Chapter 3

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Annie entered her one-bedroom apartment, dropped her stuff on the table and booted up her computer. Like having another office, this was her usual routine; checking for assignments from the Agency, keeping herself busy until she was so tired sleep was unavoidable. Her footsteps across the floor reverberated in the emptiness of the room so she took off her shoes and tossed them aside.

Her apartment was clean and simple, decorated in colors of beige. Anyone visiting could see it was nothing more than functional. She’d been waiting for Michael to move in before doing anything drastic. And now, how could she pick out a bedspread for an empty bed? Michael had been her world. But in an instant they were torn apart, and he was gone. She didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye.

Annie brought her laptop to the kitchen counter and searched for a snack. Meals for one were not easy, so the food supply at home was minimal. Leftover take-out would have to do as it did many other nights. She eyed the wine bottle sitting on the counter and wondered how long ago she’d opened it. Three days ago was a guess, good enough for her. She poured a full glass and nuked some chicken pasta before sitting on a stool.

She navigated to her email and clicked a message that read “Successful Singles” in the subject line. She sipped her favorite pinot noir, savoring its silkiness as it slid down her throat, welcoming the slow drag it brought to her body.

A door slam shook her apartment and took her attention from the email. Her neighbors were at it again. At least once a week, Annie heard doors slamming, shouting, the occasional breakable item crashing to the floor. Several times, she had been close to going over there and handling the situation, but decided to stay clear of any more drama if that was even possible.

Annie shook her head, turned her attention back to the screen. She opened the email and continued to read: Meet your perfect match tonight. Club Cougar is the place to be. She then navigated to a chat room and began exchanging messages with screen name Ted.

I thought we had plans? read Ted’s first message.

I was there. Annie knew the way she handled Frank Tappa would be frowned upon, but she wasn’t about to apologize for her actions. The important thing was that she’d pulled it off.

That’s obvious, but it was supposed to be a bit more intimate. That was quite a show you put on.

Maybe it was the wine, but she didn’t care if she was pushing the limits. One of my better performances. Maybe they’d see that she wasn’t to be controlled. That they needed to hold up their end of the bargain. She knew she had some leeway with Ted and she would take advantage of that. He had recruited her, trained her, and been her liaison ever since.

Any plans tonight? Ted replied.

She paused wondering why Ted didn’t pursue the matter. No, But I'm not feeling well. I need to stay home and rest.  Bye. Annie clicked off just before seeing the beginning of Ted’s reply But I…Then she tilted back the rest of her drink.

Ted would have convinced her to do an assignment. But she just didn't have the strength she would need for another night like the last one. She regarded her half-eaten and now cold bowl of leftovers seeking comfort. Yes, she’d made a commitment. And it was her decision to join the Agency. The money they paid her for the assignments didn’t mean a damn thing. They knew that. It was the promise of finding Michael’s killer that fueled her to continue. And she would, until Michael’s murder was solved. But what then? Would she simply walk away from them? Move on with her life like a normal person? If that were the case why did she find herself roaming the streets looking for trouble?

Annie picked up her cell phone, thought for a second, and turned it off. She wished she could do the same with her brain. One more glass would help, so she grabbed the wine bottle, abandoned her poor excuse for dinner, and headed to the couch. I need to be in charge. She said it over and over, but trying to control her life was like trying to collect bees with a handkerchief.

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