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

::: --- :::

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Rachel M. Moore