Hello. This is, obviously, the first chapter...yeah. Enough said. Um...this is actually the rewritten version, posted in June 2012. The original was posted in, oh I don't know, a year ago? Maybe. I don't even remember. Don't worry, you're not missing anything. If anything you're getting more...I just thought that the old chapter was crappy and rewrote it. So...thanks for reading! Please - FAN! VOTE!!! COMMENT!!!

Gracias! <3 vb123321



Chapter One



♥ Astrid ♥



Shooting ranges had always fascinated me. Call it creepy for a sixteen-year-old to say that, but it was true. Something about holding the cold metal of the gun, combined with the adrenaline as the bullet explodes from the barrel, not to mention the satisfaction received if it hits the target – it all added up to be one amazing time.



It was also a great way to get things off my mind. This was the sole purpose I had in mind as I entered a private range, tipping the bored-looking attendant a bright smile to assure him that I wasn’t about to commit a homicide. Sliding the gun I had been issued out of my jeans pocket, I checked the magazine and then leaned against the wall, breathing out through my nose. As fun was it was, any time I was in a firing range, I had to mentally prepare myself, because my imagination tended to go overboard when alone in a cold, quiet room with a gun in hand.



Something about it freaked me out. I couldn’t understand why I was able to shoot men straight through the heart in the heat of adrenaline-boosted field work, but once inside that room, my heartbeat sped up more quickly than if I had been confronted with a KGB agent armed to the teeth.



Once the psychological part was over and I had entered what was generally referred to as the Arctic Zone – because once inside, all emotion ceased, and it was just you and the gun – I stepped forward, drawing my gun up in front of me. My finger caressed the smooth metal, tucking itself under the trigger as I fixed my eyes on the target, which stood about seventy-five meters away.



Exhaling again, I closed one eye, sighting down the barrel and taking a little more time than necessary. Giving my imagination a boost, I pictured the target as a man dressed completely in black, holding a knife against the throat of – I shook my head in slight irritation. No, memories like that weren’t going to help. The man switched to holding a gun pointing at me even as I leveled my own at him. Part of me wished I had asked the attendant to give me man-targets instead of the normal bull’s-eyed ones.



Concentrate.



What would my early trainers have said if they saw me now? Fire first, and then think. I could almost hear them saying it. Training eleven-year-olds to fire a gun couldn’t be an easy job, especially since you knew that one day soon they would be in the field, firing at real targets. It made me grateful to know that I was one of the very few teenage agents Delta, the spy agency that employed me, had.



Breathing out for the third time, I re-leveled my gun at the target, emptying my mind of all thoughts. My gaze completely focused, I snapped off a rapid succession of shots, all of which slammed into the target in a split second. Lowering my gun and going back to an easy stance, I examined the outcome – and smiled.



“Good to see you haven’t lost your touch.”



Starting, I whipped around to see Josh Steiner standing in the doorway, leaning against the post and shoving his hands in his pockets. His green-blue eyes smirked at me as he added, “Except maybe in your perception, that is.”



“Your sneaking abilities are as good as ever.” I kept my voice neutral but was unable to keep a grin from creeping out onto my face. “Still – long time, no see, Josh.”



He came forward, shaking wavy brown-blonde hair out of his eyes and inspecting my target with a half-smile. “Oh, I see what you did there,” he said, glancing over at me with a raised eyebrow. “Still a kid at heart, huh, Astrid?”



“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I returned, straight-faced.



Gesturing towards the target, he said, “A smiley face? Really?”



I grinned, looking over at the pattern my bullets had smashed into the cardboard of the target. “I couldn’t resist. Like you’ve never made a smiley face.”



Josh shrugged. Seventeen years old, my best friend since birth, and a complete idiot to boot, he knew me so well that it was almost scary. He was one of perhaps four people in the world who did, and two of the other three were or had been Delta agents as well. Rigorous training for CIA-type work tended to bring people closer together, especially since we were some of the only ones of our age group.



“Where’ve you been the last couple of days?” I asked.



Josh made a dismissive gesture. “You’re going to find out in a bit,” he said mysteriously, and I groaned. I knew all too well what that meant: another assignment. Part of me was unenthusiastic, because assignments could get stressful; the other part was energized – nothing like a little adrenaline to let you live life to the fullest. And if Josh was in on it, then it would be five times better.



“Okay, what do you want?”



“Astrid von Shauff, as conversational as always,” grumbled Josh. “Maybe I’m just stopping in to say hi?”



I fixed him with a beady look, unloading the gun as I spoke. “I’ll believe that when cows fly. There has to be some reason you’re in here, and I’d be willing to bet it’s not about a picnic.”



His eyes were on my hands as I disassembled my weapon. “The expression is ‘pigs fly,’ and – okay, you’re right. I’m not here for salutations.”



“Thank you, Charlotte.” I paused, looking at the pieces of the gun in my hands. It was a bad habit of mine – dismantling weapons when I was wary about something. I would have to break that particular habit, because it could probably end up killing me one day. Sighing, I began to put the weapon back together, looking up at Josh again as I did so. “So…what are you here for?”



He leaned against the wall, all smiles gone now. “What do you think?”



I shrugged. “It was worth a try,” I said in resignation. “An assignment. When does Young want to talk to us?”



Alan Young was the director of Delta and also my boss. Trips to his office only meant a few things – delivery of a death sentence, an assignment, or a notification that a fellow operative had died. One usually hoped for the second. As director of a spy headquarters, Young could hardly be the most compassionate of men, and he wasn’t, but that didn’t make him very popular with us agents who did all the dirty work.



“Actually,” Josh was saying, “you’re supposed to make a call first.”



“A call?” I frowned.



“Yeah, you know – with a telephone?”



I rolled my eyes. “Thank you, Captain Obvious,” I said dryly, already moving out of the room with Josh behind me.



“No problem – Sergeant Sarcastic.”



Stopping in my tracks, I gave him a surprised look. “That was a good one,” I admitted, grinning. “I’ll have to think of a good comeback.”



He laughed, grabbing the gun from my hand and depositing it in the weaponry shelves outside of the firing range. Snatching up the pen beside the register to check into the range, I scrawled my name in a hasty mess and smiled at the attendant, whose expression hadn’t altered. Then, following Josh out of the range and into a corridor, I walked a little faster to get to his side.



“So, where am I taking this call?”



“To heart,” he said with a serious face, and I jabbed him in the side. “Ouch! Okay, okay. You’re supposed to take it on your cell, which you conveniently forgot in my room this morning…why were you in there, anyway?”



I shrugged. “Um…looking for something you took from me a few months ago,” I adlibbed, grinning at his look of disbelief. “So I assume you have it with you?”



“Yeah.” He reached into his pocket, tossing me a BlackBerry with a flick of his wrist. “Upgraded since Montenegro, have you?”



“Well, you know…” I grinned. “When your phone gets run over by a semi, it’s nice to know it can be replaced.”



He sent me a flat look. “It was a moped.”



“Yes…well…” I gave up conversation skills, taking the phone from him and saying, “Okay, so where do I take this call?”



Josh continued walking for about twenty feet, turning a corner in what I knew was the direction of Young’s office. “Just right here, in his lobby,” he said, stepping aside to allow me to enter the room. It was small, furnished with just a leather couch, and led to another door labeled “Young” in curt letters – like Young himself. Frowning slightly, I seated myself on the couch, looking around as I did so.



“He has his own lobby?” I asked in disbelief. “Since when?”



“Um, forever?”



I raised an eyebrow. “Have I never used this entrance or something?”



Josh chose to ignore that comment, plopping himself on the couch and giving me a come-on sort of look. “Would you mind making the call?” he said with a tweak of frustration in his voice. “I’m not enjoying this any more than you are, dear.”



“Yeah, yeah, darling,” I muttered, turning the phone on. “Who exactly am I supposed to be calling? – Ah…” On the screen of the phone, a message had appeared, blinking at me as I read it. “Gotta say it, Young knows his stuff. Texting me the number? That’s pretty brilliant.”



“Astrid. The call.”



I gulped. “Josh…do you realize who I’m supposed to be calling?” At that, a huge grin unfurled on his face as he glanced sideways at me with a sly look. I winced. “On second thought, don’t answer that.” Sighing, I punched the number into my phone, lifting it to my ear as it began to dial. I glowered at Josh as I waited.



“Hello?” Only one ring – had to be a male. And it was, too; a voice I recognized and one that sent shivers up my spine as I smiled slightly in spite of myself.



“Hey, Pierre,” I said in a voice slightly nicer than my usual one. Josh smirked at me, and I nudged him with my elbow once more.



“Is this line secure?” Pierre LaPointe asked in a crisp voice, and I rolled my eyes. As hot as this particular eighteen-year-old fellow Delta agent was, he could be annoying when it came to the guidelines.



“Duh. It’s Delta.” I was unable to keep the cheekiness out of my voice; he exhaled loudly on the other end.



“Right. Okay, Astrid, get serious.” His tone was exactly that. “It’s been a while since I’ve worked with you” – unfortunately, I thought – “but as you may have guessed, we will be working together again soon. Very soon.”



“Tomorrow soon?” I kept my voice as casual as possible.



“Maybe.” Pierre, as mysterious as always. “You’re in Young’s lobby then, yes? Good. He’ll tell you all the details you and Josh need to know.”



“So why are you calling?” I grumbled, a little put out at his tone. How old was I, six? He was only two years older than I was, the jerk.



“You’ll find out from Young. I’m hanging up now.”



“Wait!” I cried, but he had been true to his word. Scowling, I dropped the phone into my lap, glaring at the floor. “What was that all about? I mean, why call me if he’s not going to tell me anything?”



“Incentive,” said Josh in a wise tone, and I gave him an acerbic look.



“What’s that supposed to mean?”



He just smirked at me; he knew how I felt about Pierre LaPointe, about how hot I thought he was and how I was actually near-bursting with happiness at the thought of working with him. Not that I was going to admit that. “Well,” I said with a haughty air, “what do I say to Young? ‘Pierre says hi’?”



“You say that you called him,” Josh said simply. “Duh.”



I sputtered in annoyance but couldn’t come up with adequate words. Glowering at my best friend, I crossed my arms and leaned back in the chair to wait for my boss to call us in. A good boss would only ask for your presence if he wasn’t going to make you wait another twenty minutes. Then again, I’d never had another, so I wouldn’t really know.



We sat in the lobby for a good ten minutes before a buzzer sounded and a pleasant, female, and most likely fake voice announced us. There was another beep, and then Young’s door swung open. Inside the first room sat a secretary at a desk, her blonde hair up in a typical secretary-style bun and her very long legs crossed under her desk. My boss was one of those men who thought he always had to go with the typical secretary – good-looking, polite, and completely un-Astrid.



“Astrid von Shauff and Josh Steiner?” inquired the secretary, as if she hadn’t just announced our names over her buzzer. We nodded, and she said, “Just a minute, please,” while she picked up the phone to inform Young we were outside his door. Why he insisted on all of this was beyond me; obviously he was expecting us, he had called us to his office. “You may go in,” said the secretary, gesturing towards the door as if we couldn’t see it right in front of us.



“Thank you,” I muttered, struggling to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, and pushed open the door without further ado. Josh followed me, a grin on his face at my frustration.



Alan Young was seated behind a large metal desk of his own, peering intently at something on his MacBook as he gestured towards us in a vague sort of way. “Sit down, sit down....” He was a middle-aged man with dark, piercing eyes and wiry graying hair that was cut primly over his sharply-planed face. Outwardly calm, he looked like a politician, but underneath his impeccable attire was a coldhearted man who was both unafraid of death and unafraid of sending his people to it. Not the greatest combination for a normal boss, but a dang good one for an espionage one.



Josh and I seated ourselves in the leather chairs facing his desk, Josh drumming the armrest with his fingers and me looking around the room in a restless way as Young continued to read whatever file was on his computer. He looked rather like a businessman as he tapped a key with a raise of one eyebrow before sighing loudly. While he taught that emotion could kill you, he didn’t mind showing it in his own office.



A few minutes later, in which I exhaled in an obnoxious manner at least five times, he finally clicked something on his computer and turned to face us. Folding his hands over the folder on his desk, he fixed us both with a shrewd look that I didn’t particularly care for. After another quiet moment, he picked up the folder, which I looked at with a suspicious eye: Folders were never a good sign.



“I suppose you’re wondering why I called you here,” said Young in an even voice.



“No, not really,” I replied. “I mean, I might have had some doubts, but that folder destroyed all of them.”



He nodded slowly. “I thought as much.” Reaching into it, he pulled out a thin stack of papers, which he handed to me. “Mr. Steiner has already looked through this; now it is your turn. This will give you the basic details, and Mr. LaPointe shall brief you further when you arrive in France tomorrow.”



“France?” I repeated, cocking an eyebrow. “The land of croissants and Eiffel Towers and things?”



“And beautiful girls,” Josh put in with a wink at me, and I rolled my eyes. Trust him to come up with something like that.



“Read the file,” said Young in the same tone, and I complied, my eyes moving over the first page. The silence in the room grew, and I tried to remain focused on the paper as I felt both Young’s and Josh’s eyes on me; the information was longwinded and complicated as it was.



“Louis Decrioux…” I muttered, to break the silence as I kept reading. “A suspected drug dealer in French disguise, undercover in Marseilles…Who lies undercover in Marseilles? I would pick something like…Moscow.” Josh jabbed me with his elbow and I returned hurriedly to the file. “Um – Decrioux only a suspected name, investigate early childhood more. Nothing on early childhood, though, conveniently enough…”



“Mr. LaPointe will brief you, as I said before,” said Young in a patient tone.



“Then what’s the point of me reading this?” I grumbled, shoving the file away from me. “I’ll read it later; I’m not a big sleeper anyway. What about the important stuff?”



The faintest hint of a smile appeared on Young’s face. “I thought you would never ask.” Reaching into his desk, he pulled out a new-looking Beretta, handing it to me over his desktop.



Frowning slightly, I turned the gun over in my hands, inspecting it. “Well, I guess it’ll suffice,” I said in a deliberately disappointed voice. In truth, it was one of my favorite handguns to work with, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. He probably knew anyway. And I would definitely stock up on more weapons before I left for Marseilles.



“That is all, then,” said Young, moving back to his MacBook with a dismissive air. “You are dismissed.”



Getting to my feet, I followed Josh back through the lobby, muttering under my breath, “Dismissed? Are we the freaking military?”



He grinned, moving out into the hallway with me following. “Not that lucky.”



“What do you think of this assignment?” I asked, turning to look at him with a furrowed brow. “I mean, Delta going after drug dealers? We’re not usually a narcotics branch. We’re more fieldwork, I thought.”



Josh shrugged. “We do narcotics a lot, too,” he said fairly. “Remember last year, with that guy who thought you were a Russian honey trap?”



I snorted, rounding a corner and nearly running into a burly man who looked like he could take on Chuck Norris. “Okay, now that was just ridiculous. I mean, come on – me, a honey trap? He was mentally retarded, I swear.”



“You’re right,” agreed Josh with a smile. “You’re not gorgeous enough to be a honey trap. Too bad, eh?”



“Yeah, yeah…” I glowered at the wall. “Well, I still feel like Young isn’t telling us something. Ever get that feeling? It’s not a good one.”



Josh pulled his phone out of his pocket, frowning at the flashing screen. “Maybe so,” he conceded. “But don’t worry,” a smirk flashed over his face, “I’m sure precious Mr. LaPointe will make everything clear when he briefs us.” He made a kissing noise with his mouth, and I punched him in the shoulder.



“Shut up or I’ll brief you – with a briefcase.”



Josh laughed, throwing up his hands in mock-fear. “Okay, peace, cowgirl. See you on the plane to France, then, okay?”



“Yeah, whatever.” Try as I might, I couldn’t be thrilled about the prospect of another assignment, even if it was with Pierre. And though I couldn’t put my finger on it, I felt as though I was missing something in the bigger picture of things. Something about the way Young acted sparked all sorts of alarm signals in my mind, and I felt distinctly uneasy about the whole thing.



And, being a teenage spy, that was never a good sign.