I watch Kaley make her way to the end of the bar and hug JJ. They were cute together, I wondered when he would figure out she was flirting every time she came here – he was so dense. Movement at the far end of the bar caught my attention. A guy was walking towards my table, where’d you come from? You don’t look like you belong here… He smiled and nodded his head when our eyes met, and then a few seconds later he was standing at my table.

“Hi, mind if I join you?”

I could feel a lump lodge in my throat and felt a little weary. Sure, I interact with people all the time at work, but I’m guarded, and ‘pop-up’ meetings were a bit spooky to me no matter where I was… I was the queen of flying under the radar, being barely noticed was my ‘thing’ – unless I was singing, “Actually, I was just about to leave. You’re welcome to the table if you want…” I wasn’t lying, but I wasn’t going to give this guy an opening either by making up some lie that would trip me up if I let him start a conversation.

He looked confused, “Oh, well I actually came here tonight to meet you… I had heard you were singing tonight and…”

I cut him off, “Ah, look… I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t… I don’t do meeting people in clubs.” I was nervous and any control of my surroundings I thought I had felt was quickly slipping away, “I think you probably need to be talking to someone else…,” I added for good measure, “Trust me…” I could feel my heart thumping in my ears and I looked toward the stage involuntarily, I could see Gary just off to the right. If I waved would he see me? Probably not – he was watching Gina sing. I looked back toward the bar, JJ… I could flag him down, he was closer. Would this guy follow me out of here? Fuck! Slow it down…

“Ah, I think you have me all wrong. Here,” he pulled a card from his jacket and handed it to me.

The card read ‘Blake Schultz – Grand Caymans Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas, NV’ with multiple phone numbers, an email address, and a website. I read it and looked at him blankly – so what? I could print this on my computer in thirty seconds or less with the right card stock. “Sorry… Blake, I’m not interested…” His card told me nothing and I hoped my bluntness registered.

He reached over and took the card, “Augh… Sorry, old card…” He handed me another one after inspecting it.

‘Blake Schultz - Chief Marketing & Experience Officer’ with the same information as the first card he’d handed me. OK, you now have a title – congrats! I’m still not feeling this… I put his card on the table, “I’m sorry, I don’t… I gotta go.” One last look at the guy and I didn’t hesitate making my exit. When I was at the host stand I looked back, the guy hadn’t moved – he wasn’t even looking at me. I slipped my jacket on and I prayed there was a cab or Uber out front – I did not need any drama from some kook with a pocket full of ‘talent scout wanna-be’ business cards from a casino in Las Vegas I had never heard of... I was out the door quickly and walking south on Fifth…

This kind of shit wasn’t new, I could pass – generally speaking, but that didn’t mean those with heightened radar didn’t suspect something was off about me. It wasn’t Transgender night at the club – it was amateur night - so we weren't a draw for freaks and chasers. Sure, a few people in the club knew I was Transgender, but they totally didn’t give a shit. People who didn’t know – well, those were usually one’s that had whatever flavor of bias ingrained in them and were the most dangerous to someone like me. I’d been singing since I was a kid, progressing from church choir to Honors Choir in high school to even a little singing in college. In college I was told I might be a countertenor due to being able to sing so high - effortlessly, but in reality I was probably more of a falsettist.

I had decent voice control - no way that guy figured me out by singing or even in the few sentences I spoke to him back there. Some crazy fucks out tonight… I looked back at the door twice, before getting into a cab a block from the club.

March 22nd 9:44 PM
The Gaslamp District was hopping tonight… The crowd at the jazz club was electric, charged even. By the time I got on stage – the eighth amateur of this week’s showcase – the crowd was really into the performance. I sang ‘Lights’ by Journey – a song I really enjoyed singing and knew inside and out.

Bill and I had rehearsed it twice since Monday at the community center in Sherman Heights – a few blocks from the car dealership I worked at. Of course, I had recorded the intended arrangement and as was typical had been practicing every waking moment up until tonight. He had changed the timing, so it flowed quicker – almost felt like a Bruno Mars spin had been laid on the melody. It certainly worked – musically speaking, but I know there were a few spots tonight I was flat and no amount of willing from Bill’s keying the piano could save my blunders.

The crowd was appreciative with their applause when I was finished singing, but really - Bill was the one they were applauding. Oh, well… Next time I’ll do better I shrugged backstage after Mike said I sounded great. I thanked him, but honestly he was just being polite. I mean really, was he going to say I sucked? I chuckled to myself as I pulled my monitor earpiece, turning it off, and thinking I needed to invest in a new one with better fidelity, upgraded Bluetooth, and would actually help more than hurt my singing. Bottom line – this was amateur night, so these people just got a big dose of amateur… Sure, I felt a little discouraged, but that was just part of the gig – I’d survive it… I’ll be better next week.

When I entered the club from backstage, I couldn’t see Kaley, so just found a spot near the pass bar area. I was trying my best to stay out of the way of the women working their asses off hydrating the crowd with all manner of alcoholic beverages. JJ and the other bartender – Mark I think his name was – were moving quickly to fill drink orders. I had been to this jazz club a few times on weekends; this crowd tonight rivaled a weekend crowd – no idea why tonight was so special.

I felt a tap on my shoulder, turned to see a server – Dee, “Hey…,” I greeted her.

“That was a cool change to that song. So very Stevie Nicks, even Melissa Etheridge like... You want anything,” she asked.

“Ice water… Thanks… I think I like singing the original version better… I’m no Stevie or Melissa…” I chuckled, but I’m sure with all the noise she didn’t hear me. I knew the lower I sang the more problems I would have with control. Oh well...

“Was cool when the crowd lit up their phones… Haven’t seen that for a while,” she said dumping ice into a rock glass.

“Did Gina get that treatment on the Neil Diamond ‘Sweet Caroline’ song a few weeks ago,” I asked.

“Wasn’t here that night… Lemon?”

“Nah… Thanks…”

She handed me the glass, picked up a few drinks JJ had just put down on the pass bar, and she was gone. When I turned to face the stage there was a familiar face standing in front of me… Shit! Brad… No, Blake… Blake something… Fuck… I felt anxious, uncontrollably so...

“Nice job tonight… I’d offer to buy you a drink, but looks like you have something…,” he said leaning in towards me.

Go away! Don’t be nice to me, don’t give me some lame bullshit lines… You seriously don’t know what you’re getting with me… Augh! “I was flat...”

He interrupted the beginning of what would have been a critical review of my failures tonight, “The song was up tempo, probably a little more than it should have been, especially for a good singer. Might have been better sung like Steve Perry had sang it…”

What? No, it was sped up on purpose, the key was changed on purpose… The ‘fuck’ you know about our arrangement! The tempo was on point – I was the problem. “I disagree, but what do I know – I’m just a ‘good singer’…” I said snarky, but with the noise of the bar I doubt he heard my bitchy retort tone.

“Yes, you’re a good singer. Not much to complain about with that performance. Crowd seemed to like it. Kind of cool they lit up their cell phone flashlights.”

Why am I talking to this guy? OK, I was going to stay until the end of the showcase, but this guy just changed my mind on that – time to leave… “Nice talking to you, I’m out…” Without so much as a chance to let him get a last word in I set my glass down and began weaving in and out of the crowd lining the bar area. At the host stand I looked back and didn’t see him, good ‘nuf for me! Later asshole! My anxiousness was making my stomach roil, it would do a flip and then flopped – I gotta get out of here!

Outside of the club there was still a sizable crowd of people milling around, not to mention twenty or so people waiting to get into it – must be a convention in town or something… I headed south on Fifth, intent on catching a cab in the next block like I had last week escaping that nut-job, “You ever hear of the Transgender Day of Visibility?”

I stopped dead in my tracks, spun quickly ready to defend myself from an attacker… “What the fuck!” He’d scared the shit out of me and feeling like I was – this stalker tact he was laying on me wasn’t going to work.

“Whoa… Look, I’m not some crazed chaser, but I do have something you might be interested in hearing about.”

Well, aren’t you cute… Really, not a ‘chaser’? Like you’re not some fetish junky? Yeah for you! You know I’m Transgender – congrats I’m so impressed! Are you really about to threaten me right here? I felt my stomach drop, my hands felt oddly cold and tingled. I needed to decide my next actions carefully, quickly. The street was crowded with people, so he wasn’t about to pull any shit right here. Think… Wait… What did he ask me? Do I know about the Transgender Day of Visibility? Fuck you! “Why are you stalking me,” I asked in a loud voice, which caught the attention of a couple people walking by us.

“Oh, no… That’s not what this is,” he said to a couple of guys who decided to stop to see where our conversation was about to go.

“Well you better fucking explain yourself or I’m sure those cops across the street will need to know what your problem is…” I was on the verge of puking and could taste the staleness of my breath – should have had lemon with that water. I was putting up a big fluff of bravado – but truth was I really just wanted to crawl under a rock. Your move Blake…

“Look, I’m looking for singing talent for the event I just mentioned. It will be held at our hotel in Vegas next week. I’m only here to see if you’re interested. If you’re not – I will not bother you again.”

I thought about how he put that, ‘the event I just mentioned’… He did that for me, since we now had an audience of two blue-collar types that would probably have no trouble ripping into this guy if I were to ask for help. Of course, worst case these guys could make things tougher on me if he’d outted me. OK, he was doing me a favor by not bringing any unnecessary attention to me being not what I appeared. I could see the cops across the street looking our way. Fuck! I looked at the two guys, “I’m good guys… Thank you for stopping though.”

“You sure,” the bigger of the two asked.

“Yeah, I think those cops over there are gonna be checking us out in a couple minutes…”

Everyone looked toward the cops, one of the two guys waved. My two champions figured things were handled and began to move on. OK Blake Whatever-Your-Name-Is, you dodged getting your ass handed to you. The cops – well, unless you have a compelling story to tell me it’s going to go south pretty quick for you… “You have about three minutes before those cops make their way over here. Tell me what you want and we can go from there…”

“It’s basically a singing contest to showcase Transgender singers next week, culminating on the Transgender Day of Visibility. You get coaching, an allowance for wardrobe, room and board. It will look a bit like those reality TV singing shows. Everyone is filmed in an interview style, the competition is filmed, and the whole event gets edited into a PBS documentary for a later date…,” he paused to think, “Oh, there are prizes for first through third place finishers. Top prize, twenty-thousand dollars. Here,” he fished another card and handed it to me, “Check our website – this contest has been advertised for about six months. This is totally legit and above the board. You can contact me directly at those numbers or email. Research it…”

He'd said a lot, but why me? How did he find me? “Why me,” I asked.

“Well, you were a whisper on the wind – to tell the truth,” he said smiling, but continued when I didn’t look amused, “So, someone I know in LA mentioned hearing about someone new to the San Diego jazz scene and I decided to come see for myself. Do you know how many jazz clubs there are in San Diego? Plenty,” he complained, “Problem was no one knew who I was looking for when I started inquiring – subtly mind you. Then I met Gary who said if I was interested in someone with talent to come see the Thursday amateur night showcase. Even after explaining what I was looking for – he said nothing about you specifically. Anyway, I show up last week – he says, ‘Make sure I see Breanna perform…’. I thought you had a great voice and are what we’re looking for. Then you blew me off when I tried to introduce myself. What else is there? You have any other questions?”

I was about to speak, when I noticed a pained look on Blake’s face. I turned to see what he was looking at – the two cops were now less than twenty yards away. Shit… Not like, we could run or fade away, so I resigned myself to having to deal with them and just waited for them to approach. Just explain to them we had a misunderstanding and everything was… A scream from the opposite direction stopped them and they were looking toward the other side of the street where two women were posting up after one or the other had just screamed for some reason. The cops jaywalked quickly to get over to the women – we were no longer their focus. Jesus! What next?!?! I just wanted out of here…

“Let’s do this, you go that way,” I pointed up Fifth, “I’ll go this way. I’ll check into your story and if I’m interested I will call you. Until then, no more stalking shit… Fair enough?”

“Fair enough… But I’m sort of under a time crunch. We lost a singer that had auditioned. At this point we either replace her or cut the competition down to ten from twelve… There were other’s we cut, but they really wouldn’t be able to hold their own in this competition without looking," he struggled for a word, "casual singers. I think you could really add to what we're putting on, trying to accomplish…”

“I don’t understand…”

“We auditioned somewhere around thrity-five singers. From that group we selected twelve singers, but with the drop-out we are down to eleven. My GM wants to replace the one who bailed on us or cut one of the singers so we have an even number. I’m not sure why he’s so set on that – a field of ten or twelve singers, but that’s what I’ve got to get figured out,” he said frustrated, “I’m heading back to Vegas at noon tomorrow. So, I’m offering you a spot or I’m going to have to cut someone since we’re live with this event starting Tuesday. Give it some thought overnight and call me tomorrow one way or the other, please,” he asked extending his hand, which I took after a moment and shook.

He turned and started walking up Fifth without another word. I stood there for a second wondering if I should have asked him a few more questions – no, get home, get out of here and see if this guy’s story really was as he said it was… I was certainly left wanting to know more about this competition though... Grr! Curiosity killed many a cat.

March 22th 10:59 PM
Inside my apartment I didn’t waste any time pulling up Google on my Android tablet. I searched for the ‘Grand Caymans Casino’ and was happy to see there was such a place in Las Vegas – it actually had opened in January of last year. I went to their website and it was certainly ‘grand’ and Caribbean themed – big whoop. I wasn’t about to let my guard down though just because there was a website for a casino in Vegas I’d never heard of, for a contest on Transgender Day of Visibility I’d never heard of… Something was still off about this to me. The guy hangs out here a week to try and recruit me? That’s weird, right?

I followed a link at the bottom of the page for ‘Property Management’ and after a few clicks found ‘Blake Schultz’, a picture matching the man from the club, and his title was listed as ‘Chief Marketing & Experience Officer’. His bio said he came to them via the Hard Rock Casino in Atlantic City, NJ - where he was a booking agent and managed their nightclub. So, nice Vegas promotion Mr. Schultz – means maybe you know a little about the entertainment business. I did a quick Google search on ‘Blake Schultz + Las Vegas’ and found the typical stuff – Facebook, LinkedIn, and Twitter accounts. All were for the guy I’d been stalked by – OK, followed by... Not, stalked – but who hangs around a week to recruit a Trans singer? I hadn’t decided yet if I wanted to let this guy off the hook for freaking me the fuck out…

When I clicked on the Google ‘Images’ link for my ‘Blake Schultz’ search there were a few pictures of him surrounded by women in clubs – either Atlantic City or Vegas, I couldn’t tell where they were taken, so pure guessing on my part. One of the pictures was of him and some DJ at a pool party at a hotel – likely his hotel in Vegas, given the Caribbean themes of the surroundings. The pool was full of people, bikinis everywhere, plastic drink cups raised – it looked like something you’d see on MTV.

One picture of Blake caught my eye in the search of images. The one of him with an older woman, she was three or four inches shorter, gray hair, round-full face, and maybe in her early sixties. I followed the pictures link, which put me in his Facebook account and there was a description he’d added to the photo, “Visiting mom in SD…” The background of the photo – the Hotel del Coronado. The date – this past Monday. He had ties to San Diego – was this why he was here last week through tonight? Was he trying to recruit me or was he stalking me – that was still the question… Grrr! Seriously, he is likely legit – I’m just being stupid. Recruit – is there something to recruit for though?

I found a link for ‘Up Coming Events’ on the Grand Caymans website and looked at this month’s calendar. Sure enough – there was a three-day long event listed as the ‘Transgender Day of Visibility Vocal Competition’. I followed the link to the events main page and saw it was going to be run just like those reality TV singing shows. Only difference – they were putting the contestants out there for the world to see with their PBS documentary filming of the event. This was more than just a singing contest, ‘Competition’, it was putting our lives out there for all to see – all access... Blake had mentioned that, why didn’t that set off more alarms?

Beyond the competition, the hotel appeared to be rolling out the red carpet for the three days of their Transgender Day of Visibility celebration. There were specials on rooms, dining, vendor exhibitions, contests, tours, seminars, and various parties – including a late night pool party and dance. In essence they were laying it out there that they were celebrating and accepting those transitioning. Why was this the first I had heard of this? I had my nose in a few Transgender support organizations here in San Diego – not a peep had been said about this event. This was huge though, a major casino on the Vegas strip acknowledging our existence, validation of those who were Transgender – mind blown…

March 23th 9:06 AM
The phone was answered on the fifth ring, “Hello…,” the voice said tentatively.

“Hello, I… I’m looking for Blake Schultz, please.”

“Yes, he is in a shower. May he call you,” she asked.

The woman had a distinct German accent, not super thick, but certainly enough that you could tell she’d spent a good portion of her life growing up there. Was this his mother? Let's see, “Thank you Mrs. Schultz, could you please have him call Breanna at this number,” I rattle off my number, and then explained briefly that since this was his cellphone he would have my number. Not sure why I bothered, but maybe she wasn’t hip to cellphone operations…

“I will give the message, Thank you…”

“OK, thanks, goodbye…,” I said when I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go with the conversation.

“Goodbye…”

Since she didn’t correct me, I must have guessed correctly – that was his mom who answered his phone. I guess he could be married? No, that was his mom – for sure. The picture of her I’d seen last night certainly fit the voice.

March 23th 9:38 AM
After all my research into Blake’s story, it would be a total lie to say I wasn’t interested in joining the competition. The thought of putting myself out there on a much bigger stage than the jazz club was a little daunting, but I’d sang in a few competitions in the past – granted before transitioning – so I knew what I was getting into in that regard. I loved singing and had recently found how to reinsert that passion into the person I was becoming. Only nit – the PBS filming and giving them a look into my life. Others were willing to do that, so I wasn’t going to be the central focus, but opening up wasn’t something I was looking forward too. I had no problem owning my transition when challenged, but feeling like I had to justify my choices, state of mind, and anything else someone felt like laying on me could be tiring…

I called Kaley, before reaching out to Blake, and she approved my time off request. We’d talked about Blake stalking me last week and she was a little concerned about his second stalking attempt last night. When I told her about all the research I had done it set her mind at ease – which, repeating all that information confirmed I was good with the choice I was making to join the competition.

Kaley said I could work today and tomorrow – my usual days off – then Sunday and Monday. That way I would only have to take one day of vacation for Thursday – the finale night of the competition – then return Friday my normal day off. I was guessing I’d need a day off to recover – because as they say, “What happens in Vegas…” and all that crap about it staying there… The drive to Vegas, five hours’ worth of some of the most mind numbing and boring highway scenery out there was the only sucky part. I wasn’t looking forward to that. Now I just needed to hit Bill up for help with musical arrangements to a couple songs we’d performed at past showcases. I pulled up his number and before I could call, my phone began ringing…

“Hello…”

“Good morning Breanna. Thank you for calling me back.”

“Oh, hey Blake,” I said not so confidently.

“Sorry you got my mom, I was in the shower.”

“Yeah, she told me. Does she live here in San Diego,” I asked - I already knew the answer.

“My parents retired here after my dad got out of the Army. She lives out by the university.”

“Really? I went to USD, very nice area.”

“You went to USD? I did a year there, but transferred to the University of Pittsburgh. What did you study?”

“I graduated two years ago with a B.S. in Marketing. How about you?”

“I studied mostly partying, so didn’t graduate when I should have. Think that annoyed my parents…”

“Oh… Well, they have to be happy with what you’ve worked into there in Vegas, via Atlantic City…,” I cringed – did I just give away that I researched him? Yup… Crap! I mean, he knew I would, right? It was expected…

“Probably… I did finally get my degree in Business Management, so I got back in their good graces. I’m getting ready to pull out of here – you have an answer for me?”

“Yeah, ah… I would like to… If you’d still want me for your competition, yes I would like to join it…” I replied, tripping over my tongue like a fool.

“Excellent, I think you’ll fit in well with the other talent. Do me a favor and text me an email address and I’ll have the staff running the show send you some forms you’ll need to fill out – nothing much really, but a lot of legal notification stuff. Once you get that stuff turned over they’ll get you booked for a room. If you know the songs you’ll be singing let them know that also – we’ve got a great band or we can remove the vocals from any track. Oh, and get something setup for the stylists working the show right away – the staff will get your contact information. So, when do you think you’ll arrive?”

Blake had rambled all that pretty quick, so I really didn’t get a good feel on whether he felt good about my decision to join – he was very business speak in his tone. Forms, songs, and stylists – I’d only thought about the songs I wanted to maybe sing. Not about how to coordinate that with a band, wardrobe, a stylist… I was certainly late to this gig, “Ah… I was going to… Leave after work Monday night and get into Vegas probably around 1 AM. Not looking forward to the drive.”

“Oh… Most of the contestants are arriving Sunday. There’s a Meet / Greet Dinner Monday night, so you will have some catching up to do Tuesday morning,” he sounded slightly concerned, “So, you’re gonna drive, eh? Look, that’s a shitty drive, let me setup a flight for you. What time do you get off on Monday?”

“I get off at seven if there aren’t any late sale deals I need to get through financing,” I replied tentatively.

“Where do you work,” he asked.

“Cambridge Chevrolet in Sherman Heights…”

“You work in their finance department?”

“Yeah, started while in college, worked my way up…”

“Nice. So, if we got you on a flight after nine you’d be good?”

“Sure, I guess… Thank you, I appreciate not having to do that drive.”

“No problem. You’re saving me having to cut someone from the competition – least I can do is fly you out there. Let’s not mention that to anyone though.”

“Oh, Ok…”

“If you have any questions float me an email and I’ll try to get back to you as soon as I can. So, we’ll be seeing you in Vegas next week. Thanks again for accepting a spot in the competition Breanna. I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, I’m… I’m sorry I was kind of bitchy about the offer. I, well it’s, it’s hard for us out there sometimes and I just wanted to say I was sorry.” AUGH! Why was that so hard?

“Not even a problem, I totally understand. I got to see my mom this week and I found a good fit for the competition – we’re all good. Hey, I gotta run, so… See you soon.”

“Oh, yeah… Sure, I’ll see you in Vegas…”

“Thanks Breanna… Goodbye.”

“Bye…”

And there was the encouragement I was hoping to hear out of him, ‘I found a good fit for the competition’. Not over the top encouragement, but he sounded genuine having said that. I would take it. I got the sense I wasn’t just a warm body filling a spot. That he mentioned understanding that there are challenges for those that are Transgender - bonus. OK, I feel good about my decision. I’m in, I’m going to do my best, this is going to be… Ah! I needed to get to work!

March 23th 11:23 AM
After checking in with the sales manager and Kaley, I closed my office door and dialed Bill’s cellphone, I don’t think it even rang once before I heard, “Yes…”

Huh? ‘Yes’? It wasn’t a question kind of a greeting, it was more of a statement. “What do you mean, ‘Yes’,” I asked Bill.

“I mean, ‘Yes’, I’ll go with you to Vegas…,” he said with a chuckle.

“Really! Oh my God! That would be so cool Bill… Thank you.” Hearing that I was instantly soaring. I was dreading having to figure out the music for what I wanted to sing while… Wait a second, “Hey! How did you know about Vegas?”

“Kaley told me…,” he said through a suppressed laugh.

“Ah… I’ll have to talk with her about loose lips and sinking singers careers. But seriously, you can make it?”

“Girl, I wouldn’t miss it! And whose going to keep you on point, some hired Vegas lounge pianist?”

“Charles is OK with you coming,” I asked. Charles was Bill’s husband – they married after California’s Prop 8 passed in 2008. They were perfect together and really a lot of fun – after Charles loosened up with a little alcohol in him.

“Is he alright? I don’t need his permiss…,” in the background, I could hear Charles cutting him off mid-sentence, “We’re both coming Brea, wouldn’t miss it… Congratulations.”

“Thanks Charles… Thank you Bill for agreeing. I’ve been stressing all morning about how I was going to function without you.”

We talked a few specifics and set up a time to meet at Bill’s place tonight after work. I just needed to bring a bottle of wine, they would have dinner waiting, and the real work would begin in regards to what I was singing. I felt relief, a real happiness I hadn’t felt in a long time, and some nerves – the good kind. With Bill there I was confident I could hang with anyone in the competition – I just needed to stay positive.

March 26th 10:56 PM
The last couple of days had been a grind. Between working nine days straight, practicing with Bill every night after work until midnight, and coordinating my participation in the competition from just over three-hundred miles away – I was nearing my tipping point. Even with all of that I had going on these last couple days I still managed to sneak out for a couple extended lunches with Kaley to spend the one thousand dollars the competition was allowing for wardrobe. I knew my song choices – Bill and I had agreed on three songs and I bought outfits that were in line with the style I wanted to portray and fit the songs. Nothing crazy, but certainly not something I’d probably have an opportunity to wear again – like a bridesmaids dresses essentially.

The hour-long flight to Vegas was uneventful – from check-in, to TSA screening – opting for the full body pat down after declaring myself as being Transgendered, to boarding, to sitting next to a guy who reeked of stale cigarettes – OK, maybe that guy detracted from a hassle free travel experience. I wanted to sleep on the plane, but my mind was going in twenty directions – all while trying to sing my songs silently in my head. I should be committed to the loony farm… To say I was wasted right this minute was an understatement.

I caught the hotels shuttle from the airport and at the front desk of the Grand Caymans Hotel, they were very polite and helpful. They knew who I was and what I was doing the next couple days while staying with them – based on the unsolicited encouragement they offered. I wondered if they were going to be guessing who was CIS and who was Transgendered all week – not sure why I thought that, just my cynical side shining through. Whatever…

I made it to my room, showered, and was in bed by midnight. Tomorrow it begins! Unfortunately at 7 AM. The first item on the day’s agenda - a contestant’s breakfast with a briefing on the contest, processes, outside the competition demands for our time, and expectations for the documentary they were filming. Augh, unplug, unplug… Sleep!

Author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Tuesday, March 27th 6:44 AM
I entered the conference room dressed business casual – what I was wearing wasn’t my first choice, but I was too tired to fight clothing choices at 5:30 AM. My nerves were certainly trying to get the better of me, but my biggest problem was not getting enough sleep. I slept like a rock, just didn’t get enough of it. Without some strong coffee, I was going to crash and crash hard.

There were a four women already seated around a long conference table, coffee cups in hand, plates of food from the buffet setup along a wall of windows with a partial view of the pool, and they were quietly talking amongst themselves. I smiled back to those that acknowledge my presence. In the corner of the room were two people gathered around a camera, one of them holding a microphone on a boom. They looked engrossed in what they were doing. I noticed a number of microphones on the table - guess we’re now on stage – that’s a little unsettling… I got in line behind a man getting food.

“Morning…”

“Good morning,” I replied with a smile trying to match his.

“Dana,” he said extending his hand after putting his plate down.

“Brea…,” I shook his hand. He had a perfectly trimmed goatee, close cropped hair – with the beginnings of salt and pepper grey showing. Dana looked fit, like he worked out daily – the muscular definition of his arms and what I could see through a loose fitting shirt and shorts was impressive. He was a decent looking guy, confident – but not cocky – very friendly vibe. Not sure why I thought this contest was going to be all woman competing – I felt foolish and hoped he didn’t read minds or my face showed any surprise about him being here.

“You must be our missing contestant? Little 411 from dinner last night – you didn’t miss anything. Seems like a pretty nice group of singers, at least so far. I’m really hoping it doesn’t get catty.”

“Oh... That’s good to know. I was worried I’d be on the outs…,” I said.

“Hey Michelle,” Dana said as if he were looking through me.

I turned to see a woman had joined us in line for food, “Hi, I’m Michelle, you must me Breanna?”

She had perfect teeth and I found it hard to concentrate on anything else about her except her ultra-white smile. “Nice to meet you…,” I got out before the pause got too long. Michelle was a little taller than I was, dressed as if she were going to an interview – which made me feel a little self-conscious, and her voice was silky smooth. If her control was this good just chatting, I could only imagine what her ability to sing was going to be like. Would be a lie to say I wasn’t intimidated by both Dana and Michelle – and all we’d done was introduced ourselves. Lovely - was I in over my head before this contest even got going?

Together we joined the others at the table and there was a round of quick introductions. Which was repeated when the last five contestants entered the room just before seven. I was going to fail a test of names if I was asked or ran into a few of these people outside this room. Dana, Michelle, and another man – Wyatt, were the easy ones to remember. Augh… I resisted looking back at the camera – I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to like being in front of the camera these next couple days… Don’t let there be doubts about why you’re here, I thought... I am valid, I am worthy.

Tuesday, March 27th 7:12 AM
The volume in the room had gotten pretty loud as we all sat around eating and talking. The most common comment made – this contest was a pretty big deal for the transgender community. There was a lot of Pride talk, being proud to represent, which I found pretty cool that others were feeling the same as I was. By the time the staff running the show arrived I was pretty sure I knew the names of ten of the other eleven contestants. What’s that eleventh woman’s name? Jill, Jane... Augh! Damn it!

“Good morning everyone…,” the room fell silent, “I’m Karen Cole, I meet most of you last night – we’ve also been corresponding via email and had the occasional phone call. I want to welcome you again to The Grand Cayman Hotel and Casino and to our first ‘Transgender Day of Visibility Vocal Competition’. I hope everyone had a chance to meet our final contest Breanna Calloway,” she looked toward the end of the table I was sitting at, “She comes to us from San Diego and should fit in nicely.”

I smiled, politely – then Wyatt chimed in, “Everyone… ‘Welcome Breanna’…,” some in the room sang in chorus. That was followed by a few giggles and laughs. I’m pretty sure I was blushing… The cameraman was moving to my right and pointing his shoulder mounted camera at me. Lovely... Now I wanted to melt into the carpet or escape out the window behind me.

Karen wasted no time getting the program moving. First topic – security – which she explained would be tight on site, but on the strip we should not roam around alone. Vegas as a whole was fairly safe she explained, but we needed to stay vigilant. Someone asked about the protestors outside the hotel.

“The Vegas police have made it clear they are not welcome on our property. We have also filmed these people and our in-house security is monitoring them. We have extra security onsite and a response team in reserve. You shouldn’t have anything to worry about, we’ve got better security on site than most prisons and airports combined. Our facial recognition capabilities I’m told are better than what the federal government uses. Please don’t let a few narrow minded people ruin this event for you. I promise we’ve got the situation handled.”

Protestors? I hadn’t thought about that being an issue – guess I should have expected something like this. I had been to Vegas a few times while in college, so I’d seen enough of the strip to know there was certainly safety in numbers. Add to that – there really wasn’t much out here I wanted to see since I'd seen enough of it before. We were going to be so busy with all the activities for the show – no way we’d have down time to go run around the Vegas strip.

The rest of our morning was laid out – we’d break into three groups of four and follow a schedule for each of the pieces of the show. Group 1 would be off to hair / makeup / stylist consultations – where we were to present our clothing, hair, and makeup needs. Group 2 was to meet with the stage manager, audio technicians, and band – to go over everything in regards to our songs and any performance needs. Group 3 was to meet the PBS crew for our initial interviews. Every four hours the groups would shift stations until we were all through them, culminating in a group dinner party starting at 8:00 PM. Basically they were allowing an hour per contestant for each piece of the preparation process for the show.

Thank God, the schedule was printed out for us and after going over it verbally, one of Karen’s assistants was passing it out on a sheet of paper. There was even a map to where our groups were to meet. Amen! The handout also had the names of contestants assigned to each group and I saw that I was in Group 3 with Michelle, Wyatt, and contestant number eleven – Janet. Augh! So, close! I smiled about almost remembering her name. Being in Group 3 was a good thing for me, not just because I had good vibes about those in the group, but because we wouldn’t hit the stage portion of the process until 4:00 PM. Bill and Charles were supposed to arrive by 10 AM, so if there was any down time I would have a chance to coordinate meeting up with Bill.

Karen went over a few more details, including telling us about the first elimination show, which was to start tomorrow evening at 7:00 PM. The shows finale would be on Thursday at the same time and only feature the six contestants who were judged to be the best. I guess it's 'sing your ass off' or you're out. She also added that the pre-sale of tickets to the event showed we were just over halfway sold out for tomorrow night. I had looked up the main theaters capacity - seven hundred and forty-eight, so a touch bigger than the seventy patron shows I'd done recently. I chuckled to myself, then felt a lump in my throat when Karen said the finale was sold out.

I think when Karen hit us with the sold out finale news there were a few audible gasps – including my own failed attempts to swallow while trying to gasp. Whoa... This was a bigger deal than I had anticipated. I looked around the table and the confident looks of the other singers made me feel even more unprepared for what was to come. Was no one here nervous? Augh... No second thoughts - you can do this!

Tuesday, March 27th 8:59 AM
And then it was my turn in front of the firing squad – I mean the PBS interview crew. I had drawn the second slot, Michelle had gotten to lead our group of four off. While she was being interviewed Wyatt, Janet, and I were in a holding room and talking about everything under the sun – except the competition or the interview. That was a relief. I was having trouble suppressing my nerves right now and talking about singing or getting quizzed would have tipped me over.

But now I was following a production assistant, she’d introduced herself, but I had already forgotten her name. She was taking me to the conference room the interview would take place in. Augh… I hated when I did that! Forget someone's name two seconds after being introduced! When we entered the conference room there were two distinct sections – one contained two makeup stations with lights and hair stylist tools and the other - which I was dreading – a lighted stage area akin to a television interview show. Guess this wasn’t going to be Jerry Springer like, no crazed audience - that I could see. I smiled to myself thinking about Jerry Springer, which just happened to be on cue, because I was being presented to someone who looked like they were in charge.

“Breanna, welcome. I’m Gale Spence, producer for the PBS documentary we’ll be filming in conjunction with the Transgender Day of Visibility Vocal Competition. First things first – we’ll need you to silence or turn off your cellphone,” she requested politely.

I pulled my phone from my wristlet clutch and set it to ‘Silent’.

“Thank you… We just don’t want it going off during filming,” after she looked at her clipboard quickly she continued, “So, I’m going to turn you over to Marty and Tasha. They are going to get your makeup and hair prepped – nothing to technical because we want you looking as you do on any normal day, but with the lights we don’t want you looking washed out on camera. Any questions for me before I send off with Marty?”

Questions? Ah… Can I go back to my room and change my clothes? I had a dozen or so others before walking in here. Now I was drawing a total blank. I wish I had had a chance to talk to Michelle about her interview and get an idea of how this was going to go. Crap! Think… “I was wondering what the focus of this documentary was going to be,” I asked sounding like I wasn’t sure that’s what I really wanted to ask and just asking a question to ask one. Augh! What a stupid question - I already knew the answer!

“Good question… The goal is to show people you’re no different from them. You’ve got dreams, quirks, desires, and many of the same struggles they have… That you know you were born in the wrong body is confusing to many people. This is a chance for you to tell your story and maybe demystify some of your journey for them. I promise you, Leza Howell gets where you’re coming from, she's a very good interviewer. Do you recognize the name?”

Leza Howell? Are you kidding me! She was a trans woman, a transgender activist, and a part of the coalition for transgendered persons rights that started the Transgender Day of Visibility. No pressure! Augh! “Yes, I know who Leza Howell is…”

“Excellent… How this is going to work is after makeup and hair, you’ll be brought over to the set,” she pointed to the lighted stage, “And filming will begin as soon as you enter the stage area. Leza will introduce herself, shake hands – you’ll obviously introduce yourself – you’ll both sit, then it’s going to be a freeform conversation between you both. Leza will keep the conversation going, so don’t worry about having to carry the interview. You aren’t here to interview Leza, but she will respond to questions or may add to a topic you comment on. Just ignore the cameras, all three will be recording and in editing we’ll take the best angle for the content being discussed. It would be best if you didn’t look at the cameras, you are having a conversation with Leza, and watching the camera will look odd. Just relax, be yourself, and don’t worry about sharing with…”

“How long is this going to take,” I asked interrupting her, nervous energy getting the worst of me.

“We would like to get about thirty, maybe forty minutes tops of you and Leza talking. Trust me, we’ll be cutting you off before you realize that much time has passed. We’ve tentatively agreed to edit down the interview to five to eight-minute segments per contestant, depending on subject matter and how the interview flows. It could be we edit it to bounce around from contestant to contestant, I haven’t decided yet to tell you the truth. I need to see what we end up with – I can assure you we will present your story in an honest way and in the most flattering manner possible. I don’t want to coach you, that’s why Michelle didn’t return to the holding room, we’re looking for the true you to come out in the interview,” she replied, “Just be you and you’ll do perfectly,” she finished her instructions with a smiling.

I wish I felt more confident after hearing the format. I mean, I talk to people daily, but that’s about their car financing and trying to slip in up selling features like maintenance plans, extended warranties, and whatever. I didn’t talk about me, my fears or aspirations – even with friends – generally… I could make small talk - but that's not what this documentary was about. Someone walked over to where Gale and I were standing, “Hi Breanna, I’m Marty – we ready for some makeup?”

I nodded and followed her to the hair and makeup setup in this makeshift studio. Just go with it I thought… Should be over before I know it – that’s what Gale said, right?

Tuesday, March 27th 9:16 AM
“Breanna Calloway, welcome… Welcome. I’m Leza Howell,” she began, extending her hand – which I took and shook.

“Hi, so nice to meet you. I’m a little star stuck right now, I want to apologize for that in advance if I can’t hold a coherent thought,” I replied nervously.

“No worries Breanna, you’ll do fine, sit please,” she waved a hand to a cushioned chair on the left side of a small table placed between two chairs, “How are you feeling about the singing competition so far,” she led off the interview questioning with an easy one.

“It’s a little over whelming, moving pretty fast... I just hope I can put on a good show and make it past tomorrows first cuts…”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine. I heard someone came out to your home town to audition you. Well, San Diego isn’t really a town,” she said with a giggle. I was smiling and feeling a little more relaxed – maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad. “How did that go?”

“I actually didn’t know he was there to audition me. Honestly, I thought he was stalking me…”

“Really? Have you experienced someone stalking you before,” she asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

“Online certainly. I've had a lot of hate spewed at me on my Instagram and Tumblr accounts over the past couple years. I call it the 'Division of Thirds'. A third of the people I interact with are trans or curious, a third are those fetish junky types, and the last third are the hate mongers. I had to delete my Facebook account because of the haters. I generally ignore those hate posts. I do report the really creepy one’s, especially if there are threats involved. I’m pretty careful about what I post online so people can’t just pop in on me someplace I frequent,” I wrapped up that thought because I felt like I was rambling. Did I say anything meaningful? Augh… Don't look at the camera... Don't...

“If you had to describe the person posting the hate, how would you,” she asked.

Her voice was like silk, mesmerizing. I felt like I could talk to her all day, “Conservative maybe, very right-wing…,” I paused to consider where I was going with this answer, “A lot of religion involved in these people’s lives. Which is funny that they throw so much hate at me, not even knowing me, and thinking their God would approve of their behavior. I'm really in the middle of the left and right extremes a Centerist...”

“Do you believe in God, Breanna?”

“Wow, nothing like putting me on the spot,” I smiled uncomfortably, “Yes, I believe in God. I’ve asked him a million times why, why I got the wrong body… He still hasn’t answered me, but I think he gets me out of jams sometimes... Gives me the strength to battle on,” I tried to chuckle, but it felt as uncomfortable as trying to answer the question.

“If he ever does answer you, ask him about me - I've been asking that same question for a long time,” she said with a smile. “What bothers you the most about the haters attacks?"

“I don’t enjoy the ‘I hope you die…’ or ‘You will burn in hell…’ type of posts – those are relentless, I easily get a couple dozen posts like that a day. No one has ever screamed that in my face at any trans event I've ever gone to, but with the anonymity of the internet it makes it certainly easier for the haters. I think what bothers me is I’ve got struggles and they just don’t understand any of this path I’m on.”

“When did you make up your mind to transition?”

“I was eighteen, midway through my high school senior year. I talked to my mom about how I was feeling and after a month of conversations she set up an appointment with a psychologist specializing in gender counseling. That went well, I needed someone in the medical field to talk me down off the ledge I was on. My mom joined my sessions after the first couple and pretty much we all decided I wasn’t crazy… I started growing my hair out - it was already pretty long - and making subtle changes before the end of my senior year. HRT didn’t start until I was nineteen due to insurance issues.”

“Do you think people feeling the way you do are crazy,” she asked concerned.

“Oh no… The best thing I ever did was come out to my mom and her insisting I seek help. Only you know who you are both inside and out – trust that little voice inside your head. The depression, the anxiety, disassociation, all of that crap will eat you alive if you don't get it off your chest and out of your mind and in the open. You can't become the gender you know you are alone - you need the help of those running the system. Certainly can be a battle in itself - the system - but if transitioning is what you believe in you can battle through it. If you don't come out into the light- you might make yourself crazy...," was I preaching? Augh... Please don't use this dribble in your documentary I wanted to scream...

“What did your father have to say about your knowing you were Breanna?”

“My parents divorced when I was nine and the last time I heard anything from him was when I was eleven, maybe twelve…”

“Do you think not having a father figure around contributed to your gender identity, to becoming Breanna?”

Huh? Why would not having a dad around have anything to do with what was going on with my gender identity? “No, pretty sure I knew I was different by the time I was seven or eight. My mom told me in preschool I was showing signs of being ‘gender confused’. That’s the way the teacher described it to her – I was confused. The teacher based her observations solely on me wanting to dress in the dresses they had in the ‘dramatic play area’ and then I would playing with the kitchen toys. I have no idea what my dad thought about that or if he even knew. I’ll have to ask my mom tomorrow… I don’t remember preschool, but I think it was the right move for the teacher to not try to correct my behavior. Just so happens I worked it out on my own and I think that’s the way it was meant to be…”

“Is your mom coming to watch you compete?”

“Yeah, I asked her not too, but she doesn’t listen to me sometimes… Pride Parade, transgender community events, she’s always tagging along. We’re pretty close…”

“She sounds like a strong woman, a good role model…”

“Oh my God, she’s the absolute best friend I have. Strong and independent, without being in your face. Well, unless you’re her daughter. I know I will always get a straight answer from her regardless of what I ask her. I’m very lucky…”

“Did she influence your decision to transition?”

“No, it was my decision. I sprung it on her – she just supported me like any good parent should…”

“Do you think she wanted a daughter,” Leza asked with a questioning look on her face.

Whoa… No! I could feel my face flushing. Would the cameras pick that up? “No, pretty sure she just wanted a happy, healthy, and well-adjusted kid. I think I delivered on that. Never really caused her much angst growing up, no drugs or arrests or teen pregnancies to worry about. Do I think she likes having a daughter now rather than a son – I'm not sure she cares to tell you the truth. We were close before I transitioned… I've never asked her. I would guess she had suspicions that I was struggling...”

"Struggling? Like how," she asked.

"I don't know, not wanting to play sports, no girl friends, that kind of thing..." I hoped that was good enough, though the real answer was certainly more complex. She had to know that...

“I understand you’re a college graduate,” she stated, “How would you describe the acceptance you received from,” she looked at a note card, “The University of San Diego and the student body?”

She was shifting gears and I wondered how this interview was going to get edited into something people were going to find interesting and hold their attention… Maybe the other contestants had colorful stories. So far my life in transition sounded very vanilla. “I certainly had my moments with a few ignorant types, but for the most part the university and everyone just let me be me – no special treatment or considerations were laid out for me. I appreciate that. Not really much else to tell – I did my time, studied my ass off, and graduated with a BS in Marketing a semester early.”

“Did you date while you were in college?”

“Yes…” that came out as tentative. Did I want to keep that to myself? No, I wasn’t ashamed of trying to date.

“How did you approach that…”

“I was up front about who I was and the guys either ran and forever looked / treated me different or were curious enough to see what I was all about. Nothing lasted more than a couple weeks, probably less than that. Wasn’t like I had a packed social calendar – pretty much school, work, and living with my mom made up my life back then. Tough to make that kind of existence look sexy…,” I chuckled slightly, it didn’t register on Leza.

“Any heartbreak?”

“Sure, we all want to be accepted, wanted, loved… I’ve had my fair share of rejection and heartbreak…” I felt my shoulders droop and sat up straight to maintain the look of confidence I had before her question. "After college I tried a few online dating sites - they were more trouble than they were worth."

"Like how?"

"The men responding either didn't read my profile and see the 'Transgender Woman' designation or were fetish junkies. In three months I only went out with two guys and like I said - short lived experiences."

"What drove them away do you think," she asked seeming genuinely interested.

"One didn't catch the 'Trans' profile and the other, after our second date said he couldn't see me anymore because he didn't know how to tell his parents."

"Why would he need to tell his parents?"

"Yeah, my question exactly... I mean, we weren't about to get married any time soon, so what was the big deal. I present as who I am, was he worried I couldn't pass? I have no idea... I kind of liked him," my voice trailed off.

"I'm sorry Breanna...," Leza pause as if considering the next question, "What do you look for in a man? Let's get some positive mojo going here...," she said with some energy.

Ah - I'd be happy if they didn't look at me and think I was a freak when they found out I was trans! I wasn't about to say that, but I certainly thought it, "I'm attracted to guys with a good sense of humor and who aren't full of themselves...," I quickly added, "And they have to be alright with a smartass - I tend to be snarky..."

"Good to know. Physical features that get your attention?"

"A nice smile I guess. Is there such a thing as caring eyes?"

"I'm not sure, but I've gotten lost in some sexy eyes before...," Leza replied. "How about kissing?"

"Oh God... Yes, be a good kisser."

"Like...," she drug the word out to annunciate it.

"Don't be robotic, slow the tongue-age down, don't be afraid to pull me in closer, tighter..."

"Oooo girl, now you're cooking...," she said with a smile. “How long have you been on HRT and have you had any work done? I obviously have...”

“Almost four years now since I started HRT… As a college graduation present my mom gave me a choice of having my nose tweaked and a little FFS or get breast implants. I choose the nose job, tracheal shave, and I'm embarrassed to say - having my ears pinned back a little. I’m happy with the results and it really helped with the dysphoria – not a cure by any means.”

"No interest in implants then," Leza asked.

The question sounded like she wasn't certain she should have asked, "Certainly I'd like to have more, but I don't want future back problems either," that was my attempt to make light of a situation that really did bother me, but I just had to live with right now. "My doctor told me my A-and-a-half cups were pretty much all I was going to develop this late in transition for my age. I now settle for buying the right bras to accentuate what I've got. That helps me look more like I want...," I paused, "It a dysphoria trigger, but not as much as other things..."

“Tell me about the dysphoria you feel, is it often?”

Jesus… I only get thirty minutes here Leza – this could take hours to explain! How do I condense this, “I’m sure at some point you yourself felt adrift, not sure of your identity after you began your transition. A lot of depression, questioning of myself, and anxiety - especially when you first come out to family and friends. I had lots of fear those first couple months of college living as myself. Until SRS there will always be a daily pang of gender dysphoria - at least for me. You’re living your life as who you know you are and every time you speak you're worried about not sounding as you appear. When you shower, go to the bathroom, try to pick out clothes to wear that don’t reveal that last bit of you from a different life, your male appendage…”

Leza interrupted my ramble, “You can say penis, pretty sure they won’t bleep that word on PBS,“ she said smiling.

“Yes... Until you’ve completed SRS your penis is one powerful reminder that you aren’t really who you are projecting with every ounce of being in your soul… It can really screw with your mind - at least it does mine.”

“Yeah, but you know that even after SRS there are times when you’re going to be visited by that dysphoria gorilla…”

“I’ve talked to women about that, the depths that it wants to pull you down aren’t nearly as crushing as before SRS…,” I replied.

“I would agree with that. Is SRS something you are considering?”

“When I can afford it. Got a college loan and a host of other things burning up my paychecks…”

“Your pronouns?”

“She / her…” Wasn’t that obvious with my college dating answers?

“Ever experiment with another woman, any interest?”

Whoa! Left field question. Not sure I’m comfortable with answering that one, “No, no experience. I think it would depend on the woman... Geez, not sure why that thought got me a little flustered. Let’s just leave it at that…" Was it warm in here? I'm sure the camera could see my embarrassment. Oh well...

“Fair enough… Did you really have your ears pinned," she asked while picking up a photo I had supplied of myself pre-transition. She held it up for one of the cameras to get a good look at, "Your ears in this picture are darn cute Breanna," she said looking at it again, smiling at me before setting the picture back on the table.

"Augh... Thanks Leza...," was all I could muster.

"Do you have any words you live by, a mantra?”

“I’ve always liked - Being who you are is freedom, loving yourself being who you are is happiness…”

“Beautiful… I like that…”

There was movement off stage and Gale Spence was waving at us, then speaking to the camera operators. Had thirty minutes really passed? Leza was getting up from her chair and I stood also.

Tuesday, March 27th 9:51 AM
“I enjoyed interviewing you Breanna… You’re quite the woman,” she said smiling.

“Thank you, I’ve always admired your work with the Transgender community. If you are ever in San Diego and want a tour of the town, please give me a call…,” I fished a business card for the dealership out of my wallet and handed it to her.

“I’ll do that… Thank you.”

“Breanna, that was a perfect interview. I really enjoyed that. Nice job Leza,” Gale looked around the room, “Kip, let’s get Breanna to the front desk – you can get to your room from there, right?”

“Yes…,” I said confident I knew my way around once out of the conference room area of the hotel.

“Excellent… One favor, don’t discuss the interview process with the other contestants still needing to get filmed, I would appreciate that.”

“Oh, absolutely…" I agreed, but honestly didn't think I would run into anyone from the other groups before dinner tonight.

“Perfect, you have your schedule – I think you’re group is free until noon. Any last questions?”

Leza had stepped off the stage and was talking to a woman I had not noticed earlier in the makeshift studio. I had wanted any opportunity to talk more with her, but it sounded like I was being ushered out to get the next person, Wyatt, in and interviewed. I wondered how long it was going to take for them to compile this documentary and asked. Gale said it would be at least six months and we’d all be notified via email when it was going to air. We shook hands and her production assistant, Kip – the person I had forgotten her name – escorted me to the front desk. How could I forget a name like Kip?

Tuesday, March 27th 10:02 AM
After Kip dropped me off at the front desk I quickly headed for the elevators to get to my room and get this damn makeup off. Inside the elevator I fished my phone out of my wristlet clutch and made sure the ringer was on. Two people got off on the third floor and it was just me and another guest going to the sixth floor. I looked at my phone and noticed I had text messages from my mom and Bill, no missed calls.

Mom, 9:20 AM: "Good luck today! I'll be there tomorrow around noon. Call you after I land. Love you, stay safe."

Bill, 9:59 AM: "Just landed... Want off this flying tin can. Kid kicked my seat almost the entire way. You better win this thing or else! Oh, Charles says Hi... We'll look for you when we get to the hotel. Hugz!"

That meant Bill and Charles were at least a half hour from getting here. I had time to get this makeup off, get my wardrobe arranged - both outfits I had chosen with Kaley's help, and meet up with Bill and Charles. Maybe they could just come to my room? I texted my room number to Bill with the note, "601 - Let's meet in my room when you are settled. I've got an appointment at noon."

Almost immediately I got a reply. Bill, 10:05 AM: "Still on this GD plane!"

Me: "I'm sorry. It will get better. Drinks on me tonight?"

Bill, 10:05 AM: "You know it!"

Me: "LOL!"

Bill, 10:06 AM: "I'm serious!"

Me: "I know"

Bill being here was going to make things with the band so much easier. He could speak their speak and if necessary show them what I needed to be successful in this competition. I doubt the show producers would let Bill play for me - which would really put me in my comfort zone - I was going to ask, even though I knew what their answer would be. Charles, Bill, Kaley and I spent an hour arguing about what made the perfect song choice over the weekend. I always felt those singing shows singers would bite off too much - trying to duplicate Celine, Mariah, Whitney, or even Beyonce vocally - are you nuts! And if that wasn't their first mistake, it was song choice and arrangement. I needed to avoid those traps.

Between us, it was decided our modified version of Britney Spears' song - Toxic was my best shot at making it to the second round. Of all the songs we had performed together, everyone thought this one had enough artistic spin and that sultry hook from slowing it down to be relevant. Tough to argue the logic in choosing this song, but all I could think was - artistically the songs arrangement could move me on - likely, but I had to back it up with flawless vocals.

My second song - the one that I would have to sing my ass off to beat out the other five finalists - took several hours to hammer out. Everyone had their own opinions and none of them were the same. I wanted to sing 'Careless Whisper' by Wham. We had performed that song with just the piano accompaniment and it really worked. There were women in the audience crying after we perform our version. I tried reminding everyone of that, but the running argument was not to do the same type of accompaniment as Toxic. Augh! I had a few other song choices, but held onto them as the others argued their favorites.

Kaley wanted me to do 'Just like Heaven' by the Cure. If I thought the band could pull it off - it was a catchy song, but was it enough to highlight my vocals? Love the song, just thought it had more musical hook than showing any vocal strength. Bill suggested he could play with the timing, I nixed the idea. Charles offered up Elton John's, 'All the Young Girls Love Alice'. His reasoning - play to the crowd. There were approving nods at the same time Kaley was refilling wine glasses. Loved the song and it did play to some that would certainly be in the crowd...

Kaley suggested something by the Goo Goo Dolls, "You kill with any of their songs Brea..."

I looked at Bill who seemed to be agreeing. What if, I blurted out, "4 Non Blondes..."

Bill interrupted my thought, "What's Up..." There were more enthusiastic head nods around the living room. He continued, "You want to get the audience to feel you singing - because they'll be singing along with you - that's the song. The intro, everyone will know what's coming and be primed to join in..."

"Love that song... Do it like the original, don't change the arrangement. See how it sounds with the band and worst case we just use the original song minus the vocals...," I added.

"Yeah, keep it original, it's going to be tough to replicate vocally. You can hit those notes," he asked.

"William, she can hit those notes...," Charles piped up in my defense. When Charles was annoyed with Bill he would call him William - it was cute.

Bill rolled his eyes, "I wasn't saying she couldn't, but it's not exactly in her lane either, am I right Brea?"

"I can sing the song Bill..."

And it was decided, Toxic and What's Up were what we were pinning our hopes on for me to win this thing. What came next was a lot of practicing on my part. I smiled, nearing the end of the halfway, but that disappeared quickly when I sensed someone was behind me...

Author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Tuesday, March 27th 10:07 AM
Shit! I had been so engrossed in my phone I had totally lost sight of my surroundings. I was smarter than this, usually! Now I was sure the guy from the elevator was right behind me... Yes, I entered the elevator with maybe five others, but upon exiting on my floor it was only me and the guy wearing a hoodie left in the elevator. The guys hoodie covered too much of his head and face - why didn't that set off any alarms?! He let me exit the elevator first - no alarm bells going off in my mind - was I really that disconnected, clueless? I had turned left and a couple feet down the hall it was obvious he was behind me. Coincidence? Why didn't I look at him closer? I could have stayed on the elevator...

Instantly I was very aware of the story my mom had told me about a woman in Seattle being followed off the elevator at her hotel and being attacked in the hallway. That woman had been smart enough not to go to her room and get trapped in there by the homeless guy who attacked her. Her screaming brought out someone to rescue her - did I need rescuing? How was I going to deal with this guy following me? There were cameras everywhere - was this guy stupid enough to think he hadn't been captured at some point? Augh!

OK, don't go to your room - pick a door and knock. Hope to hell an MMA fighter or football linebacker opens the door and Mr. Hoodie keeps on walking by... At room 604 I stopped and knocked on the door without looking at my hooded friend. He had stopped also and I could sense he was watching me from a few feet behind me. When no one answered the door I knocked again and looked towards the guy, "Forgot my key...," I squeaked pathetically. He didn't say anything, but wasn't moving on either. I followed up with, "My husband is in there," and I knocked a third time.

"You sure you have the right room?"

His voice chilled my skin, but I held my ground, "Pretty sure my husband is in there... Just got off the phone with him." I was trying my best to sound confident, but my voice felt shaky.

I watched as he stepped towards me and I moved back, more like jumped back, as he reached for something in his hoodie pocket at his waist. It was a key card. He slid it into the lock for room 604 and the locks LED light shown green. He opened the door, "Pretty sure my brother hasn't been in Vegas long enough to get married, but I wouldn't be surprised by anything Dana does these days..."

What? He said 'Dana', pronounced it 'Dan-Ah'. Dana, the guy from the competition? This guy was his brother? The confusion on my face must have spoken volumes because he had a concerned look on his face, then spoke, "You... You're part of the singing competition aren't you?" He pulled the hood from his head after asking the question.

I could only nod.

"I'm only guessing mind you, but it looks like you've been interviewed by the PBS folks..."

"How do you know that," I asked.

"Actually I don't, but you look like you've got a lot of makeup on, so I'm just guessing..." He had a nice smile and I could certainly see similarities between him and Dana - they were definitely siblings.

"Oh... Yeah, I was just makeup... I mean... I was, just finished the interview..." What the hell! Why couldn't I speak a coherent sentence?

"So, you and Dana aren't... Well, you two aren't married or something like that are you," he asked with a smile. He seemed to be enjoying my discomfort. If he knew how fast my heart was pounding right now he might not be so amused about scaring the shit out of me.

"No, we're not... I, I'm part of the competition. I met Dana this morning, very nice guy... I like your brother..." Why did I sound so stupid?!

"Yeah, he's something...," he chuckled, "I'm Tyler, Dana's brother and you are...," he let the question hang.

"I'm Brea, Breanna..."

"Nice to meet you Brea, Breanna..."

I was flustered from the panic, but there was more to it than that... Dana's brother was a good looking guy, relaxed, and not repulsed by the fact I was Transgendered - he had to know, right? He had gorgeous blue eyes, surfer boy dirty blonde hair, and from what I could tell through a baggie hoodie - a decent body above nice legs - showing below the shorts he had on. Augh! What are you doing?!! Make your exit! You've got things to do...

"You going to be at the dinner tonight?"

Him speaking snapped my mind back to the here and now - and the need to get on with my day. "Yeah, it's at 8:00 PM, so I'll... I'm going." Fuck! What is my problem?!

"Nice, maybe I'll see you there - buy you a drink or something...," he said smiling.

"Yeah, I'm... I'll be there, so I can look for Dana and you, you two..." I had to stop because I was speaking in full-blown bimbo mode and I absolutely was hating myself right now. I turned to head toward my room without saying anything further to embarrass myself. I pulled my keycard from my wristlet clutch, inserted it in the lock, and opened my door. I looked back toward, FUCK! What was his name? Tim jumped in my head, no... Tyler! God dang it! Tyler was entering Dana's room and I watched the door shut behind him.

I entered my room and leaned against the door after it shut. What the hell was that?! Everything about that interaction sucked and that he didn't watch me enter my room pretty much said he was done with me. Did I care? Probably has a girlfriend and doesn't need to waste his time on someone with issues like mine. Fuck! I could have handled that better...

My phone vibrated. It was a text from Bill, 10:12 AM: "Can you believe this shit! We haven't docked this plane at the gate yet! Not sure how much longer we're going to be."

I replied, "I'm sorry... I've got wardrobe and makeup at 1:00 PM. I get the band at 5:00 PM. Then there's a contestant dinner tonight - which you and Charles are coming as my guests, PLEEEAAASE!!"

Bill, 10:13 AM: "Sorry, Charles got us tickets to the Blue Man show tonight at 7... I'll text you when we're off this rust bucket. How's the hotel?"

"IDK, haven't done much but sleep and go to contestant meetings. I was interviewed by Leza Howell for the PBS documentary. That was wild!"

Bill, 10:15 AM: "I've heard of her, she coordinated the San Fran Transgender march on city hall last month... How did the interview go?"

"Fine, doubt I said anything ground breaking or profound..."

Bill, 10:15 AM: "You need to relax... You are valid, you are worthy... Look into the spa, Charles already did and has a massage scheduled for tomorrow."

"Yeah, you have no idea... I do need to relax"

Bill, 10:15 AM: "OMG finally we're moving! Going to a different gate now! We'll come to your room after we get settled."

"Sounds good... Thank you for coming. Really means a lot to me. Love ya..."

Bill 10:16 AM: "Wouldn't have missed it... Hugz!"

Time to get this caked on makeup off! And to figure out how to not be a bumbling idiot the rest of my stay here!

Tuesday, March 27th 11:15 AM
I had successfully removed the interview makeup and applied makeup to match the third outfit change in the Britney Spears video for the song Toxic. I was going to duplicate that outfit and was wearing form fitting low cut black leather pants, stiletto heeled black boots, elbow length black gloves, a red wispy shawl, and a leather bra-like top that closely matched hers from the video. To match her look completely I had also purchased a long black wig. All told I was just over six-hundred dollars into this outfit - not my money thank goodness! Insane, the leather pants were pretty sexy and very, very expensive.

I stepped back, grabbed my air microphone, and sang a few lines slowly to the full mirror on the closet slider door. Not bad, not bad at all... I smiled and moved a few stray hairs aside, while getting used to the ache growing from my feet in these heeled boots. My curves were good enough to pull this outfit off - though I'd never be caught dead in this outside of this contest. Check that - maybe I would wear this to a Halloween party. Since the leather pants were so tight, tucking was crucial and I had that locked down with a gaff thong, surgical grade tape, and a pair of boy shorts compression panties over all that constriction happening down there. It wasn't the most comfortable, but I could handle it for a couple hours. I was happy with the look - I just needed to sing my ass off and incorporate some of the dance gyrations I'd worked out with Kaley. If I could...

A knock at the door made my heart jump. Augh! I looked out the peephole and saw Bill. He hadn't seen my outfit choice yet, so this was going to be fun. I pulled the door open and sang, "I'm addicted to you, cause you know that you're toxic..."

The look on his face spoke volumes, at least I think it did. He didn't move for a second and I swear his jaw dropped. "Holy shit... Brea," he said after trying to take it all in.

"Get in here silly," I reached for his arm to pull him in.

"Whoa... Even if you can't sing a lick of that song you should win for that outfit. Leather pants? I like..."

My heart was swelling... It felt good to get those compliments from him and I hugged him.

"OK, turn for me...," he spun his finger around to emphasis the request after I let him go.

I did a little catwalk towards the windows, then turned back towards him and walked seductively back.

He watched with a critical eye, "Your makeup isn't complete, right?"

"No, but it'll be a match to the video. Got a few screen grabs on my phone to show the makeup artists."

"You look amazing Brea..."

"Thank you... God I'm so nervous, I can't stand it. I was afraid this outfit was going to be to over the top."

"No, it's on point. With the arrangement being flipped like we have it - your outfit takes the delivery to the opposite extreme. I don't think any other outfit would work, do you?"

"No, I think this outfit makes a statement, like the arrangement. Where's Charles," I asked.

Bill chuckled, "Slot machine slut... Couldn't get out of the airport without him wanting to play ten-dollars at some quarter machine. After we got to the room he was like, 'Tell Brea I'll catch up with her later...', doubt you'll see him before we head to the Blue Man show..."

I smiled, but my face switched to concern when there was a knock at the door.

"Probably Charles," Bill said, and turned to open the door. "Can I help you?"

I tried to get a glimpse at who was at the door, but my view was blocked by the door itself and where Bill was standing. I heard the person reply, "I was looking for Breanna..." It almost sounded like whomever it was, was asking a question.

Bill looked over his shoulder, "You have a visitor Brea...," he said while opening the door completely to reveal Tyler in the hallway.

I cringed inside and wanted to slap Bill on the back of the head for opening the door like that! I didn't want this guy seeing me like this! Crap! It was too late to duck into the bathroom and by the look on Tyler's face he'd gotten a good look at my Britney wannbe outfit. Could this day get any worse?

"Hey Breanna... I, I just wanted to... Whoa, ah, you look..."

Before he could finish Bill provided him with the word, "Amazing..."

"Oh, yeah... Totally, yes... Amazing... Are you wearing that for the competition," he croaked out as if tripping on his words, not sure what to say.

Bill answered for me, "Yes, do you like?"

What the hell! Bill! I clenched my jaw so tightly it ached. I walked up behind Bill and tapped him on the shoulder, "I got this William..."

He looked at me quizzically before moving out of the way, but not before flashing me a knowing smile before leaving Tyler and I at the door. Was there some visible chemistry thing going on here that people can see? Augh! "Hey Tyler... What's up?" I tried to sound all casual, but dressed as I was I'm sure I sounded uptight.

"Oh, I... I wanted to apologize for earlier. Didn't mean to spook you or anything..."

He sounded sincere, so I rolled with it, "Yeah, I pretty much had my nose so deep in my phone I didn't realize what was going on with my surroundings. Can we not tell Dana about my attempt at getting into his room? Wouldn't want him to get the wrong idea..." I tried to smile, but felt very self-conscious about my appearance.

Tyler was smiling, "Sure, but you have to let me buy you a drink tonight..."

That was a bit bold, but I agreed with a slight nod.

"Cool, then I'll see you at dinner...," he said, a hopeful look on his face and sounding much more relaxed.

"I'll see you there..."

Tuesday, March 27th 11:21 AM
"What the hell, Bill!" I unloaded exasperated after the door was shut and I stared him down for a second...

"What? He's cute...," was his reply.

"Yeah, but opening the door when I'm all Britney slut like? Come on...," I complained.

"Did you see the look on his face," Bill asked with a slight chuckle, "Pretty sure he was mesmerized... You vixen you!"

"Yes, and I felt the uncomfortable stare also... Geesh!"

"What was that apology stuff all about?"

I explained the elevator ride and got to relive the embarrassment of meeting Tyler. Bill laughed, but did bring it around to something my mom might say, "You need to be more aware of your surroundings Brea..."

"Yeah, yeah... I screwed up - but really, I could have handled him if things went sideways."

"Oh really? Like what, falling into his arms for a big kiss?" Bill was laughing at me again. It annoyed me, but in the scheme of all that had happened today I could use a little grounding, so I let it go. Doesn't mean I didn't give him a pouty face though. He hugged me and assured me he loved me, but was going to kick my ass if I didn't pay attention to my surroundings better. At least he didn't threaten to tell my mom!

We spent the next half-hour discussing my outfit for the 'What's Up' song and arrangement specifics. He had me sing runs, emphasizing volume changes and breathing control. Bill was the consummate musician and vocal coach all rolled into one. I was lucky to have him in my life and here in Vegas to assist. Without him here I doubt I could maintain my nerves.

When he was satisfied I was in my lane vocally we talked about the arrangements some more and he produced a no vocals version of the 'What's Up' song - in case I forgot my copy. I laughed, "I have my copy of this, Thank you..." We laughed, but it was nice to know he had my back - yet again. We'd practiced the song with him at the piano and with the recording. We studied the video together and when it came to duplicating the singing style I felt like I was ready. He promised to meet me at 5:00 PM for the setup of my songs with the band.

We hugged at the door and he was off to find Charles, maybe grab lunch.

Tuesday, March 27th 1:01 PM
I was greeted by hotel staff members participating in the running of the singing competition at the staging conference room for makeup and wardrobe. I had my outfits in a small carry-on sized suitcase and turned that over to the stylist assigned to me - Deanna. She was a great listener and had nothing to add in regards to my outfit choices - which made me feel pretty good.

We talked about the two wigs I had purchased, the Britney long black and 4 Non Blondes dreadlocks. She had me try both on and after some minor adjustments - needed one's - I was happy with her input on how to wear them both.

Deanna turned me over to Andrew for the makeup portion of this appointment and again - a simple couple tweaks to my vision and I was digging how my makeup looked. Not just the Britney version, but the simple 4 Non Blondes application.

In less than forty-five minutes I was through this phase of the competition and released until my meeting with the band at 5:00 PM. Deanna warned me that I should drink plenty of water, stay away from alcohol, and get a good night's rest tonight. She said before the show there would be a two hour window to get ready to perform. I thanked her for the advice, assured her - partying was not something I was into and I would be prepared for tomorrow.

I headed back to my room, set an alarm on my phone, called the front desk for a wakeup call, and crashed so hard it took me a second to realize what all the noise was in my room between the room's phone ringing and my cellphone alarm complaining at me... Augh, I probably should have skipped the nap. My brain felt foggy and it took me nearly five minutes to actually get up the energy to sit up. I looked at the clock on the bedside table - 4:07 PM. I needed to get moving...

Tuesday, March 27th 5:23 PM
"Wait... Can we slow this down even more," I asked.

Brian adjusted the tempo and I continued to sing, " Too high... Can’t come down... It’s in the air And it’s all around... Can you feel me now..."

That felt better I thought, but Brian wasn't Bill on piano. We had talked the arrangement out and while Brian was good about listening to Bill and seemed to understand the needs for this switched up arrangement - I just wasn't feeling it like I had hoped. Short of Bill taking Brian's seat at the piano, I was having some serious doubts about my chances to advance in this competition. Maybe I should sing 'What's going on...' first? Was that my best chance at advancing? Augh! "Once more from the top...," I requested.

Brian smiled and flipped the sheet music Bill had provided to the first page and after a nod began playing. OK, that sounds better... On my mark I began singing, "Baby, can’t you see... I’m calling... A guy like you should wear a warning... It’s dangerous... I’m fallin’..."

When Brian let the last bars hang, I looked towards Bill, who threw up two thumps up. I nodded and smiled towards Brian, "I think that's it... Thank you." It was the fourth run through for the song and that was the best one yet. My nerves subsided just slightly, but not completely.

"No problem. I've got your recording and sheets here. I see what you're trying to do and I'll work on this some more tonight. You want to do it again?"

"No, I think that's the way I need it tomorrow," I replied.

"OK, we'll do a run through tomorrow if you want. Did you want the full band for your second song," Brian asked.

I looked towards Bill, he nodded 'No'. "I think I'm going to use the original track," I replied. Did Bill sense a weakness in the band I wondered...

"Sure... Mike, you want to cue Breanna' second song...,"

In my in-ear monitor (IEM) I could hear someone say, "Brea, we've set your levels for Toxic - you sounded great by the way. Anything you think you want changed?"

I turned toward stage-left and could see Mike standing by the mixing board, "No, I think it sounded good...," I turned toward Bill standing at the front of the stage and asked, "Levels?"

"Sounded right in that last take Brea," Bill said smiling.

God, I wish I had half the confidence he had in me right now... "Let's keep them set on that last take Please..."

"OK, I've got them saved. Give me a sec and I'll queue your second song..."

A minute later the unmistakable guitar riff from 'What's going on' began to play throughout the theater, but I was missing the sound in my IEM. I pointed to it while looking at Mike off stage. I could see him fiddling with some switches and cringed when the sound finally made it to my earpiece. Too loud! Too loud! I pulled them out quickly, "Too loud..."

"Sorry...," Mike called toward me, "Try it now..."

"Better...," I could adjust this on my end, but having the volume set from the source made it so I wouldn't have to adjust anything and guess wrong. Having everything set was part of the prep, "From the top...," I requested.

Again the guitar riff began and I began singing, " Twenty-five years and I'm alive here still... Trying to get up that great big hill of hope... For a destination..."

Bill had a concerned looked on his face and I stopped singing, "What?"

"You're flat, can you hear it," he asked.

"No..."

"Ask them to pull back the track...," Bill said.

"Mike, can you turn down the playback, I'm coming across flat..."

"No ‘ambient’ sound... Hold on...," he made some adjustments and I could hear myself humming bars and sounding less ‘dead’ in the monitors. I held up a thumb and sang the chorus. Bill nodded and I ran the song out.

"I'm bring down filters, let's try it again," Mike said.

"Sure..."

I was building to the first chorus when Bill, shook his head at me, "Flat," I asked. The music stopped...

"Yeah, but you sound like there's an echo...," he said.

"Mike, can we pull back the reverb?"

"Sure, Brea... How's that," he asked.

I looked toward Bill and he had his thumb down, "Little more Mike..."

"OK..."

Bill was thumbs up now and I sang, "And I try, oh my God do I try... I try all the time... In this institution..."

Bill was nodding 'Yes' now and I finished strong. "Watch your breathing, especially when pushing those raspy higher notes. Sounded good, control the breathing and I think you got it..."

I nodded, "Mike, how much time do I have..."

"We can run you through that a couple more times before your time is up..."

Had my hour really gone by that fast? Crap! "OK... Thanks Mike. How do my levels look?"

"Good, you're pushing the highs, but totally within standard ranges. I can dampen that some if you want..."

I looked toward Bill, "Dampen the rasp?"

"No... Stick with that last play," he replied.

I spoke to Mike, "No, don't dampen anything..."

"Sure, you ready?"

"Yeah..."

The music began and I sang the song with more focus on my breathing. At the highs I could feel the stain in my vocals, but powered through. When done I looked toward Bill, who had moved to the middle of the lower level seating area, "Well?"

He shouted back, "Think that's it..." He stood and made his way back to the stage. "Breathing, control that and you'll nail it."

"I think I'm just nervous...," I said in an attempt to excuse my way out of his assessment.

"Well, you better get over it girl..."

Before I could answer Mike was in my IEM, "Brea, you want to look at the board?"

"That's OK, we locked in?"

"Yeah, looks good to me - just saved the board for 'What's going on'. You sounded really good. I can squeeze you in tomorrow morning at 8:00 AM if you want to practice some more. I've got thirty minutes..."

"Awesome... I'd really like that, thank you."

"No problem... Bring me your monitor and we'll store and recharge it for tomorrow."

The in-ear monitors were owned by the hotel and a definite upgrade from the pathetic model I owned. I headed toward Mike, pulling the IEM's, unclipping the Bluetooth pack clipped to my jeans. We talked briefly about entering and exiting the stage tomorrow night. I sensed movement across the stage and saw Wyatt walking to the center stage. He waved and I waved back. Mike saw him also and after boxing my IEM, confirmed our appointment in the morning. He wasn't trying to be rude, but it was Wyatt's session time, so he pointed me toward the stage exit to where Bill was waiting. I thanked him again for everything and made my way toward Bill.

Tuesday, March 27th 6:07 PM
Bill's critique on my practice session was encouraging, but rushed since him and Charles were going to the Blue Man Group show and he needed to get going. I must have heard the word 'breathing' no less than five times in his couple minute assessment. There was encouragement, but I needed to really concentrate if I was going to move on past the first round. He told me to zone out the audience, which was likely going to be a full house and sing, to enjoy myself, and that would come out in my singing.

I didn't have the confidence he had in me, but I told him I would be practicing tonight and asked if he wanted to come with me in the morning for my 8:00 AM practice session. He said he would be there, we hugged, and I watched him head to the casino to drag Charles from the slots. I had plenty of emotions flowing right now - the biggest one was feeling alone... Augh!

I needed to get ready for the dinner gathering tonight. Focus on the positive I thought as I turned toward the elevators. From across the lobby I noticed someone walking toward me, I recognized the smiling face of Blake Schultz and gave a little wave...

Author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Tuesday, March 27th 6:11 PM
"Hey Brea... How's it going?"

As much as I wanted to really speak my mind, needed too for my own sanity and to keep from spiraling into a dark place, I decided it was probably best to go with a generic answer since I didn't know Blake all that well, "It's going pretty good." I hoped I sounded like I believed my own answer.

Blake raised an eyebrow, "You sure? You don't sound very convincing."

Am I really that much of an open book? Can people see that easily through me? I felt a bolt of panic twang my gut, "Yeah... OK, well... It's been a pretty stressful day and everything feels a little rushed... I'm just trying to deal with my nerves though, so I'm good - I guess..." That was a more honest assessment of my state of mind right now without laying too much of a dark cloud over this quick meet in the hotel lobby.

"You're going to do fine tomorrow night. I've heard you sing and I'm told the odds makers have you down as a favorite."

What?! Odds makers? Were people really going to be betting on this competition? "Are you serious," I asked with more concern than I expected to share.

He smiled, "No, just trying to lighten the mood..."

Thank God! If people were betting on this competition that would really suck and I don't want to see where I am at with the odds makers! "Ah... OK, well good to hear that we're not being bet on like horses or some sporting event..."

"You have a chance to look around the hotel?"

"No, pretty much stuck on the hamster wheel that is getting ready for the competition...," I replied sounding a little more exasperated than I meant too sound. What is my problem?! Jesus you Debbie Downer! Get a grip!

"You want the dime tour? I mean if you're not busy and are curious about the operation..."

"I should really... I need to practice and get ready for the contestants dinner tonight..." A flash of disappointment on Blake's face caught me off guard.

"Yeah... No, I totally understand. Well, if you change your mind just have someone page me and I'll show you around..."

I could hear just the slightest hint of disappointment in his voice. It matched that look he had for a fraction of a second, before being replaced with a smile. Augh! I had the time... Crap! Screw it, "On second thought... Sure, I'd like the nickel tour..."

"Oh no, I'm offering you an exclusive 'dime' tour...," he quipped with a grin, "The 'nickel' tour is for the general public and seeing as how you saved the show - I'd be happy to show you the inner workings of this place, the 'dime' tour."

"I doubt I saved the show Blake, seriously...," I complained.

"Well, you joining saved me a bunch of headaches, so in my book you saved the show. We won't tell anyone that though..."

Sure, let's not tell people how you stalked me... Augh! Get over yourself, Brea! Smile and be appreciative to have helped him out and that he's not some upper management jerk and is even talking to you right now. FUCK! Why can't anything around me right now just be normal?!

Tuesday, March 27th 6:35 PM
The 'dime' tour started with a walk around the complex maze of conference and banquet rooms - which I'd already gotten to experience earlier. We got to peek into the room our contestants dinner was being held in later. It looked very nice and had tables setup for at least fifty people. There looked to be an open bar area along the back wall - I wouldn't be doing any drinking, at least not before performing tomorrow. I wondered - was there really going to be that many people in here tonight? I felt a little panicked - so much for an intimate contestants only dinner. After the peek, we walked through the massive kitchen area used for serving those banquet and conference rooms.

Blake explained that the three restaurants on-site had their own kitchens and just in cooking staffs there were roughly ninety cooks between them. It was certainly impressive and there were lots of kitchen and wait staff behind the scenes the general public had no idea existed. An interesting trend I noticed when we started the tour - nearly everyone we saw who spoke to Blake addressed him as 'Mr. Schultz'. I jokingly asked if I should follow suit with the 'Mr. Schultz' bandwagon. He told me if I did that the tour was over. I couldn't help but laugh and appreciated how relaxed he seemed, even though he was someone of importance around here. That didn't help alleviate my panicky sense of doom about the dinner gathering, but it did feel good to at least laugh a little - even if it was strained...

Next up on the tour were the two nightclubs, which were his domain. Even at this early hour and it being a Tuesday night, the clubs were roughly half-full. Blake leaned into me and over the thumping bass of a DJ Khaled song said, "By seven this place will be packed. By eight there will be a line of fifty or more people waiting to get in... In less than a year we've become one of the strips premier clubs. The capacity is two-hundred and twenty-three - we try not to stuff it to the brim, but we've been over that capacity a lot more than I care to admit..."

It was impressive, but loud as hell in here. Blake put a hand at my waist and guided me through the crowd toward the back of the club. Once through a door near the back of the club, the sound - while not totally gone, was nearly gone. "Wow...," I said in the quiet of the back of the house, "You can barely hear the music back here..."

"Yeah, the insulation for sound proofing the clubs cost over one-hundred grand and the sound system was five times that in each of the clubs..."

He was speaking with just a hint of pride in his voice and why not - the place was impressive and I told him so, "Very impressive..."

"Thanks, I feel blessed to be a part of the Grand Cayman's family," he pointed toward a door, "Let's take a look in here..." He opened the door and inside was row after row of liquor bottles hanging on the walls - attached to pumps and hoses. A couple of rack systems filled up the space between the walls and had soda syrup boxes taking up every inch. It was noisy and that meant people were drinking out in the club. The room itself was easily the size of your standard three-car garage. "We'll switch out bottles hourly on a weekend. I have to staff someone in this room on Friday and Saturday nights to keep up with replacing empty bottles if you can believe that... Both clubs have their own rooms like this, over there is the storage area for boxes of alcohol, champagne, beer, soda, and the like... The cooler for kegs is back over there."

I looked toward where he was pointing, "Whoa... That's an insane amount of booze being served. There must be a lot of drunks in this town..."

"Yup... And we have no less than four bartenders, fifteen cocktail waitresses, and ten bouncers working seven nights a week in each of the clubs. It does get a little crazy... When we have our weekend pool parties I have to double shift those wanting the hours or hire temps. A moderately proficient cocktail waitress can make a grand in tips on a good night - more at the pool with the right crowd. Did I mention we get liquor deliveries daily?"

"Yikes! I'm in the wrong line of business. How late are the clubs open?"

"We open at 5:00 PM and close it down at 4:00 AM... Pool parties generally start at 9:00 AM, just because getting people in tends to be such a pain. We shut those down by 10:00 PM usually... Noise ordinances prohibit us from staying open later. By 10:00 PM we're done with the idiots, so it's nice we shut that down early."

"Jesh... And you have a wait starting at 8:00 PM to get in the clubs?"

"I know, right? Crazy busy and one crazy business, for sure..."

I was certainly naive about just how much money ran through a major Las Vegas casino - just the club portion of the casino must make a mint daily! While I was in the service industry - finance officer for a car dealership - this service industry looked to be a fast pace and high stress endeavor. No, my quality of life, in my simple career, with my simple salary, was good enough for me. Vegas was just too intense...

"What are you thinking?"

"Ah, I was just thinking that this place is a 24x7 mad house. It would be too much stress for me... I don't know how you can even get a minute away from this place..."

"Yeah, it's a little stressful - but I've got some great people working with me, so it's not as bad as it might seem... I was in San Diego looking for you for a week and the place didn't burn down..."

"Umhuh... And how many times a day did you get called while you were out there," I asked with a knowing grin.

"OK, so it wasn't exactly the vacation I had planned, so yes - I did work a bit from afar. I also found you, so my time away was a success. My mom didn't seem to mind..."

"She was cute on the phone," and as soon as I said that I wondered if I should have said anything. I mean, we didn't really have a long conversation or anything, but she seemed so nice on the phone. A caring mother for sure...

"Yeah, about that... What did you two talk about? She's said a couple of times that she really liked you..."

Huh? We didn't talk about anything... "We didn't really have a conversation or anything, I was just trying to get a hold of you. She just seemed so nice and given my first impressions of you, well it was refreshing...," I said with a smile that said I was razzing him.

"Can't believe you thought I was stalking you...," he poked back in fun, smiling.

"You do realize that being Trans rubs a lot of people the wrong way. And if they aren't rubbed wrong they tend to be perverts with some kind of bullshit fetish...," I was getting hot and tried to dial it back, "I am very guarded with my, with being myself, who I am. I hate that I have to be on the defensive all the time. I've missed out on a lot of things most women wouldn't think twice about doing..." I needed to stop, I was preaching and Blake wasn't a problem like so many in society were, I felt bad and looked away.

He reach out and put a hand on my shoulder, "It's OK... I understand, believe me I understand... I'm sure there are some real shit heads out there, I'm sorry you have to deal with that...," he pulled his hand back and looked concern as a tear rolled down my cheek.

What the fuck is wrong with me! Why the water works?! Before I could wipe my cheek Blake stepped toward me and hugged me. That caring gesture was more than I could handle and the tears and slow sobbing began in earnest...

"Easy now...," he cooed, "You're perfect the way you are... I'm sure plenty of people think that Brea, you gotta believe it and own it...," he said softly.

I couldn't speak and just buried my face in his chest while trying to control the uncontrollable sobs. I hadn't cried like this in at least a month. My heart ached and all the pressures from work to performing to coming here for this singing competition just overflowed my ability to cope... I tried to apologize, but only got out a raspy, "I'm sorry...," after about a minute.

"There's nothing you need to apologize for... Here, let's go to my office. I've got some Kleenex in there...," he said while wrapping his arm around my shoulder and guiding me toward his office just down the hall.

In his office he had me sit and handed me a couple tissues. "Thank you..." I dabbed at my eyes and wiped my nose. "I don't know what's gotten into me...," I whispered.

"It's totally understandable Brea... Don't let being outside your comfort zone consume what you're here to accomplish. You have an amazing voice, you're going to be a force to reckon with. I'm excited to see you perfrom."

Sure, I'm away from my support network. Away from my safe little bubble that is work; singing; friends; and my mom - but I can't lose my shit like this when I feel the least bit vulnerable or outside of my 'comfort zone' as Blake simply put it... I looked at Blake standing behind his... Oh Crap! A panicked look spread across my face, "Is that the time?"

He turned to look at the clock behind him, "Yeah, but I set it five-minutes fast so I'm not..."

I interrupted him midsentence, "I need to get ready for the dinner... I had no idea it was that late."

"Oh, OK... If you want to skip dinner I could talk to Karen, tell her you're not feeling up to..."

"No!" That came out with more emphasis than I wanted, "I don't want to be seen as someone who can't hold their own... I'm sorry, I really need to go. I really, really appreciate you giving me the 'dime' tour." I stood and turned toward the office door behind me. Shit! Where did the time go? It was 7:15 PM, 7:20 PM on Blake's clock, and by the time I figured out an outfit, hair, makeup... Fuck!

Blake followed me and at the door said to go left. We exited the backside of the club to a hallway not far from the lobby and elevators. I thanked him again, but it was rushed. My focus was on getting ready for the contestant dinner and I hoped he didn't think I was being a bitch. I'd have to figure out a way to make it up to him... What the hell does that mean? Augh!!! I'm a freak'n basket case right now and truth - I'm hating myself so much...

Tuesday, March 27th 8:05 PM
I was late to the dinner and being late was one of biggest pet peeves. It annoyed me when others were late, but I couldn't control that and all I cared about was whether I was on time or not. Augh! The banquet room looked much as it did when Blake and I popped in earlier, only now there were about thirty people talking in small groups either around tables or by the open bar. There were also PBS cameras and microphone booms - two of them - milling about. Augh times two to the tenth power I thought... I could feel my chest tightening and wondered if I was under dressed yet again and dreading getting filmed. Breathe... This is a safe place... Just ignore the cameras.

It took forever to bring down the puffy criers eyes and mask that with makeup, blush, and eye shadow. My makeup was not exactly professional quality, but it would do, and people wouldn't know I was a mess just about fifty minutes ago. My hair, which usually has a mind of its own, played nice and looked decent. I choose a nice blouse, knee-high black skirt, and a pair of peek-toe black boot heels. After a quick look around - I was dressed well within the range of the other attendees. Mission accomplished!

I could see Michelle and Janet at a table closest to the entry door for the kitchen area - I only knew this because of the 'dime' tour Blake had given me. I smiled about that and looked around, seeing Wyatt heading for the table to join Michelle and Janet. He had a couple glasses of wine and a beer bottle of some type. Cool, my group was hanging together - my stress level dropped a notch. Wyatt saw me and waved me over.

"Hey Breanna..."

"Hi Wyatt... Michelle, Janet - you both look amazing..."

That got me a round of the same compliment from them, and Wyatt. I added that Wyatt looked very handsome, which got me a hug and an offer to get me something to drink. I asked for water. The table was set for eight, so we were either going to gain some guests or...

A sharply dressed man approached the table, put a hand on Michelle's shoulder. She smiled, "Brea, this is Danny. Danny, Breanna..."

Introductions complete both Danny and I sat. Janet began talking about her interview with Leza Howell to Michelle, obviously in the middle of some portion of the story that was sharing prior to my arrival. I half-listened while looking around the room. There were people from the band, the makeup and hair people, and a few others I didn't recognize - maybe they were invited guests of those in attendance. It dawned on me that this dinner was for all those involved with the contest. Pretty cool, I liked that we were all together - even though we were all competing - well, some of us.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I jumped a little, "Excuse me... I'm looking for my wife..."

I turned to see Dana standing behind me. Of course that comment caught the attention of everyone at the table and I could feel the stares. "Yeah, yeah... I'm going to have to have a talk with your brother..."

"You're married Dana," Janet asked.

"No, but someone," he put a hand on my shoulder, "Was trying to get into my room claiming her husband was in there...," he replied with a chuckle.

"Brea, you're married," Wyatt chimed in while setting a tall glass of water down in front of me.

Augh! I explained what happened to those around the table. The story got me a couple good natured laughs and a few comments from the ladies that they should be paying more attention to their surroundings. That lead to a conversation about leaving the property and dealing with the protestors outside of the hotel. Danny had went to see some of the strip and said some in the crowd were spewing some pretty venomous crap - while professing their God would be judging us. Hypocrites...

During that tangent a woman joined the table, acknowledging everyone with a slight wave and then sat next to Janet. Janet made the introduction of Cynthia, her wife, to those who hadn't already been introduced. She seemed shy, which was the opposite of my perception of Janet. Opposites attract I thought - they looked cute together. I had the same thought about Michelle and Danny. That left Wyatt and I as the 'singles' at the table.

Clinking of something against a glass repeatedly hushed those gathered in the room. I could see Karen Cole with a glass of wine in one hand and a butter knife in the other as she stood at her table surveying those in attendance. Her calling the room to attention prompted those milling around to take their seats and the room got very quiet. I recognized a few of the people sitting at her table, but other than Blake and Leza Howell – I was drawing a blank as to their names. Seriously?! How do I even function with virtually no memory facilities? Grrr…

“Good evening… Welcome contestants, Cayman's staff, and PBS representatives. I would like to thank everyone for pulling together today and making it through arguably a very busy day of coordinating all those elements that will make up an amazing show for the Transgender Day of Visibility Singing Competition... I’m very impressed with everyone’s efforts and wanted you to know how much I appreciate your involvement, understanding, patience, and flexibility,” she raised her glass, “Here’s to a great show…” Everyone raised some form of beverage and a few spoke out their thanks in return.

“I don’t have much else to say, other than we would hope you will enjoy dinner and of course beverages. Tomorrow the fun begins in earnest,” she paused for a few people clapping and hooting, “Contestants will need to report to the theater by 5:00 PM and the show will start promptly at 7:00 PM. So, enjoy tonight, eat, drink, and Thank you all for being here…” There was more clapping, then the room reverted to people talking amongst themselves and got loud again.

I looked at Wyatt and before I could ask, he asked, “How did it go for you today?”

“I was just about to ask you that… It went OK. The arrangement for my first song took a little work to get ironed out, but it should be fine,” I replied, “How was it for you?”

“Good, I’ll have a little accompaniment from the band on my first song – I’ll be playing an acoustic guitar. I’m using the original track for my second,” he paused, “If I make it to the finale… Don’t want to get ahead of myself.”

“Seriously, need to make it past the first round of this thing. I’m a little nervous…”

“A little, huh? You hide it well,” he said smiling.

Tuesday, March 27th 9:38 PM
Dinner was delicious, either that or I was starving. Probably a little of both was the case. Wyatt and I ended up talking pretty much non-stop about some of the commonalities between our two paths - HRT, dysphoria, and the like. It was interesting to get his prospective coming at it from the FTM route. He seemed genuinely interested in my story as well from the MTF grind. He said he started his transition five years ago at the age of 32. It meant coming out to his wife - he was divorced now and not very amicably, though he didn't divulge much about that. My story wasn't as complex - when I came out it was just to my mom and there wasn't much drama during that event. All said and done - it was refreshing to hear his story and to have someone truly understand the gravity and weight of some of the tougher parts of my journey.

Janet added a few stories to our discussion, while Cynthia just smiled a lot and nodded knowingly when any of us spoke about issues making our journeys a pain in the ass. Michelle and Danny, well they were pretty engrossed in one another and didn't really participate at all in our round table discussions. They ended up leaving right after finishing their dinners, opting to skip dessert for what we all jokingly said would be a dessert of their own making. Good for them...

I caught Tyler looking my way a few times as he went back and forth to the open bar. I think he mouthed, "I'm sorry..." during one of those trips. I rolled my eyes and nodded my head ever so slightly. I had hoped that story about me at Dana's room wouldn't have gotten out, but it had, and truth be told I was no worse for wear because of it - but I wasn't going to let him know that.

"We're going to go to the casino... You two want to come," Janet asked.

Wyatt deferred to me to answer first, "I'd like to, but I've got to get some better sleep tonight. I didn't get here until late last night and it was an early morning... Tomorrow night?" I hoped I didn't sound lame, but I needed desperately to recharge my batteries.

"Sure, but I think after the show they intend on making us available for our 'fans' in the audience. We'd like to get into the club, but if you don't get there early you can't get in...," Janet replied.

I'd forgotten about the 'Meet the Star's' of the show requirement after each of the shows, but remembered the mention of a pool party. Were they going to be one in the same? No, the pool party was on Thursday, the finale day, and started at noon. Augh... "I might be able to get us into the club, tomorrow night or Thursday night. No guarantees, but I might have an in..." I hoped that would take the focus off of me not wanting to go gamble and just wanting to see the backs of my eyelids.

"Ooo... I'm up for that," Wyatt said, "I'm also good for leaving a few coins in the casino with you lovely ladies..."

There were smiles all around and in unison we all pushed back from the table to go our separate ways - after a few hugs of course. As a group we made our exit, but before reaching the door to the banquet room I noticed Tyler trying to catch up to us...

"Brea...," he called out a few feet behind me.

"I'll see you tomorrow, have fun...," I told Janet, Cynthia, and Wyatt.

"Oh, you too...," Wyatt said quietly with a wolfish grin.

"Nah... I'm going to going to bed," I assured him.

"Mmmugh... Good luck with that," he quipped before following the ladies out into the hallway.

I stood at the door and gave Tyler 'the look', which he had better get and fully understand the weight of the displeasure I was trying to convey. I wasn't going to be letting him off the hook so easily.

"Look, I'm really sorry about... It just came out and Dana was all over me about what happened, details - he wanted details, and I told him not to say anything... Look, I apologize... I blew it, I get it, that was a dick move. Can I make it up to you somehow," he asked.

I looked over toward the table Dana was sitting at still, he was talking to someone I didn't recognize, "You wanna make it up to me? Go back in there and say, 'I'm a dick and I screwed up'."

Tyler stared at me for a moment, "Are you kidding," he asked.

"You asked how you can make it up to me, well, that's how. You know how embarrassing that whole thing was? How scared I was? Then to have Dana come over and play with me about being married... Go tell everyone you were a dick and see how that feels," I looked toward the twenty or so people still in the banquet room, "Oh, and don't bother telling them why - don't need that story spread around anymore..."

Tyler was still trying to gauge my resolve and I wasn't giving him any hints as to the cards I was holding - pure poker face. "OK, I deserve this...," he said and turned to go back into the banquet room.

I let him take a step before grabbing his arm, "I'm kidding... But, seriously you spilling your guts to Dana about our meeting kinda hurt my feelings..."

He looked surprised that I stopped him, "I'm really sorry Brea... It was an accident, stupid... You sure you don't want me to take a dose of my own medicine?"

"No, I'll forgive you eventually...," I said smiling.

"You've got a bit of an evil streak in you... You had me going there for a second."

"Yeah, well next time I won't be so nice..."

"There won't be a next time, I promise... You going to the casino?"

"No, I need to go to bed. I'm wiped..."

Tyler had a questioning look on his face, "Come on... It's early still, one drink - I owe you that. What do you say?"

"As good as that sounds and as much as you DO owe me, I just can't... Rain check?"

"Tomorrow night then, you, me, I'm buying...," he said all smiles, "Can I walk you to your room?"

"I guess...," I said all dramatic. We both chuckled and then made our way towards the lobby.

Tuesday, March 27th 9:53 PM
The walk to my room was full of laughs and an embarrassing story about Dana as a child. Tyler told me to use it, but there was no way I was going to bring it up. A story about a jock strap as a mask - gross and there was no easy way to bring that kind of thing up in a general conversation. Nah, think I'll keep that story to myself, thank you very much.

In the elevator it was obvious why the story about the jock strap had come up - Tyler was a bit tipsy... I hadn't smelled much alcohol on him down at the banquet room, but in the close quarters of the elevator - he'd definitely had a few stiff drinks in him. He was kind of cute inebriated, a little more relaxed, and certainly chatty - the funny kind of mildly drunk chatty. Of course he was kind of cute in general - no denying that. To say I didn't have a few wicked thoughts about seeing just how fit that body was would be a lie.

When we exited the elevator and made our way down the hall I was prepared to jump down his throat if he said anything as we passed by Dana's room. Fortunately, he was talking about their older sister who was a doctor in LA - pretty sure he said she was an orthopedic surgeon. The way he talked about her I'm was certain he was proud of the fact she'd done so well for herself. I learned that Dana was a guidance counselor at a high school in a suburb of Chicago. And finally he mentioned that he worked for an industrial paint company in Chicago. Loved his job, hated the winters, and wasn't a fan of the cities murder rate. Before that portion of the conversation got to heavy - the murder rate - we were at my door.

"Well, this is me...," I fished my rooms key card out of my clutch and unlocked my door pushing it open slightly.

"Yeah...," he said as if he were deep in thought about something.

"You OK," I asked.

"Yeah, yeah... I," he stopped speaking abruptly.

"You want me to deposit you in Dana's room?"

"No, I'm good... I just... I want to kiss you..."

What-the-fuck?! Not like I hadn't had similar thoughts a few times today and on the way up here, but talk about being shocked and not sure of what I just heard. I was frozen, speechless, not really sure how to answer or what I should say. Could I even answer? I watched him take a step towards me and everything began moving as if in slow motion. One of his hands moved to my waist, the other brushing past my cheek gently and gripping the back of my neck with authority, then his lips were on mine... OMG! OMG!

Author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Tuesday, March 27th 10:06 PM
The kiss, the request to be kissed threw me off - at least until his lips met mine and our tongues began to dance. Tyler's hand at the back my neck was unexpected, aggressive, and made me feel like my knees were going to give out any second. I had goose bumps on goose bumps all up and down my arms. I could taste the alcohol on his breath and feel his want - which was mind blowing and a little bit of a shock. Not so shocking was being instantly drunk on my own desires, my own wants to be accepted for the woman I was becoming. It had been a very long time since I had been held, let alone kissed. And before it got too intense in the hallway - the kiss was over. I refused to open my eyes, trying to savor the few seconds we were connecting...

"I am sorry about earlier Brea," Tyler whispered in my ear before kissing my neck. The kiss caused me to shudder ever so slightly and I felt chilled, unsure of exactly what he'd just said, and tried to nuzzle in closer to where his lips were.

I could barely think, hold a coherent thought, and twisted my head ever so slightly when he kissed my neck a second time. With my eyes still shut I turned my face toward his and found his lips. This time the kiss was more desperate, more intense - I was seeking more, hungering for more, and he was giving me that which I desired. Every nerve throughout my body was in an overloaded state and when he leaned his body into mine, pulling me closer I couldn't help but moan softly.

When he pulled away, I chased his lips with mine to kiss him again. There was certainly more urgency in my want when our lips touched for the third time. He did not disappoint, he wanted what I wanted. His hand cupping the back of my neck had my head turned to best control our kiss - it was gentle, sexy, and demanded my submission - which I was all too happy to give to him.

When he pulled away, I opened my eyes, but could not look him in his eyes. "You want to invite me in?"

And with that ask the reality of the situation I was in became a fear inducing gut punch. I pulled back ever so slightly, running scenario after painful scenario through my mind as quickly as I could until I felt my stomach churn uncontrollably. I tried to reason his request with the fact he knew I was Trans - did that matter to him? Does he think I'm fully transitioned? What are his expectations of the incomplete woman standing before him? How far was I willing to...

"Brea... I'm not pressuring you for anything you aren't comfortable doing. I... I find you incredibly sexy and I would be kicking myself if I didn't at least try to see if you had similar feelings... I want you to know I respect who you are and..."

I held a finger to his lips, "Tyler... I, I am not all you see. And, I don't do casual... You know, hookups? I just... It's probably best if we..."

"Are you saying there's no attraction?"

That wasn't the reply I expected and jumped on it earnestly, "No, that's no... Not, what I said. You know, probably better than most having supported Dana through his transition, what I mean...," I sounded unsure of my point and still couldn't make eye contact with him. Jesus! Would I be kissing you if there wasn't an attraction?!

"Nothing about you is going to scare me off Brea... I'm sure of my sexuality and I know you may be struggling with portions of yours, but I know who you are on the inside and complete or not I would still be attracted to you... You know, the woman you are trying to be. I respect everything about who you are..."

There is rarely a moment in my transition that the dysphoria gorilla isn't jockeying for a better position on my back. Right now, with Tyler professing a want to be with me, in any capacity, that gorilla was beating its chest with one mighty hand while trying to choke me out with his other arm. Fuck! Fear was now ruling my choice to be myself, to give myself permission to fully be the woman I was inside. Fuck!

When I didn't answer he took my hands in his, "Look... I can see you're struggling with a lot right now. How about we call it a night and tomorrow we find some time to just chill, talk, see if we can carve out an environment that makes you feel comfortable and we see what happens. What do you think?"

I could feel the moment slipping away, his want, desire, all of it - fading... If we waited to over analyze it tomorrow for my benefit - it would be different, we would be in different places, the moment would be lost. Shit! I looked into his eyes, replaying his last statement in my mind, searching for an answer, searching for my truth, for his sincerity... No! And I stepped backwards into the slightly propped open door, pulling him with me into the darkened room, lit only by the light from the hallway.

When the door shut behind him, he pulled me to him in the dark, "No pressure Brea..." He leaned in to kiss my lips softly and I pulled him closer trying to get lost in a moment I didn't want to end.

Tuesday, March 27th 10:13 PM
In the darkness and quiet of the room, every movement seemed to be amplified. The rustling of my skirt against his slacks, my blouse, my breathing and how it was strained while kissing him. The thumping of my heart alone I swear could be heard as clearly as if someone were beating a drum in double time. Then there was the ringing buzz in my ears making me feel like I was going to pass out, dizzying. I felt like I was outside my body looking at us holding one another in the entryway. I wasn't prepared for this - want versus being able to walk the walk - no, I can't do this... What the hell was I thinking?! Obviously I wasn't or I wouldn't be in this predicament.

I could count the number of sexual encounters with men on four fingers and the number I had kissed was maybe seven. Only two of those encounters resulted in full-blown sex and between nerves, being unsure of what it was really going to be like, being put off by not being complete, and the raw lust by those men rushing to get their rocks off - those encounters were anything but pleasurable. Fuck the concept of pleasurable - it was painful, scary, and not something I was not interested in repeating. That really spoke to why I wasn't sexually experienced and sex had only happened twice. Sure, I could have put myself out there for the fetish junkies, but it wouldn't have moved me toward where I wanted to go.

When I thought about those two times I had had sex I thank God it was over quickly on both occasions. And all my experiences with men were over the course of the four years I had been transitioning for God's sake - so I wasn't even sure what I wanted from an intimate encounter. I haven't taken the training wheels off of my attempt to appreciate the female form my body was becoming... Yeah, I wasn't naive to what might be expected or what might be about to happen or even how to perform - but my confidence that I was anything like a CIS female was going to cripple Tyler's expectations. Was it too late to change my...

"You okay," Tyler asked.

I hesitated, "Yeah, just... This is very new for me, and I... Look, I'm not... I am still a ways from...," I had to stop speaking because what I was spewing was making me even more nervous and NOT doing anything for my confidence. Not to mention I didn't think I was making any sense - would he understand? My stomach rolled and I huffed a defeated sigh...

Tyler chuckled, "I'm good with just kicking back and watching TV or going for a walk or whatever you feel like Brea. Really, I just wanted to spend time with you... No expectations, I've got no demands... I just wanted to be with you... Do you want to just get comfortable, dial up a movie, and chill?"

Why? Why do you want to be with me? I'm not your typical woman. I've got all sorts of issues, hang ups, fears... Fuck!! Let that shit go God damn it! "Sure...," was all I could think to reply quietly in the dark of the room.

Tyler moved around me to the nightstand and clicked on a light. We both were squinting and I chuckled nervously - who knows why blinding light was the least bit funny to me at the moment. I watched him looking around the room until he found the remote for the TV. He picked it up and turned it on. I excused myself and headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind me - breathing a temporary sigh of relief.

OMG! - I thought staring at myself in the mirror. What the fuck are you doing?! This was probably a huge mistake. Tyler lived in Chicago! After this competition the likelihood of us furthering whatever this was would be slim. I shook my head - Fuck! Think... What is... Fuck! Slow down, slow down, you can handle this... Think...

What do you need to do first to feel more comfortable? Gaff - get the tape and gaff off... I hiked my skirt up, hooked my thumbs inside the waistband of the compression boy short panties, and slid them down until I could step out of them. Next - get the thong gaff off, which involved removing a couple strips of surgical tape - which was going to be slightly painful. Being aroused, while being tucked, did pose comfort issues a few moments ago - I had to do this. Gingerly I pulled the tape from the fabric of the gaff and then from the skin on the inside of my ass cheeks. The tape, while working as it should, did make for an uncomfortable removal process. Fuck! That does not feel good! I pulled the second strip off quickly - Shit! There would be red marks down there from the tape - was that going to matter? Would Tyler even get the opportunity to see where I had tape? Augh! Why was it so hard to transition, to be me?

Tape and thong gaff removed, I stared at the biggest source of my gender dysphoria in all its pathetic glory. I didn't play the CIS female shave your pussy bullshit game - mostly because of razor burn, but also because I didn't have someone in my life to impress with a sexy smooth crotch area. I did keep the area neatly trimmed so it wasn't a bushy forest and because I liked to wear a bikini on occasion. I brushed the pubic hair absently and felt a sickening feeling in my gut - yet again. I'm not ready for this... Augh!

Fuck it, nothing is going to happen tonight - we'll chill and watch TV. Put your big girl panties on and just go with the flow. I stepped into the compression boy shorts panties and adjusted that last bastion of male appendage to the side. I let my skirt fall back into place, brushed it smooth in the front, and there was just the slightest sign of my cock showing. I absolutely hated that I could see a small lump down there, but it would have to do... Move a little to the left you fucking dysphoria gorilla!

I checked my hair, fiddled with a few stray pieces, and picked up a blush applicator to smooth out the makeup on my cheeks. One last look - AUGH! What happened to coming back to your room, practicing for tomorrow, and going to bed?

Tuesday, March 27th 10:29 PM
When I came back into the room I purposely left the bathroom light on and pulled the door nearly closed. I clicked the nightstand lamp off and with the light from the bathroom and TV - the room was a bit more relaxing - forgiving of my flaws. It also made it harder to see the tiny lump peeking through the front of my skirt. Tyler was sitting at the foot of the bed scrolling through movie titles and looked over at me, "There she is... You look a bit more relaxed. All good?"

Had I been in the bathroom that long I wondered... "Yeah, I'm... I'll be fine...," and I joined him at the foot of the bed. I'm sure I was on the verge of shivering - nerves? Cold? Gorilla?

"Something you care to watch," he asked putting a hand on my thigh as he clicked the button on the remote to move the selections of movies on the screen.

I wasn't in the mood to watch a movie and doubted seriously I could make it through one without falling asleep. I put my hand on his and asked if there were any music channels. He exited to the main menu, found some music and without asking selected an adult hits channel, which put us in the middle of the Bruno Mars song 'Locked out of Heaven'. "How's that," he asked, while adjusting the volume to something akin to background noise.

"This song always makes me wanna dance...," I said smiling.

"I'll dance with you... Wanna," he asked shifting as if he were about to stand up and get 'jiggy wit it'.

"Nooo, no...," I squeezed his hand, "Maybe if I can get us in the club tomorrow night we can explore my pathetic dance moves. I do a great 'chained elephant'..."

There was confusion on his face, so I stood and stepped side to side to the rhythm of the Bruno Mars song. "Ah... That's one of my favorites dance steps," he said standing to join me in my attempt at being cute, funny.

When the song ended and another began he stepped towards me, taking my hips in his hands and we swayed to the beat of a song by the Arianna Grande I wasn't familiar with. The dancing lasted less than a couple seconds before we were kissing, bodies grinding seductively against each other, tongues seeking and finding pleasure. He pulled away and kissed my neck, which made me shudder ever so slightly. His arms were wrapped around me, with his hands positioned on my ass trying to pull me even closer - which would be physically impossible since our bodies were already nearly one.

Tyler took my earlobe in his lips and I couldn't help but to moan - louder than I expected, "You alright, I didn't hurt you did I," he asked concerned.

Was I 'alright'? Are you kidding me? I'm high on the sexual tension and you aren't helping matters by pushing every erogenous zone button I have above my shoulders - all while your hands on my ass are begging me to give myself to you completely. Am I 'alright'? I'm... He shifted and I felt something hard grind softly into my waist. I knew I was partially aroused and I was trying everything to keep him from feeling my that lump. I could certainly feel of his excitement down there and it felt substantial... In the end I didn't answer him, but found his lips and kissed him softly. He returned my efforts and the intensity of his tongue probing mine was mesmerizing.

I could feel his hands pulling my skirt up towards my waist and before I could protest his hands were on my ass, sliding happily over my panties. He was exploring for his own pleasure and certainly giving me more of a rise than he probably realized. He squeezed my ass softly and tried to pull me closer, causing me to grind his manhood firmly now into my midriff...

HRT had dulled my ability to get aroused at the drop of a hat like when I was a teenager. What was happening to me right now was proving my male parts still had some life left in them. As embarrassing and dysphoric as seeing that part of me was daily - there was no denying Tyler had me spun up right now. It had been at least three, maybe four months since I had been worked up enough mentally, through watching porn, to have a mildly pathetic erection. Try as I might I couldn't bring myself to cum - though I worked at it pretty hard and eventually gave up in disgust.

My ability to get aroused required a lot of mental gymnastics - which Tyler would be getting a "10" from the judges at this rate. Hormones were amazing - but did nothing significant for that area between my legs except for leaving it mostly a dormant shell of its once small glorious self. I wondered if after SRS / GRS I would be able to orgasm or even enjoy sex. Many women said it was possible, but really involved being in the right mental frame of mind. Pretty sure I was half way there with being able to get the mental side of the coin dialed in. I'd have to wait a while longer to prove out the orgasm quest after surgery.

My skirt dropping back in place snapped my mind back into the present - to Tyler pulling my blouse from being tucked inside my skirt. He stood back looking for my reaction and I obliged by getting my hands on his belt and after a little struggling got it undone. He tried his best to undo the buttons on my blouse, while not interrupting my efforts. I didn't want to think about what was happening, to fear what was happening, so I just concentrated on undoing his belt, the button on his dress slacks, and getting the zipper down. I pushed his pants down aggressively as he gave up on the buttons and was coaxing my blouse over my head. I raised my arms and wiggled out of the silky blouse as he pulled it up, over, and off - he tossed it absently toward the chair in the corner. I tried absently to do something about how he'd just mussed up of my hair - fuck it - focus Brea, focus...

For some reason we were both smiling at each other. Tyler with pants at his ankles and me in just my bra and skirt. We weren't being shy about fully taking in each other, he ran a hand over my chest, hooking a finger inside one of the cups and passing over an aroused nipple. I did something similar to the stiff cock stretching the fabric of his athletic cut boxer shorts. He put a hand on my shoulder and I watched him pry his feet from his slip-on loafers, then stepping out of his slacks while balancing himself against me. He scooped up his pants and they went flying through the air towards my blouse. I reached out for his button-down shirt and got the first couple buttons undone, but he wanted to move this show along and ended up pulling it off over his head saving me from the tedious job of unbuttoning every button.

I was dreading shedding my skirt, but at this point the vibe between us was keeping my demons at bay. I made the move, before he could, and reached around back to unzip my skirt, stepped out of it, and because it was kind of 'our thing' right now - I tossed my skirt toward the chair. It unfortunately went in a higher arch than expected. It careened along the ceiling and feel short. Tyler looked back at where it landed, then back at me, "You're not much of a hoopster, eh?"

I shrugged, in the dim light of the room and dark blue glare from the TV screen, "I'm not much of a sports kind of person. I like to watch almost any sport - I have never been too athletically inclined..."

He stepped in closer, "Ah, this body says differently... You must do something."

"I mountain bike a little, but really, I'm a couch potato... Good genes maybe?"

His hand were at my shoulders, then at my hips, "You're pretty cute, you know that..."

If the lighting was better he would see my face was flush, I turned away just in case he could see my beet-red face, "Yeah... I doubt that...," I replied sheepishly.

He cupped my chin with his hand, turned my face back toward his, then leaned in to kiss me. Our bodies moved together and his excitement felt so much more pronounced. I wrapped my arms around his waist and without thinking gently squeezed a toned, muscular ass. He pulled away and looked at me with a little smirk on his face while squeezing my ass.

"Mmmuh... Very cute...," I said as his hands moved to from my ass to my bra strap and he quickly undid the clasp. I panicked and brought my arms to my chest between us. Four years of HRT did nothing for the development of my breasts. My doctor said the A-and-a-half cup size, a stretch I think, was all my 36" chest would likely ever have. My options - if I ever became independently wealthy and cared to fix my current lack of having breasts - was to get implants. Until then, having nearly nothing to show on my chest was a trigger for a dark ride and a lot of self-loathing. Augh...

"Whoa... You alright," Tyler asked with genuine concern.

"Yeah, I'm...," I stopped mid-sentence. How do I explain the need to wear a larger cup size and an overly padded bra just to have... To present as more feminine?

"Look," he began, while gently sliding the bra straps from my shoulder, "We're nearly naked, it's no big deal... Here," he stepped back a half step, and pulled his boxers down - stepping out of them - then swayed his hips left and right playfully. This of course caused his erect cock to slap his body and I couldn't help but chuckle. "See...," he said laughing, "I'm free! Free, I tell ya!"

OMG! I lost it and couldn't help but laugh even harder... He was being silly, vulnerable, and... I slowly let my bra slide down my arms and off - tossing it toward the 'chair of clothes', this time my throw was on target.

"Very nice...," he said reaching out to trace the edges of my left breast, then totally palming my right. He squeezed gently and I thought I was going to fall over. When he leaned in to take my swollen nipple in his mouth I moaned and ran a hand through his hair... OM-F'n-GOD!

I sucked in a slow breath slowly, deliberately strained. His hand was warm, but the sensation of someone other than myself touching my breasts was electrifying. His mouth on my nipple - no way I could describe what that was doing to me. I tingled all over and tried to close the distance between us. He licked my tit a last time and wrapped his arms around me - our chest becoming one. I could barely breathe...

When he hugged me tighter, his cock rubbed my mid-riff, and it was my turn to touch him. I reached between us and grabbed hold of his cock. He stiffened ever so slightly. I traced a finger over the swollen bulbous head of his cock - there was pre-cum and it made my finger tip slip and slide over it. That made him move his hips, pushing his cock through my grip until the shaft was...

I let my grip slip away and moved my hands up to Tyler's chest, pushing him backwards gently so he had to sit on the edge of the bed or fall over the corner of it. He complied with just a hint of confusion on his face. I'm sure the overly serious look on my face, in the dim light of the room, had him wondering what had come over me. Fuck my fears! I was going to take advantage of this opportunity for all it's worth.

I moved between his legs as he sat and with a bit more force pushed him back onto the bed so he was laying with his legs hanging over the edge. I thought about climbing onto the bed and straddling his body, but his cock was the target of my attention - as much as being on top of him and kissing him was also a desire. I watched him watching my every move and as I drug my nails lightly along the inside of his thighs towards his balls - I could tell he was barely breathing. When my hands cupped them, he squirmed slightly, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Okay... You, you... You have my attention...," he said smiling back at me.

"I think I had," I took his cock in one hand while gently tracing a finger around his crotch and pubic hair, "Your attention long before our clothes went flying toward the chair...," I replied softly.

He bucked a little when my finger slid through his precum again, he moved his hand to mine holding his cock, "Mmmugh... And every action has a reaction, so when it's my turn I will show you the same merc..." I leaned over quickly, parted my lips, and enveloped the engorged head of his cock before he could finish his thought.

He was talking too much and I had his beautiful cock in my hand and I had a want... A want to wrap my lips around it. Tyler gasped, "Oooh... Oh, fuck...," and whatever thought he had about turns or mercy or whatever were now lost as my lips rode just the head of his cock. I could barely breathe... Was I really doing this?!

Gone was his hand on mine, only to be replaced with him trying to gyrate his hips so as to push those six, maybe seven inches of heavenly cock further into my mouth. He began to babble, "Oooh fuck...," then, "Breee, ah, ah...," and, "God, that feels..."

I was sucking just the head of his cock, swirling my tongue over the tip - probing where his seed would eventually gush, licking it, and occasionally I would slurp loudly - just to fuck with him. My saliva coated his shaft and my hand began to slide easily down it when he would buck or try to thrust in an attempt to get more than the head of his cock inside of my mouth. It was a struggle, but one I was enjoying more than I could have ever imagined. He seemed to be enjoying himself - which buoyed my confidence.

When I thought I had played with him long enough I moved my lips slowly toward where my hand had a firm grasp at the base of his cock. That got me a few strains breathes through clenched teeth and a, "Auh... aaah... Brea..."

Something clicked in my brain, I lost control, lost my want to take things slow and to torture, frustrate him sexually. I began bobbing my head up and down his shaft quicker. Pulling on his shaft on the retreat to his swollen and throbbing head, pulling the skin tight when my lips traveled down to my waiting hand at the base of his cock. My lips smacking, slurping when the head of his cock slipped from my mouth. He tried to sit up, but flopped back down on the bed as soon as my face dove down his shaft quickly.

I moaned as I reengaged and got my lips to my hand again. He whimpered, then arched his back, trying to push his cock even further into my mouth. When I had as much of his cock in my mouth as I felt comfortable with, I constricted my throat and used my tongue to squeeze his head and shaft. I'd never done that before, that I can remember, but it seemed natural and his response was a pleasingly loud moan. I was almost to gag depth on his cock - but I had this, I had control. OM-F'n-G! This was so amaz...

Without warning Tyler pulled his knees even with my head and somehow got his legs over my shoulders, locking my head between muscular thighs. At first I thought he was just being cute, showing me he was flexible or something - but what he'd done was trapped his cock in my mouth. My concentration was instantly shot and I panicked. I moved my hands to his legs, which was a mistake because without my hand at the base of his cock he was able to pull my face even further onto his cock. I gagged and coughed when that happened, clawing at his legs while groaning, gurgling air and saliva in a fully stuffed mouth...

I was panicking, scared! I sucked air in a heavy gulp through my nose, trying to turn my head against his muscular thighs that weren't forgiving or showing me any mercy. I couldn't free myself. He placed his hands on the back of my head - as if I weren't trap already between his legs - and tried pushing my head further onto his cock even more! I tried to stand, but couldn't. I couldn't even lean into him to get some sort of leverage to remove his legs from around my neck and head.

What the fuck are you doing?! I can't take anymore of you in my mouth without gagging or puking... Fuck! I wanted to be free of being trapped like this and I pushed hard on his legs again as a desperate muffled cry escaped my fully opened mouth - totally stuff full of his cock. I was drooling saliva like crazy, squirming, trying to pull away, and trying to push his legs over my head... Nothing was working! I can't breathe...

I coughed and felt him flex his cock in my mouth a few times - I could feel it expand slightly at the back of my throat. What the hell?! Not cool! My neck was hurting, my lips were smashed against the base of his cock... Fuck! He was hurting me - didn't he know?! "Oiueeeh...," I tried to cry out, "Eiiier...," I tried to call out his name in vain. Did he not hear me?! I was hyperventilating... Fear... I can't breathe...

I slapped my palm against his leg twice and there was the slightest hint of relief from being choked out. He slowly eased his leg lock on my trapped head after that, but before I could escape I felt him reach between his legs, hook his hands beneath my armpits, and in one motion he pulled me on top of him. I coughed violently, chest heaving, and then coughed a few more times... "Whaaa...," I couldn't speak and tried to regain some manner of normal breathing, but just collapsed on him. My face was smeared with saliva, it was in my hair, and my hair was a complete mess, plastered to my face. I tried to rub my face off on his chest, while dragging strands of hair from my mouth... I felt dizzy, disoriented...

His hands dropped to my hips and without warning the room flipped upside down before I knew what was happening. He had rolled us over and was now standing over me - where I had been kneeling between his legs moments ago at the foot of the bed. Everything was moving so quickly and I was sure I probably blacked out, maybe just for a fraction of a second. I tried to shake the fog from my head...

"You might have been a little scared but," he hooked his fingers at the waist band of my panties and pulled them down to my knees before I realized what was happening. Gravity made them drop to my ankles, since my legs were now dangling over the edge of the bed. He was looking at my nearly fully engorged cock, "This says maybe that wasn't so bad...," he fingered the tip of my little male appendage.

Shit! My panties were now hanging at my ankles! Why didn't I stop him! Now I truly felt like I was outside of my body watching him standing over me. He moved a hand around my cock, which dwarfed the skinny four inch appendage I loathed. I wondered - How is this happening right now? What was going to happen? The answer came quickly when his hand moved over the head of my cock dripping with pre-cum, "Brea, I fucking want you...," he stated as if there would be confusion on my part.

Huh? You want to fuck me? Had I heard him correctly? I trembled as his fingers played in the slippery liquid that coated the tip of my cock... This kind of thing hadn't happened since I was in my teens, long before HRT. How could it have gotten so slippery... Tyler stepped back, reached between my legs, pushed my thighs toward my chest, and got down on his knees at the foot of the bed. I cried out louder than I meant too when his tongue licked the tight rosebud opening below my tiny balls, "Ahhhhh! Hey... Hey... Whhaaaait...," he didn't stop or didn't hear me. How is that possible?! Is this what I wanted to happen?

The backs of my heels were now firmly on his shoulders, he had my cock in his hand, and his tongue flicked and probed my ass relentlessly. FUCK! I couldn't help but squirm, buck uncontrollably , moan, and even grab handfuls of the comforter... I tried to take his head in my hands at some point, but he pushed them away. FUCK ME! He squeezed the head of my cock and I yipped a startled cry - but it didn't faze him and he just move on with his assault on my sex as if I was encouraging him. "Ttty.... Tyler...," I pleaded.

His reply was a deep moan as his tongue entered my ass. I arched my back uncontrollably and barked, "Fuck!" He didn't slow down, it was like I was encouraging him. I could feel a building pressure long lost - but not forgotten - as he massaged his hand up and down my shaft. "No... I... Wait, wait... Ty... Waaa..." No acknowledgment... That familiar sensation was clicking into place, faster than I expected. His hand sliding up and down my shaft, tightening balls, his tongue licking my ass... I was going to... Oh shit! "Oh... Fuck! Auh! No... Aiiee...," I cried out, "I'm caaan't... Fucking shit... AHHAHHH! Tyler..."

And there was a final push of his tongue in my ass as I shot a load of cum all over my belly. The first spurt was powerful and I floundered, twisted, and tried to ride it out, but it was too intense. I had to cup my hands over his to get him to slow down his pumping my cock and to get him to stop. There was a second less intense involuntary spurt of cum, then a weaker third one... I could feel the dribbling of cum at the tip of a waning cock. My hands, his hands, were a sticky messes, and every movement sent a jolt through my body. I sucked in a heavy breath and exhaled through pursed lips. Oh fuck! OH FUCK! What just happened?! My body went limp...

I lay there in the glow of post sex numbness, trying to make sense of what had just happened, and trying to reason how pleasurable it was. I was spent, so please, please don't touch me I thought... When I finally opened my eyes, Tyler looked pretty pleased about what he'd just accomplished. I, I didn't want to think about it too much or the dysphoria gorilla would be happy to piss all over me. I tried to smile when we made eye contact, but shook my head, covering my eyes with my forearm. Somewhere in all that had just happened I'm positive I had an out of body experience and my DNA cells split or morphed. I had never had an orgasm like...

I felt Tyler's hand move over my stomach. I peeked beneath my arm to see what he was doing. He was gathering the sticky cum I'd just ejaculated all over my stomach. I was confused. What the hell are you doing? When he moved the sticky cum from his fingers to my ass, rubbing the cum liberally around and slowly pushing his fingertip inside of me - it was became obvious what he was doing. I gave him a look, full of concern, maybe laced with fear. When he was done gather the cum from my stomach, he looking down at me as if looking for my approval or to see if there was an objection to what was about to happen. I was still trying to come down off of an orgasmic high and he was already shifting gears. I needed to say...

"Relax...," he said, pushing two finger tips slowly inside of me, "Push against my fingers... Relax," he said.

Relax? Are you fucking kidding? I tightened the muscles down there and tried to push as requested. It helped, but was still not exactly comfortable - it was kind of arousing though... He was in his thinking that sex could be on the agenda tonight? I watched him spit in his hand and rub it over his cock, then he applied some of his saliva to my ass. Was I really going to just lay here and let him fuck me? With No condom?! Wait... He had a condom on - it was light-pink in color - what the hell? "Where did that come from," I asked.

"I've had it in my hand since I took my pants off. You didn't notice?"

"No... I was a bit preoccupied with, like a thousand other things..."

"Yeah, I could see where you might have been lost in a few other sensations... I was too," he said with a wolfish grin.

You think?! I watched him loop his arms behind my knees and lift / pulled me more towards the edge of the bed. OMG! Was this really going to happen? Is this what I wanted? I watched him switch his hold on my legs, take his cock in his hand, and rub it over my tight, but fairly lubed rosebud opening...

"Relax and push...," and when he had himself lined up where he wanted he tried to slowly pushed his cock's head inside of me. I was holding my breath, trying to push against his insertion attempt, trying to relax... "Breathe Brea...," he encouraged.

All I heard was 'Brea...' My eyes closed and rolled back in my head, face straining, there was pain... Ears ringing - more pain, then a moment of relief... I moved a hand toward my ass cheek, trying to spread a muscle that ached, but wasn't remotely involved with what was happening... Fuck! It hurts...

"Keep your knees together... Breathe...," he paused, "Puuush...," he said softly.

I moaned, it hurt, there was a lot of pressure, but it was hurting less when my knees were together... Fuck! How did we get to this... I felt my body bounce toward the headboard with a slight jolt, then I was pulled slightly back toward the edge of the bed. What the hell? I opened my eyes and looked up at Tyler.

"You...," he said with a hint of strain in his voice, "Okay?"

When I looked down his hips were firmly against my ass. OH FUCK! I huffed a few heavy breaths... He was fully inside of me! I put a hand on his stomach and pushed him back slowly. He did as I wanted, but he had no intention of pulling out and with just the head of his cock still inside of me he pushed forward slowly. I tried to relax every muscle, but it wasn't helping - but it wasn't hurting as much either. Wait, it hurts!

He smiled looking down at me, "Oh my God, you... You feel incredible..."

There was more pain, pressure, but it wasn't nearly as bad as I'd experienced in the past. Was he smaller than those other men? No, pretty sure he was bigger... My mind was being tugged in too many directions. Pain... "Slooo... Slower...," I whined and he rocked forward and back into me. The difference between him and those others two guys I had been with - he wasn't in a hurry to get his rocks off. He seemed content to prolonging the inevitable, his cumming, by making the experience somewhat tolerable for me. Fuck!

Tyler obliged, slowing his thrusts into me, while maintaining a neutral angle of attack... "Brea...," he whispered, pulling back quickly and gliding slowly back in until he was completely inside of me.

"Uaha...," I tried to reply.

"Fuck..."

"Yes...," I absently croaked, as my body was swaying back and forth on the bed ever so slightly as he pumped his cock in and out of me. How did this happen?! He stopped and I looked between my legs - OMG - he was fully inside of me! Tyler leaned forward and pinched the swollen nipple of my right breast playfully, I groaned a little and moved my hand to his, "That hurts... Not so hard..."

"Sorry...," he replied quietly. He palmed both my breasts, holding them firmly while gyrating his hips a couple inches back, and then pushing all seven inches of his cock inside of me with a little more force...

FUCK! There was no denying the pain had leveled off, but it was still there and when he was completely inside of me - it was fifty-percent pleasure, fifty-percent painful, and one-hundred-percent satisfying. I was still in shock that this was happening and, well - this WAS happening! I noticed Tyler had his closed his eyes. His facial expression said he was getting lost in his own pleasures.

The rocking of his hips and his cock in and out - varied. Slow to get deeper - his body firmly against mine and then quick to pull that bulbous head of his cock toward the exit - which caused me all kinds of pleasure inducing shudders and jolts of my body. When his hand gave up my breasts - they found a place to rest on my thighs. He picked up the pace, which increased the pain, but also the pleasure and satisfaction I was getting. I tried to move my body in unison with his every thrust, but things were speeding up and the first time our bodies colliding with force - there was a slapping noise. I grunted against the thrust and huffed out a breathe through clenched teeth. Fuck! He pulled back quick, then a faster thrust - Fuck! Another slap of his hips against my ass, louder, more pronounced. Ahhh... Ouch, ouch - that hurts!

He was in his own zone and I was beginning to feel like I was merely along for the ride - my pleasure was an afterthought. His pace picked up - way faster than I expected. I put my hands on his, but instead of reading that as me trying to say, 'Hey, take it easy!', he took it as something different. He grabbed my wrists and pulled me so my back was just barely off the mattress. My head flung back as the piston like plunging into my ass began - at a crazy speed now. I began to moan loudly, "Aaah... Aug... Aaah..." I could barely breathe... My head was rocking back and forth in unison with his thrusts. Pain... Pleasure... Gratification... The sound of his body slamming into mine. Pain...

"Oh fuck...," Tyler whispered as he slowed to a stop, letting me fall back onto the bed after releasing my wrists.

We were both huffing like we'd just sprinted down the hallway from the elevator or something. He caressed my legs and slowly pulled completely out. That hurt, but there was instant relief also. Had he cum and I didn't realize it? I looked at him, questioning what was going on. He dribbled more spit into hand, spread it over his cock, and slid the tip of his cock back inside of me... I blew out a strained breath, then squirmed when he pulled himself out again. He repeat that act a few more times - until I couldn't take it anymore and wrapped my legs around him, pulling him into me, not allowing him to pull out.

"Aaah...," he moaned quietly.

He tried to pull back, but I was holding him inside of me with my legs. He was looking at me, no doubt wondering what I was thinking - while I was doing the same, "You okay," I asked.

"Are you kidding?"

Hearing that was a boost to my psyche and I let my legs release their grip about his waist. Tyler began moving slowly out, not totally, and rammed himself into me with such force it made me choke on the breath I was taking. Holy fuck! I cringed... He pulled back quickly, then hammered himself in fully - jolting my body fully, violently. He quickly pulled out and rammed himself back inside, our bodies slapping together loudly above the background music from the TV. Out, back in, partially pulling back, grinding back to the base of his cock - making me squirm . I could feel his balls slapping against me as my body rocked and shook o the bed.

Tyler placed his hands back on my thighs and it became obvious he was making his final stand. The pace was quickening, the depth at which he was forcing his cock into me was dizzying, and his breathing was full of huffs and strained heaves of his chest. He was pounding my ass for... Pain! Pain! His hands were clamping my thighs too tightly and I had to pull them off - which took great effort. That act didn't slow his gyrations, but I knew he had to be close, "Fuck...," I half-moaned.

He slammed into me twice so I hard I couldn't help but cry out. In, deep, grinding, quickly out and completely out... Repeat... There was no way I could control what was happening and I was trying to soak up all the pleasure I could, while beaming that he was as lost in the pleasures as I was. "Aaaaa! Oh, fuck...," he cried out thrusting quickly in...

And through the numb and assaulted nerves around my ass, I felt a brief sensation I hadn't expected to feel. He was cumming! I could feel his cock pulsing, surging... Oh, fuck me! He rammed his cock into me for all he could two, three times, and swayed his hips slightly while riding out his orgasm. He grunted, then slowed to a stop.

"Tyler...," I whispered. That got me a quick flex of his cock still inside of me and a slow, sensually slow, deep drives into me. I couldn't help but feel like I had conquered something I would never have thought I could... Surreal... Mind completely blown!

Tyler waited a good minutes before pulling his waning cock from inside of me. I think we both sighed in unison when he was completely out. I watched him remove the condom and climb onto the bed, laying back as I was with his legs over the edge of the bed. He took my hand, "That was... I'm serious, that was amazing...," he said softly.

So many emotions were flowing inside of me I wasn't sure I could even speak without breaking down and crying. What the hell?! I squeezed his hand, "Thank you... That truly was amazing, special...," I replied closing my eyes. I wondered if he truly realized how much this night meant to me, validated a portion of my transition I feared constantly - never being wanted by anyone...

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AUTHORS NOTE: Thank you for reading my story, for the comments left or sent to me directly, and all the "Likes". I try to answer each post / message in a timely manner, but I want to let you know I'm going on vacation for the next 9 days - sunny Mexico here I come! I will try to check in while away - but don't count on it. I will pick up where I left off in this story when I return. Thanks again for tagging along!

XOXO

Rachel

Author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Wednesday, March 28th 12:13 AM
Tyler slowly moved the arm, then leg he had slung over my body as we cuddled while coming down from our sexual highs. The warmth of his skin on mine was mesmerizing to me and I wondered if he felt anywhere near the same as I did. I watch him sit up, look back at me, and smile, "I wish I could stay longer, but Dana will probably think I got abducted or something ridiculous like that... I'm sorry, I should probably go."

I reached for his arm and gave it a little squeeze, "Sure...," I replied quietly, almost as a question. I didn't want him to go, but I was happy it didn't feel like he was trying to run out of here right after we'd finished. We'd been laying next to each other for at least thirty minutes and during that calm there were a few kisses, some touching, and a comfortable silence. My mind was running on overload and as much as I wanted to talk about what had happened, what it meant to me, how I wanted to see him again - we just held each other silently and that probably spoke volumes. Could he sense how I was feeling?

Tyler stood and went about getting dressed. He had such a nice ass, OMG, what a nice ass! He looked back at me while pulling his pants up, "You okay?"

Was I okay? Are you kidding me?! I was better than okay... "Wish you didn't have to go...," I said at a whisper, "Will I see you tomorrow?"

He smiled, "It's already tomorrow... I'm sure we can work something out."

I crooked my head towards the alarm clock on the nightstand - 12:15 AM - Augh... I needed a shower and I needed to be asleep! I would need to be up at 6:00 AM to get a quick bite to eat and then meet Bill at 7:30 AM in lobby for my half-hour final rehearsal at 8:00 AM. Augh, augh, and augh... Right now, the competition meant far less to me than the opportunity to meet Tyler again and repeat what we'd just enjoyed together. Well, minus the bondage like head-lock thing. After the fact it was a bit scary, but exciting also - I suppose. I hadn't processed it entirely, but I would probably mention it was a bit uncomfortable and ask we skipped that kind of thing next time. Would he be disappointed in my not wanting to play so rough? Would there even be a...

"Come here you...," Tyler said after dressing, reaching his hand out toward me. When I took his hand he pulled me gently to a standing position, then hugged me tightly. I felt his hand roam over my soft giggly ass, squeezing firmly causing me to grind my body into his. He leaned in to kiss me and after a few seconds pulled away, "Thank you for not being too mad at me..."

I looked into his eyes, "Please don't tell Dana about this..."

He replied quickly, "Ah, yeah - don't need him kicking my ass...," he chuckled.

There was one last peck on the lips, a soft gliding of his hand over my chest, and a light playful slap of my ass. I walked him to the door, hid behind it as he left, and as soon as the door shut I felt very alone. It was tomb quiet, but my mind was racing. Where had all my inhibitions gone? I just had sex with a man I barely knew. What the hell!

Augh... I could beat myself up twenty ways to Sunday, but I need to get to sleep! Go, get ready for bed, get ready for a big day - today! I'm sure I'll see him later... I hope...

Wednesday, March 28th 7:48 AM
Bill started talking as soon as we met in the lobby, I smiled a lot, but didn't add much. Him and Charles enjoyed the Blue Man show last night and had an amazing dessert in the MGM Grand on the way back to the hotel. I was dying to tell someone about my night, but I didn't want a lecture about how I needed to be on my game for the competition. Last night was certainly not me staying focused on being ready for tonight. I yawned unexpectedly, "You didn't sleep well?"

"No, I slept deep, just didn't get enough sleep...," I replied, enunciating the word 'enough' like he was in on what had happened. Augh! Stop! Hold your tongue...

"Oh, well you better get some down time before tonight. You ready for this," he asked concerned.

"As much as I can be, I guess... Wish you were playing for me though - I don't have a good feeling about Brian..."

"He's a pro Brea, he'll deliver - you'll see...," he said trying to encourage my doubts away.

Wednesday, March 28th 8:10 AM
It took a few minutes to get settled into the first song. Mike dialed up my levels for 'Toxic' and as soon as Brian began to play I had to stop him. Something wasn't right, didn't sound right, and I asked Mike to check - he did and Brian began again. Okay, that's more... I got the first line out and had to stop again, "Something isn't right with this IEM (In Ear Monitor), can we switch it out," I asked Mike.

"Sure... Hold on...," Mike replied. He came on stage, unhooked the IEM I was wearing and plugged in another.

I adjusted them in my ears as he watched, "I'm really sorry, it just didn't sound right..."

"No problem Breanna, we want this to be right, so whatever it takes. We got you...," he smiled and patted me on the back to let me know I was ready to go.

I hummed a few warm-up exercises, now that sounded better. I turned to Brian, "That sounds better, wanna go?"

He nodded and the intro sprung from the piano and I began singing, "Baby, can't you see... I'm calling... A guy like you should wear a warning...," I looked towards Bill watching from center auditorium and he held up two thumbs. It was the confidence I needed to plow through the rest of the song.

As Brian played the last haunting notes I smiled, turned toward stage left and gave Mike a thumbs up. When Brian stopped playing I walked over to him and gave him a hug, "That was perfect," I said, hoping I didn't sound too neurotic with the encouragement.

"Cool, think I'm set. By the way, you nail that song like you just did and you'll be in the finals. Not trying to play favorites or anything, and trust me there are some amazing singers, but you are in a class of your own..."

I was stunned by the compliment and hugged him again, "Thank you so much Brian..."

He stood and headed off stage as Mike was in my IEM, "You ready for your next song?"

I held up a finger indicating I needed a moment, then walked to the edge of the stage where Bill was waiting, "How was it," I asked.

"Good, a bit more gravelly than usual don't you think? Your throat bothering you or something?"

"No, not really," which was a lie. I had woke up with a sore neck and a bit of a sore throat. I tried to get ahead of those issues with Advil and warm chamomile tea when I woke up and more tea with breakfast.

"If you say so... Watch your breathing. You got this...," he said finally. I'm not sure he believed me about my throat, but I wasn't going to get into any details he didn't need to know about. I'd be fine by tonight - I hoped.

In my IEM I heard Mike, "Hey Brea, you got about eight minutes - you ready for your second song?"

"Sure, let's go...," Bill nodded, knowing I was being talked to from back stage. I watch him head toward center auditorium as I returned to the classic condenser style microphone that had the retro look I wanted for both songs tonight.

The void of vocals music began and on cue I began singing...

Wednesday, March 28th 8:33 AM
"How was that last take," I asked.

He looked at me a long moment, then placed his fingertips gently at my jaw line, "Sing Aaaaa, Bbbbb, Oooo...,"

I did as requested, not even questioning the request. When done I asked, "What?"

"Something doesn't sound right, you sure your throat isn't bothering you?"

Augh! "Maybe a little, but it's nothing. I'll be fine by tonight..."

He looked at me concerned, "You should have skipped this final check Brea. Your vocal chords could have gotten unnecessarily strained. You were dialed in yesterday and if you had told me before going in there you were having throat issues I would have said to skip this session. Seriously..."

Bill looked disappointed, "I'm sorry, I don't think it's that bad..."

"There are going to be some trained ears listening to you tonight and if you're not at one-hundred percent it's going to be obvious. Tea, Advil, limit talking, and do not practice anymore today. You know what you need to sing inside and out Brea, save yourself for tonight...," he paused, "Then after the show, no alcohol, limit talking, in bed early, repeat tomorrow... Breathing, focus, and save yourself for the shows."

I respected everything he was telling me and expected no less from him. It was a bit uncanny he could tell something was off with my voice. I hadn't thought that my voice was off because of last night, but now thinking about the gagging and severe coughing I did while choking on Tyler's... Yeah, that pretty much has to be the reason for the difficulties with my throat and with my voice, "I understand... Thank you Bill for being here for me and believing in me..."

"We love you Brea... You can do great things with that voice of yours, I think this competition will prove that to you. Now, go get some rest. No arguments young lady..." he said smiling and giving me a hug before he headed off toward the casino to find Charles...

Wednesday, March 28th 8:46 AM
I had just finished going to the bathroom when my phone jingled. I swiped the lock and saw it was a text from my mom - 'Through security, should be at the hotel by noon. Going to grab some coffee. Excited to see you. Love you.'

I texted back, 'Let me know when you arrive and I'll come down to the lobby.'

Mom: 'OK.'

I set an alarm for 11:00 AM, plugged my phone in, and set it on the nightstand before pulling the comforter back and climbing into bed. I was wearing just a t-shirt and footie socks, and the coolness of the sheets made me shiver. The AC was on low and droning, so the cool air and numbing sound would put me out pretty quickly. I laid there on my back in the dark thinking about last night, about Tyler being inside of me, about how he didn't rush, about how one day it would as natural as breathing...

Wednesday, March 28th 11:00 AM
The buzzing of my phone vibrating on the nightstand combined with the awful alarm music had me feeling around for the phone. When I found it I swiped the alarm 'Dismiss' icon and set the phone down. Augh, my mouth was dry and when I swallowed that desert in my mouth tasted like stale cooked broccoli or something just as gross. I did another test swallow and my throat was still sore. Shit...

I threw the comforter off and instantly pulled it back on. Oh crap! It was cold in here. Damn it! I had to get rolling, so repeated the toss of the comforter and quickly darted into the bathroom - closing the door quickly and turning on the heat. I shuddered, then got the shower going... I could really use a thirty minute shower, but I didn't have the time. Before I removed my t-shirt I tossed three Advil in my mouth and took a sip of water straight from the faucet to get them down - please calm my throat I thought while looking at myself in the mirror as the steam began to form at the upper edges...

Wednesday, March 28th 12:08 PM
Mom had texted around 11:40 to tell me she had just landed. I hoped she didn't have all the issues Bill and Charles had getting off their plane. At 12:04 she texted again to say she was getting her bag and knew where to wait for the shuttle bus to the hotel. Instead of waiting in my room I decided to go and wait for her in the lobby.

When the doors to the elevator opened to the lobby there were police and security people milling about. I tensed up and looked around for some kind of issue. When I didn't see anything, I walked toward some chairs in the atrium area of the lobby and sat down watching the activity. I wondered if someone had been caught cheating in the casino or something. I was looking toward the front desk when I heard my name, "Breanna...," called out from behind me.

I turned toward the voice, to see Wyatt coming my way, "Hey Wyatt...," I said smiling.

"You see the protestors," he asked.

"No, I just got here. What happened?"

"Not entirely sure, but I guess a couple protestors got past security and began thumping their bibles and spewing a bunch of crap. A couple of them had enough time to unfurl a banner, if you can believe that. Someone said a fight broke out, there was a bunch of shoving, and finally the police reacted and took a couple people out of here... That's what one of the PBS people told me. Think they got it on film, so they're in a conference room showing the police footage."

"Oh wow... That's a bit crazy, huh?"

"Yeah, really is... What kind of rent-a-security does this place even have in place," he mused, then changed directions, "I don't know if you like the PBS aspect of this competition or not, but if you hang out here and they see you - they're going to rope you into an impromptu interview... I just escaped a short one," he said rolling his eyes.

"I'm just waiting for my mom, then I'll be out of here," I picked up a newspaper from the table beside my chair and opened it up - essentially hiding behind it, "This should throw them off my scent..."

"Yeah, well you've been warned," he said with a chuckle.

"Thanks, I appreciate that. Did you get a rehearsal slot this morning?"

"Just finished, well before the interview thing... You?"

"Earlier, think I'm ready. How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good. The band is pretty damn good, so I'm excited about performing with a crew that knows what they're doing for once...," he replied laughing, "My guys from home are pretty sloppy - good - but sloppy, especially after a couple drinks. We perform in local bars around Nashville, but it's a grind and certainly doesn't pay the rent..."

"Yeah, I only do the amateur scene in San Diego and I was worried about the guy on piano, Brian, not being able to deliver my arrangement - but today he was spot on. You have any trouble with your EIM?"

"No, no monitor problems. I like Brian, seems like a good guy..."

"Yeah, totally... I just want this first night to be over with. I hope to make it to the final, but I'm not counting on it. He said there were some really talented singers amongst us," I said hoping I didn't sound too worried.

"Yup, what Gary told me also..."

I looked confused, "Gary?"

"Guitar player, tall, nice looking, someone I wouldn't be opposed to meeting after the show," he said smiling, "Ya know, what happens in Vegas..."

"Mmmhuh, stays here...," I said smiling, while thinking - I'm all for that - but wouldn't mind some of Vegas following me home.

"Well, I'm out... Gotta see if my luck in the casino is holding, hopefully not drop too much in there. We doing the club thing tonight," he asked.

Shit! I needed to touch base with Blake. Augh... "I'm still working on that. Need to find my contact. I'll let ya know before the show," I replied.

"Okay... See you later..."

"Thanks Wyatt..."

He looked at me confuse, then nodded, "Better get that newspaper up - PBS on da' prowl...," he said laughing as he walked away, pointing towards the entryway to the conference rooms.

I pulled the paper up, hoping they hadn't seen us talking. I did not want to get interviewed again...

Wednesday, March 28th 12:21 PM
After a quick hug my mom asked, "You look like you haven't slept well, what's wrong?"

If anyone could see right through me, especially given my journey the past five years, it was my mom. I explained the grind had been pretty tough to keep up with and that I thought I had a sore throat. That last bit of disclosure got me a lecture and her rummaging through her purse for some crazy organic throat lozenges. I complained, but she gave me that 'I know better...' look and I just went with it - popping one in my mouth. Yucko! Mmmm, dirt flavored! Augh...

I grabbed the handle to her suitcase after she was done getting her room and we turned toward the elevators, that's when I noticed Blake walking through the lobby, "I need to talk to that guy... Can I meet you in your room," I asked my mom hastily.

"Of course honey. Who is that," she asked.

"His name is Blake Schultz. He's..."

She interrupted me, "The stalker?"

I had told her the story about Blake recruiting me for the competition and was now regretting the use of the word 'stalker' to describe any of our interactions. Grrr! "No... It's more like he was oddly persistent and I over reacted..."

"I think I'd like to meet him..."

"Mom...," I was glaring at her, "Do not embarrass me..."

"When have I ever done that sweetie," she asked knowing full well I could come up with a list of incidents if she really wanted me to.

"Augh... Mom, please...," I was pleading now and felt juvenile.

I watched her raise her hand to wave and I snapped my head towards where Blake was a moment ago - no longer there. And there he was, almost upon us, and smiling... How did you get over here so quickly?!

"Breanna... Hey, good to see you. This must be your mother," he asked.

"Oh, hi Blake... Yes, this is my mom," I turned toward my mom with a worried look on my face. Don't embarrass me I thought - trying to send that thought to her via a woman's telepathic thought process or whatever...

"So nice to meet you Mrs. Calloway...," Blake said, extending his hand to shake hers.

"Likewise... Please, I'm Denise, Mrs. Calloway is reserved for my dentist and stock broker, a few others...," she said smiling.

Blake chuckled politely at her little joke, which I'd heard a number of times and with all types of professionals she interacted with - doctors, employees, mayor, etc. "You excited for tonight's show Denise," he asked.

"Oh, I am... I've been watching Brea sing since she was this tall," she held her hand out about waist high, "She will give the competition a run for their money."

Augh! MOM! Please stop! I smiled feebly at Blake, "I'll do my best mom... No pressure," I rolled my eyes at no one in particular.

"You'll do fine," Blake said looking at me, then turning to my mom, "We're excited to have Breanna here... What are you ladies up too? Did you just get here Denise?"

"Yes, just got checked in. Think we'll probably grab lunch, any recommendations," my mom asked.

"I'm partial to the 'Little Cayman'. It's just past the casino there," he pointed down a hallway across the lobby, "Here...," he pulled out his phone and dialed a number, "Hey Cass... Blake. I'm sending a couple VIP's over," he paused to listen, "For two... Breanna Calloway," anther pause, "Yes, tab that for me... You're the best. Thanks..." When he finished he put his phone back into his suit jacket, "Okay, Cass has a table for you ladies. Feel free to order whatever you would like to eat and drink - we'll pick up the tab. I really like the blackened Red Snapper, but if you don't want seafood you can't go wrong with the Jerk beef tips."

"Thank you Blake," my mom said, "You didn't need to do that..."

"My pleasure... Anything else we can do for you?"

I don't know why I felt so nervous, but this was my chance to ask Blake about getting a group of us into the club tonight. Augh! Breathe... "I, I meant to try to get with you last night about something... I was hoping to a, get a table in either of the clubs tonight... After the show... Like for twelve of us?" I sounded like I had no confidence, sheepish, and more nervous than I expected. I looked at my mom and she was giving me a puzzled look. What?!

He thought about it for a second, "Not a problem, but it'll cost you." The confused look on my face must have spoke volumes because he didn't wait for me to question the 'cost'. "One drink, later, my treat," he finished his friendly ask.

What the hell was going on?! Between my mom's looks, which I hoped Blake hadn't picked up on, and my inability to speak - aka 'nervous school girl syndrome' - this meet up with Blake wasn't going as I expected it would. I was reeling a little, trying to catch my bearings, process his ask... Before I could speak, my mom said, "Brea's got a sore throat, Blake. Alcohol is probably not on her list of beverages to consume the next couple days...," she paused to look at me, "Right honey..."

Both of them were looking at me, say something! "Yeah, I probably should stay away from alcohol..." What was my freak'n problem?! Why couldn't I speak with any confidence?

"Not a problem, the bar menu has plenty of non-alcoholic options. We gotta deal," he asked.

"Sure..." What was I going to say, 'No!' "Guess... I'll look for you in the club after the contestants 'Meet and Greet' after the show..."

"Perfect. Well, you ladies enjoy lunch. I have to check on a few things... Nice to meet you Denise. Hopefully see you ladies tonight in the club later..."

Mom replied in kind to the 'Nice to meet you...' and Blake turned and headed towards the conference room area. We headed toward the bank of elevators in silence and entered the middle one in the bank of five. Alone in the elevator mom gave me a look. "What," I asked.

"He likes you...," she said.

"No... He's just a nice man..."

"Okay...," she drug the word out, "How many others in this competition had their airfare paid for to get them here, get lunch paid for, get VIP treatment in the club..."

"Mom, all our meals and lodging have been picked up by the hotel for this competition. Getting lunch, he's just being polite. And honestly, the club thing - if we're any good tonight people will want to be around us to rub elbows with the contestants. It'll be a draw for his club to have us there. He's no dummy, he knows we're value added to this place... And did you hear what he said? He thinks you're going to be in the club tonight also. Don't read more than there is with him mom..."

She looked at me a long moment, then said, "So, he's not attractive at all..."

"Mom!" I started a little exasperated, "I don't know, I honestly he's okay I guess," I didn't give it a second thought and wished I could sway the conversation some other direction, "You know he's like ten years older than me, maybe more..."

"Nothing wrong with an older man Brea... Generally a little brighter than the younger ones," she said with a giggle.

"He's a nice man, that's it..." Please! I did not want to talk with her about men or whatever...

"Yes, a nice man," she pause as if she conceded my point, then added, "Who just happens to like my daughter..." I could see in the mirrored finish of the elevator doors she was smiling and trying to suppress a laugh. Augh! Mom's...

Wednesday, March 28th 6:49 PM
All the contestants had arrived at the theater to prepare for the show by 5:00 PM - not a single person was late. The first order of business was walking through the process for the evening - where to be, how to enter / exit the stage area, dressing rooms, food and drinks request, and hanging out in the 'green room' until called to be on deck as the next performer or waiting for everyone to complete singing their song. When everyone had finished singing, we would be paraded on stage for some pomp and circumstance, and the six finalists for the finale would be announced. The show would then be over, the audience would be invited to meet the singers, and we'd be paraded to a banquet room to mingle. Oh, and don't forget the PBS cameras will be running and catching all the action...

Because it took longer for the women to get made-up and there were only six makeup and hair stylists on staff tonight - we went through getting made-up in shifts. Dressing was a bit crowded and I got to share a room to get dressed with Michelle and Janet - both from my group yesterday. Wyatt got paired up with Dana and Jesse - the only three males in the contest. Everyone was dressing to impress - a few of the women were certainly taking their outfits to the Vegas show girl extreme, but most were in beautiful ball gowns and looked amazing. Then there was me in my Britney Spears wanna-look-like-her leather pants, black heeled boots, long black gloves, black wig, shawl, and leather black bra. If I wasn't intimidated enough before - these women looking as they did certainly knocked me down a few notches...

When I was dressed I made my way to the 'green room' and eventually sat next to Wyatt. He was dressed entirely in black - suit, shirt, tie, cowboy boots and hat. He looked like someone straight out of a country music video. Of course when I entered the room the seven others already waiting - either standing or sitting - didn't hesitate to 'check' my outfit out. Most looks were polite, but there were some judging pretty hard and I tried to not let it bother me - which of course was a battle I wasn't going to win. Breathe...

"Let me guess, Britney Spears," Wyatt asked after I sat.

"That obvious huh," I replied quietly.

"I personally love her and you look damn good if you don't mind me saying. You singing 'Toxic'?"

"Mmmhuh... What are you singing?"

"Putting a spin on the Eagles 'Hotel California'. Going to twang it up a little... It kills in Nashville, we'll see about here in Vegas...," he said smiling and appearing to not be nervous at all.

I really hadn't given it much thought, but I shouldn't have been surprised that some of these talented singers were going to go the creative route and spin a popular song to showcase not only their voices, but who they were as artists. I looked around the room and wondered what everyone else was singing. While getting dressed I learned Michelle was singing 'Black Velvet' by Alannah Miles and Janet was singing something by Carrie Underwood I wasn't familiar with.

"Everyone... Five minutes... I need Jenna - you're up first. Lisa on deck...," someone with headphones on was saying to the group milling about the 'green room'. Everyone watched him walk to a TV monitor, turn it on, and adjust the volume. It was a live feed of the stage, from the left rear side. So, we'd be seeing the back side of the singer and the audience - Oh God! From the look of the feed - the audience had packed their way into the theater... Augh! Nerves, not now... Breathe...

I watched as Jenna moved towards the door, with Lisa right behind her. They waited for the headphone wearing coordinator to exit, then waved at those waiting our turns. A couple people wished them luck - I was thankful I wasn't first and wasn't last. If the nerves hadn't kicked in fully to those waiting - that had just changed. You could feel the room tense up just a little... It was about to get very real, very fast...

Author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Wednesday, March 28th 8:13 PM
The show was progressing as expected and everyone who had performed already had definitely brought their 'A' games - their very best performances. Only two of the performances so far might be considered outside of the singers vocal abilities. Interestingly enough Alexia had done a Whitney Houston song - 'I Will Always Love You' and while not a terrible rendition - she didn't have control of her upper ranges and her performance likely suffered in the judges eyes.

I could sing most of Whitney's catalog of songs - but I would never try singing any of her songs as part of a competition, under pressure. Realistically, my performance of that song would have been full of flaws also. It's not that Alexia didn't have a good performance overall - but it just wasn't in the same category as some of the others who had performed before her.

Jenna choose the Mairiah Carey song - 'Vision of Love'. Maybe it was nerves, but she didn't nail the song and seemed shaky in her higher registers. To be fair she was the first to perform tonight, so maybe there were nerves involved. Plus, the band didn't seem on point to me, like they needed a warm-up act. They seemed way more in sync following her performance. She might be on the bubble, but with four singers left, she was probably a long shot to make the finale.

I was spending so much time calculating my chances of moving on and my nerves were spiking to levels approaching my tipping point. I watched every performer and there was no doubt that this competition was being taken seriously and I had better get my mind right before walking out on stage... Focus... I was beginning to question my song choice... Focus? Augh! Focus!

If the competition wasn't enough to waiver my resolve - the presence of the PBS crew in the 'green' room, with a camera in everyone's faces and the microphone boom swinging around to capture quiet conversations or encouraging critiques was nothing short of annoying. Leza Howell was not only the emcee for the show, but she was being run ragged between her duties introducing the singers, then while performances were going on she was asking questions of those waiting for their chance to perform. Luckily she was focused more with talking to those who'd just finished performing than those of us waiting our turns. Her questions were easy, like - "How do you think did?" and "How did you feel on stage?" and "What did you think of the audiences energy?" It all added to already frazzled nerves if you were waiting to perform...

"Breanna Calloway... You're on deck," the headphone wearing staffer said from the door of the 'green' room.

Hearing my name called took my breath away for a split second. I looked at Wyatt, who was smiling as I scooted to the edge of the couch cushion and stood. He reached up and took my hand, "You'll be fine... Relax..."

"Thanks Wyatt...," I turned to follow my caller toward the stage waiting area. The applause grew louder as I got closer to the stage. My stomach roiled and I tried to slow my breathing, while concentrating on walking in these spiked heeled boots. I should have worn them more, practiced walking in them... Augh! Focus...

"Good luck Breanna," I heard someone say from in front of me in the dim hallway to the stage.

I looked up to see Carol walking towards me. She had just finished performing and as we passed I croaked out a weak, "Thanks..."

I could hear Leza Howell on stage saying something, applause followed, then she introduced Michelle. The applause was crazy loud, deafening, even from off stage and it gave me chills, goose bumps up and down my arms. Oh fuck... Breathe...

Wednesday, March 28th 8:19 PM
Michelle was killing it... Her voice was so slinky smooth and suited to the Alannah Miles song 'Black Velvet'. She knew what she was doing, especially her lower register growl when she dropped into the chorus. She would easily make it to the next round. The band was so...

"Rrrreep! Rrreep! Rrreep!," a short pause, then the screeching continued, "Rrrreep! Rrreep! Rrreep!"

The noise was erupting from all directions and screeched, clawed at the back stage area for your attention. Tiny LED lights on the wall and ceiling were flashing randomly to the noise. It startled me so much my heart jumped a beat and I Iooked around nervously - what the fuck?! I could see stage personnel looking around concerned, then they began acting, moving as if they had a new purpose. The band went silent awkwardly. Michelle had already stopped singing, confused she looked back towards the stage sound control board and Mike the stage manager. I could see him talking into his mic as the house lights were brought up. He left the mixing board and headed on stage - all while we were fighting to endure the screeching "Rrrreep! Rrreep! Rrreep!" and now brightly lit backstage area. Was it this loud for the audience? Shit!

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mike began at the microphone on stage next to Michelle, "Please exit the theater either through the rear or the two exits at the front sides of the stage..." He was pointing like an airline stewardess, "Thank you... Nothing to be alarmed about... Exit to the rear or at the stage..."

I felt a tap on my shoulder, "This way Breanna... Fire alarm. It's probably nothing, but we need to exit out the back."

Fire alarm? Was there a fire? Shit! I followed the stagehand back towards the 'green' room, which was now empty. An exit door was open in front of us and I could see a crowd of people in the alleyway behind the hotel. Once outside I looked left, then right - it was like a sea of people and growing from the exits on each side of the backstage exit. The two lane alleyway behind the hotel was becoming packed - many with concerned faces. Everyone was talking at once - which was noisier than I expected and when I pulled my EIM's the volume of the crowd jumped. The alarm wasn't as load as inside the theater, but combined with the crowd, the acoustics of the alleyway bordered by the hotel and backside of a lesser strip hotel, it was deafening... Thank God the alleyway was lit or this would be a bit spooky. I looked for any sign of a fire, there didn't appear to be smoke or flames.

I made my way to a group of contestants, looking for Wyatt and Janet - they weren't in this cluster. I turned and saw Janet, she waved, and I headed toward her. "Well ain't that special...," she said when I joined her, Wyatt, and Dana.

"Do you think there really a fire," I asked.

"I don't smell anything," Wyatt said, "If there is it's either in the kitchen or someone is fucking with the show..."

I thought about my mom, Bill and Charles, and Kaley - wondering if they exited to the rear or out front. I tried to scan the crowd - no luck finding them in the sea of bodies. It would be a huge deal if there really was a fire. If it was a false alarm, where was all the security Karen Cole had said would be on site? There was an outright brawl in the lobby this morning and now this? The fucking tolerant right wing Christian warriors out front - was this their doing?

In the distance I could hear the sound of sirens. When more of the gathered crowd began to hear them the volume of those talking dropped slightly, but only momentarily. Someone with a blow-horn began speaking, I turned to locate the speaker - Mike - and found him near the stage exit. "We will need to clear this area," he began, "Please move to the north - follow the stage staff with flashlights..." He repeated his message, but added, "Thank you..." to the end of his directions. We began moving up the alley towards the main cross street that bordered the hotel with the rest of the crowd as the sound of sirens grew louder behind us.

Wednesday, March 28th 8:51 PM
The problem with moving within the herd of people up the alley was trying to keep up in these now insanely uncomfortable high heeled boots. My feet were screaming and all I wanted to do was sit and get them off! When we rounded the corner there were more hotel staff directing us to continue and round the front corner of the hotel and reenter at the main entrance. We could hear people asking if there was a fire, but the staffers replied they weren't sure. Why did these stupid hotels insist on taking up entire blocks? Grrr!

I should take these boots off I thought... Okay, it's not much further. Get out of the cold night air and into the warmth of the hotel lobby - see if I can locate my mom. I was nearly naked in this outfit from the waist up and felt even more so without my phone. I hoped she wasn't worried about me... Augh! This really sucks!

As we approached the corner to the hotels front side we could hear shouting, then someone on a blow-horn yelling some message that was unintelligible. It was a little confusing, at least until we got entirely around the corner - then it became more obvious what was being broadcast, "Jesus would not approve...," the person was saying, "You will burn in hell!" Fuck... "Repent..." Shit, we didn't need this crap...

It would take very little to set off the powder keg that was the Pro LGBTQ and Transgender audience that had been forced to exit the theater from the rear of the hotel. These people weren't happy about the shows interruption. All said, we were easily three-hundred plus strong marching to reenter the hotel and get back into the theater - when it was deemed safe. These idiots, an unnecessary distraction...

And then - it happened... Whomever was on that blow-horn for the Christian wing nuts used the word, "Faggots..." and it was on! The gap between the people in front of us grew quickly as a portion of the them rushed forward to confront the heckling protestors. Some people even charged past us! There were shouts, the sound of more sirens, and a jumble of screams and profanities that flowed as the two opposing groups collided - separated only by a handful of police and wooden sawhorse like barricades. The police were shouting in vain over the protestors - at least until an officer from his car flipped on his siren and lights. He began ordering the crowd to disperse from the PA system in his vehicle. It did little to cool those gathering and were heated...

Wyatt, Janet, and I watched the outnumbered group of maybe thirty, possibly forty, protestors stand defiantly between the police, some hotel security, and the barricades setup along the sidewalk area in front of the hotel. The now highly aroused audience from the theater was not backing down and easily outnumbered the protestors by three to one, maybe even more. This wasn't going to be good if the police don't get control of these idiots...

"We don't need any of this shit," Wyatt yelled so we could hear him over the crowd. He took our hands and lead us to the left towards the hotels entrance, we were following the flow of the audience not interested in getting caught up in the conflict.

Wednesday, March 28th 8:57 PM
Pop! Pop, pop, pop, pop-pop-pop! What the fuck! The crowd around us was ducking, there was screaming, and the people in front of us began running toward the hotel lobby entrance thirty feet away. We did the same - caught up in the mob mentality to escape an unknown danger. Police were shouting, we could see their guns were drawn, as they were clearing a way through the protesting religious zealots. "Get down! On the ground! Now! ON THE GROUND!" Multiple voices commanded as we veered left towards the lobby. Gunfire? Oh, shit!

We made it into the lobby in a mass of bodies not daring to look back. If those were gun shots these people's shit had just entered the insane zone. In the crowded lobby we were intercepted by someone from the show staff and directed toward the conference room area. I looked back towards the lobby before we got to the conference room they wanted us to gather in - it was wall to wall bodies as far as I could see. When we approached the conference room two security personnel, unarmed, opened the doors for us and we were quickly surrounded by the other contestants and show staff. Questions flew as fast as the possible gunshots we heard outside, "Are you alright?" - "Were those gunshots?" - "Is anyone hurt?"

Wyatt answered for us - trying to maintain a calm demeanor and not stretching the reality of the situation. I looked around those gathered for Michelle. She wasn't in the room. Augh... The conference room door opened a moment later - Leza Howell and Michelle entered, followed by Karen Cole.

When Michelle joined us, there were hugs all around - interrupted by Karen Cole, "If I can have everyone's attention...," she paused, waiting for the room to settle down.

"Was there someone out there with a gun," Alexia asked impatiently.

"As of yet we have not been informed whether there was a gun or gunfire from the protesting crowd out front...," Karen replied, "We're waiting to speak with the police incident commander. As of right now we're all safe and I've been told the police have the situation under control..."

There were murmurs throughout the group and some questioning looks from the members of the stage crew, band, and PBS representatives - the contestants also. "We can't jump to any conclusions," she continued, "As of right now, the report from the Vegas Fire Department is we had a false alarm. We can be thankful for that..."

I heard someone behind me whisper something about the Vegas shooting several years ago and I shuddered. Holy fuck... We could have been set up to get shot at in that alley or run down by some idiot in a moving truck speeding through the alley to take as many of us out as possible. Fuck... This shit, the protestors, could be a bigger threat than anyone was considering. And tonight, tonight was just the first night of this competition! I closed my eyes - God, please watch over my mom...

Wednesday, March 28th 9:34 PM
The conference room was instantly quieted when the door opened and Blake Schultz entered, followed by a police officer with decorative bars on his collar. "Hello everyone," Blake began, "Not exactly the way we envisioned tonight going. I think Karen already informed you about the fire alarm. That was a false alarm, I just want to reiterate that. Someone pulled an alarm just around the corner from the theater entrance. We evacuated the theater and every room north, including two floors above the theater. We do have video of the person who pulled the alarm, but have not located them yet. A photo of this person has been released to all the local TV stations and Crime Stoppers has offered a ten-thousand dollar reward for information leading to an arrest and conviction. I've talked to the GM of the Grand Cayman and he's given permission for us to match that amount. We should have something on this person shortly...," he paused, "This is Captain Collin Bartell of the Las Vegas Police Department, I'll let him status you on the incident out front, Captain..."

"Good evening," he paused to get audience feedback and after receiving a meek reply in kind, 'Good evening...', he continued. "I'll begin with telling you what you heard out front of the hotel was not gunfire. What you heard were fireworks set off by one, possibly two, of the protestors out front. We have arrested two suspects and recovered some additional fireworks," he paused to look around at everyone, "As you can imagine that was a very dangerous act by those suspects, as my officers had to make a split second decision on whether there was a greater threat in that crowd. Those arrested are very lucky and are facing multiple charges - including a possible domestic terrorism charge."

There were a few comments from those listening intently, the most poignant was from Leza Howell who said, "That is so fucked up... Who do these people think they are?" She had a few people chorus that sentiment and I'm pretty sure everyone agreed with her.

When the comments died down Captain Bartell continued, "We did detain and search those protestors who we contained in the area in front of the hotel. We did not find any firearms. We did however take a couple pocket knives from three people," he paused to look around the room, "By order of the mayor the crowd was ordered to disperse or face possible arrest under city ordinance RCN 28.03.155 for gathering without a permit. Of twenty-eight protestors searched, fourteen refused to vacate the area and were subsequently arrested and taken to jail. We will have a beefed up presence on site through Friday mid-day and I can assure you no permits for gathering will be forthcoming from the city and we will not hesitate to arrest or detain anyone near this property that does not belong. Any questions?"

The room was silent, what was there to ask? Were these idiots going to get real jail time? We could only hope. Blake stepped forward, "Thank you Captain Bartell for the reassurance and the efforts of the Vegas Police Department tonight."

You might expect there would be applause or something after Blake finished speaking, but the room remained silent. Captain Bartell acknowledge Blake, shook his hand, and exited the room. I think the room was pretty much spent - the buildup to the show, the crazy fire alarm, and the protestors out front - in my opinion it was time to pull the plug for the night. The question on everyone's mind was likely - What happens next?

As if on cue Blake began speaking, "Here's where we're at with the show. We have ushered those from the audience still onsite back into the theater - a few open bars being set up in the foyer certainly helped to keep people around and we might have picked up some who didn't have tickets to the show but were in the hotel. Doesn't matter, we've got an enthused audience - I can assure you of that. But, I'm not going to lie, we're at half the capacity we had before things went south tonight - the energy is not going to be same - but there are at least three-hundred people in the theater wanting to see tonight's show to its conclusion. We can run the last four contestants through tonight, get the finale contestants set, have the after party, and call it a night. Or we throw the last four into the front of tomorrows show - set the finale then, perform the finale, crown a champion, and call it a wrap for our week of Transgender Visibility. Karen and I have discussed this and we feel the ultimate decision is yours to make..."

Great! Fucking great! While those who had performed already are likely going to want this night set in stone, we - the final four contestants get the shit end of the stick by having to perform after all this drama. And to a lesser crowd, no less... Yes, nerves were raw - mine especially, but we were going to be at a disadvantage performing tonight instead of waiting for tomorrow night's sold out show. Does the band get a choice? Are they ready to perform? I wanted this night to be over. I wanted to see my mom, my friends, and maybe even meet up with Tyler...

Jenna spoke first, "I'd like the finale set tonight, but I've already performed. I think those who haven't performed need to decide what we do with the show..." A few of the other contestants agreed with her and stated so. What came next was silence and stares at the people in my group and myself.

"Okay, team... Sounds like it's up to us - let's discuss...," Wyatt said to Michelle, Janet, and myself. We walked toward a wall away from the larger group of contestants, while a number of the theater staff had words with Karen and exited with the band in tow.

When we were alone, Michelle spoke first, "This is fucked up... But, I'd like to be done tonight. That's my vote..."

Really? Not what I wanted to hear...

Wyatt nodded and looked at Janet, "I'm for being done...," she said.

All eyes turned toward me... Damn it! "You know we're at a disadvantage...," I said, trying not to sound like I was complaining.

"Yeah, well, I'm for getting this over with... Come on Brea, let's just let it roll and have some fun with it...," Wyatt encouraged.

Augh... I, I don't think I want to do this tonight! Wyatt cocked his head and gave me a smirk - "Fine...," I said after a few seconds. I probably wasn't going to make the finale anyway... Fuck it! Whatever!

Wednesday, March 28th 10:04PM
While the crowd might have been smaller, their enthusiasm in support of us had been ratcheted up a few notches - the free alcohol the show had provided the likely cause? Maybe... When Leza Howell went on stage to begin getting the crowd back into show mode it took a full minute before they calmed down enough for her to introduce Michelle. When Michelle approached the microphone you'd swear the volume of the crowd was even more enthusiastic - like she'd already performed and they were showing their appreciation. I couldn't believe the support, this was crazy, insane!!

At the microphone Michelle said, "Let's do this...," and turned towards the band and pointed. They punched into her song like I hadn't heard any other song performed tonight. Two lines into the song and I could tell she was on fire, she owned that song... The break, the rejuvenated audience, and her performance - she would be in the finale, no doubt about it.

The applause when Michelle was done can be summed up with one word - deafening. Absolutely deafening. So much so, that when Leza Howell tried to settle the crowd to introduce me, she had to wait at least a minute. I got chills from the energy... Okay, use that! You got this... Breathe...

"Ladies and gentlemen - Breanna Calloway...," Leza said while extending an arm in my direction. I felt that familiar jolt of nervous energy, took a final controlled breath, and made my way on stage.

The stage crew had swapped out microphones for my condenser styled model - I wanted the vibe from the 40's, even with my 90's Britney garb - like flipping the pop song on its ear and slowing it down to something from days past. When I walked on stage the crowd again went crazy and after fifteen, twenty seconds I looked back at Brian on piano, flashing him two by two - meaning to start playing, but double up the intro... Hopefully the audience will be calmed down enough for me to begin singing.

Breathe... I turned to the mic-stand and grabbed it seductively as the notes began ringing out from the piano and the audience settled down for me to begin singing... Breathe...

Wednesday, March 28th 10:26PM
"Don't you know that you're toxic? Intoxicate me now... With your lovin' now... I think I'm ready now... I think I'm ready now... Intoxicate me now... With your lovin' now... I think I'm ready now..." My voice faded with those last few lyrics and Brian rolled one more haunting trip through the melody and let it fade... That fade didn't last to completion, because the audience in the theater lost their minds! The roar of applause and cheers were insane, absolutely insane! Their response was no less than intoxicating - fitting for the song I just finished singing. I leaned into the mic and said, "Thank you..." I'm certain no one heard me. I exited stage left...

Wyatt was the first person I saw backstage and he was grinning ear to ear, "I think you killed it kiddo...," he shouted over the applause still going on - while Leza Howell was trying to cue up Wyatt's introduction.

I couldn't wipe the smile from my face no matter how hard I tried, "I just warmed them up for you...," I kissed his cheek - careful not to leave any of the caked on red lipstick I was wearing behind.

"Congrats...," he squeezed my hands as his name was being announced by Leza Howell.

"Give 'um hell...," I said smiling and saw my guide back to the 'green' room nod at me to follow him. As we walked the backstage maze the crowd was going crazy behind us, then blew up as the first bars of 'Hotel California' floated through the theater full of energy, powerfully from the band. Wyatt could sing that song with made up words and they would still eat up his performance. Holy shit - what a rush!

Wednesday, March 28th 10:35PM
Once in the 'green' room I got plenty of compliments and one playful jab from Jenna. She said, "Well that was a mistake - letting your group decide whether to perform tonight..." She was all smiles and the hug she gave me was genuine. She whispered in my ear, "Congrats..., That was the winning song..." It gave me goose bumps and I thanked her twice for the love.

My moment was cut short, because Wyatt's performance was nothing short of amazing. His voice like silky country love'n, the band played better than any other song played tonight, he had silenced the 'green' room... I wouldn't be surprised if someone in the crowd wasn't brought to tears. That's how powerful his performance was...

"Oh, shit...," Dana said.

At first I was confused, but then saw it - a single light shinning in the audience, then another, and ten more... Then nearly half the audience had their flashlights on their phones going, raised high, swaying to the music... That, that was "the moment" of this entire show. This guy had just blown every other contestant out of the water - including me.

Wednesday, March 28th 10:48PM
When Wyatt entered the ‘green’ room after his performance he was literally mobbed. Compliments and congratulatory words flowed earnestly – someone, Katie I think, said he probably just won it all with his performance. I think he was trying to play it cool, but what he just experienced on stage I believe moved him. He probably was dreading going back to Nashville after that audience approval of his singing abilities… I was so happy for him. Totally deserving of the all the praise he was getting.

When he finally got a chance to speak a full sentence he said, “Did you hear the audience? That was insanely crazy…” Leza Howell showed up a few seconds after he made that statement and he repeated it when she asked him what he thought about his performance – a PBS camera in his face, another panning around to capture the reaction of the rest of us, and two microphone booms trying to capture every word.

Everyone was so intent on interacting with Wyatt that no one caught the beginning of Janet’s performance. By the time Leza Howell left the ‘green’ room everyone had calmed down enough to focus on Janet – who was really putting on a show with her wireless mic and using every inch of the stage to strut her stuff while performing the Shania Twain song ‘Man! I Feel Like a Woman’. During the guitar solo she was all over the guitarist, Gary, and that brought on roars from the audience and a few, “Wow…” comments from those watching backstage. She certainly knew how to work the audience and she knew how to work her body… Vocally she wasn’t as impressive as Michelle, but she had chops. Her song choice might have played a bit to the audience – calculated? Probably… I smiled to myself – good for her!

Making the finale, which would be just six of the twelve of us, was going to be tough. My honest assessment of the rankings, including Janet performing right now – I was probably on the bubble for making the cut. I would not want to be one of the judges. I was happy with my performance, though I wondered if maybe I should have worked my body a little more – used the stage, rather than hanging out at the microphone the entire performance. Hell, too late now to beat myself up with what-ifs. I think it is going to be too close to call because everyone was honestly so good…

Wednesday, March 28th 11:01 PM
We were called on stage as a group by Leza Howell and it was pure insanity the way the audience was reacting. Most of us clapped back or waved, a few of the contestants pointed at those they knew, blowing kisses, and such. I tried to scan the rows I could make out for my mom, Bill, Charles, and Kaley – but the bright lights flooding the stage made it tough to see past the first ten rows in the theater. There was balcony seating in the rear, but there was no way I could make out faces this far away. I hoped they were here and got caught up in the energy.

“Thank you! Thanks…,” Leza Howell waved at someone in the audience, “How about a round of applause for the band tonight,” she encouraged the crowd, while waving the band forward to take center stage. The applause was loud and appreciative, lasting a good thirty seconds before she could continue.

“Amazing job tonight, I really enjoyed the song choices and arrangements,” she said clapping as the audience settled down and the band retreated to their instruments at the rear of the stage. “We want you all to join us in the Cayman Lagoon banquet room right after we announce the finalists for tomorrow night’s finale. Just follow the signs outside the theater, we hope to see you all there.”

There was a brief round of applause she milked before continuing, “You’ll get to meet our amazing singers…,” the audience began clapping and cheering, “Yes…,” she waved a hand toward the twelve of us standing awkwardly on stage – everyone’s nerves were on edge wanting this portion of the show to be over with, “And there will be food and drink, so please join us…”

More applause rose loudly after the invite and I wondered how they could possibly be so loud and want to clap so vigorously. I shifted slightly and bumped Wyatt, who looked at me smiling and mouthed, ‘This is nuts…’ I nodded, ‘Yes’ in return with a nervous smile. Come on! Get on with this…

“Okay… Thank you! You are amazing! You are valid! And we are not going to be ignored or erased by anyone!” The audience went bat shit crazy, cheering, whistling, clapping – this was a gathering for the Transgender Day of Visibility and a mainstream casino like the Grand Cayman validating us, celebrating us, was huge! Leza Howell was really working the crowd, pumping up the audience like I hadn’t seen before at any of the LGBTQ events I’d ever attended. I could only imagine what tomorrow night’s sold out show would be like.

“So… Thank you… Yes… Alright,” the audience settled down after a few seconds, “Our five judges have crunched the numbers on the performances… And without drawing this out further, here are your finalists, in no particular order…,” a lite drum roll began behind us and I’m not sure how it started, but a few of use began holding hands and after a moment we were all holding hands with one another. “When I call your name, please step forward…”

I was hoping this wasn’t some American Idol thing where the people stepping forward formed one group and those behind were another. Then it was announced which group it was the ‘End of the Line’ for… If this was how they were going to do this I just wanted to be in Wyatt’s group – he was certainly in the finale. I could feel my stomach rolling, my chest tightening… Wait, she said she was announcing the finalist?

“Our first finalist, Michelle Barlow…”

Michelle brought her hands to her face, turned to hug me, then reached out to squeeze the hand of Wyatt, Janet, and a few others as the audience exploded again with their applause. She walked to center stage and clapped back at the rowdy crowd. I was so happy for her, she deserved to be in the finale…

When the applause died down Leza Howell continued, “Dana Warnick…” Again, the audience went nuts. He joined Michelle, they hugged, then clapped and waved to the audience. I wasn’t surprised Dana made it, he did as well as Michelle – not as good as Wyatt though… All I knew for certain is – they had better call Wyatt’s name, or something was really fucked up in the judge’s ability to recognize a talented…

“Wyatt Stiller…”

Yes! OMG! Wyatt and I hugged quickly, he kissed my cheek. “Congratulations Wyatt!” I tried yelling above the audience’s roar. He smiled and squeezed my hands and I think he said, “Thanks…,” just before he turned to join Michelle and Dana center stage. OMG! Way to go Wyatt! My heart was soaring as I watched him join the others center stage. OK, my faith in this competition has been validated… The judge’s choices so far were spot on.

Leza Howell flipped a note card over, looked back towards those waiting to hear who was next, “Carlie Brooks…” True to form – another rowdy cacophony of audience approval filled the theater. Carlie joined the group center stage, waving, and clapping back at the audience. She was likely the oldest of all the contestants – maybe in her early forties. Her vocal abilities were worthy of her making the finale, she took what she was doing very serious. That seriousness made her a pretty quiet person around the group and short of a couple standard greetings between us, I really hadn’t talked to her much. I liked that she was in the finale, she had a shot at winning if Wyatt stumbled at all.

With just two spots remaining it could be a toss-up between four of the eight of us waiting to hear our names. I wanted to make it, but not making it wasn’t going to crush me. Yeah, I would be disappointed if I…

“Breanna Calloway…”

It took a second for it to register, to really comprehend that my name had just been called. Janet pulled me to her and hugged me. I instinctively hugged her back not sure what I was doing. I could see the group of finalists’ at middle stage were clapping and waving at me to join them. I blindly walked towards them, still in shocked and wondering how I was going to handle this... That thought didn’t last but a moment, as Wyatt hugged me - lifting me off the stage. The other finalist tried congratulating me over the roar of the audience - my ears were numb. I tried to smile, but it took a second for it to all sink in – it did pretty fast and you couldn’t blast that smile from my face even if you tried.

I did as those announced before me had done, applauded the audience and waved. So many emotions were bombarding me… It was a rush, like nothing I had experienced performing before. To the core of my soul I was thankful to my mom and my friends. I hoped they knew how much I loved them. I hoped I was waving in their general direction. I couldn’t wait to see them! OMG! I’m in the finale! YES!

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Authors Note: Don't be afraid to "Like" this story if it's doing anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so and there are no prizes for most likes). If there are problems or you have criticism you'd like to share publicly or via a message or email ([email protected]) - I'd love to address them if I can. I'm trying to grow as a story teller, I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated. Thanks for reading...

Author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Wednesday, March 28th 11:33 PM
We were hurried off stage after a rousing final chorus of applause from the audience. Leza Howell continued to work the crowd and encouraged them to attend the after show as we headed back toward the 'green' room. Once there we were given a chance to go grab any personal items we might want - Amen! I grabbed my cellphone and wristlet clutch.

When I checked my phone I had messages from Bill, Kaley and of course mom. I read hers first. Most were her wondering if I was okay and after not replying she must have figured I didn't have my phone on me and I was safe. Her next to last text encouraged me to do well when it was my turn to perform. Her last message had been sent about the time I finished performing and said, 'I am so proud of you honey! You were perfect tonight! I love you so much and can't wait to see you... Love you!' The lump in my throat hung heavy and had it not been for Michelle saying we needed to get going - I probably would have lost it right there... As we made our way to the banquet room I scanned the other messages - pretty much the same as mom's 'Are you OK?', 'You were amazing!', and 'That was masterful...' from Bill.

Someone laughing pulled me from being so focused on the text messages on my phone. The mood amongst those gathered in mass outside of the banquet room seemed pretty good between those who made the finale and those who didn't. Everyone was being super supportive, laughing, complimenting one another, and it all felt genuine - that was a huge relief. We didn't need any catty crap to dampen spirits before jumping into this 'Meet and Greet'.

The finale would end up being the two guys, Dana and Wyatt, competing against Michelle, Carlie, Lisa - the last contestant to make it after I was announced. I barely remember her being announced while on stage and felt a little bad about that - I made sure to congratulate her before we left the stage area to come interact with our newfound fans.

I thought about what tomorrow was going to entail and the truth of the matter was I would have my work cut out for me... Unless any of the other five contestants flubbed up big - AND - I nailed perfect tens from the judges on my last song - pretty much my chances were slim to long shot, for winning this thing. Didn't mean I wasn't going to try and kick ass tomorrow night, but I was already preparing myself for the reality of the situation - these finalists were immensely talented.

"Alright, let's go...," one of the stagehands said opening the door to the banquet room.

As we entered those gathered began clapping, a few were cheering for their favorites from the show. It was humbling to say the least and a shock to see so many people... The PBS cameras were inside the doors to capture our reactions, boom microphones not likely to capture much said between us due to the boisterous and very loud greeting we'd just received. As we made our way through the crowd, people reached out to touch us, making quick comments like, "I really loved your performance..." and "You're such an amazing singer..." and of course more than a few of us got the "You are so hot..." or "OMG! You are beautiful..." comments.

I smiled a lot, tried to shake people's hands rather than allow them to just put their hands on me randomly, and even hugged a few kids who couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen and espoused their love for me as their favorite singer. Others from the show were doing much the same - thanking people for the support, pressing flesh, and smiling a lot. I don't think anyone thought it would be like this... When we finally made it to a long table set up for us, to base our meeting the gathered audience, there was already a huge line of people waiting to get their couple seconds with each of us. How insane is that?! I wondered why didn't they set this damn table up by were we entered the banquet room?! Be polite... Smile... Breathe...

Wednesday, March 28th 11:46 PM
A crowd of people hadn't gotten the memo that there was a line the sponsors of the show wanted people to get in for a chance to meet the contestants. The stage staff did their best to impart that message without pissing anyone off - it worked out, but I'm sure the audience was as confused as we were to why they decided to run this part of the show like this. Probably would have been much easier to just let us mingle throughout the banquet room. Maybe they didn't want anyone sneaking out early? Wyatt pointed out the reason was likely the PBS camera crews. He got a couple head nods in agreement. They wanted to keep us contained for their filming... That explains a lot.

As soon as he finished saying that I heard my name called and snapped my head towards the end of the table, away from the beginning of the line of those waiting to meet us. I pushed my chair out and rushed to the end of the table... I didn't make it to my mom before I was sobbing...

"Hey, hey now... It's okay...," she said while hugging me, pushing me away while holding my shoulders, "I am so proud of you..."

I lost it even more after she said that and through convulsed waves of sobs I tried to hug her even tighter... Bill was patting me on the shoulders reassuring me and when I looked up I could see Charles wiping a tear from his eye. Kaley held back a couple seconds to let mom and I have that moment, then jumped in and hugged both mom and I... I'm sure it would look as heartfelt as it was to me on film - because right there to catch it all was a PBS camera, a small crowd of people trying to figure out if they wanted to get in the long line, and the other contestants sitting there. At this moment - I could care less what anyone thought about it...

"Brea...," someone said behind me, "Gotta get this going, I'm really sorry..."

Mike, the stage manager, looked like he was in pain after asking me to wrap this reunion up. I understood, but it didn't make it easier to let mom go. She assured me she would be right there, pointing to a spot close to where I would be sitting. I smiled and she wiped the last of my tears away, "Go, people are anxious to meet you..."

I hugged and kissed her, hugged both Bill and Charles, and squeezed Kaley's hands before rejoining the other contestants... OMG! What a roller coaster this night had been!

Thursday, March 28th 12:59 AM
We could all see the end of the line of people wanting to meet us and was that ever a relief! I had signed no less than thirty programs from the show, sixteen t-shirts sold with the logo for the Grand Cayman hotel and the Transgender Day of Visibility event (I needed to get one of those), and two forearms - which was kind of weird. Pretty sure I wasn't the only one to get propositioned, though the presence of the PBS cameras probably kept that to a minimum. My mom would have interjected if someone got stupid with me and she would have had no problem chasing them off. Luckily that didn't happen!

The most common question I was asked, "How did you come up with that arrangement?" I answered the same every time, "I didn't, Bill Carter did - he's right there," I pointed towards Bill behind the asker. He got to talk with a few of those from the line also - I think he enjoyed the attention - until he left to check on Charles in the casino around 11:30 PM. The other most asked questions dealt with how long I had been singing and had I considered performing professionally. The answers were "Since I was eight, for church..." and "No, I'm not good enough for that..." That last answer got me more than a fair amount of complaints, but it's how I felt. I was happy swimming in my little fish bowl that was the San Diego amateur club scene and these people need to realize I sing for fun, not a career or to make money.

When the last couple people had gone through the line of contestants - I was so done. I had maintained my 'thankful for your support' composure - though it was a struggle to continue doing that after the first hour. I had gotten a few questioning looks from my mom when I didn't sound accommodating or answered a question hastily. I know she was expecting me to be gracious, since these people had waited patiently for a couple seconds of my time, it wasn't easy. I most enjoyed speaking to the kids and there were no less than a dozen that were Transgender who had seen the show. I complimented their parents for supporting their children - which made my mom smile every time.

Of course how any of us were portrayed would come to light in the PBS filming of our interactions with the crowd and how they edited it. How many times on American Idol or Survivor or whatever reality show did they sway the audiences opinion of someone through editing? Augh, I think I was safe though - at least I hoped so...

"Thank you everyone," Karen Cole said to the maybe forty people who remained in the banquet room milling around, "We look forward to seeing you tomorrow night for the finale, Thank you... Have a wonderful rest of your evening."

There was weak applause in reply to her closing of this portion of the show and half the crowd headed towards the exit slowly, as the other half met up with their supported contestant. Mom and Kaley congratulated me for holding it together. "I couldn't have done that," Kaley said. Mom looked at her a moment and assured her she could have.

I told them I was going to go change and then we were going to get our dance on. Mom declined saying she would come by at 9:00 AM to get me for breakfast and told me not to stay out too late. We hugged, and Kaley and I watched her leave. Kaley said she'd meet me in the lobby and to hurry up, because if Bill found out I was going to the club instead of bed - he would be PISSED! Augh... She was right! Sneak out of here quickly! I saw Dana heading toward the entrance we'd come in, gave Kaley a quick hug, and hurried across the banquet room to catch up to him.

"Hey Brea...," he said when I caught up to him in the hallway just outside the banquet room.

"Hi..."

"You were awesome tonight and until Wyatt sang I had you down as the one to beat..."

"Oh, I... Thank you. Wyatt certainly killed it, but so did you," I protested, "Pretty sure it was Wyatt, then a tossup between you and Michelle," I said smiling.

"Yeah, well I don't know about that kiddo...," he said holding the backstage entrance door open for me.

I entered with him right behind me, "You going to the club? There's supposed to be a couple tables there for us...," I asked - though it wasn't the question I really wanted to ask.

"Nah... Think I'm going to call it a night..."

Why couldn't you have said 'Yes, I'm going to find Tyler and meet you there...' Augh! "I didn't see Tyler, was he at the show," and there was my ask. I held my breath, literally, waiting for him to answer as we reached the door to my dressing room.

"Think he's with Jennifer... He sent me a text after the fire alarm and since I'd already performed he said he'd see me in the morning," he replied not reading anything more into my ask than maybe me being curious about him and his brother going to the club.

Of course the next question should be, 'Who's Jennifer?', but I didn't want to tip my hand. "Does he know about everyone meeting in the club tonight?" Oh, you are sly, sly, sly! - I thought as soon as I asked.

"Jen doesn't dance," he chuckled, "More likely they're off trying to find some twenty-four hour chapel to get married in," he said laughing, "They're not the brightest couple, so maybe their getting matching tattoos...," he laughed a little harder at his comment.

Wha? What?! Married?! Had I missed something? "Are they engaged," I asked quickly, hoping it sounded like an innocent question as my skin got very cool all of a sudden.

"God... I wish they weren't, but them's the breaks. They've been on and off for the past six months. Got engaged last year around Christmas. I'm pretty sure her dad wasn't happy about that... She's nice, but a bit scattered..."

I was hearing everything he was saying, but felt like I had just been punched in the gut. I moved my hand absently to the doorknob of my dressing room and pushed it. When it didn't open I turned the knob, then pushed the door open, "Well, we're going to miss you at the club...," and I entered the room not looking back. I didn't care how I sounded at this point or if he had even the slightest hint that his fucking brother being engaged just ruined my fucking night and he was a God damn cheating sack of shit...

Thursday, March 29th 1:32 AM
My phone vibrated and I turned it over, looking at it through blurry, tear filled eyes. It was a text from Kaley, 'Hey, I'm out... Not feeling good. Cheese from the banquet room? You good?' I stared at the text wondering what to reply. I'd already thrown up and was feeling queasy still, but it had nothing to do with the food at the 'Meet and Greet' - though I didn't have any of the cheese, just some chips. I could use someone to talk with and considered asking if I could come to her room, but passed.

I typed, 'OK, won't be the same without you...' I added a frowning emjoi and hit send. She replied back quickly, 'Talk to you later. Have fun, stay safe. Love ya!' I replied that I loved her too and set my phone down. I was alone again, alone with my doubts, alone with the thoughts of last night with Tyler. The tears started to flow again and that sick sour churning began again in my stomach. You mother-fucker! You fucking asshole, piece of fucking shit... Breathe...

What happens in Vegas is going to blow the fuck up in your face if I see you! God damn you!! How do you do that shit to me when you're fucking engaged?! How do you reason that it's 'Okay' to fucking toy with me like that, to use me?! I felt like puking again, but it would be dry-heaves at this point... Fuck you Tyler! Fuck you, you fucking loser!! The needle had moved slightly from hurt to a mix of hurt and flaming angry pissed off bitch... I prayed I ran into him and 'Jennifer' before I left Vegas... Fucker!

Thursday, March 29th 1:58 AM
I'd had enough wallowing alone in the dressing room, so quickly finished changing. I wanted to beat the shit out of Tyler, but that would probably have to wait. I needed to get out of here or I was going to sink deep into a dark place and there'd be little hope of climbing out. Yeah for self-mental-mutilation! The plan, as I exited the dressing room, was to get a long shower, and crash hard in my...

"Hey Brea..."

FUCK! I literally jumped and spun around to see Wyatt coming my way. "Hey... You scared the crap out of me! What are you doing back here," I asked.

"Oh... Sorry about that. I was changing," he replied confused, like he was questioning his answer. He looked me over like something was up, "You okay?"

"Yeah, just tired...," I replied, hoping he'd go his way and I'd go...

"Ah, you sure about that? I know a little bit about make-up and...," he said that while moving his hand in front of his face, "You sure you're okay?"

Of course he knew about makeup, at some point before transitioning he probably did the makeup thing daily. Augh... I did not want to get into this with him, "Tired and stressed, I'm good..." As soon as I said that I could feel the tears forming, the shallow breaths, strained control of my voice, all that coming on too quickly... Shit!

"Whoa... Hey, hey now...," he said reaching out to put a hand on my shoulder, then just gave in and hugged me. I couldn't help but lose it fully right there in his arms. "Let it go Brea...," he encouraged patting my back softly as I just stood there sobbing quietly.

After a minute I'd gained a little composure and he let the hug pass, moving his hands to my hips, "I'm sorry...," I croaked trying to get control of the my spiraling emotions.

"No worries... Is there anything I can do? Who can I kill for you," he asked with a little chuckle, trying to get me past whatever was bothering me by joking about taking out my antagonist.

I smiled half-heartedly, "If it was only that easy..."

"Could be...," he said raising an eyebrow, "Well, maybe not... But there's plenty we could do to mess someone up...," he said smiling.

"Thanks, Wyatt...," I replied as he stared at me intently - as if he was contemplating something... It was an awkward moment for someone I felt comfortable around - even though I barely knew him. I wished I could read minds...

He let my hips go and took a step back, "You know what you need?"

I looked at him confused, "What?" I tried smiling, but it didn't stick.

"A drink and some dancing! What do you say? You're already dressed for clubbing. Let's go throw back a couple and get loose on the dance floor. Come on!" I shook my head 'No', but he pressed, "Look, want to feel better, lift your spirits? Drink some spirits and let that body go on the dance floor... Trust me, I'm not a doctor, but I could play one on TV..."

I couldn't help but laugh. I had planned on going back to my room and crash, but the thought of being alone with my doubts and beating myself up until I finally fell asleep wasn't very appealing. No matter how much I told myself that wasn't the way the rest of this evening was going to go - it was how it was going to go. Maybe I did need to let loose, get a different prospective, blow off some steam, and not think for once... I looked at him, he tilted his head, "Mmmmhum, you know you wanna go dancing..."

"Fine... Let's go...," I said with a bit of resolve, though not much confidence, "I could really use a drink..."

"You wanna touch up that perdy face first...," he said smiling.

"Yeah, I probably should..."

Thursday, March 29th 2:16 AM
We were ushered right in after checking in with the clubs gatekeeper. At the table reserved for us was Michelle, Lisa, Janet, and a few other contestants with either fans from the show or their significant others. It was impossible to hear anything over the thumping bass and music playing, so our introductions were basically a wave and lips moving - my trying to lip read was in vain. When the cocktail waitress came over I had to speak in her ear to get my order for a rum and Coke. Wyatt did the same with her and I wondered what he ordered, because she was talking a lot in his ear for just a drink order.

When she left, he leaned over and grabbed my hand, "Dance with me!"

I shook my head 'No', but got pulled to my feet and followed him to the dance floor. I wasn't fighting the invite very hard, especially with a club mix of the Bruno Mars 'Uptown Funk' playing, and truth was I liked dancing. Never did much when I was younger or in public, but did plenty of it around my apartment - mostly when cleaning.

We made our way to the center of the packed dance floor and I just went for it. Wyatt did the same and who'd have guessed that he was a very good dancer - given his country persona. He had rhythm and certainly knew how to move his body! A few times he took my hands and spun me around - I laughed a lot and so did he. We sang to each other parts of the song we knew, 'I'm too hot... Call the police and the fireman... I'm too hot... Make a dragon wanna retire, man I'm too hot... Bitch, say my name you know who I am...' and it was so much fun - but probably good people couldn't hear us!

I certainly wasn't exactly dressed for clubbing - though Wyatt had said I was, but I probably looked cute enough in white jeans, a loose fitting black silk blouse, my hair in a ponytail, and a pair of flats. Fuck it! I didn't care what people thought about me right now! I hadn't even had a drink yet and would happily give the world a big dose of my middle-finger if they didn't like what they saw! My makeup probably wasn't on point, but I really didn't give a shit... 'Don't believe me just watch...' I sang while raising my hands above my head, shaking my ass, and moving my feet in no particular direction. Nothing should matter right now - I was enjoying myself - so stay the fuck away from me if your intentions were to bring me down!

Thursday, March 29th 2:33 AM
We danced to a second song I really didn't know and half-way through it Wyatt took my hand and we headed back toward our table. Our drinks were there and I took a quick sip - Augh... It was mostly rum with a splash of Coke for color. My stomach protested, but not too much - I really should have ordered something to eat. Wyatt had some kind of mixed drink also and two shot glasses - he slid one in front of me yelling something like, "It'll remove hair from unwanted areas...," or something to that effect, I think.

How do you not crack up after hearing that? I did and hoped I was laughing at something funny - he was laughing. Of course I was the only one laughing with him, because there was no way anyone else could have heard that sitting around the table with the music booming. I looked at him and mouthed 'What is this?'

He yelled, "To-kill-ya..."

Tequila... Yikes! I'd had a few experiences with 'To-kill-ya', but feeling the way I did about how this day had gone I picked up the shot glass, raised it - he raised his, we clinked shots together, and downed them - pounding the shot glasses on the table when done. That got us a couple looks and a few claps from those gathered at the table. The liquid didn't burn going down, so he must have ordered some kind of top-shelf brand - it was certainly smooth. I could feel it warming my insides going down. I just hope I can keep it down...

Our cocktail waitress walked by and Wyatt held up two fingers while pointing to the two empty shot glasses. She got the message and looked around the table for any other orders. Michelle pointed to her glass of wine, while both Janet and Lisa nodded 'No'. The song 'Sucker', the club mix by the Jonas Brother's began playing and Wyatt was on his feet pointing to Michelle, Janet, and Lisa. They weren't interested, but I stood, took his hand, and pulled him towards the dance floor. I wanted to get lost in dance, lose any thoughts of that fuck Tyler.

Deep into the song Wyatt must have thought it was time to bust out his best dance moves, spinning twice like he'd had some dance training in his past and moving his hips with purpose. He was on fire and thoroughly enjoying himself. How fucking fun! I had a 'perma' grin on my face just watching him and did my best to keep up - though I didn't have much in the moves department that could compete. At one point he had his hands on my hips and he was grinding on me from behind pretty good. It was no different than any number of the other couples dancing around us and I'm sure it looked pretty sexual. I certainly wasn't holding back and neither was he. We didn't care and it certainly showed...

Not thirty seconds later I was cracking up after a failed attempt to spin me had us nearly bonking our heads together. What saved that from happening was me pulling myself to his left, which resulted in me nearly knocking us both over. What a klutz I was! We got a few looks from those dancing around us - still didn't care. I think Wyatt yelled, "She's drunk!" at one couple. I shook my head 'No' at them and shouted, "He's drunk!" We ended up laughing and continuing to dance, moving away from those sticks-in-the-mud couples to continue getting jiggy-with-it. When the song ended and the next one began, another song I wasn't familiar with, he put his hands on my shoulder, leaned in and pretty much yelled, "You good for another one?"

I leaned in close, "I need something to drink..."

We returned to the table and waiting for us were two shots. I didn't like my mixed drink - the harsh well rum with a splash of Coke just didn't taste good. When Wyatt slid the shot glass towards me I smiled and we repeated our previous routine, slamming the shot glasses on the table when done. We got the same applause from those around the table. The music in this place was thumping, but the inability to hold even the slightest conversation with anyone was kind of annoying. Everyone did a lot of looking around, shrugging, and smiling - because unless you were speaking into someone's ear, there was no way they could hear you.

Case in point - the cocktail waitress. I asked for water, three times, before she understood. And I felt like I was yelling. I hated that and hoped I didn't come off bitchy. Wyatt ordered a couple more shots - I gave him a look. I wasn't going to get stinking loopy on tequila. I had nothing in my stomach and with just the two shots in me - I wasn't feeling any pain right now. The next shot would be the last alcohol for the night for me...

'Sweet but Psycho' by Ava Max began playing and this time I was up, pointing at those gathered to come out to the dance floor. No one moved... Thank God for Wyatt and him not letting me hang there! He guided me to the dance floor while holding my hips and we began dancing like we didn't have a care in the world. We did some more grinding, he spun me a few times - without throwing me off balance, and we laughed and laughed. It was crazy fun!

When the next song began to play, I recognized it, but the mix was way too techno. I slowed my dancing and looked at Wyatt, who had no clue what this song was. I was well into feeling the effects of those shots now and was feeling more relaxed than expected. I leaned in close to him, "I don't like the mix of this song..." He looked at me confused, I shrugged, and before I could shake my head 'No' he pulled me to him and kissed me. It was a full on lips, tongue, and hungry for more kind of kiss... I pulled away after a couple seconds, shocked, looking at him with a questioning look.

I looked around and no one was really even paying any attention to us. What the heck?! He looked flustered, then embarrassed, and said something I couldn't hear, but I did pick up the word 'Sorry' in reading his lips. The look he had on his face was the same from backstage before he kissed me - had he considered kissing me then? My heart sank, I liked Wyatt, but not like that, like this... I had had enough guy problems to last well past the rest of this trip - I instantly wondered if I had given him the wrong message.

When he didn't move, I took his hands and lead him towards the back of the club - I could see where the bathrooms were and hoped it would be quieter there so we could talk. We walked into the hall leading to the bathrooms and outside of the woman's bathroom door I tried to soften my rejection of his advance a few moments ago, "Wyatt... I really like you, but not...," I paused as two women went in the restroom - giving us a look as they did, "Just not in that way. I'm really, really sorry... I hope I didn't give you the wrong signals or something. You are absolutely wonderful and any girl would be lucky to have you. I'm just... I'm a fucking mess right now and wouldn't wish my shit on anyone..." I know I was speaking loudly still, but with the volume of the music in the background I still had too nearly shout every word.

Wyatt took a second before replying, "I'm sorry Brea, I just... I thought there was something going on between us. Totally on me and I apologize..."

I took his hands and smiled, "No, no... No apologizes. Please... Can we not make this awkward or anything? Like we were before..."

"I can try, but it would be a lie to say you haven't hooked me a bit...," he replied smiling.

"Oh Wyatt... Throw me back, I'm not a keeper right now. I promise you that..."

"Yeah, I doubt that Brea..."

I had plenty of Instagram and Tumblr friends who were Trans and basically had switched genders with their significant other. All were happy, healthy, and totally committed. I wanted happy, healthy and committed also, but had never really thought about getting into a relationship with someone who wasn't a CIS male. Not that Wyatt wasn't male enough, but I hadn't really thought about being with someone who had also transitioned. AUGH! Did it matter that he was Trans? Of course not! What did matter was I just wasn't attracted to him. Leza Howell's question about being attracted to women, Trans or CIS women, came to mind. Again, not something I had given a lot of thought too... I was firmly in the she/her pronoun camp and very much attracted to CIS men... God, why did you have to kiss me Wyatt?!

We hugged briefly, not uncomfortably or anything super awkward - so that was good! He took my hands and kissed them, then turned to lead us back to our table. When we approached we both put on smiles, while the others were either yelling to be heard in their conversations or just smiled back at us. There were two shot glasses at Wyatt's seat and without hesitation he picked them both up, handed me one, and we repeated our earlier clinking of shot glasses and the slam of them back to the table when empty. We hugged, this time it was nearly as nice as our pre-kiss hug. Would he feel differently later today? Would I? God, I need to get out of here...

We sat and watched the others around the table for maybe five minutes. When Wyatt put a hand on my leg - I took that as my queue to wrap this evening up. I thanked him for the shots, tried to pull out some money - he told me to put it away. Of course all of that was really both of us yelling at each other so we could be heard. I waved to everyone around the table saying 'Good night' - which those good at reading lips caught. And that was it, I'm out of here I thought, and headed for the exit. I sure hoped Wyatt and I were cool, he really was a nice guy...

Maybe I should reconsider following in my Trans sisters footsteps and give him a chance? Then I thought about him being from Nashville and that pretty much sealed it - don't start something you can't finish...

Thursday, March 29th 3:03 AM
As soon as I exited the club I huffed a heavy sigh of relief. My ears were ringing and the silence outside of the club was maddening. As I turned towards the lobby I felt a tap on my shoulder. When I turned to see who'd followed me out - I was praying it wasn't Wyatt, I couldn't take rejecting him further tonight. I also hoped it wasn't Tyler, because as loose as I was feeling - confrontation with me wouldn't end well for him. "Mr. Schultz...," I said smiling.

"Miss Calloway...," he replied.

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