I stood at the neon bar, pulling down the hem of my dress. Though far more modest than most of the apparel the women in this bar were wearing, the tight skirt was a far cry from the bush jackets and khaki trousers I had been wearing for months. I nodded gratefully at the bartender and gathered the three glasses he'd given me before turning and making my way back toward the front, where my two best friends from college were leaning across a high table three away from the window.

Kacey Adams was sucking on the lime from her previous mojito, eying the man at the table behind us who had been staring at her all night. Remy Williams had one finger in her ear while the other hand pressed her cell phone to her cheek. Her red hair swung in front of her face as she frowned in irritation. I approached and set the glasses down, catching the tail end of Remy's conversation.

"I don't know when I'll be home, I told you," she snapped. I caught Kacey's eye but she only shook her head and tossed back her drink. "Goodbye Dylan."

Remy hung up and slammed her phone down on the table, letting out a grunt of anger. I raised a brow as she took a sip of her whiskey ginger.

"Everything okay?" I asked carefully.

Remy looked up and that infectious smile of hers returned, though I noticed it didn't reach her eyes.

"Of course, yeah. Everything's fine. Don't worry about me. It's your night after all," Remy answered cheerily, patting me on the forearm as Kacey gave a flirtatious little wave to the guy she'd been staring down. "Kacey."

Kacey turned back.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Are you done fighting with your degenerate boyfriend?" Kacey inquired in her signature careless drawl. Remy's jaw tightened but she didn't deign to answer. After a moment, Kacey moved on. "What about you, Mads? How's Cameron?"

"I wouldn't know," I muttered, taking another sip as my best friends met one another's eyelines over the table, brief spat forgotten out of concern for their friend.

"What happened?" Remy asked carefully.

I sighed, preparing myself to tell them what I'd been avoiding discussing for months but Kacey beat me to it.

"He couldn't wait for you to go off and save the world?" Kacey guessed correctly, a sad, knowing smile on her lips.

"He didn't understand why I had to fly halfway around the world to save it," I answered and received encouraging hand holding on both sides as I did. "Nor why it would take an indefinite amount of time to do so."

"But you're back now," Remy said happily, squeezing my hand in her excitement to have me back. I smiled back at her.

"Why are you back?" Kacey asked, ever the astute one. "I mean, no offense. We're so thrilled you are but it was supposed to be an indefinite amount of time and you were only gone for what? Four months?"

I took a breath, ready for part two of my explanation.

"I was offered a job," I told them. "Here, in DC."

They glanced at each other again, this time smiling. I had anticipated this reaction. I knew they'd be happy to have me home. For good.

"More important than counseling child soldier victims in South Sudan?" Kacey inquired, raising a brow again in recognition of the fact that I could never do work I did not think was meaningful.

I opened my mouth to answer but never got the chance. An explosion sounded from somewhere in front of me. The blast drowned out every other noise in the crowded bar and temporarily blinded us. I grabbed Kacey and Remy by their shoulders and used the combat training I'd been given upon entering an active war zone as well as my own instincts to toss them onto the ground and hover over them, arms spread wide in a shield.

There were screams, people running away from the blast, and clattering as they pushed chairs and tables out of their way to do so. I remained down until the explosion was over and I realized we were intact. Then, I stood. I turned to the street facing window to find that the small family owned bakery across the street had been the target. The entire facade of the building was engulfed in a fireball that climbed upwards at an alarming rate only fire could achieve. Black smoke was curling into the dark night air, rising until it faded into the night.

I turned to find most of the patrons had either frozen in place or run to the back of the bar. Kacey and Remy both gazed up at me, mouths open and stunned by my protection, while I pointed at the bartender.

"Call 911," I directed and he nodded, running to the phone to obey but, even as he did, I heard the sirens already coming. I turned to the mass of people huddled at the back. "Don't leave. Stay inside until the police arrive."

Then I turned and headed for the front door. No one questioned me. I knew they wouldn't. In times of crisis, people just wanted someone in charge, making the tough decisions for them.

The fire truck had already arrived by the time I emerged onto the street. A few patrol cars were speeding toward the site as well. I looked around at the damage. The explosion had clearly come from an old pickup truck parked in front of the bakery. The vehicle was blown to bits. Only a charred frame remained. Shrapnel from the blast littered the street, the main reason I'd told the bar patrons to stay put until the police arrived. And now they were.

Jumping out of their cars nearly before they came to a stop, they leapt into action instantaneously. One went to question the firemen about what they needed. Two others headed into the bar to question the patrons. And one headed right to me.

"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to step away. This is a crime scene and-"

"Dr. Madeline McKinnon. I'm with the FBI," I interrupted, pulling my shiny new badge from my purse and holding it up to show him. His lips parted in surprise as I said a silent prayer of thanks that I had stopped by the J. Edgar Hoover building to pick this up on my way home from the airport earlier today.

"My apologies, ma'am," he answered and moved on to question the bar patrons, allowing me to remain where I was and watch the firemen put out the blaze.

It was done quickly enough and, as the officers began to wrap crime scene tape around a forty foot radius of the smoldering rubble, I was allowed inside to aid in the investigation. The metro police were less than enthusiastic about my presence but I spoke to none of them anyway as I walked through the charred remains of the street and bakery to get a feel for what had happened here.

I was just examining the mostly intact door of the shop when a booming voice sounded behind me.

"Clear out! Give me some room. The federal bureau of investigation will be taking jurisdiction over this crime scene," the man was shouting.

"On what grounds, sir?" The most senior officer was questioning, irritated clearly now by the presence of not one but two FBI agents on the scene.

"On the grounds that we said so, Hutch," the agent snapped. "This explosion occurred within a mile of a federal monument. Not to mention it smells like terrorism. Car bomb on a crowded late night street? And- hey! Who let this bar fly onto my crime scene?"

Finally, I turned to face the raging agent and looked him over, examining him as closely as I was examining the scene of the blast. He was cocky, arrogant, that was for sure. His body language spoke of a man who liked control and usually had it. He was handsome too. Great bone structure in the face, soft brown hair probably slightly longer than the FBI preferred, and even despite his suit I could tell he took good care of his body. I stepped out of the rubble at his staring and approached.

"What are you doing rummaging around in-" he started but I interrupted.

"This wasn't terrorism," I said. He was so caught off guard, he blinked once back at me before answering.

"Excuse me?"

"Terror attacks are intended for maximum loss of life. This was an explosion at a bakery at eleven pm. They knew no one would be here," I explained. He raised a brow, unimpressed.

"Yeah that would be great if there were, you know, any evidence. Have you heard that word? Evidence?"

"The door is locked."

"What?"

"The door is locked. From the outside. Someone locked up the shop before they left for the evening. This was the only building destroyed on the entire block. There was a crowded bar right across the street that remained untouched. If this were a terror attack, don't you think that would have been a better target? I'd say what you have here is nothing more than insurance fraud."

He looked annoyed at my evaluation, jaw tensing as he placed his hands on his hips.

"And what makes you qualified to make such an observation?" He asked, taking a pointed glance at my tight dress.

"My dual PhDs in both Psychology and Chemistry from Georgetown University mostly," I quipped. I expected him to snap back at me but instead, he stood a little straighter.

"PhD in Psychology..." he repeated quietly to himself before saying much louder to me, "Dr. McKinnon?"

I blinked back at him in surprise.

"I-yes. How did you know that?" I asked.

"I'm Special Agent Jake Parker," he introduced. "You're my new partner."

There was an awkward silence between us as we realized we hadn't gotten off on the best foot. Luckily, our discomfort was interrupted by the sound of the owner who had just arrived and was wailing at the loss of his livelihood, begging the officers to tell him what had happened. Agent Parker's gaze, however, remained on me.

"Insurance fraud," he repeated. I could hear the disbelief in his tone.

"If you don't believe me, question the owner," I told him, arms crossed.

"What, you think he blew up his own store?"

"No. But I think he planned it. Speak to him and I guarantee he will give you an unprompted alibi with an abnormal amount of proof in the first five minutes."

He watched me for a moment and then sighed and walked off toward the shouting owner. I followed.

"Sir," Agent Parker called out gruffly as he approached the man. "Are you the owner of this establishment?"

"Yes! Yes I am. Patrick Jones. Please. Will you tell me what happened?" He cried and I nodded. Points for acting.

"It appears that this pickup truck was parked outside of your building for some time before it exploded. Witnesses across the street at the bar said they'd seen the vehicle when they'd gone in."

"Well, I wasn't here," he rushed on and I smiled. "I was at a hockey game with my brother. I have the tickets right here and, oh, here's a picture we took at the game. You can see the scoreboard in the back there."

Agent Parker frowned and then looked over to me. I smiled up at him. He sighed.

"Mr. Jones, you're going to have to come with me" Agent Parker started the mantra. "We'll need to ask you some questions about- hey. Where do you think you're going?"

He paused to cast an eye to me. I'd been walking away, towards Kacey and Remy who stood a few feet away from the crime scene tape, talking to an officer who was taking notes.

"I'm not on the clock yet," I called back with a smile. "See you Monday, Agent Parker."

He frowned before calling back, "It's Special Agent Parker!"