Zac Kincaid whistles softly as he flips switches, bringing the flat blank screens online in security's nerve centre. A hook and a patch, and voila, he owns it.

Life is good.

His hostage picks threads from her tongue while she drops the gag with the wrist bindings on the floor. Small and fiercely dark, she sags into the leather swivel chair, her glare burning into Zac's back.

�Is he going to stir?� Zac asks, head jerking briefly to the unconscious guard. His dancing fingers are overlaying thermal imaging and ghost light scans over the normal motion sensors.

Roxanne spares a glance at the guard she's using as a footrest and massages her wrist. �Not until noon on Tuesday.�

It's currently Thursday. Nothing ever happens on a Thursday.

Zac grins. Darkly blond, with indigo eyes to match the intensity of the control room's lights, he's a princely being who wields charm as a weapon; beneath his suave surface is pure steel. �Quite the little poisoner you've become since our last visit. Proud of you, cha d'chaton.�

�Ha.� Roxanne scowls.

Zac rocks on his heels. He's humming as he concentrates on one particular screen. It hiccups and Zac snaps his fingers. �Hol. You awake out there?�

Holly H's laugh is low and infectious, a ripple of warmth in winter, as it comes through the speakers. �Ready to swing on that star.�

�Just call me Hawk.� With his twin a voice in his ear and the echo of his heart, Zac's ready to rock. He presses his palms together, raises them to his lips, holds� for a beat of four� �Sing me a love song.�

�Drop me a line,� chants Holly H in the same key.

That key unlocks the doors of Hell.

Roxanne stares at the monitors, head whipping from one to the next as chaos ignites in the halls of Mariickon, home of the ruling Renwood-dal Ventis family. �Did you do that?� Her hand, heavy with a jade ring, swipes the air as though to negate the question. �You did do that. How?�

�Lyric-activated explosives,� Zac says, moving to the rhythm of Holly H's voice. �Prototypes.�

Roxanne taps her ear. �Pardon?�

�You're familiar with voice-activated technology and voice-recognition programs, right?� Zac asks easily. �A couple of our partners took that concept a few steps further and came up with lyric-activation. Sing the line and trigger the device. It's clean, cryptic, and lots of fun, as you'd expect from Cash and Lee and Diego. After rather a lot of red wine.�

�You're crazy.� Roxanne funnels fingers through her hair.

�Maybe, but we get results. That's why you hired us, remember?�

�The particular results I'm after require everyone to be alive with all their bits intact.� The trailing sleeves of Roxanne's ivory silk kimono whir from the fine trembles shaking her frame.

�Roxy. Relax.� Zac smiles, less than gently. �No one's going to die. It's not in the plan.�

Roxanne swivels to face him. Ivy-green eyes narrow to slits. �Exactly how many plans do you have?�

Zac shrugs, sleek as a thief and twice as cool in his badass blacks. �Haven't hit the bottom yet.�

�If anyone is injured tonight, I will personally introduce you to rock bottom,� Roxanne vows.

Zac chokes back a laugh at the unintentional pun. �Fair enough. But listen�� He adjusts the audio dial.

�A glimmer of love and life--�

Holly H sings to a backup of dull thudding whooommps, rifling cracks and treble explosions, and scattershot pulses of light. The occasional scream spirals through and there's a recognisable evacuation alarm beating through the white smoke.

Zac swings the dial down. �That's classic Robbie, somewhere between Escapology and Intensive Care. The boys didn't design these babies with violence in mind. It's literally a smokescreen, lots of melodrama and sleight of hand. The most anyone will suffer is a bit of smoke inhalation and a few bruises from running into walls. And when it's all over, there won't be any bits left for them to examine. The capsule provides fuel for the effect once the contents combines with oxygen. No leftovers. It's quite elegant.�

Roxanne focuses on the screens, shooting little sideways glances at Zac as he monitors the action, murmuring to Holly H occasionally, prompting different lyrics according to the constantly shifting m�l�e. She finds herself drawn into the action, muttering herself as the escapees act like idiots.

�Why isn't anyone down there noticing that these explosions aren't real?�

Zac huffs. �Give us some credit, Rox. You're getting the eagle eye view. From their perspective, with the dust bombs, three and a half shades of smoke, the sudden flame spurts and acrid smells, the percussion caps and whatever, it looks like the walls are coming down. And the ceiling. Also the floor, which is a real achievement when you consider the floor is already down.�

�Mostly,� Roxanne points out morosely as onscreen the mosaic floor tiles jiggle free thanks to a roiling vibrato.

�Eggs and omelettes,� Zac replies. �Your people also haven't noticed they're being herded outside, which is a big part of the plan. It took us two nights to plant all our devices, and I know, you didn't see us.�

�I'll worry about that later,� Roxanne interrupts grimly.

�Ha. So we have our set pieces, and then we have the ancillaries to play with, depending on how people react. That's why Hol's on the ground, to throw extras in as necessary, while I handle the overview,' Zac says absently. He angles his lip mike closer, sings a line, and a series of detonations rock a corridor, sending a domestic duo toward a garden exit.

Roxanne folds her arms and broods at the closest screen. She clears her throat.

Zac breaks his hum and swings his chair round. �Yes?�

Roxanne massages her elbows. �Somehow, this wasn't what I envisaged when I asked for help in reuniting Michael and Antonia.�

�Pleaded,� Zac corrects.

Roxanne stares.

�Okay. We're creating an atmosphere of drama, of danger and tension, which builds adrenaline and endorphins; it's a classic in romantic thrillers.� Zac points to a monitor above the main bank. �I've been tracking your two on that screen, and Hol also has a direct feed. You might like to know that Antonia went after Michael at the second explosion and she had to slug a guard to do it, while Michael abandoned a cabinet confab in the courtyard and ran for Antonia with his heart tripping 76 beats a minute all the way. So now we've got them isolated, and we're herding them to an exit where they will find a vehicle to commandeer. After that, it's up to them.�

Roxanne blinks. �And this is marriage counselling, Rogue Mapping style?�

�Having none of us been married, we're a little handicapped,� Zac admits. �But there's nothing like imminent danger and the possibility of dying messily to get your priorities in order.� He sounds very familiar with the concept. �It all comes down to faith, Roxy. You believe in Michael and Antonia enough to want a real life for them, outside and above responsibility, politics and public life. Now you have to trust Hol and me.�

Roxanne considers, biting her lower lip as she watches Zac. He watches back, indigo eyes serious, all humour gone, ignoring Holly H's rendition of Spread your Wings.

�All right.� Roxanne breathes deep, shakily. �All right.�

�Good.� Zac nods. �Because now we're up to the tricky bit.� He hooks an arm around her waist and turns them both back to the screens. �I've got to keep the main commotion going so that nobody is tempted to turn around. I need you to watch our lovebirds and sing out when they reach the yellow flashing bit.�

�And what will I be singing?�

Zac grins. �Anything you damn well like as long as it's not Robbie.�

There's something majestic about the scale of the Kincaids' chaos that lifts it above a con job of mass proportions and makes it glamorous and awe inspiring, and--

Roxanne taps Zac's shoulder, interrupting his second chorus of Something Beautiful. �What does the blue circle mean?�

Zac abandons his stance before the right wing of the command console faster than a shooting star. He bumps Roxanne aside with his hip and leans in close. �There's our loose cannon: Devon. Your head of security was the one contingency we couldn't fully plan for.� Zac rubs his chin. �He's spent time with Hol, which makes him the most likely to guess our involvement.�

�Apart from Archbishop Grace Angelina,� Roxanne suggests darkly. �Or didn't you know she regularly assigns all sorts of nefarious deeds to you?�

Zac's eyebrows cant. �Why do you think we waited until she was touring the western provinces?�

�Hmmmm.�

�Exactly.� Zac flicks the comm channel to dual rather than incoming. �Hol? Devon's coming up behind you fast.�

�About time,� Holly H purrs.

Zac glances rapidly over the rest of the screens, and reaches for the keypad. A few touches and the screens flip to realtime progressive view. Left to right, they show sections of Michael and Antonia's route. And Michael and Antonia, themselves.

Roxanne hisses. Her fists clench and thwack on the console.

Zac glances over briefly, before returning his attention to tracking Devon. �They're fine.�

�Michael's limping,� Roxanne states flatly.

�And Antonia's supporting him. Read the body language, not the bodies; where is Michael's hand resting?�

�Oh.� Roxanne's hand flies to hold her grin back.

�Devon's definitely not falling for the smokescreen, Hol,� Zac warns, watching the big man stride across the monitors. There's a flash so bright it dazzles the retina, but Devon ignores it, intent on gaining ground.

�Damn it, he's going to catch them,� Roxanne says. She bites the end of her thumb.

�Not quite,� Holly H claims, a second before a firestorm erupts on screen.

�Has to be at least five flash bombs in that,� Zac decides, falling back as though he can feel the heat.

�Seven, actually,� Holly H pants. She dashes around a corner on screen and leans up against a wall, one hand pressing her stomach as the other scoops sopping blonde hair out of her face. Despite being caught by the sprinkler system, her blue eyes blaze.

�Glad you're having fun,� Zac says, calmly.

�Baby, just tease me.� Holly H breathes, head back, grinning like a fiend as she appreciates the plaster-shaking boom a few rooms to the northeast. A mirror along the hallway spiderwebs but doesn't break. �How long?�

�Two minutes max and they'll clear the building.� Zac's hands flare across the keypad, refining the views� checking everyone's position. �We might not get it.�

Holly H reaches into a pocket. Her fist comes out, her wrist rotates and a scattershot of dull silver sparks splatter the ceiling and walls. She sprints. �Luckily, I've got too much life running through my veins.�

Zac yanks Roxanne to the floor. It sounds as though a jet is warming its engines, the pitch high enough to vibrate bone. It fades after five long seconds, four-and-a-half seconds too long.

�O-kay.� Zac grabs the edge of the console and heaves them up. �Slightly extreme, yet effective.�

On screen the walls bow back out as air rushes in. Devon is also picking himself up, making sure his head is still on, working his jaw to make his ears pop. He staggers two steps before his pace smooths out. Another seven paces and he's on the next screen, cutting through smoke plumes.

Roxanne covers one eye. �I can't believe I'm wanting the good guy to lose.�

�There are no bad guys here,� Zac remonstrates. �Hol, what do you have left?�

Holly H pats herself down. �I think I'm down to guile.�

�Damn.�

�Not her strong point?� Roxanne inquires sweetly.

�Only has to be for a handful of seconds.� Zac leans close to the screen as his twin comes face to face with the security chief, both damp and streaky with a mix of sweat and soot.

Is there a signal there? A tilt of the head, eye contact?

Maybe.

Holly H and Devon circle slowly, before lashing into motion, fast and vicious hand to hand combat with knees and elbows optional.

Roxanne whimpers, biting at her thumbnail.

�Nah, it's cool,� Zac says. �Adding a human element to a faceless menace, makes it more real.� He winces. �I think.�

Because for all the cruel moves they make, Holly H and Devon are pulling them, just barely blocking the blows, brushing within a whisper of contact as they slide and twist and spin. It's utterly convincing, with dust hanging in a haze around them, obscuring their moves even more. They pick up speed, closing the space between their bodies, even as Antonia hauls Michael out that archway into the night, with Devon finding enough air in his lungs to shout them on--

go go go

as Holly H pivots--

and they go,

--her high kick to the jaw skimming his skin.

�Good thinking,� Zac approves, even as Devon lunges for Holly H and their lips make contact.

Zac pulls the patch. Every screen turns black.

Outside the control room, the alarm is still limply alarming.

Roxanne draws a deep breath. �I see what you mean about an adrenaline high.�

Zac doesn't laugh. He looks Roxanne straight in the eye. �Maybe Devon does have brains to match the muscle. Which is good, because you'll need him.�

�I will?�

Zac stretches, arms above his head to pull his spine straight and resettle his ribs. He relaxes as easily as a cat in the sun, lounging against the console, blue lights caressing his blond hair. �You will. This is a long-term project, Rox. Tonight is only a bandaid solution, a quick fix. You have to take it from here. Create opportunities for personal time, less paperwork, and more spontaneity� and if that fails, start locking them in their suite. As Antonia's Executive Assistant, you have power. Use it for good.�

Roxanne looks thoughtful. �Like you?�

Zac smiles, slow and sinful. �Wait until you see my good fairy at the christening ceremony routine.�

�Quirky� � that�s the word Kate gets a lot to describe both her, and her stories, which are currently sweeping the world. She writes short fiction that usually starts off as Crime but twists into Fantasy/Sci Fi/Romance...it�s a lot of fun when it works. She's an Aquarius. Which she thinks explains a lot.