The men gestured to the front entrance. The two women rose slowly, and exchanged a glance and a nod. In unison, they each kicked out, striking the men's weapons. Alison brought her own rifle around with both hands and drove it sideways into one man's face. The Baroness used the other man's own gun, grabbing it by the barrel and shoving the butt violently into his chin. They both fell with hardly a sound.

The women shared a cautious smile.

The Baroness broke the silence first. "I still think you look like a tramp."

"And I still think you look like a bimbo."

They nodded once and headed toward the front door.

The two women took the servants' hallway back toward the kitchen, threading their way through the culinary equipment and toward the door leading to the Ballroom. Alison cautiously looked into the large room. The leader was standing on the third step, radio in hand. He was obviously getting no reply from the two men.

She had a clear shot. The question was, could she shoot the man in front of a hundred of her mother's acquaintances? Wait a minute, she thought. What a stupid question. It would mean I'll never be invited to another party again.

She ducked back into the kitchen and took out her Beretta, keeping the rifle slung over her shoulder. "Open the door for me," she told the Baroness.

The woman regarded her for a moment. "You know, you're starting to act suspiciously like one of the bad guys. Cobra could use-"

"Shut up and open the door for me."

Alison took a deep breath.

The Baroness jerked the door open, and Alison swung around the corner, bringing the gun to bear on the leader.

He turned at the noise, and she fired.

All Hell broke loose. Everyone started screaming. Many of the men jumped to their feet, to do what, she didn't know.

She and the Baroness walked calmly into the room. Alison tried to get the crowd to settle down, but her voice was swallowed in the overall noise.

What did get everyone's attention, though, was the shattering of the French windows. Three armed soldiers burst into the room, guns held at the ready. Most of the guests fell back to the floor. Alison swung around to the other exits. Another six men entered, also armed. About time, she thought. SAS equals slow ass soldiers…

They all leveled their guns at her. It took her a moment to realize she still held her handgun and had an automatic rifle hanging at her side. She slowly placed the smaller gun on the ground and put her hands in the air.

She turned to the Baroness, only to find the woman lying on the ground near her, a stolen feathered mask on her face. Her rifle was several feet across the room, making her look just like another one of the guests. Alison couldn't be sure, but she thought her expression was rather smug. She shot her a glare.

One of the men barked out, "Keep your hands up and do not move. If you move we will be forced to shoot." He gestured to one of his men, who stepped carefully forward to remove her rifle.

She told him in a calm voice, "I am not with the men who attacked here tonight. I am here as guest of Ian Morlowe. I'm a grade E-4 soldier with the American Army, and I'm the one who called the Met earlier." The man gave her an incredulous look as he grabbed her arms and pulled them behind her back.

One of the men lying on the floor called out, "She shot the man who was holding us hostage."

A man with a Corporal's badge walked up to them, signaling the other to continue holding her, but not to handcuff her yet.

He looked her up and down. Her costume was dirty and torn, revealing even more of her now than it had earlier. She followed his gaze, blushing slightly as he raised an eyebrow.

"So this is our little soldier. Or so you say." He glanced down again. "I don't suppose you have any ID on you?"

She shook her head. "Obviously not. My purse is in the coatroom..."

A powerful voice boomed out behind her. "I can vouch for this soldier, Corporal."

Oh, God, not him, Alison thought, closing her eyes. She knew that voice. Two American military men, he told me. Why did it have to be-

She opened her eyes again and looked up. Hawk stood in front of her, arms crossed, looking extremely pissed off.

Oh, I am dead. "Sir," she said, squirming under his gaze.

Hawk gestured to the man holding her arms, who let go quickly and backed away. Alison fired off a salute and did her best to stand at attention.

At least two of the SAS men snickered, but she didn't dare look away from her commanding officer.

He studied her for a moment, then said, "Corporal Hart, please have one of your men escort this soldier to an empty room. Make sure she waits there for me."

"Sir, I could take her," spoke another voice from behind Hawk.

Alison's eyes opened wide as she turned her head toward the sound. She hadn't even seen him standing there.

Flint gave her a lopsided grin as Hawk nodded his approval.

Neither of them said a word as they headed toward the front of the house. He led her to a library near the front entrance, and shut the door.

He tried to give her a stern glare, but kept breaking into that damnable grin. "Boy, are you up shit's creek," he told her.

"I don't want to hear a word," she replied, glaring.

He raised an eyebrow at her, eyes sparkling.

"Not. A. Word."

"I wasn't saying anything," he laughed. "By the way, nice outfit. What are you supposed to be?"

"A wealthy partygoer who's been attacked by terrorists," she hissed.

He burst into laughter again, and leaned in close. He put his mouth close to her ear and whispered, "I don't think I've ever been this turned on in my life. You represent at least three of my favorite fantasies right now."

She pushed him away, but couldn't help smiling a little. "And what would those be?"

"Damsel in distress-" he put up a hand to forestall her argument. "I know, I know. But it's the clothes. Ripped dress, dirt smudged on your face…"

She gave him another glare. "Continue."

He smiled. "warrior woman…"

"Aren't I usually?"

"Yes, but I know how you get after you've been fighting Cobra… all that adrenaline…"

She blushed furiously. "Number three?"

He leaned in close again. "Bad girl. You are in sooooo much trouble…"

She smacked him on the shoulder. "You know, you almost had me distracted there for a minute. Thanks a lot."

There was a short knock on the door and Hawk entered the room.

He stood for a moment, giving her his trademark badass stare.

She tried to meet his gaze, but ended up looking at the floor.

Hawk cleared his throat. "Does your mother know you dress like that?"

That wasn't what she had been expecting. Her jaw dropped. She shut it with a snap and replied, "My mother bought me this outfit." His eyebrows raised. "I wanted to shop for something else, but my plane was delayed, and…" she stopped and swallowed. He always managed to put her off guard.

"Care to explain what happened here tonight? I've got a pissed off Corporal with the SAS to speak with later. At great length, I'm sure."

Oh, boy, is he mad. She straightened her spine and gave the basics of the evening, trying to leave out a few choice details. Like the Baroness. She got to the point in the evening when she had taken down the man in the driveway when Hawk stopped her.

"I can understand why you felt you had to attack the first man. If they had found your weapon and ID, they probably would have felt they needed to deal with the problem. I see that you had no choice but to shoot the man who burst into the room."

He leaned closer, voice a low menacing growl. "What I don't understand is why you decided to take on the rest of the group single-handedly, especially since you knew that the SAS was on the way."

She gulped, and replied, "Once I got started, it was kind of hard to stop…"

He paced around the room for a moment. "Flint and I were here on a recruiting mission. We were invited along to this raid to watch some of the Corporal's men in action. Not only did I miss that opportunity but," his mouth twitched at the corner, "I now have the SAS trying to recruit you."

"Sir?" she asked weakly.

"The Corporal admitted he was very impressed by you. Mad as Hell, but impressed. I'm considering his offer if only to get you out of my hair. I might expect something like this from Scarlett, but I had thought you were more responsible."

"With all due respect, Sir," Flint spoke up, "This is what we're trained for. I doubt anyone on the team would have stood by and done nothing tonight. Besides," he smiled, "this story is going to get around the SAS faster than Shipwreck at a bachelorette party. You did mention something about the Corporal not showing enough respect for the G.I. Joe team…"

Hawk was trying very hard not to smile. "So I did. Mmmm… Well, I suppose that Corporal Hart can be convinced to be a little vague in the details of his report. The men were stopped tonight, after all."

Alison felt a flood of relief. Until Hawk returned his gaze to her, at which point her stomach dropped back to its previous position.

"You are not off the hook. I am going to spend the entire trip home thinking of an appropriate punishment for you," he told her. "Your leave is over effective immediately. You will be returning to base with us."

Hawk turned to Flint. "You might as well head back to the hotel. I have the feeling I'm going to be here a while. Take her," he jerked a thumb at Alison, "with you. Make sure she understands her life is going to be utter Hell when we get back. Feel free to use whatever disciplinary measures you think are necessary to get the point across."

Fortunately Hawk had turned to glare at Alison again, and he missed the expression on Flint's face.

"Yes, sir!" Flint answered, biting his lips to keep from laughing.

She hoped Hawk would mistake the blush across her cheeks for anything but what it was. I guess that pretty much confirms Hawk's cluelessness about us, she thought.

They managed to hold it in until they were outside. Flint doubled over, wheezing with choked back mirth. "Well, we'd better get back to the hotel. I've got some disciplining to do..." He barely managed to finish the sentence before being overcome with laughter again.

"Fine, mister Warrant Officer, sir." She smacked him on the back of the head. "Keep it up and you'll see just how far your authority gets you." She turned toward the parking area. "My limo is over here, but we may have to drive it ourselves…"

Alison stopped short as she saw the masked figure leaning against the antique Bently. "You put a dent in my door," the Baroness told her.

"Ah, sorry about that…" She glanced up at Flint, but he didn't seem to notice anything wrong.

"Don't worry about it," the Baroness told her, also glancing at Flint. "I figure we're even, anyway. Maybe I'll see you again sometime at another party."

Alison nodded, and they continued toward her limo.

"Who was that?" Flint asked her.

"Oh, just an old…acquaintance." She smiled to herself. "We bump into each other now and again. We seem to run in the same circles."