The music coming from one room stopped him. It sounded familiar, heavy pulsing bass. It almost seemed to rattle the walls. He looked into the darkened room. A woman sat in a chair placed optimally between the speakers. A few men stood behind her, and Michael thought they looked anxious.

He recognized the music now. A flash of red hair, piercing eyes, Andrea. Pain flickered across his face as he stood half in, half out of the room, remembering that unpleasant business with the profiler at Section. They had danced together to this song during a mission. In the brief time of that dance, he had almost believed he felt something for her.

One of the men turned and saw Michael standing uncertainly in the doorway. He came over to where Michael stood.

"Come in, we'll be switching the music soon. Massive Attack is not what we usually play, but she wanted to test the bass frequencies." The music ended as he said the last part, and his voice sounded loud in the room. The woman turned around to look at the doorway.

Michael retreated in to the hallway just as the woman turned back toward the speakers. He couldn't hear her voice as she handed over another CD. The man who had come to the door to talk to Michael turned back into the room.

"Michael," the voice sounded in his ear, startling him.

"Yes," Michael said, turning his head to verify that no one else was in the hallway with him.

"The mission's been called in. Matson isn't there. We'll have to wait for another opportunity," Birkoff said into Michael's com link.

"Understood."

"Are you coming back?" Birkoff asked.

"Not right away."

"Oh, the stereos are interesting after all?"

"Yes." Michael removed the glasses he had been wearing and put them in the pocket of his long black overcoat. He stood in the hallway a few more minutes, then slowly ventured back into the room. The music was calmer now, not stirring up any unpleasant memories. He moved to the side of the room and stood against the wall watching the woman.

She sat motionless in the chair, her eyes closed, listening intently to the music. She had short black hair with a touch of gray at the temple. She wore a crisp white blouse, black trousers and black heels. There was a black trench coat slung over the back of the chair, he guessed it was hers.

The men standing behind her were totally ignoring Michael now. One stood by the CD player, ready to change the disc at the end of the song. One seemed to be listening almost as intently as she was, his head bobbing in time with the music.

Michael noticed that she remained still, a slight frown on her brow as if she was concentrating. The song ended, and she opened her eyes. Michael turned away. Her eyes were the most intense brown, and seemed very large for her face.

"Ok Alex," she said, "One more, then I have to go. I'm late for a meeting with John. He probably won't wait." She handed the CD to the man behind her, and turned back toward the speakers, taking note of Michael as he stood against the wall.

"Track 15," she said, then closed her eyes. The haunting sound of an acoustic guitar filled the room, then a male vocalist singing, "Don't fade away, my brown eyed girl."

She shifted in her chair, and Michael saw the show badge she wore around her neck. He saw her first name was Carol, but couldn't read her last name. The bottom half of the badge said Press. The song was hauntingly beautiful. Somewhere behind him, a phone rang. Both the men retreated toward the hallway, one of them dragging the phone behind him. Michael slowly walked over, and sat in the chair next to the woman's. She did not move, or seem to notice he was there. He looked over his shoulder; they were truly alone in the room.

Her hand rested on the arm of the chair. He put his hand up next to hers, barely touching it. Still, she didn't move. Slowly, he inched his hand up and over hers, until his hand was resting fully on top of hers. He turned to look at her again. She had turned her head towards him, but her eyes were still closed.

Her hand was warm under his; he began to lightly move his hand back and forth, caressing her. He slid his hand under hers, and gently cradled it. He kept his eyes on her as he slowly raised her hand to his mouth. At first he just held her hand next to his mouth, sending his warm breath across it.

Even though her eyes were still closed, he could see that she had shifted her concentration from the music to her hand. He turned it so the palm was up, then placed his warm lips in the hollow of her hand. Her eyes flew open, but she did not pull her hand away. He kept his gaze locked on hers as he kissed her hand.

He felt warmth like liquid spreading through his body. He knew she was imagining his mouth on hers, just as he was imagining it. The music ended, and neither of them moved. Two things happened simultaneously. Alex returned to the room, just as Birkoff spoke into Michael's ear.

"Do you want to hear anything else?" Alex asked.

"Michael." Birkoff said. "We need you back here. We have new Intel on the location of Matson."

"I have to go," Michael said, releasing her hand and standing up.

She sat in the chair, looking up at him with huge eyes.

"Carol?" asked Alex. "Want to hear anything else?"

Michael turned and walked out the door.

The End

This story © Copyright 1999, CJC