He conquers twice, who shows mercy to the conquered. – Julius Caesar

She was last seen on the southern outskirts of Mexico City, attempting to gather information about a local cartel. – Sara’s briefing to Briel for her follow up mission.

For the several weeks - or months – previous to her new assignment, she could not recall for sure, Briel's usual sense of adventure had hibernated. Her most recent side mission had ensured that. During the month she had worked there, Briel had found herself subjected to the most pedestrian occupation she could imagine, something she had intended to avoid for the rest of her life, but she had found it more than a match for her.

True, she had persevered through the more inane responsibilities of childcare, unable to escape the duties in her cover as a nanny, but she had developed some unexpected sensibilities during the month. In the third week with the Millers, Briel had arrived back at her apartment, completely exhausted from the constant demands of the three young kids. Finally able to relax, she had staggered wearily through her door, strewing her belongings in a trail behind her: keys on the entry table, jacket on the coat rack, shoes by the living room carpet. She had reached gratefully for the remote, glad that she could leave that world behind her and full of compassion for Felicity Miller.

Sometimes, Briel hated her job. If she could have refused the assignment as nanny to a housewife, Briel would have slammed that door shut as quickly as physics would allow. Unfortunately for Briel, she had targeted the woman because of her position - wife of Brendon Miller who had recently promoted to vice-president of ProtoComm, a massive communications company. Briel had accepted the assignment to retrieve the records of ProtoComm's less well known and more illicit activities, and the role demanded the utmost expertise. Though she would have liked to, Briel could entrust the task to no one but herself.

Of course, if the greatest irritation had stemmed from the menial nature of the job, Briel could have plowed through it by sheer self-discipline – she had suffered worse with greater patience. For once, though, what had shaken her the most was how much she had enjoyed the family. Early in life, Briel had turned her back on any thoughts of domesticity. Even if it condemned her to solitude, she would not fall for the delusion of happily-ever-after. Her mother had done that and had died condemned to mediocrity. In fact, Briel had purposely insulated herself from any possibility of falling into the caretaker role by accident – no friends with kids, no neighbors with kids, and no relatives with kids knew where she lived to request help with their offspring.

When forced to play the role with the Millers, though, Briel had found herself consistently pleased, not so much with the mundane tasks of child care, but with the beauty of the Miller children themselves. With the beauty of the Miller family. Despite all her best efforts, she could not resist the heartfelt cries of joy when the children saw her; she couldn't but feel concern when one hurt himself; and she couldn't stop herself from imagining the potential for their futures. The assault of such sentimental images on her rationally determined life-course had wreaked emotional havoc on her for her entire tenure with the family. Briel desperately wanted another source so she could escape domestic ennui.

She had considered reaching out to Jase, then ensconced in ProtoComm’s inner workings, but she knew that was not a safe decision for her. Jase Hamilton had once held the power to break her heart, though she had somehow guarded herself just enough to survive when he left. He held himself aloof, even in their most sentimental moments, and Briel had always seen it. She had wanted more, but he clearly hadn’t offered it.

Two years passed, then he completely betrayed her in Venice, and then he showed up without warning, in the Miller case. Once Briel had traveled from Phoenix to Banff to chase down Brendon Miller, her encounter with Jase rendered him much less intimidating than previously, and Briel was glad. He had suffered a couple of very erratic episodes just in the short time that Briel had worked with the Millers. Even before Banff, Jase had been lurking around the Miller home in Phoenix, trying to break in only to be thwarted by Liam. What could justify such carelessness?

Not that Jase had left tracks, exactly. Only Briel’s long knowledge of him confirmed her suspicions, since Liam didn’t know Jase and couldn’t identify the perpetrator of the break-in. Instead, Briel had found herself forced to resort to eavesdropping and manipulation for information regarding the man loitering outside the Miller home. Just as well for Briel since a mark’s family member offered little long-term danger, whereas seeking out Jase, the complicated ex, or pulling in Liam, who ran a little on the possessive and overreacting side, both carried some significant danger.

Jase, himself, was dangerous, but Briel’s history and interest with Jase ran even more perilous. With how he had treated her, she should hate him, but she had never quite lost the naïve hope that she had misjudged him, that there were extenuating circumstances in their past encounters. Idiot, she upbraided herself. No, Jase was not safe.

And the largest part of Liam’s allure stemmed from his general unpredictability, the heightened alertness required to exist in his presence, and though Briel enjoyed the challenge when she was bored and without a mission, his capricious nature did not serve well within the engagement required for an operation.

So, I will go with safe, she assured herself as she settled into Felicity’s living room armchair and stared over at Nick Alexander. Since Briel would leave him behind as soon as she had retrieved Felicity’s information, Nick posed no danger, either to the mission or to Briel personally. “You said he was a couple of inches shorter than you?”

“Seemed like. I thought he was a delivery man, to be honest. Still think that most likely.”

“Oh, you’re probably right,” Briel appeased. Of course, Nick had then given her the look that he wore too often in their exchanges – skeptical curiosity.

“Which completely explains why my sister’s nanny is asking questions about identifying someone who walked on a sidewalk…”

Sucking in a breath, Briel quickly conjured an explanation – loudly ignoring Nick’s smirk. “I told you; when I showed up a couple of days ago, I thought I saw my ex-boyfriend walking around the neighborhood. I don’t want him creating an issue with security at your sister’s house – at my job.”

It was true; he was her ex, sort of. It absolutely had been Jase at the Miller house, as Briel confirmed only a couple of days later when he took the choice out of her hands.

Only he could have so upended Briel, though the circumstances did not match his usual savvy. After stumbling home, finally free from the bewitching spell of the Miller family, Briel had suffered an interruption to her trek to the respite of the sofa. Briel had wanted to punch the person who dared ring the doorbell. Not only did she not wish to interact with any human being, but in her line of work, she did not like for unexpected events to occur near her home – they belonged in the field. A surprise visit elicited all of her caution, so when the bell rang, she carefully crept forward, minutely examining the view through her peephole.

The sight that greeted her so shocked her that she stood statue-like against the wall of the entrance way, not afraid, merely stunned. Finally, curiosity overcame her initial stupor and compelled her to turn the doorknob.

Rather than betray her scattered thoughts, Briel feigned complete control of the situation. Throwing the door open with great force, she adopted a stance more aggressive than her actual sentiment. “What are you doing here?” she demanded coldly.

“I came to see you, of course,” Jase Hamilton crooned with his typical swarthy cool. Confused, Briel glanced up and down the hallway to see if Jase were in danger – or if he had brought danger with him. The irritating thing about Jase was that her instincts believed him, accepted his image that he was a kind and generous person. Unfortunately, her experience of the reality was less clear.

Ever since she had known him, Jase had accomplished with finesse what Briel had accomplished with brute force – dominance. Not knowing his reason for showing up at her door, she wasn’t quite sure how to manage it, or whether she needed to. Did she assume he was there to bring trouble, so come out as combatant? Did she believe his demeanor and try to help with whatever ailed him? No, she would just have to find a third option, and that would require investigation.

“If you're not careful,” Briel reprimanded him, “you're going to leave me standing in the rain.”

It was an appeal by her, the code language. A reference to their shared history, and a fleece to determine if he had come in peace or as an enemy.

“If you would invite me in, you wouldn’t have to worry about that,” he smiled crookedly at her.

Inconclusive. Damn. Still, he had some nerve. Invite him in. She would try the code again. “I would as soon stand in the snow.” The code language was a joke, a game between 22-year-old rookie Briel and her 26-year-old assistant trainer. If he answered wrong, she just might pull her gun. She could only interpret his unannounced presence at her home as a violation of the unwritten codes of the security community, and it would have justified her in putting him in the hospital in the eyes of her colleagues.

When he spoke again, some latent emotion brought out his strange orphan accent, a trill and twist of words that stemmed from splitting his childhood between too many countries. He managed to cover the slip with a cold laugh. “You complain,” he laughed again. “But from what I remember, you enjoy the snow.”

He did not. Such an intensely personal insult. She had been barely more than a child, completely inexperienced. She had interpreted his lack of interest as a sign of her own shortcomings, and so she had fallen to desperation when Jase refused to move the relationship deeper. It was when Terrence started hanging around more, and Briel could only interpret it as rejection. For him to bring it up, after what he did in Venice? To accuse her of his own crime? To hint that she was prudish and cold? He had been the one who rejected her, not the other way around. Jase Hamilton had intended the words to remind her. Fine; battle it was.

Even if she decided not to shoot him, Briel felt pretty confident that she could hold her own with him, even at nine inches shorter than he and with her rage notwithstanding. He was definitely stronger, but she was fast and resourceful, and she didn’t mind using blunt objects to even the odds. Not that he couldn’t eventually win, but she could make it hurt, and the battle would risk drawing way too much attention if he held malicious intent.

The public setting was probably her biggest advantage, so she took one step out of her apartment, certain to maintain total access to her retreat inside. She glared up at him with eyes full of intention. If he had come to hurt her, she would know in the next few seconds. Either way, this was going to be really satisfying.

Her hand flung swiftly across his cheek leaving instant red fingers of welts on his face. “Don’t insult me,” Briel whispered harshly. “Remember - I know you. Everyone else is distracted by your charm, but you tarnished that for me a long time ago. You will want to tread lightly, or you’ll regret it.”

“You really think I’m the one with regret,” he mused with feigned boldness. The words were obviously intended as even further insult, but her mind registered something totally unexpected: insecurity. In Jase Hamilton?

“Considering what you know about me, you can understand why.”

“You have misjudged me, Lilianne.”

Damn. If he would refer to her by the endearment, the codename he had given her, he needed her help. She wanted to mistrust him, but she had to make sure. It would require a test – would he retaliate or would he let her hold the higher position? Would his ego or his desperation win? The answer would determine her response. “I doubt it,” she prodded.

“I want you to know the truth,” he replied, this time his voice hushed, “but you won’t be able to do that without all the information.”

“Not interested. You're appealing to the wrong person.” Briel tossed the words over her shoulder as she spun away, pouring as much dismissal as she could muster into her tone.

Jase took the bait. reaching for her to arrest her movement and grasping her by the forearm. She stepped rapidly backwards, twisting Jase's arm behind him and thrusting violently upward on it until he fell to one knee. So he’s choosing not to fight…

“Please, Briel,” he adopted a conciliatory tone. “I am sorry. I was upset – I shouldn’t have insulted you. This is not about business. I wanted to ask you a personal favor.”

“Personal?” she leveled. “Why in the world would I want to help you?”

“Just come have coffee with me so I can explain myself to you. I have information for you. It's regarding your target.”

What would he know about Brendon and Felicity Miller? If she deduced correctly, apparently enough to try to access their house that day. He couldn't know about her real client. She had no idea about his current gig since he was freelance. So much unknown. “Just tell me now,” she demanded.

“It is too much,” he replied, then paused and glanced furtively back and forth, up and down the hallway. “And too sensitive to share in an unsecured site.”

“Fine,” Briel allowed quietly. He had a point. “Meet me at La Parisienne tomorrow morning.” She relaxed her grip on his arm as she spoke, and he stood, turning tentatively to face her.

“I can't wait,” he replied, a sarcastic twinge replacing his earlier conciliation. She had conceded, but at least he hadn’t left with the upper hand.

Of course, he had ruined her night. Though she had acted uninterested, she had suddenly begun to burn with curiosity as to what would bring an unprincipled rogue like Jase from Briel's past to the suburban boredom of a housewife, Felicity Miller. It had to be ProtoComm.

Briel dressed quickly in the morning and headed to La Parisienne, only slowing to a casual stroll when within sight of the restaurant's windows, lest her attitude belie her interest. With their shared mastery of French, Briel little feared that someone would overhear their conversation. Though not native-born, Jase had spent almost twelve of his childhood years on the Southern coast of France near Narbonne.

Jase sat near a window, and as she approached from behind him, Briel saw with a jolt that he looked nervous. What could shake the imperturbable Jase Hamilton? As soon as he saw Briel, however, Jase adopted his usual mien of careless amusement. All compassion evaporated at the familiar nonchalance. They had far too much history for her not to be wary of his act.

“Jase,” she offered tersely.

“Please,” he smiled wryly. “Have a seat. I ordered us some coffee.”

“Would you skip the formalities for me?” she begged as he waved at the waiter to bring the drinks. Before he could answer, a man approached and set a small cup in the French style both in front of Briel and in front of Jase.

“Should I make you taste test mine first?” she quipped dryly.

Ignoring her, Jase delved immediately into his purpose. “Briel, I will skip the formalities since you asked. Look,” he continued in French, “your client is in danger.”

“My client?”

“Felicity Miller.”

“Felicity. And does this danger stem from you, seeing as you tried to break into her home yesterday? Her brother saw you there.”

Suddenly, his careful mask slipped, and he leaned forward as if begging, “Briel, I know that was stupid, but my concern overcame my judgment. I had to try something. They're going to kill Felicity.”

The way he spoke Felicity Miller's name took Briel aback, and her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Jase, calm down; you're not making sense. This is not like you. Who's going to kill my client? And why?”

Suddenly serious again, Jase balled his hands back into fists. “We all know she's not your real client,” he spat. Then, in almost desperation, “Still, you have to care if they're going to kill her!”

“She is my client, even if I retain loyalties elsewhere.”

“But if they had to kill her so you could get your information, you wouldn't stop them,” he accused heatedly.

“Not at the cost of my client's life and freedom, no,” Briel looked guiltily into his eyes. “If someone has to die, it won't be my client. And you’re not the only person I would disappoint if that happened.”

Briel watched, amazed, as from somewhere inside of Jase a fire rose up, and his voice grew hard. “Well, I will not let them kill her.” This was nothing like the careful, controlled Jase that she knew.

“Stop,” Briel commanded. She needed to call a halt to the histrionics immediately. She needed to know what he knew. “Who wants to kill Felicity Miller? I doubt seriously if she has ever crossed anyone, even inadvertently.”

“Of course not; you and I both know she wouldn't knowingly cause anyone harm. That wouldn't matter to them, though. I imagine they wouldn't care who they hurt if they accomplished their task.”

Briel actually reached out and grabbed Jase's tautly-flex fingers. His stress had begun to irk her. “Jase, who? Who wants to kill Felicity?”

“Bill Henry.” He let the name sink in.

“Bill Henry...Brendon’s company? But you...”

This didn't make sense. Jase worked for ProtoComm at the moment, so why would he come here and try to thwart them? It could cost him his job, his reputation – potentially his life. Perhaps his plea masked a ploy, some attempt to draw from Briel what information she had gathered from Brendon. Still, though he often proved unscrupulous, Jase had never involved himself with murder, not as far as Briel knew.

“I don't know why they have targeted her,” Jase declared, “I never pegged Brendon for the type to go along with something like this, but he has to know. I've seen the order from Henry, and Felicity Miller is marked for elimination.”

Of course Brendon would not participate in harming his wife; he adored his wife – didn’t he? Besides the fact that she was integral to his image as a family man. There was definitely something Jase wasn’t telling her, and so she didn’t know how much she would agree to. Still, she could engage in some independent investigation. Until then, Jase would have to manage things on his own.

“When you have something more, you can contact me again,” Briel dismissed him, swigging the last sip of coffee.

“But you will watch out for her?” He stood to his feet, mirroring Briel's actions.

“As much as I am able without compromising my own mission.”

Jase huffed a relieved sigh, a timid smile breaking his usual practiced charm – though perhaps the sincere gesture gave him more charm than he knew. “I thought you would help.” He squeezed her hand. “I will try not to interfere again.”

Though he seemed to speak his true intentions, the whole “distressed” vibe was a new one for him, and she didn’t have a clue what game he was playing – or if he was playing at all. Briel would need to keep an eye out for him.

In the meantime, she would gather her intel from safer sources, ones she did not have to fear would stir up old ghosts. Ones she had not almost fallen to in her earlier, more vulnerable years. She would help Felicity Miller for her own reasons, and if that gave Jase what he wanted, fine. To get there, though, she would find someone else to provide her information – someone who posed less of a personal threat.