ALONE TOGETHER I OWEN GRADY

All The Echoes In My Mind Cry

All The Echoes In My Mind Cry

"Prettiest thing he's ever seen, my ass," Cassandra muttered, prodding and pulling at the bags beneath her eyes, "old hag walking here." She took one last look at her pale reflection, the harsh corporate lighting less than flattering, only to start violently as an alarm suddenly blared into being, almost deafening her.

Clamping her hands over her ears, Cassandra staggered out into the corridor, crashing into a security guard, who shoved her aside, the whole building suddenly swarming with personnel, the air alive with the crackle of radio static and disembodied voices.

With difficulty, she elbowed her way back to the conference room, only to stop short at the Post-It note stuck haphazardly on the door, Claire's slanting cursive saying CASS, SORRY, GOT TO GO, NEEDED BACK AT BASE. KIDS ARE OKAY. OWEN WILL DRIVE YOU TO THE HOTEL. CLAIRE. But what made her stomach turn was the last two words underlined several times, P.S. TELL HIM.

"What, am I your personal chauffer now?" Owen complained from behind her, making Cassandra whirl around. "And tell me what?" he asked, brow furrowing as he read the last line.

"You tell me," Cassandra retorted, tearing the Post-It down and crumpling it into a ball before dropping it onto the ground.

"Litterbug," Owen criticised, wagging his finger mockingly at her.

Cassandra knocked his hand aside. "Never mind that," she snapped. "What the hell is going on!?" As she spoke, the alarm abruptly fell silent, even as the swarm of activity continued. "So?" she prompted as Owen glanced around the corridor, face distracted.

"Thank God, I couldn't hear myself think with that racket," Owen complained, craning his neck past her.

"Owen!"

"Jeesh, keep your wig on, man!" Owen retorted, trying and failing to get around her, Cassandra too fast on her feet, blocking him at every turn.

"Look, where's Claire?" Cassandra demanded, flapping her hand in front of his face, making Owen blink owlishly. "Why did she need to go back to base?"

"It has an implant on its back," Owen said distractedly, suddenly waving at somebody behind her, "she can track it from the control room."

"Track what?"

"Mr. Grady?" one of the security guards panted, coming up the side of her, grabbing his chest as he caught his breath. "We have clearance to enter Paddock 11."

"Take it easy, bro," Owen advised, eying the overweight man with concern, "or you'll end up taking a heart attack."

"Been there, done that."

"Maybe you shouldn't have taken this job, then," Owen said, holding his palm up, silencing Cassandra who was about to launch into another tirade, "security's a young man's game."

"I was told it was a desk job," the security guard said bitterly, "so much for sitting on my fat ass all day."

Owen repressed a grin. "C'mon, enough gassing," he then said, clasping the man briefly on the shoulder before setting off down the corridor, the security guard having to hurry to catch up.

Cassandra stood there, wrongfooted, before taking off after them, cursing Owen under her breath. As she navigated her way through the throng, she almost lost sight of Owen several times, only catching a glimpse of his broad shoulders here and the back of his blue shirt there, forcing her to run in order to catch up. Gasping, she skidded round a corner, just in time to see the pair of them standing at the end of a long passage, the security guard keying in the co-ordinates to one of the password-protected access points.