AMCP | Ch 2 | scifipony

Fandom: Psych
Characters: Carlton Lassiter, Shawn Spencer
Tags: Genfic, Casefic, Action, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Enemies to Friends
Warnings: Minor character deaths, discussions of PTSD and anxiety, panic attacks, grief, traumatic touch aversion, blood and injuries, use of guns, implied/referenced past torture, survivor's guilt

Author's Notes: This fic was originally written in October 2020 for the Whumptober challenge on tumblr, with the goal being to fit all 31 prompts into a single fic. As such, this story contains many scenes with fights, violence, and a few minor or background character deaths. Please mind the warning tags!

Chapter Two - Know Your Enemy

Another projectile came into view and Shawn swiped at it, barely knocking it away in time. Without pausing, he lunged at another one and then moved smoothly to the next target.

"C'mon, c'mon," he murmured to himself, eyes flying from one object to the next, assessing which ones to go after and which ones to avoid.

He spared a momentary glance to his left — wanting to see how his opponent was faring — and happened to choose the exact wrong moment. His gaze shifted back to see a prime target slipping out of his reach. His hand shot out to hit it before it was too late, and hit the bomb beside it instead.

GAME OVER flashed across the enormous screen mockingly.

His arms dropped in defeat as a triumphant shout came from the ten-year-old beside him.

"Ha! And you said you were so good at this."

"Hey," he shot back, "I said I was good at real arcade games. Fruit Ninja is not a real arcade game."

The little girl crossed her arms smugly. "Well, you still lost. Pay up."

Shaking his head, Shawn reached into his pocket and pulled out the bag of jelly beans. "Fine," he sighed, passing it over. "But I would have creamed you if we were playing Galaga."

The girl took her prize happily and turned to add her name to the new top spot on the leader board. He was turning to leave when she reached out and snagged his arm. "Hey, don't forget to add your name, too. You got the new second spot on the board."

Fighting the urge to recoil away from her hand, he forced a smile. "Nah, that's fine. Let it be blank; it'll add a nice mystery that Fruit Ninja players will wonder about for years to come."

"That's assuming some other ten-year-old doesn't knock your score off the board next week."

"Ouch. That's harsh, kid."

"I still need your name," the girl reminded him impatiently. "Unless it's some huge government secret or something," she added with a scoff.

The smile turned to amusement. "You'd be surprised." She finally released his arm and he let out a quiet breath of relief. "Why don't we just put down Pineapple King and leave it at that? That's my birth name anyway. Had to change it due to some copyright issues."

The girl rolled her eyes. "Well, at least tell me what your name is. After beating each other at games all afternoon, you know you can trust me with it."

"Okay, kid, you win." He crouched down to her level and leaned in conspiratorially. "It's Shawn."

The small face scrunched in disappointment. "Shawn? That doesn't sound very scary."

A sharp pang tugged at his chest and he patted her gingerly on the shoulder. "Yeah, it doesn't, does it?" Straightening up, he cleared his throat. "Well, thanks for the match. Keep practicing and you'll kill it on Cutthroat Kitchen someday."

With a last farewell salute, Shawn pushed out the side door of the arcade and stepped into the warmth of a California afternoon. Shoving his sunglasses onto his face with one hand, he used the other to fish his vibrating cell phone out of his pocket. He answered without bothering to check the caller ID.

"Yo, boss," he greeted cheerfully, strolling across the street to the pier. "What's up?"

"I have an assignment for you," came the distinctively cultured tone from the other end. "That is, if you're done playing around like a ten-year-old."

"Actually, it would appear the average ten-year-old is better at playing around than I am. Cost me quite a fortune in candy. The agency wouldn't be willing to reimburse that money as a training expense, would they? I have a witness who can vouch for my attempts to improve my skillset."

"Making friends are we?" The voice carried a distinct note of disapproval. "Please tell me you didn't put your real name on any of those score boards."

"Yeah, because a bunch of kids in an arcade are totally going to notify the authorities about the guy that beat them at Donkey Kong," Shawn rolled his eyes. He didn't think the man — despite his rampant paranoia — would actually go after a bunch of kids, but he didn't want to take that chance, either. "Don't worry, I'm not that stupid. Anyway, did you actually have something you were calling about, or were you just wishing me a happy vacation?"

"I'm afraid the vacation is over. Do you think you can pry yourself away from video games long enough for a real challenge?"

"Spoken like a man who has never gone up against Pacman level seventeen."

The long pause on the other end let Shawn know he was approaching the limit on his boss's patience. It was nice to know he could still get under the guy's skin after all this time.

"Fine," he sighed, letting the playfulness drop from his tone. "What's the op?"

"You're about to be contacted by your old 'friend' Daniel Wayne. He's trying to get his hands on some computer geek, a simple snatch-and-run assignment, and is bringing in an outside contractor for it."

Shawn hummed thoughtfully, leaning back against the wooden railing. He smiled as he sighted a bunch of seagulls fighting over discarded food at the end of the pier. There was something so oddly fascinating about those birds; something simple and elegant. He missed watching them whenever he had to be away on assignment.

"Well it's easy to guess why Wayne wants me there. He's never been great at playing nice with the outside help," he remarked. "But what's your stake in all this? I'm assuming you don't want me to just play babysitter on a little milk run like this."

"That's exactly what I want. Keep an eye on things, don't interfere, and report back to me when it's done."

"That's it." Shawn's eyes narrowed. He didn't bother to hide the skepticism in his voice as he added, "You know I can't help feeling like my talents are being underutilized here. You can't hand this off to any of the low-level grunts?"

"Trust me," the smooth voice purred back. "This is way more important than you can imagine."

Shaking his head, knowing he wasn't going to get a better answer than that, Shawn gave in. "Fine, I'll be your personal watch dog on this one. But I expect you to pay for my next bundle of arcade tokens. I don't exactly love the idea of pretending to be Wayne's loyal minion for the next several days."

"I'm sure you'll survive."

"Where is all this going down, anyway?"

"You're already there. Agent Wayne will brief you on the details when he calls. Don't screw this up. There's a lot riding on how things go down during this operation." There was a slight hesitation from the usually unflappable man, causing an uneasiness to coil through Shawn's gut. "Be careful with this contractor of theirs, Shawn. Remember, becoming emotionally compromised during an op can be fatal."

Shawn laughed, shielding his eyes from the sun as he watched one particularly large bird swoop low over the area. "Come on, when has that ever been an issue with me? I don't do personal attachments."

"This one's different. Do you remember that recon mission in November of last year?"

A chill crawled down Shawn's spine. His fist clenched at his side and he had to force the anger from his tone before biting out, "There were a lot of recon missions that month."

"Don't play games, Shawn. You know which one I'm talking about."

"Then why ask?"

There was no mistaking the warning in the man's response, "So you don't forget going into this assignment. Focus on the mission and nothing else."

The line went dead.

Shawn tipped his head back against the pole behind him as he took in a deep breath. Talking to that man could be more draining than running the obstacle course at the agency's training center. He knew it was common to hate one's boss, but this guy pushed the concept of a stressful work environment to a whole new level.

Finally pushing off his resting place, he pried the back off his cell phone and pulled out the battery and sim card. Smashing the case underfoot, Shawn wrapped the card and a large rock in a rubber band and dropped it over the side of the pier, watching it sink into the foamy water below. Pocketing the battery for his collection, he took one last look at his seagull companions before setting off down the boardwalk.

Regardless of his boss's ominous warnings, this sounded like a nice change from his last several assignments. As long as Wayne's contractor did his job right, this should be easy.

A nice uncomplicated mission for once.

~~~~~

Unfastening his seat belt, Carlton stood with a slight groan.

He hated plane rides. Especially long ones with too many stopovers. Routing his trip through Chicago had been a painful experience, but necessary to protect his cover. Apparently, the Badger was known to operate around the Chicago area.

Grabbing his carry-on bag, Carlton nodded as polite a farewell to the stewardess as he could muster before disembarking. That woman took her job way too seriously, in his opinion.

The airport itself was surprisingly crowded for a weekday afternoon. He wondered if it had anything to do with the tech conference this weekend. Most of the people milling around did look like they could be computer geeks and business executives.

It didn't take long to spot his contact near one of the gift shops. The man looked exactly like the surveillance photos the chief showed him.

"Daniel Wayne?" he greeted, extending his hand.

The man shook it with a slight nod. "Your flight arrived sooner than expected."

"I grabbed an earlier flight this morning. Wanted to allow more time for briefing and recon."

"Good. We need this to go as smoothly and efficiently as possible," Wayne said. "Come on, I've got a car waiting outside. We'll be meeting with the rest of the team at a restaurant not far from here."

Carlton raised one eyebrow questioningly. "A public meeting?"

Wayne shrugged. "When working with outside contractors, I prefer to have our initial meetings in more open settings."

There was no need to read the between the lines on that one. This guy obviously didn't trust anyone outside his own agency. It was a sentiment Carlton could readily agree with.

"Besides, this meeting site is completely secure," the man continued, leading him towards the baggage claim area. "My cousin owns the restaurant and it will be closed to the public during our meeting."

"Sounds good," Carlton said.

Despite his outwardly casual reaction, he knew how important this meeting was going to be. This was his one and only chance to make sure he got in without his cover being blown. They would either buy his charade and let him in on the op — or he would have to fight his way back out of the restaurant with bullets flying every direction.

An anticipatory thrill ran through him at the thought. This — the unique combination of fear and excitement — was what kept him on his toes and made him less likely to slip up. It was what kept him doing undercover work like this long past the time most agents switch to desk work.

The car ride to the restaurant was uneventful and Carlton found himself scanning the area as they went. The conference center was nearby and he wanted to get a better sense of what this neighborhood was like. In case a fast getaway should become necessary at any point, he wanted to be prepared.

The restaurant itself was nice and somewhere in that gray area between family dining and elegant. There were a few random people and groups at different tables, but not many. Based on Wayne's earlier statement, Carlton could only assume these were all Vencom agents brought in as security for this meeting.

They arrived at a table on the far side of the dining area. It was on a slightly raised platform and situated in a large bay window overlooking the water. It evoked an odd sense of peace and relaxation. A strange contrast to the ugly business they were about to be discussing.

No sooner had they sat down at the table than Wayne glanced at the door with a smile. "Ah," he said. "Here comes the rest of the team you'll be working with." Interested to see what he would be dealing with, Carlton's gaze immediately locked on the group that entered the front door.

Three of the four people were exactly what he would have expected — two men and one woman, all of them wearing the nondescript suits and well-concealed weapons that had become almost pedestrian in this business. They carried themselves as field operatives, which meant they were probably going to be providing backup for the op.

It was the fourth person that drew Carlton's attention. From the faded jeans and beat-up sneakers to the casual posture and smirk, this man certainly didn't scream "top-secret spy" the way his colleagues did. He looked more like someone who had accidentally wandered in off the street. Only the slight trace of outline against his jacket, at the small of his back, gave away the fact that he was packing a weapon.

Agent Wayne stood as they approached and Carlton followed suit.

"These are the agents who will be assisting on this assignment. They will be available to provide backup if needed. We are trying to keep this all as discrete as possible, so it'd be preferred if you didn't have to call them in, but it always pays to be ready."

Carlton shook hands with the three agents, introductions exchanged as they took their seats. His eyes landed on the fourth member of the group again as he sent Carlton a casual wave and flopped carelessly into one of the chairs.

Wayne raised an eyebrow at the man and cleared his throat. The young agent rolled his eyes slightly but did manage to sit up and look at least a bit more attentive.

"And this," Wayne continued with a faint note of disdain, "is Agent Spencer. He'll be acting as a consultant on this assignment. His function will be to offer insight on the target and be a liaison between you and the agency while you're running the op. For obvious reasons, we would prefer to limit direct contact with you until the mission is over and you're in the clear."

"Fine by me," Carlton grunted in agreement. Having limited contact with Vencom would actually make it a lot easier to pull a double-cross on them when it was time to grab the target and get out. If all he had to worry about was a consultant -- and one who looked incapable of posing any kind of real threat — then this would be a cakewalk.

He glanced back over to find Spencer eyeing him curiously from across the table. There was something oddly perceptive in that gaze. He found it unsettling. But then Wayne looked their way and Spencer's eyes immediately landed on the tablecloth, appearing completely zoned out and uninterested in the conversation. Carlton almost believed he'd imagined that brief, piercing stare.

The rest of the meeting went as expected. Wayne explained the assignment and gave detailed information on the hotel Lisa Grant was staying at, as well as any information they already had on her regular activities. Lassiter and Spencer were supposed to stake her out for a few days, make sure what kind of security protection she had, and then make their move at the conference center. The large crowds would hopefully aid in covering their escape.

It was all simple enough. Carlton couldn't foresee any issues with carrying out the mission. Unless Chief Vick had been correct about Psych showing up to throw a wrench in the works.

When things finally broke up, the three members of the backup team said their goodbyes and departed. Wayne ordered one of his bodyguards to bring his car around front for him.

"We also rented you a vehicle to use while you're here," he explained to Carlton, passing him a set of keys. "It's waiting for you in the parking lot." Carlton nodded his thanks and pocketed the keys.

Wayne shot a look at Spencer, who hadn't seemed to be paying much attention during the briefing, spending a good portion of the time staring out the window. "Spencer, you can wait in the parking lot. We only have a few more things to discuss."

It wasn't spoken as a suggestion and Spencer left without protest. There was something about the exchange — something that stood out to Carlton as being off — but he couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was.

Wayne ran over a few last points with Carlton before asking, "Do you have any questions before we part ways? We won't be in regular contact again until this assignment is over."

Actually, if everything goes according to plan, I'll never have to see your face again. Not unless it's through metal bars, anyway.

Carlton pointed toward the door Spencer had exited a few minutes prior. "Your consultant," he said. "He's not exactly the sort of person I'd choose for this assignment."

"Granted, he has had some past... personality issues," Wayne said. "But he's the best consultant we have. He'll learn and remember any case intel you need him to. And he can read a person as if they were carrying their life story on a billboard over their head." He laughed, shaking his head. "Some members of the agency like to joke that he's psychic. To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised. His intuition is scarily accurate."

"And yet you have him running simple grunt-level ops," Carlton pointed out skeptically. "Couldn't help noticing the way you two interact, either. That's not typical handler-to-agent dynamics."

Agent Wayne hesitated. "As I said, there were... personality issues. Spencer used to be a successful freelance operative before working for us, and his independent streak was difficult to curb. He shouldn't give you any trouble, though. One thing we definitely excel at in Vencom is encouraging loyalty in our assets."

That uneasy feeling was back again, and Carlton did his best to shove it away. He didn't know what exactly was going on between this guy and his employee, but it wasn't for him to interfere. He had a job to do, and figuring out Vencom's inter-office politics was not part of it.

He stood and shook Wayne's hand as he pulled out the car keys. "I'll contact you once the op is completed," he assured the man, knowing he'd be long gone before anyone at Vencom even knew what happened. "You can send the other half of my payment at that time."

"Good luck," Wayne said, nodding a last farewell as Carlton walked away from the table.

Out in the parking lot, he found Spencer leaning against a small SUV. It was a fairly generic looking car that would blend into almost any situation quite well. Exactly the sort of vehicle that would be needed for this.

Carlton pulled open the driver's door and climbed inside, glancing over to see the consultant getting in the passenger side. The younger man seemed completely different now than he'd been in the restaurant. Something more relaxed in his posture, and more attentive in his eyes. The half-aware gaze from inside was gone.

"So," Spencer remarked cheerfully, pulling a pack of red vines from his pocket. "I guess we're going to be working together for a few days." He popped a few of the candies into his mouth and offered the bag to Carlton, who turned it down. "Fair warning, it's been a while since I've been in the field. But I hear it's like riding a bike. Also, I'm pretty sure my blood sugar crashes if I don't get enough snacks in my daily diet. Probably. I'd prefer not to take chances on it."

Carlton groaned internally as he started the engine. So much for Wayne's promises of no trouble.

He pulled the SUV out of the parking lot, hands clenching the steering wheel as Spencer shot out another question: "Hey, how do you feel about Phineas and Ferb? Because there's this marathon airing tomorrow night..."

~~~~~

As it turned out, the hotel they would be staying at was located only a few blocks from the conference center. Their room was decently nice without being fancy. Carlton was surprised, considering the cheap rooms SBPD usually put him in whenever he had to be away on assignment.

Two beds occupied the main area, with the rest of the furniture arranged efficiently in the limited space. Carlton was happy to see that the bathroom was located next to the door, leaving a protective wall between the beds and any possible intruders. Those few extra seconds it would take someone to round the wall could prove vital to survival.

Walking to the far bed near the window, Carlton slipped off his jacket and set his sidearm within easy reach. Not that he expected trouble from the young consultant, but it never hurt to be careful.

He dropped his bag on top of the bed. Flipping it open, he began removing the files Wayne had given him at the restaurant. If they were going to be staking out the target's hotel this evening, he wanted to be fully prepared for any potential issues they might encounter.

A grunting sound from behind made Carlton glance over his shoulder. On the other side of the room, Spencer appeared to be attempting to push the other bed against the wall.

"What are you doing?"

With a final shove, Spencer managed to succeed in moving the piece of furniture. Flopping backwards onto the bed, he released a contented sigh. "Nothing," he responded dismissively. One finger poked at the mattress under him. "Huh. Perfect amount of squishy."

Already done with the consultant's ridiculous behavior, Carlton returned his attention to prepping for the mission.

"So, what am I supposed to call you anyway?"

His hands paused in the process of removing another stack of files from the bag. "Excuse me?"

A quick glance over his shoulder revealed Spencer now laying the other way across the bed, stretched out on his stomach with his sneakered feet in the air. He looked as carefree as if they were on vacation instead of setting up for a covert operation.

"Your name," the younger agent clarified. "I'm assuming your friends don't call you Badger around the lunch room."

"We're not friends."

"Semantics. I need something to call you for the next few days. Something tells me 'Mr Badger' is going to get annoying pretty fast — for both of us."

"Barrows."

A tired sigh escaped the consultant as he rolled over onto his back. "No, I meant your name."

"That is my name. I don't particularly care if you approve of it or not."

Carlton pulled the rest of the paperwork from the bag and dropped the bag on the floor, kicking it under the bed. He could unpack the rest later. Right now, he needed to get as much intel on this operation as possible. If Vencom was going to make its move at the conference center, he wouldn't have a lot of leeway for swinging things into the SBPD's favor. And that wasn't even taking into account Psych's mysterious involvement in all this.

Sitting on his bed, Carlton flipped open the first file and began skimming for the most relevant information.

"You really don't look like a Barrows," the irritating commentary continued. "And I'm pretty good at reading people. You were totally lying when you introduced yourself at the restaurant. Hey, if you don't trust me enough to give your real name, that's fine. Just make up something better than Barrows. Please."

A mix of annoyance and curiosity finally made Carlton look up from his work. "Oh? Is that one of your 'psychic' hunches?"

"Your skepticism hurts. I thought partners are supposed to trust each other."

Ice shot through Carlton's veins. "We are not partners." Forcing himself to take a calming breath, he added, "And why is this important to the mission in any way?"

Spencer shrugged. His head tipped back off the bed, staring up at Carlton from upside down. It made the older agent queasy just watching him. "Call it a trust exercise, if you will. Or maybe I just don't like the idea of saying 'hey you' every time I need to get your attention. Look, I'll even start this off. You can call me Shawn."

"Spencer will be fine," Carlton grunted back.

"If you don't give me a name to work with, I'll come up with one of my own."

The teasing tone didn't make the threat any less viable. Carlton had no doubt Spencer was capable of inventing a whole army of pseudonyms, each more ridiculous than the last. And, when he really thought about it, there didn't seem much harm in giving in on this one point. It wasn't as if any of his work for the agency had been under his real name, anyway.

"Lassiter."

The consultant frowned in obvious distaste. "Yikes. I sincerely hope that's your last name."

"If you're done with this pointless bonding exercise," Carlton said, "can we focus on the actual assignment for a while?"

"I'm all yours, Lassie."

"Lassiter."

A dismissive hand waved at the air as Spencer rolled off the bed. He almost face-planted at the sudden change in equilibrium, but righted himself and kept moving towards the kitchenette. "So, what is your genius plan for obtaining our target? Something tells me it won't be as simple as walking up and asking her to join a lifetime membership in our exclusive club of death and destruction."

Carlton felt a swell of anger at the careless way in which Spencer discussed the ruining of an innocent civilian's life. He had to remind himself that this was normal for Vencom. Or most rival agencies, for that matter. They were all heartless monsters who would destroy anything that kept them from their goals — including a brilliant young junior agent with her whole life ahead of her.

"Isn't that what you're here for?" he countered, using his irritation to help cover the genuine hatred he was feeling for this man. "You're the consultant, after all."

"Consultant, not team leader. I'm here to offer constructive criticism, and to make sure you get the job done as quickly as possible. Also, to lighten the mood when necessary. This work can get stressful, Lassie—"

"Lassiter."

"—so you have to learn to relax and unwind whenever you can. Otherwise you end up all uptight and one migraine away from a nervous breakdown." Flinging open the fridge, he pulled out a soda can and kicked the door shut again with a grin. "Which, from my initial impression of you, I'd say you're already halfway there."

Barely two hours into this assignment, and Carlton was already seriously considering putting a bullet in Spencer. He was pretty sure he could come up with a reasonable enough cover story for the chief, too.

Trying to steer his thoughts toward something more productive — and with less potential of getting him fired — Carlton unfolded a city map to get a better sense of the area around the target's hotel. In case anything came up that would require a fast escape, it could be helpful to already know the layout of the streets in that sector.

Unfortunately, Spencer seemed to be physically incapable of remaining quiet for more than two minutes at a time.

"So, I browsed the Badger's file this morning and noticed that you haven't been active for a few months. Doing some deep cover stuff?"

Actually, sitting in an SBPD interrogation cell, spilling his guts, he thought sardonically. But that wouldn't be the wisest thing to say when trying to maintain his cover. "What's it matter to you?"

"Aw, come on. Have pity on the lowly grunt workers. I never get to do the fun spy work like you guys; let me live vicariously a little bit."

Carlton eyed him, considering his options. This might be a good opportunity to put out some feelers — see if Vencom had any information on Psych that the SBPD hadn't gathered yet. It wasn't likely a low-level consultant would be kept informed of important details, but Carlton knew how easy it was for intel to leak down through the ranks. No agency was completely immune to the effects of water cooler gossip.

"Actually," he said, "I've been doing some personal intel gathering lately."

"Personal, huh?" Spencer flopped back onto his bed, somehow managing to not spill his soda in the process. "That's a bit odd, isn't it? We don't usually do personal vendetta stuff in our line of work. Not unless you're in a James Bond movie. Personal doesn't pay the bills."

"This was a special circumstance." Carlton set aside the map he'd been reviewing, watching the other man carefully. "Have you ever heard of Psych?"

Spencer snorted. "Psych? As in, gotcha?"

"As in, a group of rogue agents who will steal intel from anyone, regardless of allegiance, and then sell it to the highest bidder."

"Ah." Tilting his head to the side, Spencer peered over at him appraisingly. Carlton fought the urge to squirm under that searching gaze. "So these guys burned you and you're after some revenge? Must have been a pretty bad setup, to make you go off the grid that many months."

"You could say that," Carlton bit out. He pushed aside images of blood-stained hands and lifeless blue eyes staring up at him. He couldn't afford to be emotionally compromised on this. It was too important.

"Well, I wish I could help you, but I've never even heard of them. If they've hit Vencom before, it's news to me. Of course, they don't exactly share that kind of information with operatives this far down the totem pole."

It was pretty much what he'd been expecting to hear, but it was disappointing nonetheless. He was desperate for any information on these monsters. Anything that might help him fulfill his promise to his partner.

Spencer sat up, setting aside his drink and focusing his attention completely on Carlton, his expression suddenly far more serious. "Hey, listen," he said softly. "Whatever these guys did to you, I'm sorry. I really wish I had some intel to offer."

Uncomfortable with this unexpected compassion, Carlton nodded and turned back to the mission files, clearing his throat. "Yeah, well, that's not your fault. Let's focus on the mission. We should go to the target's hotel and set up a good recon position, get a sense of how security is set up over there."

"Yeah, sounds like a good plan," Spencer agreed, mood oddly subdued. "Hey, um, I need to make a run to the vending machine real quick. Be back in a few minutes."

"Seriously? You really think you need to be adding more sugar to your system right now?" The idea of sitting on a stakeout for the next few hours with an even more hyper version of Spencer was beyond frightening. "Besides, it's almost the dinner hour. Our target's going to be leaving the hotel soon and we need to observe how they handle the car arrangements." He reached over to the bed and snagged his jacket and sidearm. "We can stop for food on the way back tonight."

A disappointed sigh escaped the consultant, but he grabbed his backpack from the luggage pile and headed for the door anyway. "Fine. But if I pass out from hunger, that's on you."

Carlton rolled his eyes as he followed the younger man out. "I'm sure I'll learn to live with the guilt."

~~~~~

It turned out his apprehension about this stakeout was unfounded. Other than a bit of restless fidgeting, Spencer wasn't too annoying.

Actually, he'd been unusually silent since leaving the hotel. A few random observations during the car ride over here made up the sum of his conversation. He responded readily enough to any of Carlton's questions about the mission, but didn't seem too keen on chatting about anything else.

It was a stark contrast to his earlier behavior at the hotel, but Carlton had neither the time nor the inclination to dig deeper into it.

"Target is still in her suite," Spencer stated, peering through his binoculars at the building across the street.

They had set up a recon position in an empty, top-floor office in a building across and down a few spots from the hotel. The top of this building was almost perfectly level with the floor of the hotel where Lisa Grant was staying. It was also angled in a way that prevented the sun from interfering with their view of the room.

"Any change in activity in there?" Carlton asked. They'd only been here an hour so far, but the whole purpose of being here would be wasted if she never actually left the hotel.

"Yeah, she's definitely getting ready to leave. Most of the curtains are closed over there, so it's hard getting a sense of what security is like," he added with a frustrated sigh.

"We'll get a better sense of things when she leaves the building," Carlton assured him. "She probably won't have much security anyway. She's a civilian and hasn't been on anyone's radar until now."

"True." The consultant shifted slightly, doing a quick scan of the front of the building before refocusing on their target's room.

Normally, Carlton would appreciate these limited responses. There was nothing worse on a stakeout than a chatty partner. (Not partner, he reminded himself quickly.) But his real mission here would be easier if he could at least gather a little intel on these people and their operations. Spencer suddenly deciding not to talk his ear off couldn't have had worse timing.

"So," Carlton said, checking his weapon clip. "Daniel Wayne told me you used to be a freelancer before working for Vencom."