"Ohhh! My feet hurt. I’m rotating my ankles to make the numbness go away. This is what I get for walking six blocks in Italian leather heels. I know I should have taken a taxi, but I hoped that the walk would pump up my endorphins and help me clear my head.

He did it again. Like a magician pulling the rabbit out of the hat, and with only the slenderest of leads, he bagged one of the most dangerous arms dealers operating today. And who was his partner for this major, big time bust? Certainly not me.

Oh God, over there by the pond, is that—

No, it can’t be her. I know I left her back at the Agency. Sure looks like her though. Tall, trim figure, dark hair. I hope it isn’t her. If she sees me, she’ll be over here in a flash, wanting to talk, and I’m not in the mood. I know, I do sound crabby. I just have this question I need an answer for.

What does he see in her?

She’s not his type at all. He goes for a more sophisticated, more uptown woman. You know the type, sleek, moneyed and beautiful.

Not that she’s unattractive, she’s pretty enough, in a wholesome way. She’s just not his type that’s all. I don’t know what he sees in her.

They have nothing in common, nothing at all.

He’s into playing games, fast cars and the social scene. She’s got her family, her clubs and coffee klatch.

He goes to all the right parties; she goes to Little League games.

He moves with ease among the power brokers and diplomats. She spends her time with PTA parents and Cub Scout leaders.

She believes in forever, he hits and runs.

She’s a one-man woman; he thinks variety is the spice of life.

He lives in the shadows, she’s as open as you can be.

Everyone is her friend, he trusts very few people.

What could they possibly share?

It’s not as if I’m jealous; I’m not. No really, I’m not.

Whatever he and I had together was a long time ago; it’s been over for longer than we were together. It was never meant to last anyway. I knew that going in, but letting go has been harder than I’d imagined.

I never minded his women before, not until she showed up. I saw right away that he was intrigued by her, but I figured he’d seduce her and once he’d succeeded he’d show true colors and she’d be gone.

Maybe she’s harder to get than most of the women who fall under his spell. Maybe he’s losing his touch. Maybe I really am jealous.

Why her? Why not me?

This may sound vain, but I know I’m beautiful. Mother said I was born beautiful and that all the nurses told her I was the most beautiful baby they had ever seen. Daddy always said I was the most beautiful girl in the world. Other men have been telling me I was beautiful ever since.

I’m smart too, damned smart. I was at the top of my class, always. Beauty might open the door, but you need brains to succeed. And I’ve succeeded. I have no reason to be jealous of her. I have the life I’ve always wanted.

Do I?

Of course I do. I have an exciting, glamorous career. I’ve dined at the White House, danced with kings, and been courted by princes. What else could I possibly need?

Certainly not her life, a house in the suburbs, mortgaged to the hilt. A station wagon that spends more time in the shop than it does on the road. A busted marriage, two kids with an absentee father. Her mother living with her and butting into her business. What kind of life is that?

Of course, her life isn’t all bad. She has really great kids, as far as kids go; she’s a good mom.

Not that I want that. Not a bit. I like to date powerful and rich men, men who’ll take me to the best restaurants and the glizziest resorts. Those places aren’t very family friendly you know.

So what does he see in her?

He might deny it, but I know he wants her. I’ve seen how he looks at her when he thinks no one is watching. And while he might protest when Billy pulls her in for a job, he is relieved when his protests are ignored. He listens to her, and what’s more frightening, I think he understands what she says. He’d lay down his life for hers; he’s proved that. Of course, he’d do that for any of his friends. She’s untrained; she should be a danger in the field, but she isn’t.

They respect each other; that’s rare in this town. She has earned the admiration of some of the toughest agents I’ve ever known. That’s quite an accomplishment. She can be tough when she needs to be and she sticks to her guns when she knows she’s right. She doesn’t take foolish risks either; she knows when to back away. She could be a good agent someday.

She’s also a good person and a good friend and funny as it sounds, I like her, although I don’t want to. I know that she’s smart and she’s quick and she’s got an intuitiveness that is an asset in this business. She’s also sweet, although that’s not necessarily an advantage.

Seriously, she’s genuine, kind, and forgiving. Those qualities are almost extinct inside the District, believe me. She has a warm and loving relationship with her mom.

All in all, there’s a lot of me in her.

Francine Desmond chucked the stray cat that had been sitting beside her on the park bench under the chin. "But if you tell anyone I’ll deny it."

Running a hand through her hair, she walked across the park and back to the Agency.

The End.