Marge Wainwright peeked her head into Michela's office door. Her pinkish gray hair shined steel gray in the fluorescent light. "You all right?" she asked. "You didn't faint again or anything, did you?"

Worry lines creased Marge's forehead, and she circled around the large mahogany desk putting a motherly hand on Michela's head. Like a child ashamed of their mother's touch, Michela brushed the hand away.

"No, I didn't faint again. Thank God for that. And yes, I am okay. You don't have to constantly peck around me like a mother hen. I'll be fine."

"Then it must be those awful yet exciting dreams you've been having," she decided. "Honey, if I had dreams like that every night, I'd never get out of bed."

Michela shook her head and laughed. Laughing made her head hurt more, but she didn't care. Marge was worth it.

"You are too much, Marge."

Marge hassled her another ten minutes about the dream man she had deemed 'a hunka hunka burning love', but Michela wasn't divulging anything to a gossip like her, no matter how much she loved her. If Michela revealed all the things she'd witnessed in her dreams, Marge would curl up and die from shock. Not only was her mystery man killing people, so was Michela!

Her watch read twenty four to eight. Damn. She was late. Michela rushed out of the ForeCross Publishing building at a record pace. She should have expected something unforseen to happen considering she was not only late for a dinner date with her father, Quentin, but to top things off, it was Friday the 13th.

Everything happened so fast. She wasn't looking where she was going. Lucky Faraday wasn't looking where he was going either. They both ended up crashing into one another. All either of them could do was react.

The shout from aside seemed hollow to her ears. In slow motion, she heard the voice of Andy, the doorman, "Watch out, he has a gun?"

Michela didn't know which 'he' Andy was referring to, and she didn't have time to think as the tall, dark man crashed into her. They fell to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. Michela pushed at the man and he pushed back at her. Neither wanted to be down for the count.

A bullet whizzed by their heads. It was exactly like one of her dreams. There was a dark man. He was good looking in a rough sort of way. There were guns, bullets flying, and a villain on their trail. This villain's name was Carlos. His ruddy, deep black complection spoke of Greek influence and his piercing green eyes glared at them both, but mostly at her fallen new friend, Lucky Faraday. Her heart was beating faster now but she wasn't afraid.

"Someone is shooting at us," she whispered, calmly to Lucky.

"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock," the man taunted. "What gave you your first clue?

His pale blue eyes glared at her but the chemistry between them was unmistakable. He had to actually force himself away from her. Michela felt the same draw to Lucky as he did to her. His face was closer than a whisper and his scent filled her nostrils. Irish Spring and a scent that could only be his own personal fragrance. The mixture was definitely igniting. For the first time in years with this man, she felt alive. Time stopped for both of them. Another bullet flying by, brought them back to the present moment.

Lucky turned toward the shooter and drew his own gun from a hidden shoulder holster. "Stay where you are. Federal agent."

Carlos already had his own gun leveled at them. The red site pointed at Michela's chest. It blipped around her torso in a haphazard fashion. Lucky pushed her behind him. He was acting as her barrier.

"Leave the woman alone," he grunted. "I'm the one you want." Lucky turned his head back toward Michela.

"Get out of here. You'll be safe. He only wants me."

"Like hell I'm leaving you here."

"Lady, you have no choice." The man with dark hair and pale eyes pushed her towards the building's safety. He stood and met the shooter, calmly talking to him on his own level. He stayed cool, acting like the two of them were old friends.

"You've been waiting for this a long time, haven't you Carlos? You've finally got me where you want me. Out in the open around hundreds of innocent witnesses." Lucky scanned the crowd. He singled out Michela, and gave her a wink. "You finally caught me. How does it feel?"

Carlos extended his arm placing the barrel squarely on Lucky's chest.

"I feel very... lucky!" he grunted, sardonically. "My superiors will be grateful to me for killing you. No one is here to protect you now."

Lucky didn't wince as Carlos cocked the firearm. "Die like the dog you are."

Michela glanced over at the security desk. Lying out in the open was a letter opener. Its long knife-like blade spoke to her. 'Come get me,' it said. 'Use me.'

She looked around. Where was a cop when you needed one? On instinct she lunged for the letter opener, grabbed it off the desk and threw it. She didn't aim. She didn't ask herself why. She merely acted.

The letter opener sailed through the air hitting Carlos squarely in the chest. As he fell to his knees clutching the silver instrument that impaled him, he discharged the gun. Lucky and Carlos hit the pavement simultaneously.

Michela ran to Lucky's aid. "Call an ambulance!" she screamed to the people gathered at the scene. "Call an ambulance!" In afterthought she sighed, "And someone find a police officer."

"Are you back again?"

Dr. Austin McRae's presence filled the doorway. He wasn't a hulking man but he did have a certain power about him. His hair was long enough to be curly but straight enough to look good on a man. Michela sensed that he needed a haircut. The doctor methodically tapped a silver clipboard which was cemented in his grasp. He didn't look happy to see Lucky Faraday in his waiting room.

Lucky gazed up at the physician. Absentmindedly, he adjusted the sling which covered his right arm and tried to hold in a sheepish grin that tugged at the edges of his mouth.

"I thought you might have missed me, Doc." Lucky improvised. "So, I'm back for a repeat performance."

McRae motioned for Lucky to hop onto the bed for a quick examination. Michela stood aside observing the two of them. They had a familiarity about each other. Not the sort of ease that spoke of homosexual preferences, but the casualness that said they both knew each other well. They had to be friends, she decided.

"At least your injuries aren't as bad as last time," the doctor commented. "You're, pardon the pun, lucky."

Lucky snickered even though he had heard the quip a million times.

"I'm fine," he said, winking at Michela. "Good as gold."

McRae stepped forward and poked two fingers in Lucky's abdomen. Faraday winced.

"Ow!"

"I thought so." Dr. McRae shook his head. "It's infected. I thought I told you to take it easy for a few weeks."

"Hey, don't blame me! I was following doctor's orders to the letter until Carlos came knocking at my front door." Lucky turned to Michela. "He sort of has this little grudge against me."

Michela returned the smile. "Who doesn't have a grudge against you? I don't even know you and I'm already not fond of you."

Lucky feigned a wounded heart and grabbed his chest. "But you don't know what you do to me, sugar."

Dr. McRae cleared his throat to interrupt them. "My suggestion to you is to have someone else apprehend this criminal. You, my friend, need to rest and recuperate until that open wound in your gut heals.

"Yeah," Lucky sighed. "Whatever."

McRae turned to Michela. "Maybe you can talk some sense into him."

Recognition crossed her face as she looked into Austin's green eyes. There was something about the doctor that struck a chord inside her. She tried to make herself seem unfamiliar to the doctor but he was already contemplating where he'd seen her before.

"Like I said, I don't even know him," Michela improvised. She didn't know why she felt the need to be evasive, but the notion that he was less than honest wouldn't leave her stomach. Butterflies were performing circus acts inside her body making her eye twitch. "I doubt I could make him do anything he didn't want to do. He seems afflicted with bullheadedness."

McRae laughed. "Yes, bullheadedness does run in his family, but I'm sure you are quite more convincing than you give yourself credit for."

Michela's spine tingled. This man knew something about her past. It wasn't apparent in anything he said. It was just his general nature that tipped her off. He was not only familiar with Lucky, McRae was also familiar with her as well. She could feel it, and the thought frightened her.

"I have to go," she said suddenly. "Thank you for saving my life." Michela brushed past the doctor and disappeared out into the hallway.

Lucky glared at Austin.

"Thanks a lot, Doc. You scared her away."

"Getting her shot at is what scared her away, not me." McRae regarded his patient and tapped his clipboard in thought. "Remember what I said, rest." With that as his last statement on the subject, suddenly, he too was racing out the door.

"What is this?" Lucky muttered to himself, looking around the empty room. "Suddenly no one can stand to be around me? What? Am I a leper?"

A candy striper wearing a red and white streaked outfit materialized in the doorway. Her long red hair hung in ringlets all the way down to her waist. She admired Lucky. To begin the examination he had to remove his shirt, now he was sorry he had done so. The look on the teen's face was awestruck. Lucky quickly slipped the garment over his head, his ripped torso and rock hard abs covered from her view.

"If a leper is a guy with a hot, hot bod, then, yeah, you are definitely a leper!" The girl giggled and cautiously approached Lucky.

Whoa, he sighed. What ever happened to the shy girls he knew in school. This teen looked ready to attack him on the bed no questions asked. Lucky took in a staggered breath trying to assess how to remove himself from the situation.

"I'm Amanda." She said, giggling again.

"Lucky."

"Yes, you are!"

Amanda came at him arms outstretched. He vaulted from the bed and dodged her advance.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I'm also late."

He dashed out the door and finally took refuge in Austin's office. His breathing was a little heavier than normal but he'd run up three flights of stairs. A little heart thumping was in order.

Lucky pulled out his cell phone and dialed his superior, Harrison Jones. Jones was a black man who had risen high in the ranks of the federal government due to hard work and sacrifice. They didn't come better than Harry.

"They say being a federal agent is hard. They should try evading a teenager," Lucky said to Harry once he answered the phone.

"Maybe if God hadn't been so good to you, you wouldn't have this problem." Harry laughed. The kid could get women without even trying. He wished he had his problems.

"So, is Carlos locked up in an extra small cell throwing darts at photos of me?"

Harry paused. Lucky knew a pause was not good.

"Tell me you got him."

"We didn't. By the time the ambulance arrived some of Carlos' men set up a diversion and ... let's just say he got away."

"DAMN! It took a long time to set up that sting. When are we going to have another chance like that?" Lucky paced back and forth in Dr. McRae's office.

"It may be sooner than you think. We've located his next assignment. It's a publisher. The only problem is, we don't know if he's the target or the one who hired Carlos," said Harry.

"Give me his name. I'm on it."

"What about doctor's orders? I thought you were supposed to take it easy?"

"To hell with doc's orders. Let me catch Carlos, then I'll take it easy."

Michela stopped outside the medical center to catch her breath. She didn't know what had gotten into her lately. Maybe she was truly losing her mind. Six months ago she found herself lying on a bed in her father's mansion without one memory of how she had come to be there. The last thing she remembered was lying on the beach in the South Seas with her friend and then after that &endash; nothing. She had learned later that an entire four years had passed. Maybe she really was losing her mind.

She gulped in a few breaths of fresh air and started to hail a cab. Her father was going to kill her for being so late.

A man rushed up from behind her. Instinctually, she felt the danger and reacted. Her hand came up in an elbow strike that bloodied the man's nose. He yelped in response.

"What in the hell is wrong with you?" Dr. Austin McRae looked at her sourly.

"I'm sorry," she said without remorse. "Did I hurt you?"

"The nose is nothing. I'm more hurt because you're acting like you don't remember me." Austin patted his blooded nose with a handkerchief.

"I am supposed to know you?" She feigned innocence.

"Remember, South of France. You and your friend, what was her name..." Austin searched his memory. "Tavy. That was it. You and your friend Tavy introduced me to my wife. You have to remember her. Honor Faraday?"

"I'm sorry. It's just not coming to me. Maybe you've mistaken me with someone else." Michela attempted to get a cabbie's attention.

"I don't think so. Unless there is another woman named Michela Forsythe who looks exactly like you."

Her eyes grew wide. The cab chose a proper moment to angle into the parking area where they were standing. She opened the back door and hopped inside effectively escaping from him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, out the window. "I really don't remember."

McRae watched as the cab disappeared along the busy downtown street.

Michela stopped by her father's penthouse and changed into more appropriate evening wear. The black slinky dress hugged her curves and emphasized her generous bosom. She sprayed on a gardenia fragrance at her wrists and neck and left to meet her father at a local hot spot called Antony's.

The elegant atmosphere at Antony's always took her aback. The cathedral ceilings and tall columns made it one of the more popular places to be seen. And her father, Quentin Forsythe liked to be seen.

He was chatting away at a table near the back with his friend, and publishing partner, Victor Cross. Her father and Victor both stood as she approached.

"Nice to see you again, Mike," Victor said, kissing her hand. He was a little older than her father but his black good looks defied age.

"You too. I didn't know you were going to be dining with us tonight." Michela took a seat opposite Victor.

"Your father looked lonely so I thought I'd stop by and talk shop with him." Victor and Quentin both laughed.

"Don't you get enough shop talk at work?"

"We're never *not* working, darling."

"Right," she said slowly. "How could I forget. Why did you want to see me?"

Lucky made a few more calls and discovered that his target was having dinner at a local establishment. Unfortunate for him, the place was high class and required dressing for the part. Lucky dusted off a tux he had sitting in his closet.

"Well," he said, talking to the black vest and tails. "You'll just have to do."

It took him nearly ten minutes to get into his get up, and twenty minutes to tie the bow tie.

"God, now I know why I never wear this thing. Give me jeans and a t-shirt any day." He was about to run out the door when the number blinking on his answering machine drew his attention. He pushed the button hoping the call was short.

"Lucky, this is your sister. Remember me? Where are you? Did you forget again that you were supposed to have dinner with me and Austin? We're at Antony's. I'm sure you remember the way, so get your good looking butt down here." Her voice ended and a long beep sounded.

"Shit."

On the way downtown he punched Austin's number into his cell. The phone rang three times before Austin answered.

"Where are you?" he said, sternly. While he talked to Lucky, Austin regarded Michela Forsythe from across the room. She was sitting with her father and a distinguished looking black man.

"I'm about five minutes away."

"I'm curious, Lucky. How do you know Michela?"

Michela laughed at something the black man said and turned her head toward Austin's catching his gaze. She quickly averted her eyes and focused back on the two men at her table.

"Michela? Who's that?" Lucky changed the phone to his other ear and thrust the jeep into a higher gear.

"The woman who brought you into the medical center this afternoon. How do you know her?"

"I don't. Not really. Like you said before, I scared her away because I involved her in one of my missions. Just my luck that a beautiful woman crosses my path and I royally screw it up."

"You might have another chance. Your luck seems to be holding out. She's here, at Anthony's with her father, Quentin Forsythe." Austin paused. "And did I mention she looks very lovely tonight?"

"Quentin Forsythe is her father?" Lucky said yelling into the phone?

"Yes, didn't I ever mention her before? She's the one who introduced me to your sister."

"That's her? It's a small world." Lucky pulled into the valet area of the parking lot and jumped out of the black jeep. "I'm right outside. See you in a bit." He snapped his phone closed and walked in past the mater ‘d.

"I'm expected," he said to the man sporting a very similar tuxedo. Lucky pointed out his sister and her husband. The mater ‘d lead Lucky to their table.

"Sorry I'm late. You know how the time gets away from me." Lucky scanned the various tables dotting the restaurant.

"She's right over there." Austin pointed out Michela sitting two tables away from them.

"I think this just may be my lucky day."

"When isn't it?" his sister, Honor, added with a laugh.

Lucky could barely hold in his enthusiasm. A brilliant idea popped into his head. The prospect would not only get him closer to Michela, it would also bring him closer to the publisher his boss, Harry, had briefed him about.

"I need to talk to her. Be right back." Lucky rose and walked toward Michela's table.

"You're right, honey." Honor said to her husband. "He does have it bad. Maybe he really will get lucky and land himself a woman."

"Or maybe even a wife." Austin laughed and kissed his beautiful wife on the lips. "I think maybe I'm really the lucky one to have you in my life."

Lucky approached and devised his plan all at the same time. He caught Michela's eye and smiled at her. She smiled back. That was a good sign.

"Hello, everyone. Sorry, I'm late."

Michela looked at him strangely as did Quentin and Victor.

"You didn't mention I was coming, did you?" Michela could only shake her head. She was too surprised to speak.

"Your daughter saved my life today, Mr. Forsythe. So I thought I'd take her out to a special dinner. But she said she was having dinner with you. Hope you don't mind the intrusion."

"No, not at all," Michela's father said, happily. "So she saved your life. That's my girl."

As soon as Quentin spoke those words, Lucky knew he was in. Getting information out of Quentin Forsythe was going to be a piece of proverbial cake with Michela as the cherry topping off the lovely advantages of this plan. He was definitely going to love this mission.