Harry's POV

Everything was perpendicular, and I much preferred things to be parallel.

Ever since Bria ran away from me three years ago, I made no mistake in thinking she wouldn't do it again. What was she hiding? What could possibly be so important that she didn't want me to know? Why me, out of all people? Was I not good enough for her? After everything we did together?

I remembered a time when she and I, after a proper shagging (which, to this day, I haven't forgotten), would lay in bed and tell each other of our plans for the future. She wanted to get out of Oregon and see the world, live in the Caribbean, and drink cheap coffee and expensive liquor. All I wanted to do was give her that.

She said she'd always be there for me, and she never broke her promises. I felt like a bit of a school girl believing in such trivialities, but she had never broken a promise before, and I didn't expect her to do it now (I do recall promising to buy strawberry gum for her and proceeded to forget, which earned me the silent treatment for a couple days).

Sperling did not smell like hair dye or strawberry gum. Sperling smelled like a girl scout—minty, mixed with a hint of pine or maple—and often reminded me of an enthusiastic child running door to door trying to sell cookies. However, that child would sit on her couch after the end of each day and repeat the words, "I could've done better".

Last night was the first time I'd seen Sperling in action, and I had to say that she was rather good at what she did. At first I thought she was purely sartorial, with nothing else to offer, but I quickly came to appreciate her straightforwardness and ability to act upon what she felt was right. I theorized her actions as such:

One: She was pretending to be a klutz this entire time and was actually a multi-talented police officer.

Two: She was far too concerned with what other people thought of her.

I fully believed in the second one—there was no way Sperling was actually kidding about how clumsy she was.

I came to my conclusions after accepting the fact that she didn't really care what I said about her. Tomislav, Winston, and the rest of the officers at the precinct had an influence upon her, and she was too busy trying to impress them to actually do her job. Seeing her last night was proof of it. She was a good cop—that much could be said without lying.

I got out of bed and made my way into the living room after taking a shower and brushing my teeth to see Sperling hunched over her laptop and scribbling notes down onto multiple pieces of paper she had scattered across the dining table. She was eating a bowl of cereal.

"Morning," I called. She looked up, scowled at the sight of me in my boxers, then returned to her work. I scratched my head and progressed over to her, trying to make out what she had written. "Sperling, I'm going to have to get contacts soon. I'm short-sighted—"

"Oh, right. Sorry about that. We'll get some today. Hey, I've pulled some information together, but I can't seem to get anything about Priestly. Do you think Finch was lying to us?" she asked, turning the computer screen towards me and consciously trying to divert her stare away from my shirtless torso. She went over to her purse and pulled out a pair of glasses—my glasses—and handed them to me. I promptly put them on and directed my focus back at the screen.

The police file was clean; had anybody looked at it, they would've thought he was just some regular multi-billionare that owned a hotel in Vegas.

"Do you have access to any other files?" I asked, sitting in front of the laptop and cracking my knuckles.

"Other files?"

"Yeah, like the FBI, CIA...do you?"

"Of course not! I'd have to—Harry, don't," she warned. I smirked and continued typing anyway. "Harry, I'm serious. We could get charged for hacking into government files—"

"Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch," I replied, my fingers dancing across the keyboard. "I've hacked it countess times before."

"Countless? This is a police laptop! They'll know! It's registered to my name!" she set her bowl on the table and ran her hand through her hair in distress.

"I could hack the government's servers with the president's laptop and they wouldn't know who did it. Ease up; I'm the best of the best, remember?"

"Stop being so fucking cocky! I don't wanna end up behind bars because you thought you could—"

"Done."

"—Done?" she raced over and turned the laptop in her direction. Her eyes widened as she read the page, scanning over every detail she could take in. I took the pen and wrote down what she currently was unable to: Yosef Priestly, manager of the Bellagio Hotel; economics conference meeting at the MGM Grand, noon.

"You're welcome," I whispered in her ear before going to the bathroom to change.

The time was 10:57 AM. Yosef Priestly was indebted to Bria. He would be at the MGM Conference Center in an hour.

If there was any team that could take him down, it'd be the Paxons.

***

"Why would you ever need to hack into the CIA?" Sperling whispered, clutching my arm as she scouted the MGM for potential threats. So far, all we were concerned about was security, and Priestly was nowhere in sight; we had been waiting around for him for half an hour after he was due to arrive. We had our eyes on the Conference Center doors, monitoring anybody that went in or out.

"Bria and I needed to know who we were dealing with. It was purely professional."

"You're absolutely horrible. Both of you. If you can betray your country—"

"You blabbing on about my patriotism isn't going to help this stakeout go by any faster."

She huffed, exasperated, and continued looking out. It was hard to keep a cover when the person playing my wife was so fucking annoying, but a cover was a cover. I'd constantly lean down and whisper in her ear about a security officer patrolling the entrance, snap pictures of her on her phone (I still didn't have my own) as she danced around the casino, and point at miscellaneous objects on the ceiling; people looking at us probably though that we were a genuine couple; I could've fooled myself if I was stupid enough too.

"Look," Sperling said quietly, nudging her head to the east. Sure enough, the man in the profile, a stout, greasy looking fellow with bloodshot eyes and had several layers to his chin, was heading towards the conference room doors. "Any idea on how we're going to talk to him?"

"Should you, or shall I?" I asked, noting his body language—hands in his pockets with his thumbs out indicated he felt confident, but his constant looking around meant he was worried about something. People like that were easier to deal with if you used information against them; in this case, it was our information about his bad deals with Bria.

"You," she said, trying to figure out a way to distract his body guards.

"You won't like my plan," I warned. Priestly was getting closer and we had to act soon.

"I don't care—just do what you have to do to get his atten—"

"Honey, look!" I exclaimed, clasping her hand and dragging her over to Priestly. His eyes widened immediately, shifting backwards to avoid my overexcited display of awe. "This is the man!"

"The man?" she questioned. Priestly and Sperling stared at me like I was a madman.

"You know, honey...the man," I replied, hoping she'd play along.

"Oh!" she proclaimed enthusiastically. "Mr. Priestly! Manager of the Bellagio, am I correct?"

"Yes, yes I am," he replied, unsure of what we were looking for. "Look, is there something I can help you with? I have a meeting to attend and as much as I'd like to assist—"

"Mr. Priestly, I completely understand you've got places to be and things to see, but I was just wondering if my wife and I could get a picture with you? Your hotel honestly saved our marriage, and you're the one to thank," I asked. He sighed and nodded his head. I gave Sperling her phone, stood beside Priestly (who smelled of hot dogs—I really wasn't surprised) and uttered to him, "Keep smiling, Priestly. We're here because of Bria Evans. If you signal your guards in any way, I'll make sure everybody in that conference room knows why we're here too."

Priestly's face dropped, but quickly picked up into a very uneasy smile. Sperling counted down the picture, and as she did, I told him I wanted him to find somewhere where the three of us could talk. It was obvious he was scared of Bria (or the idea of her anyway).

"I'm going to talk to Mr. and Mrs—?" he begam to his guards.

"Paxon," I replied.

"—Mr. and Mrs. Paxon about our Easter promotion for a few moments. We shouldn't be long," he finished. They nodded and Sperling and I led him to the lobby. I had learned over the years that the best way to negotiate with someone was to have a crowd surrounding you at all times. It made the situation far more exciting.

"Mr. Priestly—may I call you Yosef?" Sperling requested, a sweet smile plastered on her face.

"I swear, I've done nothing wrong!" he insisted.

"We haven't even accused you—" I started, but was promptly cut off by the sound of his blabbering voice.

"Okay, so I've done a few things...drugs, perhaps. Who hasn't? Tell me who hasn't?"

"I haven't," Sperling answered. She was ignored (and rightfully so).

"I mean, you try a couple pills, get nasty with your secretary—God, please, I swear I'll have the money this month—"

"Money? You own the Bellagio, how could you not have the money at hand?" she asked.

"I owe too much! I'm on the death row if I don't pay her back! God, all for a fucking night in Prague—"

"Prague?" I questioned, "What were you doing in Prague?"

"Escaping my wife," he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Over there, they call Evans 'Phoenix'. You can't escape her. She's like the Mafia on steroids."

"Was that where you contacted her last?" Sperling looked at me then back at Priestly, who had turned quite pale during our chat.

"She's been there for the last two years. Wait, why wouldn't you know that?"

"Oregon Police," Sperling said, pulling her badge out of her purse for a few seconds before concealing it again. "Mr. Priestly—"

"I'll tell you anything. I'll pay for your room, I'll pay back every dime I owe—just please put me on witness protection. I have a kid—"

"You have a kid and you were cheating on your wife with your secretary? Why the hell should I-?" Sperling snapped. I hadn't seen her so angry—sure, she had been frustrated with me on more occasion than one, but this was something else. People around us turned to see what she was talking about; I gently grasped her forearm, but she jerked it away.

"Please, I'm begging you. I'll do anything. I don't want Evans to find me or my family."

"Tell us everything you know and we'll talk to somebody about your conditions," I replied before Sperling could refuse. I needed to find Bria, and I wasn't going to let her morals stand in the way of that.

"I've told you everything I know. You can put me through a polygraph or—"

"Save it," I cut, "we'll have someone contact you soon."

I pulled Sperling away from Priestly, who watched us walk away. As soon as we were out of his sight, she rolled her eyes and escaped my grip.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I scolded, watching her advance out the doors and onto the street.

"I could ask you the same thing!" she pointed out. She brought her voice down to a whisper before stepping as close as she could to me and said, "I wasn't aware that this...killing spree that Evans is on was connected to something bigger. I bet you knew this entire—"

"How the fuck was I supposed to know? I've been locked up—!"

"Oh, bullshit!" she exclaimed, walking even faster, pushing past people quicker than I was able to.

"Sperling!" I called, "Sperling, god damn it, stop walking!"

She didn't listen to me. Her legs carried her further and further away from me, and sooner or later I lost her among the crowd. It was far too hot to exert any more energy. There was only one place she could retreat to anyway, so I figured I'd let her have a bit of a break. It wasn't as if I withheld the information from her; frankly, I was as surprised as she was. Bria and I never meddled in affairs that ended messily; we were careful to cover our steps and hated cleaning up after others. We never had to hurt anybody in the process of our crimes, but according to both people we talked to, she had clearly learned a skill or two in the time I was absent. I still couldn't imagine her killing somebody—my Bria? As a mercenary? Never could I picture her doing something I didn't have the balls to do.

The walk back to the Bellagio was a slow one, my minutes spent observing people and avoiding anybody that thought I needed company. When I made it to the Penthouse, I was shocked to see that Sperling was nowhere to be found. All of her belongings were still there, as were my own, so she couldn't have left the state, but it was still made me feel uneasy that I was the one in the suite, recluse, while she was out there.

She was the absolute worst. She was extremely stubborn and didn't listen to anything but her stupid conscience. On top of that, the only information I had about Bria was that she was somewhere in Prague. It wasn't even close to happy hour at the bar, so I came down to one solution:

Drink and then fall asleep to avoid an angry Sperling.

It didn't take long before my shirt and my jeans were strewn across the sofa in the living area. I sat in my boxers at the bar with an assortment of liquors, taking a shot for every time I thought about the one girl I shouldn't have been thinking of. I also took a shot every time I thought about Sperling and her stupid temper—how was I supposed to know any of that had happened to Bria? I really hoped she wasn't expecting an apology from me; if anything, she would have to apologize to me for having to put up with her. In truth, no matter how drunk I had gotten, I think I was just frustrated that I was the one alone in a hotel suite and not her.

The moment I heard the lock on the door click, I stood up and stumbled slightly; everything was spinning, my vision was blurry even with my glasses on, and I felt overly happy about things I didn't know I could feel happy about. Sperling walked in and took a quick look at me before scoffing and changing her path towards the bedroom.

"Put on a fucking shirt," she hissed. I watched her walk towards the door, taking in the sight of her bony ankles and knobby knees and remembering what Winston had said about her legs—no, stop, I scolded myself, that's Sperling. You hate her.

But I didn't hate her at all.

"It's hot," I complained, following her. She tossed her purse onto the couch at the corner of the room and took her hair out of the bun at the back of her head, letting the blonde locks cascade down to her shoulder blades. It was very pretty.

"Then turn on the AC."

"Where were you?"

"I went to get a drink, and it's not like it's any of your business anyway," she grumbled, never once turning to face me as she took off her earrings and set them on her side table.

"You drunk?"

"Absolutely not."

"I am."

"Would you like a gold star?" she glared at me, taking her belt off and setting it on the bed. I'm not sure why that comment fueled so much anger in me, but I felt my chest get hot with rage. I do recall not getting any gold stars in my third grade class—perhaps that was it.

"Look, you're pissed at me 'cause I knew Bria an' she was an amazing partner—"

"I'm pissed because I fucked up and I assumed that you—"

"—and you're nowhere close t' being as great as she was!"

I shut my mouth and regretted everything that had come out of it. In the time I yelled at her, I managed to walk over and stood a foot or two away from her; her cowering frame was cross-armed, her eyes were wide with shock, and we stood there in silence, waiting for the other to talk.

"You're nothing but a con man," Sperling boldly remarked, her lip quivering under the burn of my stare. She was very pretty when she was upset.

"I prefer con artist, sweetheart."

"When will you stop being so fucking full of yourself? You're always going on and on about how great you are—"

"Oh really? Is that so? Well at least I 'ave something to brag about! You, on the other hand, run your mouth like a fucking lawn-mower at three in the morning! Why don't you shut up with all your stupid words 'n stuff?"

"Make me!"

So I kissed her.

She paused everything she did; her hands didn't quite know what to do, floating awkwardly in the air by her sides, as if deciding whether or not to advance or retreat, but I assumed she was going to punch me in the jaw. I didn't think it was the appropriate way to get someone to stop talking, but at least it worked. I could tell she stopped breathing for a moment—to be fair, I think I did too. Her lips were oddly soft for someone that nobody wanted to kiss (except me, apparently), and her tongue tasted like Shirley Temples* and booze.

Her fist never met my face; instead, they rested lightly on the skin of my chest. My hands had ghosted their way to her hips and managed to pull her closer in the time that I came in contact with her. What was I thinking of other than Bria? This was Sperling, but I couldn't stop; I couldn't abstain, and I didn't want to either. It didn't even occur to me that my actions might not have been caused by the alcohol—had she known, it would have been an extremely flattering ordeal.

Something was very, very wrong, but it felt quite alright that it did.

***

*Shirley Temples = a non-alcoholic beverage made of ginger ale, grenadine and garnished with a maraschino cherry (they're great omg i could drink them forever)

#yoooooooooo

(y'all are gonna like the next chapteR BY E LOL)

UPDATE: MARCH 28, 2014 -- some 12 year old read this fic and was all grossed out by the smut in the next chapter (i mean come on, this is rated R for a reason jfc) so it's now private. this means you will have to follow me in order to read chapter 6 WHICH SUCKS BC I NEVER ASKED FOR THIS, so you can thank the snotnosed brat for doing that omg bye. sorry for the inconvenience.

if you're on mobile, you will have to delete the story from your library, follow me, then re-add the story to your library.