It was around eleven when Alana dropped me off at her safe house, a small, cottage-style duplex about twenty minutes south of the heart of the city. In the cloak of darkness, I didn't worry about being seen. And even if someone did spot me, I wasn't going to stick around long enough to encounter them anyway.

Alana and I hugged once more and I thanked her for the help. She wished me luck and promised she'd be available if I needed anything else. She was gone as soon as I slipped inside the front door.

I made sure all the curtains were drawn before turning on a lamp in the living room. Clearly, Alana hadn't been there in a while, as there was a thick layer of dust on every piece of furniture. I traipsed through the house, checking every lock and looking behind every door until I was satisfied that I was alone and safe – or as safe as I could possibly be for someone with a target on their back.

I was exhausted, mentally and physically, but I couldn't sleep. I was too wound up for sleep. I needed to go over the case file. I needed to pinpoint every clue and chase every possible lead.

Thankfully, Alana had a large supply of coffee in the pantry, and I took full advantage of that, making a big pot and drinking half of it in less than an hour while I studied the file. I suspected I hadn't been provided all the evidence that A.R.T. possessed. Lancaster more than likely withheld some information from me.

After multiple reviews of the papers spread out in front of me, and no obvious clues jumping out at me, I came to the conclusion that the best place to start would be to retrace Agent Lindsey's steps. But before I could do that, I was going to need Alana's help again.

To avoid the possibility that anyone could hack in and read my texts, I switched to a texting app and messaged Alana.

I need one more thing. A new passport and international clearance.

I knew I couldn't use my own identification anymore. My every move would be traced and I couldn't trust London A.R.T. enough to let them know where I was headed. I had to create an entirely new identity to work this case.

How do you like the name Sofia Cortez? Your skin tone could pass for Hispanic, if you can do the accent.

The name Sofia reminded me of my birthplace. Sofia, Bulgaria. I cringed at the memories associated with my home country. I hadn't thought about Bulgaria in so long, but I could still remember the explosions that killed my family, the bombings that hardened me to the world and lead to my career as an agent.

I swallowed down the last of the coffee and shrugged away the memories that were still too vivid.

Fine by me. I need it before morning.

I'll pick you up at five.

Come sunrise, I would be well on my way to Germany.

I glanced at the clock. It was just after one and the coffee was doing little to keep me jazzed. If I was going to get any sleep, now was my chance before all hell potentially broke loose in the morning.

I slipped all the papers back inside the folder and stuffed it back in my bag. I looked at my phone knowing I'd have to ditch it so no one could track my location. I knew Alana would know this, too, so I didn't bother mentioning it to her. She'd likely arrive with more items than I actually needed for my venture.

I doubted A.R.T. had gotten wind of my escape from the Marriott yet. Even if they had, they wouldn't be sending anyone after me just yet. If I'd profiled Lancaster correctly, he wasn't the type to jump into action the moment something developed. He would likely wait to see what I was up to. But the joke was on him. I'd sever the tie in the morning and disappear from the Taskforce's radar.

I wondered if that was what Agent Lindsey had done. Had she really gone missing in the sense that everyone seemed to think – kidnapped? Or had she simply severed the tie and escaped from A.R.T.'s watch?

Part of the information I'd been given was a log of Lindsey's whereabouts, everywhere that A.R.T. had tracked her phone up until her disappearance. It wasn't completely accurate, just showing every cell tower that her phone had pinged a signal off of, but it was all I had to go on. I planned to follow the trail across Germany once I touched down in Berlin.

I double checked the locks before turning out the lights and heading to bed. As per usual, I stared up at the ceiling for the longest time, my pistol within reach, until I finally passed out.

My dreams were somewhat different from the norm. Instead of a sweet memory with Dallas that morphed into a graphic recollection of the Washington incident, I dreamt of the first time I'd met him in Atlanta. Damn, had it already been ten years?

The gravel crunched beneath my boots as I inched my way around the back of the building, hiding out in the dark of night. Mick Taylor was my target. He was a sneaky bastard, having slipped away the last three times I'd tried to catch him, but this time I'd really done my research, and there was nowhere for him to run, despite the fact that I was solo on the mission to take him into custody. I'd taken it upon myself to do the job when my partner, India, had gotten a colossal case of the stomach virus at the last minute.

Stopping to survey my surroundings once more, I flattened my back against the cold brick wall and squinted in the dark. The back lot was empty, with the exception of an alley cat circling an unlucky mouse beneath a dumpster.

That's when I heard it. The gravel crunching again. But it wasn't my boots causing the noise this time. I realized I wasn't alone. I could hear the intruder coming closer from around the corner. They were just a few feet away. I could practically hear their breathing. It was a matter of seconds before we came face-to-face.

I held my breath and stayed as still as I possibly could, careful not to make even the tiniest of sounds to alert my enemy. I raised my arms, my finger on the trigger, and I waited for the person to turn the corner.

I waited, and waited, but no one ever came. I started to second guess myself. Had my ears been playing tricks on me or had I actually heard someone approaching?

Then I felt it. The barrel of a gun jammed into my back, right between my shoulder blades. I wore a vest, but it was thin enough that I could feel the outline of the pistol biting into the padded material.

My breath caught and I realized that I'd fucked up at some point. I'd missed something and allowed my enemy to skirt around the opposite side and outsmart me.

"Drop your weapon," a deep male voice instructed, and I noted just a hint of an Israeli accent.

He was standing so close; I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. I mentally cursed at myself when I allowed myself to think for just a second that it actually felt good – the warmth on my skin, softly moving the few stray hairs that had wriggled free from my ponytail.

I hesitated. I'd been expertly trained for moments like these. I didn't surrender. It wasn't in my blood.

"I said drop your weapon." His voice was harsher this time, more authoritative.

"You're going to have to do better than that," I told him, trying to size up my opponent based on the shadow his figure cast across the ground with a lone streetlight a ways behind him.

Before he could respond, I jerked my leg backward, hitting him square in the crotch, and whirled around, slamming him up against the bricks and successfully knocking his pistol from his grasp. I retrieved his weapon from the ground and stepped back, aiming both guns at him as he stood there, his back pressed to the wall, wincing.

I was finally able to get a good look at the man who had tried to subdue me, and I swear, my panties nearly combusted on the spot. He wore all black like me, but his clothes did nothing to hide how broad his shoulders were or how thick his biceps were. He wore a ball cap over dark, neatly cut hair that looked so soft, even from five yards away in the dark, and I wondered what it would feel like to run my fingers through it. I couldn't tell what color his eyes were, but they were so fucking penetrating, like he could see right through me. It gave me chills.

"What's I.D.A. mean?" I questioned him, reading off the abbreviation on his hat.

He stared at me with narrowed eyes, sizing me up, planning his next move. I'd seen that look a thousand times before. He probably thought he was still holding the reins. After all, he was bigger and taller and stronger than me, but that didn't mean I couldn't hold my own against him.

"International Defense Alliance," he answered after a long silence between us.

His voice wasn't as hard now, but still sounded determined. He was waiting for the perfect moment when I would let my guard down just enough for him to retake control.

International Defense Alliance. I knew that name. Where had I heard it before?

"Where are you based?" I asked, stepping just a hair closer.

He seemed unfazed by my advancement, calmly sliding his hands into his pants pockets.

"Why don't you tell me who you're working for?" he prompted.

"Alpha Reconnaissance Taskforce out of D.C."

An amused smirk rose to his lips and I found that to be sexy as hell, despite the complex situation.

"You're my competition," he noted with a deep, breathy chuckle. "We're on the same side, doing the same job, love. I'm not your enemy."

I snorted a laugh. "That's what they all say right before I shoot them."

I started to squeeze the trigger of my pistol and found myself thinking what a shame it would be to kill such an insanely attractive man, but he couldn't be trusted. Just because he wore the hat of an organization that worked the same angles as mine, didn't mean he was actually with that organization.

"What's your name?" I asked him, studying the way his pulse ticked in his neck, nice and slow, completely at ease.

"What's yours?"

"I'm not fucking around here," I said and shifted my aim from his chest to his face. "Answer me."

He flashed me a look like he couldn't take me seriously. "Dallas David. Yours?"

I recognized that name. I'd heard that name several times. Dallas David was one of the most hated rival agents of A.R.T.'s. He and his team were always trying to outdo us. They were constantly stealing missions right out from under us. Granted, they always came out successful, and I'd heard nothing but great things about the type of agent Dallas was, but still, it really fucking pissed us off when he pulled that shit.

If this man was who he claimed to be, I had no valid reason to take him out. In fact, I'd end up regretting eliminating such a talented and unmatched agent from the earth. He may be a tremendous pain in my team's ass, but he was on the right side of the cause, and I had to respect that.

"Natalia Dobreva. Tali." I answered. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Toss me my gun," he dared, his gaze fixed on the barrel of his pistol in my hand. "I'll prove you can trust me."

I scoffed at the ludicrous idea. "Yeah. Sure. And then you'll shoot, I'll shoot, and we'll both be dead, and what good will that do?"

He shrugged. "Fine. Have it your way. But I'm going to get my gun back one way or another."

Just then, the fucking cat caught the mouse, banging against the dumpster in the process. The noise made me jump. I glanced toward the dumpster for only a second and that was all the time my opponent needed to overcome me.

I was pinned up against the wall in no time, his forearm crushing against my throat as he held me there. He'd managed to claim both guns as well, sliding one into his holster and holding the other against my jaw. I realized then that our faces were mere inches apart, his body crushed against mine, preventing my escape. The brick was still warm from where his back had previously rested. Now I could see his eyes. A light brown – hazel – like melted milk chocolate, framed by thick, dark lashes. And they were staring right into mine.

"Should've listened to me," he said quietly and his pressure against me lessened.

I wasn't going down without a fight, though, and as soon as he loosened his grip just enough, I recaptured my pistol from his holster and jabbed the barrel into his stomach. He grimaced at the pain, but kept his composure. And we stood there, holding each other in place, staring into each other's eyes, our gun barrels jammed against one another, waiting. Waiting to see who would make the first move.

"I don't want to kill you, Natalia," he said to me in a voice that made me almost believe him.

"And yet you're pinning me here, ready to shoot me."

"I don't have to," he said. "Nor do you. We can walk away from this."

I shook my head. "How do I know this isn't a setup? How do I know you're really who you say you are and not a minion of Taylor's?"

He stayed silent for a moment, searching my eyes like he was reading a book, and then he did the unthinkable. He released me.

He stepped back, releasing his hold on me, and lowering his weapon to his side.

The cold crept into my muscles where his body had been pressed against mine and I found myself inadvertently missing the warmth.

He holstered his gun and reached into his back pocket while I kept my gun raised, still aiming for his torso.

"Here," he said, pulling something out and tossing it to me.

I caught his wallet with my free hand and opened it, never letting my guard down, and looked at the identification. He had the same type of I.D. as me. Apparently there was no originality with other organizations. Everyone used a standard design.

There, right in front of me, was the proof. The photo matched the man before me and the name was definitely Dallas David, lead agent for International Defense Alliance's Alexandria division.

"You asshole," I groaned, holstering my pistol and handing him back his wallet. "I oughta shoot you anyway for all the times you've jacked a mission from A.R.T."

Dallas chuckled, that cocky smirk playing on his lips. "I could just fuck off; you know – let you deal with Taylor on your own... But you might get lonely without me."

"I'm so sure," I said in the most bored tone I could muster.

I started to walk away when he made a suggestion that intrigued me, an offer I really couldn't refuse, if for no other reason than a combination of curiosity and the fact that I enjoyed the smell of his cologne.

"Why don't we tackle this one together then?"

I awoke, drenched in sweat, to the alarm buzzing on my phone. I was out of breath, my chest heaving at the vivid memory. As much as thoughts of him hurt me, no memory of Dallas was a welcome memory any longer; but given that my dreams were usually nightmares detailing the Washington incident, I decided against arguing with my subconscious this time.

I rolled out of bed, blinking rapidly as I tried to gather my wits. I put my holster on and rubbed the sleep from my stinging eyes, checking my phone to see a text from Alana.

Be ready in twenty. On my way.