Daniel

I adjusted my tie once again. I wasn't used to wearing one much anymore. Combat fatigues were way more my style. But I'd drawn the short straw this time, so I was undercover as the visiting lecturer on--I checked my paperwork again, just to ensure I had it right— Inferential Statistics. Really? He suspected Scott had laughed his ass off as he put the cover together. Couldn't he have made me something slightly more believable? Even just a different subject would have helped. History? Political Science? Something I could actually bullshit about? This wasn't a game. People's lives were at risk. 

The mark's class had started twenty minutes ago, which meant I had about an hour to search his office. I turned right down another hallway. The office should be at the end here.

"Danny?"

The soft, feminine voice from the past stopped me faster than a bullet. I froze, a reaction which would have gotten me killed in the field. A reaction that had killed my relationship with Miranda. I turned slowly.

She looked just as beautiful as ever. A shiny satin blouse accentuated her voluptuous curves, a tight pencil skirt emphasizing her rounded hips in the best of ways.

"Hello, Miranda."

Disbelief, shock, anger--they all crossed her face in a matter of moments before settling into a neutral mask. It was a completely foreign look for her. Miranda was a whirlwind of emotion. She was real. She wore her heart on her sleeve. The mask was new. Or maybe not so new. It had been 7 years since I'd seen her last, and I suspected I was the one who put that mask there.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

The cursing was new, too, but I knew I deserved her ire.

And this was the reason Scott should have given me a more believable background. There was no way Miranda was going to buy the math professor shtick. I gave it a valiant try anyway. The job came first, especially now that there was nothing between us. 

"I'm teaching," I said, raising the notes in my hand. 

"Really." Her voice was laden with disbelief. And why wouldn't it be? All the lies I had told her while we were together. No matter that it had been to keep her safe. No matter that it killed me inside every time. This was just jumping on the dead corpse of our relationship. It was obscene. 

Lives are at stake, I reminded myself.

It was the thought that kept me going. It was the thought that had kept me from crawling inside a bottle after Miranda left me. It was what made me get up every morning. The idea that there was a bigger purpose out there, and that I had a part in it.

"What are you doing here?" I asked in return. "I thought you were still living in Boulder near your parents."

"Ginger got married and moved out here and had a couple kids. Mom and Dad wanted to be close to them, and I wanted to be close to everyone." Her eyes shifted to the pile of papers in my hand. "So teaching. What subject?"

I hid my grimace. "Inferential Statistics"

She snorted. "Yeah, right. You can't even balance a simple budget. What is this? A complicated plot to avoid some woman's boyfriend? Or to get into someone's pants?"

Damn, it killed me inside for her to think I had cheated on her. That I would ever, in any life, think she wasn't worth being true to. If it weren't for this one thing, this job that was my life, nothing could have made me lie to her. But she was one person. One beautiful, amazing, important person. That didn't weigh much against the number of lives I had been able to save, however. It didn't weigh much against making sure she stayed safe, even if it meant breaking her heart.

She held up a hand to cut me off as I opened my mouth. "Stop. I don't even know why I stopped you. I don't want to listen to all your lies again. If you ever cared for me, even a little, you'll do me a favor and get the fuck out of town. I'm over you, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt to see you."

She spun on her heel without a goodbye, her hips swaying with determination and anger. I should be used to that by now. It didn't hurt any less now than it had 7 years ago. 

Damn it! I was going to tear Scott a new one. Next time, he better just make me a fucking janitor. 

I didn't have time to dwell on the problem that was Miranda Knox, though. I had a job to do. 

I slipped my lock picking kit from its wrist brace as I approached the mark's door. Lives are at stake.