The next morning wasn’t as early, although some people still felt tired from partying the night before. In worst cases, hangovers.

AJ was one of them. He went through the morning with his head in his hands, bearing the merciless teasing by the others in silence.

“Told you so,” Brian said smugly, not for the first time.

“Please leave me alone,” AJ groaned. “I’m trying to die.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Kevin said lightly. “You’d want to, but I don’t think you can.”

Nick walked into the lobby. “Morning,” he grunted.

AJ looked up, winced, and flopped back down again.

Nick frowned. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He got carried away,” Howie said blandly.

Nick looked at AJ. “You drank, didn’t you?” he asked accusingly.

AJ didn’t reply.

Julian came in, carrying two aspirins and a glass of water. “Here,” he said, setting them down in front of the suffering guy, “this might help.”

“I doubt it,” AJ muttered and swallowed the tablets.

“You don’t look so good either,” Howie noted, seeing Julian’s pale complexion. The manager shrugged. “ I had a couple of glasses. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Sure,” Brian drawled.

Rachael strode in with Marcus, looking as fresh as a daisy. AJ shot her a disgusted look before burying his head again.

“Hi,” Kevin said.

“Hey,” Marcus returned, grinning. “Hangover, anyone?”

“No- just this poor little fish,” Howie poked AJ. He didn’t move.

Marcus’ grin broadened. “Well, at least he’ll be quiet for the rest of the day.”

Rachael didn’t say anything. If Nick hadn’t known better, he would have thought that it was just her bad morning. Something told him that that wasn’t it.

Rachael looked angry.

“What’s the plan today?”

“Have breakfast, get on the bus, drive to Miami. Where else?” Julian asked.

“You know- photo shoots, interviews, press, the lot.”

“None. Not this morning. The magazine’s reporter got held up in the airport.”

“Cool. Let’s go then,” Nick said quickly. He wanted to get out of there- and fast.

His worst suspicions were confirmed. Rachael was furious about something. By lunchtime she hadn’t said a word, treating the others with a frosty silence.

“You’re not by any chance hung over, are you?” Julian asked, and received a blast of icy look that was colder than the iceberg that sank Titanic before she swept past.

“Did you say anything to her?” Julian demanded of Nick as soon as she was out of sight.

“Why is it always me?” Nick shot back. “Anyway, how do I know what kind of mood swings she has?”

“ Well, she certainly knows yours,” AJ, who had partially recovered from his hangover, said calmly, his brows arched.

“I was hoping you didn’t talk for the rest of the day,” Nick snapped.

“ Hey, hey, enough,” Kevin cut in. “Don’t start again.”

Later in the afternoon, Rachael disappeared completely.

“You think she’s mad about something?” Howie wondered.

“Who cares,” Nick said in a bored tone, flipping through a magazine.

Mark came into the bus. “Nick, Jeff just called- we have to renew your passport.”

Nick frowned. “I thought Denise already renewed it last year.”

“I know, but the system’s changed- the other’s ones are already done. Do you have it here?”

Nick shook his head. “Nah- its back at the hotel.”

“You want me to get it?”

Nick thought for a moment. “Um, no- actually, I’ll go with you. You wouldn’t know where it would be.” He got up. “Catch you guys later.”

“Don’t be late,” Brian said sleepily, opening one eye. His nap had been disturbed.

“Yeah.” Nodding to Mark, he turned to go, than stopped. “Oh, and can you see if you can find –Rachael? I don’t want her disappearing on duty like this.” He said irritably.

Howie carefully hid a grin. “Okay.”

Nick went out, followed closely by Mark.

He shouldn’t have bothered telling the guys to look for Rachael. He found out soon enough.

At the front desk of the hotel, he said to the receptionist, “ hi- was there any phone calls?”

“None, sir.”

“Okay,” Nick said absently, turning to go.

“Oh, sir,” the receptionist called. “I just remembered- would you like the extra key?”

Nick turned around, confused. “The extra key? I only have one.”

“I know, sir, but your bodyguard said that you’ll need the other one to get in.”

At the mention of Rachael, Nick stiffened. “Are you saying,” he said in a deceptively mild voice, “that she took my keys?”

“Yes, sir. She said that it was for safety reasons- so that she might have access when there’s-uh-emergencies.” The man said delicately.

With a supreme exercise of will, Nick refrained from shaking the receptionist.

“I see.”

The clerk searched his face. “Are you alright, sir?”

Damned right, Nick thought furiously. How dares she? A fury he’d not felt for a long time began to boil inside him. That arrogant, unbelievable, egocentric-

“I’m fine,” he said calmly, then headed for the lifts. Mark caught up with him.

“Hey, what’s wro-” he started, then stopped as Nick nearly punched the unoffending button, his face a mask of rage. Oh boy, he thought. What the hell happened?

When the lift door opened, Nick’s fury erupted. Damn Harrison! With her beepers and her keys and her “controlled access”, she was making him feel caged. Or like a dog in obedience training! He strode down the corridor, not caring whether Mark followed him or not, and threw opened the door to his room. When he saw the adjoining door that lead to Rachael’s suite, he marched over and opened it with a vicious jerk, too furious to knock.

She was there- a laptop was open on the kitchen bench; papers and files were stacked around the table.

“I thought you’d drop by,” she said calmly, not bothering to look up.

He floundered for a moment, wanting to pour out his anger all at once, but he had to start somewhere, he knew. “What’s this business with the keys?” he demanded.

“The desk clerk didn’t tell you?” she asked, tapping at the keyboard.

“Oh, he told me alright,” he gritted out. “Now, if you could spare some of your precious time, I’d like to know why.”

“Safety.” She answered unhelpfully.

“Safety!” he sputtered. “Locking up, more likely!”

His words didn’t make a single effect on her damnable composure. “Do we have a point in this discussion?” she asked coolly.

“Damnit! I have every point! You’re intruding in my privacy!”

“Just in case you didn’t know,” she interrupted, shifting through a file, “you don’t have privacy. Not any more.”

Her ominous reminder infuriated him even more. “What would you know if I have privacy or not!” he exploded. “You haven’t even been around for a week! You don’t know what I’m like! In fact, you don’t know anything about me!”

She froze, her hands poised over the keyboard. She slowly turned around and finally faced him. The frigid, chilly gaze made him very, very uneasy.

“Would you like to bet on that?” she asked softly.

He didn’t answer.

Rachael got up and walked over to the kitchenette sink. Then she launched into a dispassionate record of his life that left him chilled to the bone. “Nickolas Gene Carter. Born January 28th, 1980. Birthplace, Jamestown New York. Eldest of five children, counting out the stepsister from father’s side. Three sisters- Bobbie Jean, Lesley and Angel, twin to brother, Aaron. Family currently residing in LA.” She poured a glass of water and took a sip before continuing. “You moved to Tampa Florida when you were eight. First appearances in the big screen were a cast for Edward Scissorhand and A Cop and A Half. You frequently saw AJ Mclean and Tony Donetti, who was actually Howie Dorough, in numerous auditions. Your former executive, Lou Pearlman, formed the group in 1993- you were thirteen.” She took another sip. “In 1995, the group got a record deal with Jive label and released your first single. The group wasn’t successful in the States at start, but Europe was a different story. In 1998, Brian Littrell went into a heart surgery; you fired your management team, Johnny and Donna Wright and claimed a lawsuit against Lou Pearlman. The group had nearly sold 50 million records, and the next album is due in September. You’re also your brother’s manager, owner of a property in Orlando and you ended your short term relationship with a girl last fall, whom you refused to show the public.” She glanced at him. “ Did I leave anything out?”

He stood there for a stunned moment, wondering what kind of a woman she was, then found his voice. “You could’ve got that from anywhere,” he said accusingly. “The Internet’s full of it. So are magazines.”

“You’re right, of course,” she agreed. “But then, this information could be from one of the top investigation bureau in the world. I could, if you like, go into the minor details, but I’m afraid that would take too long.”

She could be bluffing, he surmised, but he knew that she was dead serious. He had this gut feeling that she was telling the truth- which meant he was defeated in a sense. She already knew his life by memory; why wouldn’t she remember the details?

When she got no reaction from him, she put the glass down on the table with a clink. “However, it seems like even the top bureau forgot to mention a fact.”

“And that is?”

“You seem to have occasional bouts of amnesia,” she said bluntly.

“I have a what?” The statement was so unexpected that Nick blurted out the question. “I don’t have amnesia.”

“Oh really?” her voice took on a cutting edge. “Then would you like to explain why you forgot to mention a thirty second call that came through at 1:45am this morning?”

It was as if a steel trap had snapped shut. The very air froze between them. Nick almost could feel the blood draining from his face. How had she known?

The cobalt blue eyes bore into his own wide, stricken ones, hard and completely devoided of any emotions. She didn’t have to press him for an answer; his expression said it all.

Nick now knew the reason for Rachael’s anger. But instead of confronting him directly and immediately in front of everyone, she had waited for the chance to pounce him with it. For that instant moment, he hated Rachael Harrison.

She crossed her arms, regarding him coldly. “You’re a professional, Mr Carter,” she said in a clipped tone. “And so am I. I also know that you aren’t too fond of me. However, I can live with that. What I can’t live with, is the fact that my client, whom I’ve been hired to give my fullest attention to, would not co-operate. I dislike being treated as some kind of a distasteful ornament that you’re forced to carry around.”

Nick felt as if she slapped him full in the face. Every word was full of stinging contempt and dislike- and something else that sounded suspiciously like frustration.

With some effort, he tried to put himself in her shoes- an investigator who had been forced to take on a job against her will, and a client who fought a game of will with her- his conscience twinged with guilt. It was enough to make him mutter grudgely,

"sheath your claws, Harrison. You’ve proved your point.”

Rachael acknowledged her victory with a small nod. An ominous hush fell. Was she expecting him to apologise? Nick wondered. If she was, she was in for a surprise, he thought defiantly. More silence followed. He couldn’t help but to glance at her, and his jaw dropped. She wasn’t expecting an apology. In fact, she wasn’t even looking at him. She was in front of that damned laptop again, dismissing the whole thing as if it was nothing. Furious, he whirled around and marched towards the door. He jerked it open and was about to slam it shut when her disgustingly calm voice drifted out.

“Your passport’s on the second drawer.”

He slammed the door shut. Hard.

AN-Yes! And she scores!