"Look at you, Jason. Look at what you have become. Strong. Powerful," Citra paused, thickly accented voice hitching as she panted above him. "Yes, that's it, Jason. Fill me with your power. Yes!"

Bare golden-brown breasts gleamed in the dying light of the sun as Jason emptied himself into the intense leader of the Rakyat. His tattoos, the tatau, felt as though they were on fire but he had learned to endure pain over the weeks he had been on the island. Citra leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. When she straightened, his cock softening inside her, he only had a moment of shock before she plunged the ceremonial Chinese dagger into his chest.

It didn't hurt, he realized, as Citra spoke in a feverish tone about how their son would be a Perfect Warrior to lead the Rakyat. The world began to fade, his heartbeat growing ever louder in his ears, and Citra leaned over to whisper in his ear.

"You won."

Jason bolted upright in his bed, heart pounding a mile a minute, with a defiant scream on his lips. It took him more than a few moments of quivering and shaking before he truly believed that he was even alive. He shakily reached over to his nightstand and the stuffed blunt in the glass ashtray. A match was struck and soon the calming effect of the marijuana in the cigar wrapping made his hands stop shaking. He placed his bare feet on the hardwood floor, blunt stuck in the right side of his mouth, and scratched at his 5 o'clock shadow. When he ran his hands over his buzz-cut head, the absence of half of his left ring finger brought him up short for a moment.

That's right. He cut it off.

Rage, scalding hot, filled him suddenly at the mental image of Hoyt's leering face as he cut Jason's finger. The doctors had tried to put him on a cocktail of medication: anti-anxiety, antidepressant, anti-psychotic. He had stopped taking them after the first month. They blunted his edge and something told him that he would need that whenever he figured out what he wanted to do with his life.

You're fucked in the head, brother. Fucked.

Vaas' voice brought him to his feet, tightening the band of his loose gray sweatpants, and he walked over to the heavy bag he had set up in the corner of his bedroom/kitchen/living room. He had designed it himself so that it would be hard for an intruder to hide. Only the bathroom was enclosed but that was a wide space in and of itself. The first rays of the sun were just lightening the sky to the east. He checked the clock on his nightstand and saw that he had three hours to kill until 8. At this point, wrapping his hands was done quickly despite his handicap.

Time slipped by as he worked the bag. Jason's concentration was absolute as he channeled his white-hot fury into every punch, kick and combination. When his arms ached, his quadriceps burned, and he could barely catch his breath, Jason hugged the bag as he lay his head against it. The buzz of endorphins, combined with the hit he had taken earlier, helped to quiet his troubled mind. He went to the closet beside the door, slipped on a pair of dusty running shoes, strapped on his watch, and wrapped a flip-knife's sheath around his right ankle.

Jason opened the door to reveal an expansive front yard and, barely a quarter mile down the driveway, the majestic treeline that was a signature attribute of the Pacific Northwest. The cabin was situated deep in one of the forested regions about seventy miles northwest of Portland. He had hired contractors to build his private enclave after Ollie and Keith's families had given him a portion of the ransom they had been prepared to pay to Vaas. A running track, mostly packed dirt, had been built around his property. There was a mini-obstacle course in the backyard complete with a climbing wall. He had even rigged zip-lines through the trees that bordered his property line.

The best thing about his hideaway was the lack of people. His closest neighbor was nearly two miles away and he had managed to keep his residence almost completely off the radar. There were no reporters asking him the same question for the millionth time and his friends had finally learned that he just needed time alone to sort himself out. Liza still called almost everyday and he actually answered three out of ten times. They just didn't understand how the jungle was still inside of him and always would be. He ran a thumb gently over the tatau on his left forearm and sighed.

There's no place left for me in the world. I can't go back to the Rakyat and even my friends look at me as though I'm two words away from going berserk. The sad thing is that I can't say they're being paranoid.

Jason shook his head, closed his cabin's door, and set off down the side path that wrapped around his house. He took the southern route and splashed through a small stream before being enveloped by the forest. There was a thin mist hovering a few feet above the ground and the smell of the temperate rainforest filled his lungs. The rage was a forgotten memory as he lost himself in his morning run. He stopped to check on his stashes of food, weapons, and ammo that he had scattered along the trail several times. When he finally made it back to his house, he was surprised to discover a dark gray SUV in front of his home. A quick check of his watch revealed that it was 7:30 A.M. so his guests were early.

When he rounded the corner, Jason found that all three guests were similarly dressed women. Each was wearing cargo pants, boots, and light jackets. He had been expecting one woman, she had been all over the news lately just as he had so many months ago, but the other two were unknowns. They were both ethnic but he couldn't tell if the brown-skinned one was black or some form of Hispanic while the shortest had that vague Eastern European/Pacific Island air about her that could have come from Japan, Russia, the Rook Islands... just too many options to even think about. The young woman sandwiched between them drew his eye but that was mostly because of the way she was nervously twisting a switchblade in her hand. Jason crouched and ducked back behind the corner of his house as he drew his own knife from his ankle sheath.

Are they here to kill me? Is this what Hoyt was talking about?

Jason's time with the Rakyat had taught him never to judge a book by its cover. At first glance, he would have never thought Citra to be so fanatical and bat-shit crazy but she had proven him very wrong in the end. He had a stash with a 1911 pistol and three full magazines three hundred feet away at the base of his climbing wall. Just as he started to retreat to grab his gun, the short girl began to speak.

"Are you sure this is the right place, Reyes?" She asked in a voice that reminded him of Daisy before the island.

"Yes, damnit! This is the address he gave me. I saw his Jeep in that garage. He's gotta be here. Maybe he went for a run?" That had to be the black woman. She looked more mature than the other two and had that air that just screamed 'mother'.

"Are you sure about this, Sam?" The third woman had a British accent, sharp and precise, that instantly made Jason feel like an idiot. "I'm telling you, I'm fine. I don't need a retreat. I just need to get back to work. There's this site in the Yucatan where-"

"No, Lara, we've been over this," The other young woman, Sam, sounded both irritated and worried. " The docs say you need at least another month of rehab and you still wake up screaming every night! Reyes says that this guy went through something like us and he's got at least some kind of handle on it."

Reyes pitched in, "Plus, this place is pretty far off the beaten path. I couldn't even find it on Google Maps. You can get away from all those media vultures while you finish recovering."

"Or he could kill her in her sleep!" Sam suddenly exclaimed, "Maybe we should rethink this."

"Listen, I know you're both paranoid and I understand, but this'll be good for her. Trust me. I've vetted the kid through a bunch of Roth's contacts. They say he's solid."

"Yeah, but we still have to find him."

Jason stood and turned the corner to introduce himself only to be stopped by the point of a switchblade an inch from his jugular. He found himself looking down into intense brown eyes. A fading scar on the bridge of her nose drew his attention for a moment before he focused on plump lips that were moving in speech.

"Why are you eavesdropping?" Lara asked in that pleasant accent.

"I wanted to see if you were here to kill me. Was I wrong?"

"Lara!" Sam shouted and raced over to a spot a couple feet behind her friend. "Put that knife down! I thought we talked about this. You can't go around pulling knives on people!"

"Why not?" Jason asked and he caught a look of surprise in all three sets of eyes.

"Because it's illegal?" Same replied in exasperation.

"Only if you get caught. You mind?" Jason asked and idly tapped the edge of his flip-knife against the side of Lara's abdomen. She felt it through her leather jacket but her eyes never left his.

"Sorry," Lara apologized as she slowly backed off and put away her switchblade, "I get nervous."

"No problem. I still do. Come on in," Jason folded his knife and placed it in his back pocket as he walked past the trio and opened the door.

"You didn't lock the door?" Reyes asked curiously as they entered.

"No. If someone sends an assassin after me, they'll either be good enough that I won't notice they're inside or so bad I'll get the drop on them," Jason opened his storage closet and grabbed a bottle of water. "You ladies want anything to drink? Coffee, orange juice, tea, rum?"

Predictably, Sam and Reyes wanted coffee and Lara wanted tea. Jason turned on his coffeemaker and retrieved a bag of Earl Grey for the Brit. He pulled out a pair of mugs and a large tea cup from a cabinet above the stove.

"That machine can dispense hot or cold water," Jason pointed to a sleek black and gray machine that looked as though it belonged in an office building. He handed Laura the teabag and cup. "You want sugar or anything?"

Those intense brown eyes studied him for a moment before she shook her head slowly, "No, thank you."

Jason retrieved a trio of folding chairs from the storage room and placed them together on one side of his small, circular dining table. He took his own, considerably more comfortable, seat and gestured for them to do the same. He took a long drink from his bottle, nearly draining it in one go, before slowly screwing the top back on.

"So, what's your pitch?"

The three women shared a look, Lara from where she was making her tea, and Jason could understand that they didn't quite know what to make of him. The DEA, CIA, Homeland Security, and a host of official government agencies he was almost positive didn't exist, had almost completely shut down any chance of what had happened on the Rook Islands becoming general knowledge. They had cooked up a bullshit story about he and his friends being kidnapped and how he managed to steal a boat and save some of them. It was still a sad, shocking story but nowhere near as brutal as the reality they had all lived. He was frankly amazed that Reyes had even managed to track him down.

"Well, I thought the email said it all," Sam nearly mumbled.

"Don't you even want to know our names?" Lara asked as she took her seat with

Jason shrugged as the coffeemaker beeped and he stood to fill the other two ladies cups, "You're survivors from Yamatai, is that how you say it? You, I know from all that bullshit media coverage, doesn't really matter who the other two are as long as they can pay."

"Wow. You're all heart, aren't you?" Reyes growled, brow lowering in anger.

"Yeah, I'm gonna be canonized in a month. Cream? Sugar?"

"Black," Reyes said, though it seemed that being polite pained her.

"Sugar. Lots of it!" Sam smiled at him gratefully as he heaped a truly sickening amount into her cup.

"So, out with it," He demanded as he sat their cups down before them. "What exactly are you expecting me to do?"

"Well-," Sam began but stopped under what Jason knew was what Keith had called his "psycho-killer stare".

"I can't fix her, if that's what you're thinking is gonna happen here. I can't even-," Jason air-quoted his next word, "-fix myself."

"Then why the fuck are we here?!" Reyes shouted angrily. "They said you seemed pretty normal for all the shit the underground says you went through. You are the one they call 'Snow White', right?"

"Sit. Down." Jason told her, his voice eerily calm as he stared at her.

Despite her fierce attitude, Reyes began to sweat slightly under his gaze and finally took her seat.

"Lara Croft, right?" Jason turned to the young woman as she dejectedly stirred her tea with a defiant look on her face. "You don't wanna tell them, do you? It's hard, isn't it, since they're just trying to be nice and 'help' you? Took me four months to tell my mom."

Lara looked up at him with wide, shining eyes for a moment and then guiltily looked at her two friends.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, putting her cup down after nearly inhaling the entire thing. "Tell us what?"

"I've heard the official story about Yamatai. Most of your crew was killed in the storm. Lara braved the wilderness to send out a radio signal for help and then helped you guys survive on the island for days when that didn't pan out. Finally, you fixed an old boat, got away, and got picked up," Jason finished his water and shook his head. "Sounds like a load of shit to me. I think you guys got into some shit with other survivors. Maybe they wanted to take the women, take what supplies you had, and you had to fight back."

Reyes and Sam both looked away but Lara held his gaze with an eerie calm that was probably fairly close to his own expression. They were the eyes of someone weighing and judging the most efficient way to kill a person.

"That's all just my own personal theory though and the way Laura's looking at me now just proves it. She had to kill and I bet it was her first time," Jason grinned tightly at the Brit. "They probably put you on a shitload of drugs like they did to me. To help you sleep, even out your mood, stop the dreams."

"Yes, they did."

"And I bet they talk about you when you're standing right there like you're just a piece of furniture or art or some kind of fucking project."

"Yes."

Both Sam and Reyes looked up guiltily at that admission.

"But what they and those fucking doctors don't get is something I'm still learning to deal with on my own. Surviving shit like what we did makes you stronger and weaker at the same time. You learn to operate on a primal level. Kill or be killed. Survival of the fittest. You become strong to live but it weakens that thing that makes us civilized. That let's you live around people and just be."

Jason pulled out his flip-knife and placed it on the table, "I've killed men. Lots of men. With my bare hands, with knives, with guns, with arrows, with fire. I still dream about the first one I kill sometimes; still have nightmares about some of the things I've done. But the damning part. The part that made the shrinks put me on a watchlist for three months?" He looked up and drowned in those big, brown eyes. "I don't feel guilty about what I had to do. Not one bit. And neither do you."

"I'm staying."

There had been a brief, heated argument after Jason's little speech but, in the end, Lara had gotten her way. Her two friends had said goodbye in a mixture of tears and warnings to watch out for herself. Jason had received several warnings about what would happen to his manhood if anything happened to her. He had tried to smile reassuringly but that had only led to another whispered debate that he was sure centered on how he scared the other two women.

Finally, they were gone and Jason had a roommate. The Brit woman, who was maybe an inch taller than Citra, placed her duffel and sleeping bags in the corner that he had indicated under the far window. She began unpacking her belongings into a surprisingly tidy indoor camping area as Jason watched. He was impressed because he had always been rather lacking when it came to quickly setting up a camp. Once she was done, she walked up to him and placed both hands on her hips.

"So, now what?" Lara asked, her lips pursed slightly as though she were waiting for a kiss.

This chick is kind of weird.

Jason laughed, both at his own thoughts and her question, "This isn't Doctor Phil or some shit like that, Lara. I don't do therapy or counseling or anything. You're the first guest I've had in my pad. You can do whatever you want, come out with me, or stay in and just relax. As much as you guys are paying, who the fuck am I to make demands on your time?"

"Then-"

Jason cut her off with a sharp gesture, "The point isn't to get you to make some bullshit breakthrough. The point, like I found out, is to get you to start being comfortable with the person you are now. Shit. I'm only just getting started myself."

Lara smiled slightly for the first time since he had seen her, "You are quite refreshing, Jason. Once I was released from the hospital, everyone suffocated me with their attempts to help me. They all acted as though they knew what was best for me when, honestly, I think that not one had the faintest idea. It's nice to hear someone actually admit it."

"Ha! Sounds like my friends and your friends should get together and have a 'Good-Hearted Meddlers Anonymous' meeting or some shit. Make yourself at home. I'm gonna take a shower."

Jason left Lara in his main room and entered his expansive bathroom. There was a jacuzzi-style tub in the center of the room and a showering area cordoned by Plexiglas walls in the far right corner. He had insisted on multiple heads in the shower, including a large one directly in the center, and Jason enjoyed them for a full ten minutes before exiting the steam-filled enclosure. He was so used to being alone that he entirely forgot about Lara's presence as he entered the main room in only a pair of black boxer-briefs. A tiny gasp drew his attention to Lara at the dining table, laptop forgotten in front of her, as she stared wide-eyed.

"My God!" She exclaimed in a soft voice. "What happened?"

Jason looked down and grimaced slightly at his scarred body, "Honestly, most people ask that as soon as they see the finger."

"I'm sorry. That was terribly rude of me," Lara frowned as Jason began to laugh, "What's so funny?"

"You're too polite. Is that a British thing?" Jason stood went back to another cupboard and retrieved a bottle of Jack Daniels and two glasses.

"It must be. You Americans can be so rude."

Jason stuck his tongue out at her as he took his seat, "If you wanna hear about these scars, that's an all day story, and you're gonna drink with me. Deal?" Lara pursed her lips before nodding tersely as he filled their glasses with a generous portion. "The one just below my heart? I got stabbed there with a machete. At least, I think it was a machete."

Jason downed his glass in one toss of his head as she asked, "You think?"

"You see these tattoos?" Jason pointed to his forearm art and she nodded.

"Your tatau?" Lara asked as she took a prim sip.

"Yes. You know about the Rakyat then?"

"Some. I know that their islands have been pillaged for centuries and their culture has been influenced to the point where even the Rakyat themselves have no idea just how much they retain from their ancestors. I'm sure even the significance and understanding of the tatau itself has been mutated."

"You are very smart," Jason resisted the urge to laugh as she took a longer drink in response to his comment. "Anyway, the Rakyat use a lot of herbs in their rituals. Stuff that makes you hallucinate. I was still tripping when I went after Vaas. I remember him stabbing me in the heart but then we were fighting with machetes and I killed him. I must have blacked out or something because I only had a small puncture wound in my chest when I finally came out of it."

"Who's Vaas?"

"See, like I said, long story."

For the rest of the morning and early afternoon, Jason told Lara almost the entirety of what had happened on the Rook Islands. She was the first person outside of the other survivors that he had told but, given what he had surmised of her own experiences, he felt like he could trust her to keep her mouth shut. Every wound that he had taken, from his finger to the burns on his back that he had received while torching Hoyt's drug fields, had a back story.

"So," He said, voice only slightly slurred as they had both paced themselves and actually stopped to eat burgers and fries for lunch, "What about you?"

"Are you trying to get me to take all my clothes off?" She asked with narrowed eyes and Jason spluttered for a moment before she laughed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't tease." Then the woman stood and lifted her gray tanktop over her head to reveal an ugly gray sports bra. She quickly shucked her pants off and calmly stood in front of him in her bra and dark gray boy-shorts . "I think I may be slightly more drunk than I thought. I'm usually far more reserved than this."

Jason's attention was more focused on the puckered scar on her abdomen. He reached out to lightly touch it and had his hand smacked.

"No touching. Look," she turned around and he could see a matching scar on her back. "Complete penetration. I was lucky it didn't hit anything vital. By all accounts, I should be dead."

"What did it?"

"That, Jason, is a long story."

Jason grinned, "I'll see if I can fit it into my planner."

The rest of the day was filled by Jason hearing Lara's story. If anything, it sounded even more harrowing than his own. At least he had the opportunity to take breathers with the Rakyat and his friends for days at a time. Lara, from what he gathered, had barely gotten four solid hours of sleep at a time before going from one disaster to the next. They were so drunk by the time the sun fell that both wobbled their way to their respective sleeping areas.

She really is something special, was Jason Brody's last thought before sleep claimed him.

Jason rolled out of bed, the Glock he kept strapped beneath his bed already in hand, after the first high-pitched scream echoed through the house. He fumbled for a moment to hit the button on the wall beside his bed that would turn on the overhead and had to wince as his home was suddenly lit with blinding light. His head immediately began to throb with an impending hangover as he tried to focus on the source of the screaming. Finally, his memory caught up with his actions and he stood as Lara thrashed about in her sleeping bag.

After calmly holstering the Glock beneath his bed, Jason filled a pitcher with cold water from the tap. In one quick move, he pulled back the top of the sleeping bag and dumped half the pitcher onto her face and chest. Lara's screams cut off nearly instantly as she sat up with a startled shout of groggy indignation. Jason crouched down next to her as he took a long drink of water and she collected herself. He watched as she took deep, controlled breaths and rubbed her surprisingly dainty looking hands over her face.

"Was I screaming?" Lara asked in a voice roughened by brutal awakening and dehydration.

"Big time. Here," Jason handed her the pitcher and smiled slightly as she finished the rest without even the slightest grimace.

I guess she's been on enough expeditions to not be so squeamish about sharing.

"Thank you," Lara hugged her knees to her chest and didn't seem to be bothered by the fact that they were both still in their underwear. "Do you have nightmares often?"

"Sometimes," Jason shrugged, "They'll get better with time, I'm sure, but I don't think they'll ever go away. Shit, I still have nightmares about Becky the Brontosaur." Lara laughed and gave him a pointed look that just begged for more information. "She was the terror of my sixth grade class. Huge, buck-toothed, pin-headed and crazy as fuck. One time she wrapped a rope around my neck and tried to strangle me."

"She sounds like a piece of work. Ugh. I'm disgusting," Lara shuddered and glared when Jason laughed. "And what, exactly, are you laughing at?"

"You're a little soggy but pretty fucking far from disgusting," Jason thought she might have blushed a bit but it could have been a trick of the light. "You can shower if you want. I'll show you where everything's at."

Once Jason had showed her how everything worked and where the bathing supplies were, he cleaned up their impromptu party. They had both slept for maybe seven hours but the sun wasn't going to rise for at least another hour. Jason put on a pair of sweatpants, off-white T-shirt, and Nike running shoes before taking Lara's sleeping bag out to hang on a clothesline. When he entered, he found Lara sitting at the table, dressed in light blue sweats and a white T, with a familiar blank look on her face. She was probably reliving something she had done for the thousandth time. Without a word, he got out his boxing tape and grabbed her left hand by the wrist.

"What are you doing?" She asked in a dull monotone as she watched him wrapping her hand.

"Taping your hand up."

"Why?"

"So you can work the bag. It helps me. I thought maybe it could help you. You seem like the physical sort."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Lara asked with a slight smirk.

"Big muscles, tiny brain?"

"Smartass," she swatted him playfully with her opposite hand.

Within a few minutes, Lara was fully wrapped and standing in front of the heavy bag. Jason positioned himself behind it and nodded at her. He was quickly disappointed with what he saw. Her technique wasn't bad, especially since he didn't think his was even close to hers, but she cast furtive glances at him with every punch. It was as if she were afraid of being judged.

"Stop, stop," Jason popped his head fully around the side of the bag and smirked at her. "You really survived that fucking island with that weak ass shit?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you swear too much?" She shot back at him with a brown-eyed glare.

"Yes, don't change the fucking subject," He stepped around the heavy bag and got in her face, even going so far as to hunch over a little to cover their disparity in height. "You didn't kill all those pieces of shit by being soft. You're seeing their faces? Hearing their voices? Here they are!" Jason slapped his palm into the bag with a sound like a gunshot. "You hit and hit until you can't see or hear them anymore! You fucking fight like you did on that island. With everything you are, were, or will be." Jason reached out and grabbed the sides of her head. He put his face so close to hers that their mouths were an inch from touching. "Now, hit the fucking bag like you mean it."

Jason released Lara and resumed his place beside the bag. Her mouth worked for a moment before setting in a grim line and a straight left moved the bag an inch despite Jason bracing it.

"That's it. Let it go."

Lara hit a body-body-head combination with blistering speed and didn't let up. Soon, sweat was dripping freely from her head as her braid swung wildly behind her.

"Fuck you!" She suddenly shouted and spun herself into a wheel kick that slapped into the bag inches from his left hand.

A blistering series of hooks to the body followed until Lara stepped back and placed her hands on her knees. Deep breaths shuddered their way through her body as she recovered. She looked up at him, strands of hair slightly obscuring her eyes, and his eyes were drawn to her slightly parted lips. Before he realized it, she was moving with shocking speed, and he suddenly had an armful of woman. Her mouth was on his with desperate hunger.

Fuck it, he thought to himself and grinned into her lips as he responded in kind.

Jason carried her over to his bed and crawled, with her still clinging to him like a monkey, until he was able to lay her down. She looked up at him and scowled at the grin he still wore.

"Are you laughing at me?"

He shook his head, "I'm grinning because I can't believe this is happening!"

"Don't be daft. Come here."

The sun was fully risen by the time they were done and lay in a post-coital haze on Jason's bed. Neither had felt like clothing themselves again and the feel of Lara's bare chest against his own was rather pleasant. She idly stroked his right bicep as they lay in a tangle of sheets.

"Is it improper of me to ask why you have a box of condoms in your nightstand?"

Jason laughed, "Some habits you learn in college die hard."

"I can't stay," Lara suddenly blurted out, raising her head to look him in the eye.

"I know."

"Shouldn't I feel bad? I mean, I don't normally do this sort of thing," she muttered in embarrassment and ducked her head back down to his chest.

Jason chuckled and rubbed the back of her neck gently, "And I do? Seriously though, the next couple weeks isn't about some bullshit therapy or anything like that, like I said. It's about helping you come to terms with not feeling like everyone is telling you you're supposed to feel. That includes feeling weird about casual sex with handsome Americans."

Lara chuckled in a low and, quite frankly, sexy way, "You are incorrigible."

The next two weeks were some of the happiest in Jason's adult life. He and Lara's days were filled with mini-adventures and competitions of all sorts. He was a better knife-thrower and shot but she absolutely destroyed him with a bow. She had little experience with hang-gliding but it was truly amazing watching Lara climb the wall behind his house. Lara had also researched local eco-tourism hotspots and led him on several expeditions to those that piqued her interest.

Their nights were either filled with quiet contemplation or research. His research usually involved the television and hers involved the furious clacking of her keyboard as she scoured the internet. There was also the sex that had gone from very good to mind-blowing at a geometric rate. It was honestly the best sex he had ever had.

When the morning came that her friends came to pick Lara up, Jason knew that he would miss her company more than he would ever admit. The looks that Lara received when her friends arrived almost made it worth it. She was walking with this slightly exaggerated sway to her step that was, while certainly economical, definitely enticing and deliberately so. There was a confidence to Lara that he had seen when telling him about facts relating to her field of study but, sometime during her stay, it had bled into everything she did.

Reyes tried to hand him a check and raised her eyebrows when he shook his head, "That won't be necessary. Her company was payment enough. Didn't realize how lonely I'd gotten."

Sam clapped her hands to her mouth to restrain her excited giggle as her head whipped back and forth between Jason and Lara. Lara was just finishing putting her things in the SUV when Reyes finally couldn't remain silent.

"Lara, did something happen with him?" The older woman asked suspiciously, hand reaching behind her back to the bulge from the handgun she probably had back there.

"I don't really think it's any of your business, Reyes. I am an adult," Lara shot back coolly and then fixed Jason with a stare he was now very familiar with.

"Time for the goodbye hu-" He was cut off when he caught Lara as she threw herself into his arms and kissed the hell out of him. "-ug," Jason finished lamely as she finally released him.

"Something to remember me by," Lara smirked before turning away.

"If you ever need me, for anything, just call, email, text, whatever. I'll be there," Jason called out to her as she got into the rear seat.

"Ditto, Jason," Lara smiled at him and her friends gap-jawed expressions. "Are you two coming or not?"

Sam raced up to Jason and hugged him tightly for a moment, "Thank you."

Jason waved as they drove away and then frowned as a figure on some kind of sports bike roared past them. Reyes laid on the horn but the person on the bike just gifted her with a finger. He waited calmly as the bike came to a skidding halt a dozen feet in front of him. The mysterious rider was dressed in unisex riding leathers and had, of all things, some kind of sword strapped to their back. When the helmet came off, Jason could only grin.

How many hot brunettes are going to show up at my door?

This one had a long bang, so dark brown that it was nearly black, that completely obscured her left eye and lips that were nearly as lush as Lara's. She was wearing a dark red shade of lipstick that accentuated the shape of her mouth. She placed her helmet on the front of her bike as she watched him with, Jason had to squint slightly to see, a pair of dark green eyes that were even more predatory than Lara's.

"Are you Snow White?" She asked him a low, sultry voice that just screamed sex appeal.

She looks older than Lara. I bet, in a few years, Lara will sound something like that to men.

"I've been called that. Who're you?"

"Rubi Malone. I'm a fixer; a problem-solver. I've been hired to retrieve something from the Rook Islands and I'm willing to cut you in. Sixty-five, thirty-five. Whad'ya say?"

Jason took a blunt from his shirt pocket and lit it with an old-school flip lighter. After a few puffs, during which Rubi sat on her bike patiently, Jason spoke, "What are the odds that I'll get to blow shit up?"

"Pretty fucking good," Rubi answered with a slow smile.

Jason's response was a quiet chuckle of anticipation.