Title: Recruitment.
Featuring: Desade
Date: For GCW NC-17
Location: Oakland.

Alexandra Pierce was so tired, she couldn't think straight. She relied on muscle memory as she shuffled into her condo apartment â€" there were three steps through the door, her keys went in the bowl on the table. A right turn and ten more steps would take her to the bedroom, which she sorely needed.

A little less than a day ago, Pierce, alongside those PRIME members stupid or desperate enough to go home, arrived at Casablanca's Mohammad V Airport for their flight back to the United States. Not everyone went â€" some stayed behind to opt for the (much shorter) trip to Istanbul for the next show, unwilling to deal with the hardship of a thirteen-hour flight to New York or the prospect of an even longer trip a week later. It was still made it an option, but, as Pierce's daughter started at the Ellis Academy in Bakersfield the following Monday, Alex didn't really have much of a choice.

Seventeen hours later, after two trips through customs, three delays, and a forty-minute drive from San Francisco to her condo in Oakland, it was a wonder Pierce could see straight, nevermind function, especially since (unlike her daughter-slash-traveling-companion) she'd never been able to sleep on a plane.

Once she was reasonably certain the teen would make it to her room without keeling over, Alex shuffled across the living room, dumping her luggage by the laundry room door.

"Mrow!" a chipper-voiced kitten called as he jumped off the couch. Hermes (and not "Hermie," no matter what the other two women in Pierce's life claimed) was an orange and black tabby, undersized but overly energetic. He wound his way through the redhead's legs for a figure eight or two, somehow able to avoid getting kicked or stepped on.

"Hey, there," Alex murmured, stooping to scratch behind the cat's ears. "I missed you, too."

The kitten purred contentedly, twitching his tail against the floor, and when Pierce moved again, Hermes outpaced her, leaping headlong onto the bed.

"Oh, come on!" A jilted voice followed the pounce. "You stole that whole Pop Tart less than an hour ago, there's no way you still need me to feed you!"

The words were followed by a little laughter as the woman who occupied the bed, nestled in with her laptop and headphones, gave into the kitten's charms. She gave a look to her own cat, a fuzzy black blob of feline curled up by her legs. "Why can't you chill like Reaper? I mean, it's not li--"

Just as Amy Campbell realized she was having a conversation with a pair of housecats, she noticed the figure in the doorway and flew to her feet almost immediately, slipping her Mac and mildly embarrassing reading glasses onto the bedside table. Her reaction was not unlike the kitten's. "Al!"

"Hi, honey," Pierce said in an exhausted monotone, stumbling backwards as the full weight of the other redhead hit her in a hug. "I'm home." She glanced behind her and down the hall. "Quinn is, too, but I think she's already asleep."

Alex was already a pale woman, her skin like alabaster, and her eyes were red from exhaustion, making her look altogether sickly as she hooked an arm around Campbell's waist, placing a kiss against her hair.

"Stop going."

"Can't." Pierce tried to smile as the two engaged in kind of a clumsy, shambling waltz across the room and in the vague direction of the bed. "I was the one stupid enough to sign the contract before I looked at how long the flights were."

"Well, then your only choice is obviously to quit." Amy supported the other woman in her shambling walk. "It's just math."

Alex chuckled as she lowered onto the bed. "I was so ready when we landed in New York. I was going to get to see you, and we were going to go out and have a good time and... then I had to fly three more hours and we sat on the tarmac at JFK for twenty minutes and I swear it must have been two and a half hours. I was just about to get to sleep, just in time for them to announce we were finally taking off."

"That's why you need to stop going," Amy couldn't help herself; she laid beside Pierce for a long moment, hugging tight, face buried against her shoulder. No matter where she went, for how long, Alex smelled the same. It was just a mix of her shampoo and favorite dryer sheets, but it was one of the more comforting sensations Campbell had ever known. "I cried this morning. I guess because I was alone. It was... weird. And wow, you're tense."

"It's hard," Pierce admitted, twisting forward to slip off her shoes. "I mean, was it ever this hard when we were in SCCW?" She huffed a laugh, touching her forehead to her shoulder. "Maybe I'm just getting old. Quinn's going back to school on Monday, so I'm going to have to go to Istanbul all by myself, and â€" no place has ever seemed so far away before."

The ruthless Desade may not have been the type to apologize for anything, but the woman that lived inside her was, and Alex's smile briefly became a frown. "Sorry, did I â€" I didn't ask how you've been."

"Lonely to the point that I've been going to dinner with Dan."

"Dan... Mulholland?" Alex drew her head back so she could look the other woman in the eyes, her brows lifting. "Dan Mulholland, the man whose shoddy investments put you in this mess to start with? The one who went to work for Lane? That Dan?"

"Yeah. The only agent who'll speak to me. The only person who found me any kind of work recently." Amy said. "And I don't wanna be mean, but you work with people who've done a lot worse to the both of us."

"Babe, if it's work you need, you just have to--"

"--go to GCW and keep being away from you because you decided to work for the one place that won't take me," she sighed. "It's impossible to sit alone here and not end up in trouble, Al."

Pierce sighed as well, sliding back on her hands until she was lying on her back, her feet dangling from the bed. "God, this bed is so soft I don't even want to move," she said, staring up at the lazily whirling ceiling fan. "I'm happy for you, you know." The tall woman shifted her head to glance Amy's way. "Even if you had to put your hair on the line to get the job."

"Pfft. If I lose my hair, I'll rock it. I'll just have to date Kanye West for a while." Campbell could feel the eyes on her, and lolled her head away with that cocky grin. "And when I'm actually not a hobo again, maybe we can move into a place nobody's got the address of. I mean, if that's... we never really discussed how committed this is this time around, did we?"

"Is it even necessary?"

Amy chuckled, lazily turning back to face Pierce. "As long as we're on the same page."

"Well, I have a page in my diary that just reads 'Alex loves Amy' and I've drawn a bunch of hearts around it. So if you wanted to be on that page together, I’m fine with it." Pierce grinned, an honest expression that very, very few other people ever saw. "Come on, Amy, it's been four days, eleven hours, and--" She craned her head to look at the clock. "--and thirty-two minutes since I saw you. I missed you."

"And when I wasn't around my other girlfriends and boyfriends, I totally missed you, too!" If Alex hadn't been so tired, Amy guessed there would have been an arm-slapping there. Instead, Pierce frowned almost mockingly, and the smaller redhead rolled so she laid halfway over her, head once again on Desade's shoulder. "Nah... you know I missed you. I hate this city without you. This country, even. And it seems like it's been four days, eleven hours and... however many minutes you said... since you've actually slept well, so maybe that should be the first order of business, instead of talking shop?"

Pierce made a soft sound in her throat, pleased and content and -- above all -- tired. "Okay. I can get behind that." Alex's smile stretched at Campbell's fingertips brushing along her abdomen. "Amy?" Alex murmured, sleep already threatening to claim her.

"Yeah?"

"Love you. Don't ever change."

Pierce's breath became shallow and even, and her head drops to the side, unable to fight off her exhaustion.

"You're the only thing that changes me," Campbell murmured, brushing the hair out of the other woman's face. She rolled carefully off the bed, picking up laptop and tiptoeing from the room.

---

Six weeks earlier.

The music was low and thrumming and sibilant â€" animalistic, the way one might imagine a snake's heartbeat. This wasn't a rhythm built for dancing or singing. It wasn't music for driving or exercising or relaxing at home. It was the kind of beat that burrowed under its listener's skin, digging into their veins and racing alongside their pulse.

This was music to fuck to, which was convenient because that was just what was happening.

The woman was splayed out on a chaise lounge, her legs spread wide to accommodate the man looming over her. Her head was thrown back, platinum blond hair fanned out artfully overhead. Her mouth hung wide open to accept a second member, and the two men fell into a regular cadence, in and out and out and in.

The blonde moaned, low and long, and her head tilted back further, allowing the man in her mouth to push deeper, sinking in almost all the way to his balls. She made a soft sound, a wet, slurping plop as the head of his penis pushed past her tonsils and into her throat, and she choked when he held it there. All the while, she kept her eyes wide, tears gathering at the corners to mix with mascara and eyeshadow.

The second time she coughed, it was louder, somewhere in her chest, and her withered gag reflex brought up the man's cock, strings of saliva connecting it back to her lips. She turned her head to the side, coughing again, a wet hack like she might bring up more.

"Cut!" a voice called from off to their left. The voice was deep, gravely, and sounded like its speaker smoked two packs a day or gargled razorblades.

The two men stopped their wanton thrusting, withdrawing from her orifices. The blonde rolled onto her side, coughing again. A gobbet of saliva hit the concrete, and she wiped plump pink lips with the back of her hand. Running makeup made her blue eyes even more hollow than usual, but she tried to smile.

"Sorry about this," the man in the trucker hat said with a smile that was either lopsided or just deformed. "I'll be right back."

"I'll be right here," his guest murmured, leaning back in the cloth director's chair. She let her gaze wandered but listened in.

The man -- his chair read "Brent Thorn", but that wasn't likely his real name -- jogged quickly over to the chaise. "Dammit, Lacey," he grumbled. "What's wrong with you, girl? We both know you can take him."

"Thanks, Brent," she sighed. "I'm fine." Heels that high required some effort to stand up in, and notably, he didn't offer her a hand.

"What do you want me to say here, sweetheart? We're on a tight schedule here and I need this space in like an hour for Josie and Cris." He laid a hand on her shoulder. "Can you do this or not?"

Lacey nodded, stifling a quiet cough. "I'm fine. I'm good. You want to reshoot, or--"

"I'll get the boys somebody to fluff them and we'll pick up right from the BJ, okay?"

She nodded, raking her fingers through her hair. "Yeah, cool. Then I'll just grab a bottle of water."

Brent wasn't listening, turning to shout. "Margaret!" He favored his guest with an apologetic smile.

That guest was a brunette, tall and taller still in three-inch stilettos, her hair pulled back and piled up atop her head. Her name was Kathryn Shaw, and, aside from her voluptuous figure, she also had an easy smile, which she put to use as she approached. "It's fine, Brent. I'm just here to watch. You won't even know I'm here."

Brent trotted away, glancing around the warehouse that doubled as his studio. Kathryn turned, her arms falling to her sides as she watched him go. "What a tool," she said under her breath.

"I'm sorry?" Lacey was entirely unconcerned with her nudity, crouching to fish a Dasani water from the mini-fridge.

"I said he's kind of a tool." Kathi smiled back, arching a brow. "Just don't tell him I said so. He thinks I'm here to invest a bunch of money."

"You're not?" The woman twisted the cap off the bottle. "I'm sorry, I've lost track of how many people he's brought in during filming. Most of them have been guys, though."

Kathryn grinned, the kind of simmering expression that stirred the loins. "Imagine my surprise. He hasn't asked you to--"

"Hm? Oh!" In turn, Lacey's smile was a bright, sunny thing. "No, he'd never."

"Oh, I think we both know that he would if he thought it would close the deal." She crossed the warehouse, heels clicking on the concrete. "Would you do it?" she asked finally, leaning against the chaise. The fact that three people were fucking on it just minutes before didn't even faze her.

"What? No!" Again, Lacey flashed her smile. "Fuck a guy just to get funding for the movie? That's a little--"

Shaw's laugh was a quiet, rich sound, like the splash of brandy against a good, heavy-bottomed glass. "Sweetie, you're letting two Neanderthals fuck you on film, and you're telling me you're not a prostitute?"

"Well..." She drew out the word. "I mean, I might do it, I guess."

"Let me guess: if they were cute?"

Lacey tittered, and for the first time, Kathryn saw the world-weary hooker look. "Are you kidding?" She stuck her tongue out. "If he paid me more."

Kathryn laughed again, folding her arms. "I think I like you."

"So what are you here for?" The blonde asked after a long gulp of water.

"Hmm?" The brunette's brows came up, the artful picture of innocence.

"If you're not here to invest in the picture, then why are you here?"

"I'm... looking for new talent, actually." Shaw slid her glittering hazel gaze back as Brent led the two men back. "I have a business endeavor, and I need a good girl as a centerpiece."

Lacey combed her fingers through her hair, making sure it wasn't tangled. "You probably want Josie. She's the best girl Brent has. Experienced, practiced, and she can squirt."

"Actually, I was thinking--how much is he paying you?"

"Seven-fifty with the threesome. Not bad for forty minutes of work."

Shaw placed herself between the blonde and the oncoming men. "How about two thousand dollars and we leave right now."

"Two thousand?" The girl's carefully plucked brows lifted. "I'm not into any of those freaky fetishes."

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

"What's the catch?"

Kathi grinned again â€" this time less simmering and more conspiratorial. "I want you to go over there and knee Brent in the dick."

"What?" Lacey laughed incredulously. "Look, the guy might be a jerk, but he can really mess things up for me."

"If you do the first job well enough, our arrangement could become a regular thing and you won't have to be double-teamed in a smelly warehouse ever again."

The girl looked over Kathryn's shoulder, frowning. "What is this arrangement you're talking about? What do you want me to do?"

"I can tell you--but first you have to ball-shot Brent. I need to see if you've got it in you."

Lacey sighed, stepping past Shaw and up to the producer and the talent. "Hey, guys," she said, running her hands over the pecs of the men, and then lower. "You ready to do this?"

"Yeah, Lace," Brent said. "We're going to flip it around, put Mick's dick in your--"

All the air rushed out of the man's lungs as the blonde stepped in, driving her knee between his legs. He moaned, a high-pitched sound, and crumpled to the floor.

"Sorry, guys," she said to the talent, though she did not seem sorry at all. "Guess you'll just have to get Margaret to finish you up. I'm out of here."

She turned back to Shaw, stepping past quickly. "Come on before I lose my nerve."

Kathryn was already on the phone. "Hey, it's me," she said. "I've got her."

---

Six weeks later.

In the end, it wasn't the smell of bacon cooking that woke Alexandra Pierce up, or even the (somewhat heated) tail end of the phone conversation. What woke Alex up from her near comatose state was the sound of the suitcase thumping on the floor.

"Nng..." she said, rolling onto her side. At some point during the night, Campbell covered Alex with a sheet, and she tossed it as idea she rubbed at her eyes. "Amy?"

"Yeah, sorry," the other redhead said, hefting her case onto the bed. She bent to kiss Pierce's forehead. "Wasn't trying to wake up you. I'd planned all this stuff, was gonna bring you food... eggs, bacon. Hell, I squeezed oranges. Why do you even have a juicer?"

Pierce chuckled quietly. "You didn't have to go through all that trouble."

"I know, but I wanted to and--" She snatched a stack of t-shirts on hangers from the closet, tossing them in the bag. "Shit, the toaster!" Campbell darted out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

Alex sat up, rubbing at the back of her neck. "What time is it?" she called.

"It's a little before â€" fuck, this is charcoal," Amy grumbled.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing. It's a little before ten."

"Ten in the morning?" Pierce flopped back to the bed. "I don't remember the last time I slept that late."

"Sorry..." Campbell came bustling back in. "You looked like you needed it and you didn't have any meetings, so I figured..."

Alex grabbed the other woman by the wrist as she rushed past, her brows arching in confusion. "Amy, what's--"

"They want me in New York already." The little redhead couldn't meet Pierce's gaze. "I'm sorry, I know you flew all the way out here just to see me, and now I have to go, but they booked appearances without even asking, since they think the SCCW crowd will buy the show if they know I'm on there." Campbell scoffed. "They've obviously never looked at the buyrate of those shows."

"Or you've never really understood how many fans you have."

"That can't be it, because I'm very close to all..." she pretended to count on one hand. "Five of you." Campbell rolled her eyes. "Anyway, they say there's a chance I might get to do a late night show or whatever, which would be great, but it's--"

"Breathe, babe."

Amy perched on the edge of the bed, worrying at her thumbnail. "I don't want to go. I shouldn't want to go. I haven't seen you in five days, and all I can think about is that I've gotta do this shit all over again. Jumping through hoops, only the company's changed..."

"Hey..." Alex crawled across the bed, pressing her lips to the back of her shoulder. "This is what we do. We both chose to be wrestlers, and this is your shot. Your first one-on-one GCW match on the biggest show they put on every year against one of the best wrestlers in the world. So go. Go to New York. Have a good time."

"You really want me to go?"

"No, I want you to stay here and not leave this bed for the weekend. But you should still go."

Campbell sighed. "What part of talking like that is supposed to encourage me to leave?"

Alex sunk a kiss to the spot where Amy's shoulder and neck met. "I know. They're sending you a car?"

"Hrm?" The little redhead's eyelids fluttered. "They're..." She glanced to the clock, and her eyes flew open. "Shit! It'll be here in... God damnit, I really can't catch a break, can I?"

She wriggled away, coming up to her feet. "There's, uh... there are some scrambled eggs still, and I made pancakes. Juice is in the fridge, and the toast is, uhm--"

"Blackened?"

Amy grinned. "Yeah, I guess you could call it that. And â€" don't say anything, but I got you something."

"You didn't have to do that."

"Oh, come on. You let me beat the hell out of Shaw. I'll be repaying that one for the rest of my life. It's on the table, and just don't ask me where I got--" The sharp bleat of a horn cut Campbell off, and she zipped her bag up quickly.

"That's your ride."

Amy leaned in to kiss Alex, a simple peck on the cheek that became more when Pierce knotted her hand in the smaller woman's hair. The driver honked the horn again, and Campbell sighed. "A-Al, I've gotta..." She extricated herself with no small amount of reluctance.

"I can kill him," Pierce said. "No one will ever find him, then I can--"

"Don't even joke like that."

"Sorry. Go."

"Let me know what you think about the thing when you open it. I'll call you tonight once I'm checked into the hotel." Campbell rushed to the door, dragging the case behind her. "And Al?" She stopped at the door, not turning back. "I meant what I said about you traveling too much."

Alex swallowed, flopping back on the bed. "I know," she whispered, covering her eyes with her hands. "You'd better go. I'll miss you."

"You'd better," Campbell grinned. "Love you."

"Love you!" Pierce called after.

Then there came the thump of car doors closing and the rumble of the taxi's engine. Alexandra sighed, rolling up to her feet. She poked her head out through the door, startling Hermes, who was licking the milk from the pan of scrambled eggs. "Hermie!" she shouted, and the kitten scampered away.

True to Campbell's word, there were a handful of pancakes to go with the eggs and more bacon than you could shake a stick at, and she found a carafe of freshly squeezed orange juice in the fridge.

It was the small box on the table that attracted Pierce's attention. She made quick work of the wrapping paper, and leaned back in surprise at the words on the side of the white box. "iPad 2," it said.

"This doesn't come out until next Friday," she said to herself. "How did she even...?"

Pierce opened the box, stifling a chuckle at the post-it note stuck to the plastic covering. "Stop wondering how I got it and enjoy the damn thing, you insufferable wench!" the note read.

Ten minutes later, Alex had the thing plugged in and charging, and she'd hooked up her email and was surfing the app store as she shoveled away the eggs. She smiled quietly, a simple, delighted expression

She should have known better; a contented predator is the next best thing to a dead one.

Four weeks and four days ago.

"You must forgive me," Marilyn Whitehead said, pulling open the filing cabinet. "No one has asked after that girl for months."

The slight man in Marilyn Whitehead's office was immaculately dressed, all in red, with a red-on-red tie, a red dress shirt, scarlet pants, and even blood-hued argyle socks. He leaned back in the uncomfortable seat, passing his bespectacled gaze over the drab, humdrum office.

"Well, my dear," he said, his voice soft and mellifluous, skimming a small hand over slicked-back, bronze-colored hair. "It's taken my wife and I some time to find the child we'd like to adopt, and, unfortunately, I'm unable to father children, so..."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Marilyn said, plucking a folder out of the back. "It's just... are you sure this is the girl for you?"

Bronze smiled easily, crossing his left ankle over his right knee. "My wife is very insistent."

"Was she not able to come with you today?" She pulled her chair out, settling onto the edge.

"She's... ah, otherwise occupied, I guess you could call it." He plucked at an errant thread on his slacks. "Is that the remainder of the paperwork?"

Marilyn tapped the stack back into an orderly pile. "Yes, sir. Your application was approved, we just need a few signatures and you and your new daughter will be able to go home." Whitehead plucked the applicable form from the top of the pile. "Okay, Mister... is it Ace?"

"Aes," he said, more like the plural of the letter A than the card. "It's Greek."

"It's lovely."

"Thank you. It's a family name." He glanced towards the door. "Have you sent for her?"

Marilyn looked up from the paper, waving a hand. "I'm sure Bella will be down here shortly."

"'Bella'?" The man's eyebrows rose.

"Donna. She goes by Bella. Like Belladonna?"

As if in answer, a small, mousy woman knocked on the door. "Mrs. Whitehead?" she asked. "You wanted to see Donna?"

"Yes, send him in."

The girl who shambled through the door, hands jammed in her pockets, wore black jeans and a t-shirt covered in tiny little skulls. She had a long face with thin lips and sunken cheeks, and her dark, sullen glare flickered below a piercing through her eyebrow. "Hey," she mumbled.

"There's my girl!" The small man in the red suit flowed to his feet, crossing to the teen. His wingtip shoes were shined so brightly, they may as well have been mirrors. He offered a hand to the kid, and earned a glare in return. "Now that's not particularly nice." He looked over his shoulder. "Marilyn, could you give us a minute?"

"Of course, of course." She rose, smoothing her skirt. "I'll be right outside if you need us, Mr. Aes."

Neither of them said anything until the door closed, and then it was Donna who turned, spindly arms folded. "'Mr. Aes'?" she asked. "Is that really what they call you?"

"Mr. Bronze, actually. Aes is the Latin." He smiled quietly. "Do they really call you 'Bella'?" the man countered.

"I'd heard you were dead," the girl said.

"I'd heard you were in jail."

"I was, for a while." Donna scratched at the back of her neck. "I didn't think you'd remember who I was."

Bronze flashed a devilish little grin. "People don't forget girls like you."

"I guess not." The girl bulged her cheeks with a sigh. "You're here because you want me? I thought you'd all decided--"

"That you were mentally unbalanced? Potentially dangerous? A little bit of a freak?"

Bella chuckled, shrugging one shoulder. "Yeah, that."

"They did decide that."

"They did, but you didn't?"

"No." Bronze met the girl's smile with his, and it was enough to make her backpedal. "I just don't particularly care. So what do you say? Would you like to be adopted?"

She sighed. "I really had a good racket here, you know."

"You'll have a better one out there." Bronze turned his head to the door. "Mrs. Whitehead!" he called. "We're ready now!"

---

A little over five weeks later.

Alexandra Pierce buckled her seatbelt for United Airlines Flight 422, the first stop on a three-flight, and twenty-two hour trip to Istanbul for PRIME ReVolution 241 and her main event match with Roxy Phoenix. Her new iPad 2 was on in her lap, and she was entertaining herself with a game of Angry Birds when the thing chimed to advise her there was new email.

Pierce tabbed over to the mail program, blowing out a sigh that might have sounded bored, but it was more "lonely" than anything. With Quinn in school, Amy in New York, and the rest of her former circle in shambles, she hadn't had anything to do but train, so she never gave her body the chance to recover from the match with Seymour Almasy (and the one before it with the massive Tom Walczak, either). She was tired and on edge, and not even frequent phone conversations with Campbell had buoyed her spirits for long.

The email she got did, however.

From: sheila@gcwonline.net
To: You (a.pierce@gmail.com)
Re: I don't know if you can help...
March 8, 2011 10:11

GCW would be THRILLED to assist you in surprising Ms. Campbell at the NC-17 event. With your permission, I'll book you on the first available flight from the location of the PRIME event (Istanbul, my notes say) to New York City. We've got blocks of rooms set aside at several of the area hotels, and I will put you in touch with the concierge at the hotel for whatever added amenities we might be able to secure for you. Can I just say I think it's great that you're going through this added trouble for her? Really is kind of sweet.

There is, however, unfortunately, a small catch. Since GCW funds would be used to assist your efforts, we'd ask for a small favor in return. There is a bout on the NC-17 card itself, an open invitational we call the Foursquare match. If you'd be willing to compete in the match, it would be my honor to assist you.

Please get back to me with a decision as soon as possible so we can make arrangements.

Yours,
Sheila

Alex read through the email twice to be sure she'd understood it, but the woman had even attached a picture of how the four rings would be arranged. There was nothing like efficiency.

It would be Pierce's fourth match since February 1st, the third that would be competitive. It would be three days after she wrestled Roxy Phoenix in what was sure to be a fast-paced match. It would be at the tail end of a five thousand mile, fifteen-hour flight. She'd be facing opponents she didn't know, people who might have an axe to grind, or people who might hurt her just to make a statement. "Look what we can do to the so-called Best Wrestler In the World."

Still, she'd get to see Amy. More than that, she'd get to be with Amy for longer than ten minutes.

And she'd get to see the look on the little redhead's face when she showed up.

It should be no surprise that Alexandra clicked "reply" and simply typed two words.

I'm in.

Then the captain rang the fasten seatbelt sign and the flight attendants walked through the cabin, asking people to turn off their electronic devices.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," said a blond woman. "You'll have to stow that until we've reached our cruising altitude."

"No problem," Pierce said politely, closing her case and setting the thing atop her carry-on.

"Thank you, and thank you for flying United."

Alexandra saw the woman, and part of her registered the badge dangling around her neck.

But then, the name "Lacey" didn't mean anything to her yet.
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