Claire Kosk sat at her desk in her impossibly small cube trying to file a report and eat some kind of crap on a bun. Plus, she had to deal with constant harassing from the higher-ups about the numbers on last year’s papers. Why did everybody have problems at the same time and why the hell hadn’t Trent found her an assistant yet? He knew she sucked at paper work. Not like it was his job to find assistants for errant police officers by any stretch of imagination.

The phone rang dully. "What?" she said shortly into the phone while swearing under her breath at getting sauce in her hair as she reached for the phone.

"I think you’d love to be here right about now," came the voice of her friend Trent.

"Trent", she laughed. "You have no idea what I’d like. I’d love to be about as far away from Dallas as possible. That would put me where? Florida? Anyway, what’s up?"

"Claire, you’re way too polite" Trent groaned. "Well your highness, your dream is going to come true. How’d you like to see LA? Your friend and mine, Walker, decided to pull some strings in LA and get both of us to come down here and cover some immigration case. It should be cake. Oh, and you’re going to have to deal with Carlos too." Trent paused. "Your plane leaves in three hours at gate thirty-seven. See you soon!"

"Carlos?? Great, there’s a name from the past." Claire jammed the report into a folder, hung up the phone and left the sandwich. With a flash of a badge and a quick nod from the security guard, she took her Corolla out of the parking lot. When she pulled up to her apartment, she dashed up the stairs and pulled open her door, which was never locked because she owned not one valuable thing that she actually kept in her apartment. She grabbed a duffel bag, shoved some clothes in it along with some detecting oddities.

There was a child’s messy finger painting taped to the refrigerator with scotch tape. She carefully took the picture, placed it in a manila folder and put it all in the duffel bag. Then she threw a power bar into the mess and headed out the door.

On the plane, she settled down to get some sleep, but was bothered by the stewardesses and other passengers discussing Hollywood’s most scandalous stars. Claire laughed at herself. Boy, did she need a vacation!

And Carlos would be there. She had no idea what his reaction to her would be after all those years, but it surely couldn’t be cordial. At least she’d get paid for this case, or so she hoped. And for good or bad, Trent and Carlos would be there.

***

Trent Malloy met Claire when she got off the plane. He had to agree with Walker; she looked like she needed a vacation. She strode up and gave him a quick hug, which was more than he had expected from her. According to Walker, most of the police officers in Dallas thought she was a real bitch. He might just have to correct that impression when he got back.

"Welcome to LA. Carlos decided he just had to uh-well-"

"Trent, you can tell me. He hates me."

"Well, he’s not exactly happy about the last time, you know."

"They’re not exactly my best memories either."

"Anyway," Trent said. "Walker said you were supposed to check in at H.Q. before we did anything. That means I get to take you there unless you sent your car by boat or something," Trent said jokingly trying to break the ice.

"Very funny Trent," she growled. "I gather you have one?"

Laughing to himself, he gestured to the car. He might just end up agreeing with Carlos. "Right this way," he said as he led her to his rented Jaguar.

"What’s with the rental job? I miss riding around in your snazzy ‘Vette," she joked weakly. She quickly pulled out a pair of sunglasses and put them on. Trent wondered if she was crying. It looked like it, but there was no reason for him to think that. At lease there was no reason for her to be crying that she had allowed him to know about. He was about to comment on it, but thought better of it and tried to convince himself that it was just a trick of the setting sun.

***

They rode all the way to H.Q. in silence. Trent just couldn’t seem to get a conversation going. Claire was an excellent police detective, bet not the greatest conversationalist. He sighed inwardly and vowed to get her to relax a little on this case. If they had time.

Trent pulled into a parking space at H.Q. and followed Claire inside to Walker’s friend, Lt. Price’s office. Before they reached the door, an overly eager officer blocked their path and went to announce the visitors. "Rookie," Claire muttered under her breath. She then went into the office without waiting to be announced.

"Geez Claire, you don’t wait for anyone do you?" Trent remarked lightly.

Claire didn’t answer; she just opened the door right into the face of Carlos. "Excuse me," Claire said pointedly, but quietly followed Trent into the office.

"Be civil buddy," Trent whispered as he passed Carlos. Carlos muttered something about bitchy police detectives, but quietly followed Trent into his office.

Lieutenant Price stared quizzically at Carlos and Claire who were glaring at each other from the opposite sides of the desk. He cleared his throat. "Pretty simple kids. We suspect that some big companies are bringing in illegals and forcing them to work without pay in their business." He looked at the group dubiously. "Walker convinced me that this would be the best way, so-uh-don’t disappoint me." He carefully handed a list to Claire. It was on company letterhead and the headline was something about Mexican sea borders. "Here are some companies we suspect. Follow them up and get us some God damn evidence."

They all shook hands with the lieutenant and walked out of the office. On their way out of the station, Claire quite pointedly threw the list in the recycle bin. "Save the earth," she muttered.

"Between Carlos and Claire," Trent thought, "this could be a very long trip." What was Walker thinking? To top it all off, Carlos and Claire were still not even talking, just glaring over their shoulders at each other.

***

That night, they were all camped out in Trent’s room, discussing the case. For once, both Carlos and Claire were making suggestions and being civil to each other. Sort of. By three twenty in the morning, they had decided that their only chance was to work undercover. They wouldn’t get very far flashing around Claire’s out of state badge. Now, since Claire had thrown away their list of suspects, they had to come up with their own ideas. Carlos suggested that some big boat companies could bring in illegals back and fourth with their shipments, an idea that Claire couldn’t find enough ammunition to shoot down.

Trent pulled out a laptop and asked for a printout of all the companies that had the means Carlos suggested. There were four hundred and eighty-three of them. They would just have to narrow down the field. Each took part of the list and started weeding. By five, they had four possibilities. That is, if Carlos’ idea was anywhere near base which Claire kept insisting it wasn’t.

Trent silently vowed that Claire and Carlos wouldn’t have to work within one hundred miles of each other again during the case if he could help it. It was too bad; he’d just love to see them try and pretend to be a happy couple. They had done it convincingly before, but of course, times were much different then.

Trent walked out into the hall and shut out the sound of their voices with the door. He went down to the weight room and started hitting a punching bag.

In the early, predawn light, a slender figure clung to the fire escape. She knew that when the sun rose, she would be an easy target and effectively, a sitting duck. She ran up another flight of steps, then she leaned over the edge of the railing and pulled herself onto a balcony. She knocked tentatively on the glass door. Then, receiving no reply, she slid the door open just enough to squeeze through. Someone thought they were safe thirteen stories up. The woman found herself in the living room of a suite. Thanking the powers that be for thick carpeting. She stole across the room to the door, unlocked it, and let herself into the hall. Just as she was congratulating herself for her escape, a silent bullet whizzed past her ear and embedded it in an unfortunate portrait above her head. She stifled a scream that threatened to escape and ducked into a nearby conference room. Drinks were being served to the few businesswomen and men who were still awake. It looked like the conference was just breaking up. When she noticed a large herd of them, she struck up a conversation with a bald man in the center of the group. She moved out of the room with them.

When the group reached the stairway, she broke away, leaving the bald man to continue the conversation with a stout woman next to him. As quietly as possible, she ran down the stairs to the main floor. As she tried to decide what to do, a bullet from behind encouraged her to open the first door she found. . .it was the weight room

***

By seven a.m., Trent was pretty tired, but he was still thinking; mostly about the case and Carlos and Claire. Suddenly, the door of the weight room opened quickly and a young woman jumped into the room. Since she was wearing a business suit, Trent immediately stopped punching the bag. He grabbed it to stop it from swinging and then looked at her questioningly. She looked at Trent with a scared expression, and the slipped into the dressing room. Trent shrugged and started kicking the bag once again. The door opened again a few minutes later. A man in a business suit barged into the room. Trent looked up once again questioningly. This time, there was no scared expression.

The man walked straight up to him. "Hey, have you seen a Mexican whore in here?" He asked roughly.

"What’s it to you?" Trent replied evenly, disliking the man from the start.

"Just answer the damn question! Have you seen the bitch?"

Trent didn’t answer. He simply continued punching the bag,

"When I ask some idiot a question, he answers it if he knows what’s good for him," the man yelled menacingly. Trent noticed that he had a New York accent. He still didn’t answer, but he put himself between the dressing room and the strange New Yorker. He had no idea if the girl in there was even the one he was looking for, but if this creep was looking for her, she must be in trouble. Trent sympathized with her.

***

"So. . .uh, Carlos. How’s your police work?"

"Doesn’t Trent talk about me at all? He and I are partners at Thunder Investigations."

"Well, he talks about that sometimes, but he mentions you as little as possible."

"That’s nice. He’s never even mentioned you at all since. . .uh. .before." Then he asked the question she had been waiting for since the news of this trip. "How’s your husband?"

***

The man tried to push around him, then when he failed, he threw a punch, which Trent blocked and returned. The man drew a gun, which was kicked out of his hand within seconds. It pinged harmlessly against a treadmill on the opposite side of the room. The New Yorker was soon on the floor and unconscious. Trent knocked softly on the door to the dressing room. There was no answer, but Trent could hear ragged breathing from the other side of the door.

He turned the handle of the door and found that it was unlocked, so he opened it and walked in. The woman was standing behind the door holding a rod from the shower curtain. As the door opened, she swung the rod at Trent. He grabbed the bar with surprising difficulty and set it down on the floor by his feet. The woman saw that it was not who she had expected and calmed slightly.

"It’s okay," Trent said smiling slightly. "Who ever that guy is, he made a huge mistake."

The woman breathed. Trent noticed that she was absolutely gorgeous and that she wasn’t really wearing a business suit. She had apparently slipped a business jacket over her tank top and skirt. Her hair was in a ponytail held with a long, thin clip. "Who are you?" She asked softly. Her black eyes were scared.

"My name is Trent Malloy. Don’t worry, you’re safe now. I have a room here. You can stay with me until those men stop looking for you."

"They’ll kill me. They’ll never stop looking for me until I’m dead. If you hide me, they’ll kill you too."

Actually, Trent was hoping she wouldn’t try to kill him. He took her hand and led her towards the elevators with the woman protesting weakly the whole way. Trent was a taking a huge risk. He didn’t even know her name. What he did know, was that he wanted to help people and this was a person who needed help. Besides, she had to have an interesting story. "Do you have a name?" Trent asked softly on the way to his room.

"Rachel. . .Rachel Toledo," she whispered. She refrained from saying another word until they reached the room.

When Trent brought the girl into the room, Carlos and Claire did a double take. They stopped their conversation and stared at her. "These are my friends. Carlos Sandoval and Claire Kosk," Trent said. He then led her to the coffee machine and poured her some coffee. Then he led her to the couch.

"Who was that man?" Trent asked softly after she finished her coffee. She looked at Trent, who nodded sympathetically, then at Claire and Carlos who took the hint and disappeared into the kitchenette.

"Harry. . .Harry Anders. . .my. . .husband.," she said. She then buried her face in her hands. "He’ll kill me."

"My parents brought me into this country from Mexico when I was four. . .illegally. My mom finally told me after I got out of high school. After I had a life here. I barely even speak Spanish. I had a boyfriend. I wanted desperately to marry him. He didn’t know that I was an illegal, but he loved me. I stayed in Dallas, and I was happy.

"Then Harry came to me. He somehow knew I wasn’t a citizen." She paused and asked for another cup of coffee. Trent got up and gave it to her. When she was halfway through it, she continued. "He wanted something for the information, and I was willing to give him anything to keep him quiet and I told him so. I had to keep my jobs in that States to take care of the nursing home bills for my parents." She stopped and started crying again. "He wanted me to marry him. He was old enough to be my father, but I had to agree.

"Four years. Four Goddamn years! We had to stay in Dallas, and my boyfriend hated me for marrying his partner while dating him. Harry bought me everything, but I wasn’t happy. At first, it was fine. Even though I hated him for blackmailing me. Then he accused me of cheating on him while he was gone. He started spreading the word that I was an ungrateful whore to my friends, and to Ben. Still, I stuck with him because no one could know about my past. Then, last year, I found out that he told everyone about me in the first year we were married. All of Dallas knew, except the police. I guess because Harry still wanted me to live with him. . .I don’t even know how the police never found out. . .everyone knew."

She sighed. "I ran to LA and tried to start a new life, but he found me this morning and here I am. I guess I know too much for Harry to simply let me go. He’ll kill me. I. . .he killed Ben because he wouldn’t tell him where I went." She stopped and swallowed. "Ben didn’t even know where I was. He didn’t know where I was. He hated me." She stopped suddenly, then gulped the other half of her coffee, wiped away a tear, and buried herself in his embrace.

***

Claire breathed. "I guess you’re entitled to an explanation for that huh?"

Carlos just crossed his arms and stared at her.

"Sophia was just born. I hated Josh for that. Now I know she’s a gift." She swallowed and bit her lip. Carlos wanted to hug her, but he couldn’t accept her explanation just yet. "Josh left. You were retaliation," she said simply.

Carlos’ head snapped back up. "That’s it? That’s all I was? Just some stupid fallback guy? That really hurts you know."

"Oh shut up. You know what I mean. That’s why I didn’t tell you about Josh and Sophia."

"So, you didn’t think you could trust me with your past. Is that it?" Carlos demanded

She looked him squarely in the eye as she could. "You’re a stupid, arrogant. . .jackass. That’s why I didn’t tell you before."

Carlos got up and stalked out of the kitchen into his hotel room across the hall. The door slammed behind him.

"I didn’t want to lose you," Claire whispered to the empty room.

Carlos met Trent for lunch at a little bar at a small, yet expensive, hotel in Santa Monica. Trent felt that Rachel’s husband would search all the hotels in LA. He hoped he would give up after that, although he had a feeling he wouldn’t. Because of this feeling, he left Claire with strict orders to protect her from her husband at all costs.

"You go to the weight room and come back with a beautiful woman in tow," Carlos was saying. Trent wasn’t even paying enough attention to him to punch him in the arm at the joke. "Uh, buddy? Trent?" Carlos gave up and ordered some ribs. "Thank you so much for treating you best friend to lunch Trent," he said loudly while waving around a straw.

"Carlos, you are the only person I know who drinks beer with a straw," Trent said. Carlos’ face took on a hurt expression as he held the beer protectively and drank some more beer through his straw. "I think she could help us," Trent said slowly, utterly confusing Carlos.

"Who?"

"Rachel. She’s here illegally. She could know who brought her here or something. I mean, I’m sure that she had some knowledge about it. And even if she didn’t, she could work undercover or something. She could help us on this case. And then maybe, she could become a citizen if she wanted to." The whole speech came out of sounding remarkably desperate.

Carlos shook his head and laughed.

"What? You don’t think it will work?" Trent asked

"No, I just think someone’s got a crush on someone." Carlos grinned and took a sip of beer. Trent glared at his friend and this time, he did punch him in the arm. Carlos yelped and grabbed his arm in mock anguish. "Seriously Trent, I think it’s a great idea if she could pull it off. Can she act?"

***

Rachel was sprawled on the sofa in Claire’s room, eating a Popsicle. Claire was sitting on the loveseat eating Cocoa Puffs and a room service milk shake. She swallowed the last of the milk shake. "This is the life," she muttered. "And since everything is on Carlos’ credit card. . ." She laughed. "And I’m on a case, and getting paid for eating food and hanging out with you." She decided it was none of her business, but she decided to ask anyway. "So, are you Trent’s girlfriend?"

"No," she said shyly. "He rescued me from the Big Bad Wolf." She stopped and said nothing for several minutes. She coughed uncomfortably. "We would make a cute foursome though."

Claire coughed so hard she almost choked on her straw. After a few minutes, she stopped coughing, but her face was still red. "Carlos and I aren’t together anymore."

"Oh." The room was silent for a long time, but Claire’s face stayed red for any even longer time. A small smile came to her lips. She cleared her throat and forced a grin. "So, are you up for some expensive ice cream on Carlos?"

***

That evening, they all gathered over a box of pizza on the table of the girl’s suite. They had apparently exhausted Carlos’ credit card resources at lunch. Rachel had looked rather sick that afternoon when Carlos and Trent proposed the plan to her, but now she was right in the thick of all the plans to bring down the alien smuggler. She had said with conviction that she wanted her husband sent to jail, even if she landed there herself.

Tonight there was a tape recorder on the table and Rachel was relating all the details she could think of about how she got to America. "Of course, it was a long time ago, and I didn’t even know we were doing anything illegal. My parents told me we were going on vacation, then after that we decided to stay there. I assume they had forged papers and what not. Maybe they didn’t. I don’t know. . ." Rachel was saying. She was wearing a red tank top and cargo pants she had bought that afternoon. Trent insisted that she shouldn’t go back to her hotel to get her clothes. He tried to insist that he pay for the new clothes, but Rachel rebelled. Her hair was twisted and stuck in her hair claw. Trent thought she looked really cute and told her so earlier.

"My parents were never home. Sometimes, late at night, I’d hear them come in and crash into bed. They were always gone again in the morning. Other than that, I was a normal kid. I went to school. We had an apartment. You get the picture. Anyway, I lived with it.

"On my sixteenth birthday, a man called me up and said he was my father’s boss, and that he had died in the hospital from an accident at work. I guess I started blabbering about money and a whole bunch of stuff. The man said that he had a good job opportunity for me and that I could pay the bills with that money. Of course, I was suspicious about what the job might entail, and I didn’t go. Then the bills started coming in, so I gave up and went to the address the man gave me. The man was Harry." She stopped talking and took a bite of her pizza. The others waited expectantly for several minutes. "That’s when I met Ben. Harry told me the job was taken, so I got a job as a secretary at an insurance company part time. By that time, my mom was mentally sick and confined to a mental hospital. When I graduated from high school, she told me about Mexico, and died the following year. Well, Trent knows the rest." She smiled wanly and looked at Trent, expecting an outburst. "Harry is trying to kill me because I know too much. That’s what the gun was for," she said slowly.

"What?" Trent fairly yelled. "He is trying to kill you." He thought for a minute. "I’m going to stay here with you. . .for protection." Rachel opened her mouth to argue. Trent gently placed a hand over her mouth. "Rach." He waited until she looked at him. "No argument," he said firmly. He moved his hand and she closed her mouth.

Harry met Ms. Diaz on her yacht late that night. When he stepped onto the boat, no one was around and the silence was complete, save the rolling of the waves. "Are you there, dear?" he questioned softly. The boards creaked behind him and fingers tickled his back playfully. Harry didn’t turn around, but grabbed the hand and followed the waif-like shadowy figure wearing high-heeled pumps into her bedroom. The door closed finally behind them.

***

Claire didn’t sleep well that night. She was thinking about Carlos and Sophia. Rachel woke up in the bed next to her and she could hear Trent watching Good Morning America from behind the closed doors to the living room. She slipped out of bed and pulled on a flannel robe and green slippers. She trudged out to the kitchenette to get coffee. She saw that Trent had already made coffee and decided to risk drinking it.

She poured herself a half a cup, filled the rest with milk, and started stirring vigorously with a spoon. She took a sip. It was cold. How long ago did he make this? Trent was sitting on the couch holding coffee and distractedly watching a report on recalled toys. It didn’t look like he had slept at all; he was wearing jeans and a polo shirt and he hadn’t shaved. He pointed to the screen with a stirring straw. "Big recall on Teletubbies," he said.

Claire frowned and looked at him sternly. "You stayed up all night to watch out for Rachel?"

Trent looked hurt. "Not just her. I care about you too."

"Come on Trent. My gun is on my nightstand and I know karate as well. You don’t need to protect me. You and I both know why you’re here so don’t play stupid."

"Who’s stupid?" Rachel yawned as she came out of the bedroom in a short nightgown and robe that she had bought the day before. She poured herself a cup of coffee, took a sip, and dumped the rest down the sink. "Who made this?" Trent raised his hand meekly and caught the donut hole she threw at him.

"Donut holes!" Carlos came into the room and grabbed the donut that Trent held in his open palm, shoved it in his mouth. "So, what are we doing today?"

Trent set the cold coffee on the table. "First, you’re going to offer your shower to your best friend. Then these girls can get ready to go to a very nice beach near Mexico."

With a donut hole in his mouth, Carlos pushed Trent out of the door. "I’ll kill you if you stick me with Claire. Seriously buddy."

"Well, it’s always best to keep the Cuban Cuties together," he smiled using Carlos’ old nickname.

"She’s not Cuban!"

Trent raised one blond eyebrow skeptically in mock puzzlement. "And you’re a cutie?" He turned and headed into Claire’s open doorway before any harm could come his way.

***

Carlos dropped the bag of stuff that looked like ordinary items onto the sand by his feet. Trent calmly picked it up and followed his gave over to Claire. She was walking towards Trent and Carlos with her long hair down to her shoulders. She was wearing cargo shorts and a bikini top and a dangling pair of sunglasses from her thumb and forefinger. Carlos realized that his mouth was open, so he shut it and fixed his face into his best nonchalant expression. "How are you Claire?" Carlos asked as coolly as he could.

She walked past him with a quick smile, stood on tiptoe and kissed Trent. Trent’s eyes widened as she stepped back. "Just practicing," she whispered just loud enough for Carlos to hear.

Rachel then appeared wearing the normal beach attire, but she carried a rumpled housedress under her arm. She smiled and then let loose a string of impressing Spanish-at least considering that Carlos had drilled it into her head the night before. "How was that? What did I say this time Carlos?"

"Relax. You did fine. Although, I’m sure Ms. Diaz doesn’t really want to buy any clams. Just let me do the talking okay?"

Rachel turned slightly red. "Just tell them I’m deaf."

"Okay," Trent spoke up. "Everybody have their parts straight? Let’s do this. Carlos and Rachel, get going." Rachel hesitated when Claire handed her a gun, but took it and shoved it into her pack with the dress. She kissed Trent lightly on the cheek and whispered a good luck. She took Carlos’ hand and walked towards the dock. Trent’s gaze followed her until she disappeared behind a yacht.