Jones pointed to the number circled on his sheet, tapping it as he chewed his fish sandwich. "This one said no, but there was something in the tone, something just off kilter."

"In what way?" Carver picked up the sheet and looked at the address.

"The pauses. The change in tone. It went from pleasant and happy to- stilted."

"Stilted?" Fitz snorted. "Christ, Mr. Thesaurus strikes again."

"I'm surprised you knew what that was." Jones sneered.

"Canaries."

"Huh?

"Canaries. That's where this address is. Think it's worth the drive?" Carver put the sheet down and forked in some salad from a large bowl.

"If you trust my hunch. The woman sounded maybe middle-aged."

"Easier to cow, you mean?"

Jones just shrugged.

"Eat up. Fitz, get us a cab, we'll see how good his hunches are."

******

Chase sat back admiring the tiny frown crease between Paula's eyes as she turned and looked out over the property. She had gone quiet after seeing his security setup, and he knew she was processing some troubling thoughts.

"Care to talk about it?"

Her attention returned to him, and the frown deepened. "You said you wanted me down here to protect me, yet it was two years ago you sent the ticket." She touched the handle of her coffee mug but didn't pick it up.

"I explained all that."

"No, Chase, you didn't. Not all of it." Her eyes began to glisten. "When you left after- when it was all over, I felt wretched. I was hurt, angry, and I felt I had been used." She placed two fingers on her lips and shook her head. "I know it was only a week, but what happened between us . . ." The glistening became a tear that tracked slowly down one cheek.

"Paula--"

The tear brought out a sob and she just hung her head, letting it all out.

He stood and came around beside her, crouching down and turning her face toward him. "Paula, the postcard was because of the hole you left in my life. I never intended we should be together again after what happened. When I got down here, and saw how things would be for me, I- I wanted you back to fill that emptiness.

"After that, I couldn't risk contacting you for both our sakes. I could only hope that you might just- just use the ticket - and you finally did." He lightly brushed the tear away. "The problem was Doc. He never gave up his surveillance. And now I have to protect you again . . . complicating it with-" he dipped his head then re-connected with her eyes, "-with emotions . . ."

Her lips were on his before he could react, and they tumbled back onto the porch floor. No words were necessary; everything that needed to be said was said on that wooden floor - to the encouraging sounds of St. Lucia's avian population.

******

"Congratulations, Jonesy, your hunch paid off."

"Yeah, you're a regular Quasimodo." Fitz grated a reluctant agreement.

"Hey, we're all getting paid the same, doesn't matter how we get it." Jones opened the taxi door and stepped out into the heat, leaving Carver to pay the tab.

"Okay, now what? Fitz asked, gawking around the street.

"We get back outta this heat and grab a beer." Carver made for a small open café across the road.

"So, how do we handle this?" Jones rolled the cold bottle over his forehead. The umbrella over their table didn't dispel any heat, but the shade was a mental relief.

"Carefully." Carver stated. "We know it was Chase that answered her ad, and we know when he turned it down, she suggested a couple of other places in this area. We take a look at them – covertly."

"Meanwhile?" Fitz complained.

"Meanwhile, we find our own transportation. We can't be taking taxis."

******

Chase withdrew his arm from around Paula and swung his legs out of the bed and remained sitting with his back to her. The assault on the porch had continued in a more comfortable setting in his large bed.

"Regrets?" Her voice was soft and low.

He half turned, smiling. "Not at all, but it's the first time I've broken Rule Number Two."

"What's rule number two?"

"Never break Rule Number One." He finished turning, one leg up on the bed.

"So, you are sorry?"

"I said no and I meant it. I'm just not sure where it can go from here."

"Where do you want it to go?" She turned onto her side facing him, the sheet sliding down under her arm.

"Truth? I'm not really sure." Immediately he saw the shadow pass behind her eyes. "What happened before changed a lot for me - I wasn't sure how to handle it."

Paula coughed and sat up, the sheet dropping to her lap. "You sound like- like- like me!" She swung out of the bed and snatched up her clothes, padding angrily from the room. Chase watched, his head draining like a leaking balloon. What the hell has happened to me?

Paula slammed her bedroom door and began sorting out her clothing. As she yanked on her panties and her bra, she berated herself for a fool who fell in love with a killer. The shorts slid up and the blouse, buttoned incorrectly, was left untucked. She looked in the mirror and the anger faded into pity and finally tears. What the hell has happened to me?

******

Fitz slammed the magazine into his Glock and jammed it in his belt holster. Jones had been gone over an hour and still wasn't back with their transportation. Carver sat comfortably, studying at road map of the area, his smirk only igniting Fitz further.

"How long does it take to steal a bloody car for Christ's sake?" He paced the room in agitation.

"Jones knows what he's doing. I wouldn't underestimate him if I was you, he's been in this business a long time." Carver folded up the map and put it in his jacket pocket.

"Yeah? Maybe too long."

The debate ended as the door opened and Jones slipped inside "Got it. Had to do some haggling but it's perfect for our needs."

"Haggling! You bought something! Jesus you were supposed to nick one --"

Jones ignored the outburst and grabbed his equipment. "Ready to go?"

Carver nodded and they all headed outside, Fitz still complaining.

"If you want to come along, Fitzy," Jones turned suddenly, his face inches from his partner's, "you clamp that yap of yours shut and keep it that way. Don't think you can teach your grandmother to suck eggs." The fierceness of the outburst silenced Fitz, and he began seeing Jones in a different light.

"It's a 1990 Ford Bronco," Jones said, proudly. "Got it from a wreckers, they were just going to strip it for parts."

"Looks like they already did," Fitz complained from the rear seat.

"It's perfect," Carver snapped. "It runs. It was cheap, and it can be dumped anywhere – no record." He unfolded his map, reading it from the light of his phone, and began directing Jones. Once out of the town itself, night took over, and only the weak beams from the Bronco's headlights could be relied on for any information.

"Should be a turn-off on your left after a winding curve – there – there it is!"

Jones brake and killed the lights. They sat for several minutes until their eyes adjusted, and then Carver climbed out of the vehicles and moved cautiously up the road.

"Shouldn't we be with him?" Fitz asked.

"No point three of us confirming if this is the place. If it is, he'll flash his light back at us."

"Then what?"

"Then we go in and take out Chase and the Regan woman, dump the car, and go back and enjoy a beer while Carver reports in to Doc. Maybe we can score a couple more days just to enjoy the place"

"You're bloody confident considering this guy's rep."

Jones turned in the seat. "It's my rep you should be considering." Even in the dark Fitz could see the cold glint in his eyes.

The door opened and Carver climbed in. "Just an old lady and two cats. She said a man came but wasn't interested. She didn't know where he went."

"But we might." Jones started the car and backed out onto the road. "Where next?"