A/N And, no, despite appearances, I am not back.

This is a blast from the past-of a sort. I wrote this a few months ago on an international flight, just to stave off boredom. I wrote it out longhand in a notebook. I could never quite make up my mind about posting it, so I left it penciled on pages. The other day, I re-read it and liked it better than I remembered. So, I typed it up and am now posting it. I am posting the entire story at once; it is complete.

An AU novella. Another of my genre-bending stories. Call this Darkling Fluff.

I use the basic outline of a movie called Breaking and Exiting. I fill in the outline mostly in my own way. The story takes place in the present day.

Thanks to David Carner, Chesterton and Let'sGoRed.

Don't own Chuck or Breaking and Exiting.

Dying to Death

CHAPTER ONE

Casing The Joint

Burglary was no livelihood. Chuck was going to jail or to Hell-no two ways around it. Bars or flames. Maybe both.

Chuck Bartowski looked through the binoculars again, memorizing the gate code as the elegant, middle-aged woman punched it in.

"Did you get it, Chuck?" Morgan Grimes asked. Chuck could feel Morgan moving, to try to see past him.

"Yeah, yeah, Morg. Got it."

The woman got in her car and backed out of the driveway, her gate closing behind her as she pulled away. After putting on a baseball cap and yanking it down low, Morgan started to open the passenger door on the small, beat-up Dodge pickup.

"Wait," Chuck ordered, putting his hand on Morgan's arm. "She'll be back. She had her suitcase. Ten to one says she's back in a sec. She'll have forgotten something."

Chuck had hardly finished speaking than the woman's car came around the block. The gate opened remotely. She parked and walked quickly back to her door. She opened it and went inside.

Less than a minute later, she emerged, wrapping the cord of a phone charger around her finger. Finished, she used her free hand to enter the code once more, then she backed out of the driveway again and drove away.

"Wow, you really do a good job casing these places, Chuck," Morgan commented, shaking his head. "I guess you know all about her?"

Chuck nodded while gazing in the rearview mirror, making sure there was no second return trip from the woman. "Yeah, I checked her out. Lots of high-end electronics, everything insured. Super wealthy. She'll get everything replaced." Chuck offered this as if it made what they were about to do okay. Of course, it didn't. Morgan didn't think it did, but it was the game they played, a way of making themselves feel better. It did, a little, but not because it erased the guilt, but it did remind them that it was their shared burden.

Chuck got out and he moved quickly, although without running, to the gate. He keyed in the number the woman had used. Morgan had gone around the front of the truck, and, when the gate opened, he backed the truck into the driveway. Chuck hit the key to close the gate, wiped the keys with a soft cloth, then slipped inside the gate before it closed all the way.

Morgan was out of the truck, slipping his gloves on. Chuck had gotten his skeleton key set out of his old Buy More jacket pocket. As Morgan finished with his gloves, Chuck deftly picked the lock.

They were inside. With practiced economy and silence, Morgan moved immediately to the electronics in the family room. Chuck began to search the rest of the house, looking for laptops or other items he could sell to his fence, Harry Tang.

Chuck knew he could steal online, steal not just as a petty thief, stealing enough to eat and pay rent, but steal on a massive scale, true white-collar theft, enriching himself. But Chuck was trying to do things in a Robin Hood-ish way, stealing from the rich to give to the poor-himself, Morgan-but not enough to remotely impoverish his victims or remotely to enrich himself. He hated himself for doing it, but after the Buy More closed, his other avenues of employment seemed to dry up. No seemed to want to hire a longtime Nerd Herder and Stanford dropout...er, expellee.

Chuck's sister, Ellie, and her husband, Devon Woodcomb, had moved to Chicago to take up jobs at a fine hospital there (she was a neurologist, he a cardiologist). Chuck and Morgan had decided to rent the apartment Ellie and Devon left, and that worked okay for a while-until the Buy More went under. Eventually, they got behind on the rent; eventually, they got evicted. They were now living in a closet, basically, and having a hard time paying the rent there. Ellie and Devon would have bailed him out, he knew, but they had supported him for so long, he was loath to ask for anything more. It would kill Ellie to know what he was doing, but it would kill Chuck to ask for help.

Stalemate.

So the thieving continued. Over time, he and Morgan had become a practiced team, good at it. Careful in choice of targets, quick in, quick out. Well, quicker in than out, since Chuck made it a habit to find something in each house that needed cleaning and to clean it before he left. He did spot dusting, furniture polishing, loaded or unloaded the dishwasher-something to try to make things better, at least for his own conscience. Morgan, a slob at home and on the job, found this a nerve-wracking oddity and chafed against it, but he rarely said anything .

Chuck carried a new Apple laptop downstairs and took it out and stowed it in the back of the truck. He went back in, stepping aside at the doorway to allow Morgan to make his way through it with a pair of very fine stereo speakers. (Chuck knew ahead of time that the woman was an audiophile.) Chuck went in and cleaned the kitchen; it had been left in slight disarray after breakfast.

Morgan finished and stood, hands in his pockets, visibly anxious to go, watching as Chuck patiently swept together a modest pile dirt from the floor into the dustpan and dumped the dirt into the trash. Chuck dusted off his gloved hands. "Finished!"

Morgan sighed quietly and turned on his heels, marching quickly out the door. Since he had adjusted the seat, Morgan got in the driver's side and Chuck circled around. They pulled out of the house. Chuck knew the fake plates he used to cover the real ones (magnetised) would prevent anyone from being able to give a license number even if they were seen. And the truck, greyish brown, was about as nondescript as a small pickup could be. The house was on the other side of the city, so they would not be driving around casually anywhere near it. So far, they had never even come close to being caught. Chuck hoped the careful planning would keep things that way.

ooOoo

Morgan gave Chuck a funny look as the pulled onto the expressway.

"What?"

Something like fear, or irresolution, or both, crawled across Morgan's bearded face. "I...uh...I don't want to do this anymore, Chuck. I'd rather be night cashier at the Gas and Sip. In fact, I got an offer…"

"From the Gas and Sip?"

"Um...yeah...I know a person who manages there. Thinks I could eventually climb the ladder, be Ass Man at the Gas and Sip."

Chuck felt a constriction in his chest. It took him a minute to reply. "'Ass Man' was always a bad abbreviation at the Buy More. It's even worse at the Gas and Sip."

Morgan stared out the front window for a little while, then grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, yeah, I guess so. But still, Chuck, I just can't go on doing this. We will eventually get caught, go to jail. Do you know what would happen to someone as cute as me in jail? The showers." Morgan shuddered.

Chuck turned and gazed out the passenger window. In his imagination, the little truck was the Millenium Falcon, Morgan was Chewie and Chuck was Han.

The Falcon needed her pilot. Han needed Chewie.

There was no Leia in the offing.

Chuck wasn't sure he could do this job alone.

ooOoo

Morgan had left shortly after they arrived back at their apartment. He helped unload the stolen items, then he left to meet his Gas and Sip buddy. Chuck texted Harry Tang, using their usual code to let Tang know that goods were now available. Given the quality of the items stolen, Chuck thought he could probably go a while, a week or two, before he would need to plan and execute a new job. But if he did that, he knew he increased the chances that Morgan really would take the Gas and Sip job. Chuck's best chance of keeping his little buddy with him was to move onto another job quickly.

He had a place in mind. Big, two-story house. In-ground pool and hot tub. Easy security-for Chuck. The guy who owned it (Chuck had never seen him, he seemed to constantly travel for work) had oodles of pricey, still state of the art electronics, and likely other things, maybe watches or jewelry. A woman lived there too: he had seen her once, a tall blond. The man's name was Smith. Chuck wasn't sure if the woman was wife or girlfriend. But no matter. The house was normally empty.

A friend of Chuck's who worked at Audio Heaven had given Chuck a heads-up about Smith a few weeks ago (for the friend's usual 'finder's fee') and supplied the address. Some hacking online had revealed how much of a golden-egg-laying goose Smith really was. If Chuck could get Morgan to help, the score would be big enough that Morgan would have no need of Gas and Sip's damp oily money; he and Chuck could live off Smith's wealth for months.

Chuck got in the truck and drove the distance to Smith's house. Everything still looked as it had when he first drove past. Empty. Perfect. Chuck had a good feeling about the place.

Chuck pulled into a parking lot a couple of miles away and texted Morgan, telling him about the planned job tomorrow. Chuck sat for a moment, looking at his phone, waiting for a response. Morgan's phone was basically grafted to his body; he always responded quickly. But no response came. Chuck tapped his phone against the steering wheel, surprised and disappointed.

Morgan couldn't be serious, could he?

After idling a little longer, Chuck pulled out into traffic and headed back to the apartment. Tang would be there soon, and there'd be some hard bargaining to be done.

ooOoo

There was a knock on the door. Tang had left earlier, just as it got dark. Chuck had two rolls of bills in his pocket, his half and Morgan's. Morgan would not have knocked, so Chuck was unsure who might be at the door. He went and lifted one corner of the curtain on the small front window. No police cars outside. He looked toward the small stoop. A small, brunette woman was standing there, holding a paper bag.

"C'mon, Chuck. Don't leave me out here holding the bag!" Bang. Bang. More knocking.

Lou. Chuck was unsure whether to be happy to see her or annoyed. She had been chasing him around for a few weeks, maybe even a few months now, but Chuck had not consented to be caught, despite the fact that he liked her and found her attractive. And despite the fact that he was overpoweringly lonely. He had not had a girlfriend in years, not since Jill Roberts at Stanford. He had dated, mostly women Ellie had set him up with, but none of them ever turned into a third date. He fizzled on them or them on him before the second date sometimes or otherwise before the third.

He had dated a few women he met on his own, and he had slept with a couple of them, but that had been before the Buy More went under, and before Chuck started his life of crime. He just couldn't allow himself to fall for anyone while he was making his living (such as it was) as a burglar. It had been a long time since he had been close to a woman and he knew that Lou wanted him that way. He wanted her that way too, but not enough to change his way of life, and not enough to draw her into his way of life. So he had been trying artfully to dodge being alone with her, seeing her only at her sandwich shop a couple of times a week.

He realized that Morgan must have done what Chuck had forbidden him to do: ordered sandwiches from Lou's for delivery. Otherwise, it was unclear how she could have gotten Chuck's address. She undoubtedly knew his truck, since he often drove it to her shop.

"Morgan? Are you in there? Somebody open the door. I see the light on. I saw the curtain move!"

Chuck cursed himself. He had no choice. He did not need to draw attention. He was very careful to keep a low profile in the rundown apartment complex. He unlocked the door and opened it.

Lou's pretty face went from mild annoyance to sunlit in a second. "Hey, Chuck. I know I shouldn't have...shown up unannounced...but I did bring a gift. A new sandwich I am trying out. Can I come in and give you some?"

She and Chuck both blushed a bit at her words, but he stepped aside so that she could enter. She stepped past him, careful to brush against him as she did so. She did not smell like sandwiches. She smelled...good...flowery and exotic and warm. Chuck could feel the odor all through his body, not just smell it. He tried not to think about it or about Lou's warm soft skin. So much of that skin was on display given the gauzy sundress she was wearing. Her tan skin glowed and looked impossibly soft.

Chuck took hold of himself, clenched his fists. He couldn't let the fact that it had been so long or that Lou was so beautiful to carry him into a mistake. Or add to the mistakes he was already making. Lou was a great girl, smart, funny, feisty. Almost everything Chuck could want. But he also knew there was something...missing. Even if he had been living on the up-and-up, he would not have allowed himself to fall into anything serious with Lou.

The one good thing the whole mess with Jill had done was convince Chuck that loneliness was not an appropriate cornerstone on which to build a romance. He liked Lou, but he was not sure that the liking went beyond friendship. True, he wanted her, but he wasn't sure he wanted her. Maybe he did. But even if he did, he could not let himself have her, draw her into the compromises with her conscience that he had made with his own conscience. Of course, if she knew, she might not want him anymore, but then she would know-and what would she do with the knowledge. She would either turn him in (bad for Chuck) or she would keep his secret (bad for Lou). No, the best thing was to keep his hands away from her bare shoulders or her bare legs, even if she was clearly offering them, offering herself to him.

Lou crossed the short distance to Chuck's small, two-person table, and she put the bag down on it. Chuck shut the door but stayed where he was. She looked back at him over her shoulder, smiling a big, inviting smile. She turned back and opened the bag, pulling a wrapped sandwich from it. She put it on the table, then retrieved a couple of napkins and a plastic knife and fork. She unfolded one of the napkins, spreading it on the table, then she opened the sandwich. It had been cut into equal halves. She put one half on the napkin, the other half on the paper the sandwich had been wrapped in. Then she sat down at the table and gestured for Chuck to join her. As he crossed to the table, she kicked her sandals off, baring her feet. Chuck refused to allow his glance to linger on her feet and ankles and calves and knees and…

He sat down, putting the table between his eyes and her feet and legs. She looked at him coyly, apparently aware of what he had been doing and what he had done in response to it. She pushed his half of the sandwich closer to him. He was glad the scent of it was masking Lou's scent. Her bare feet combined with the dress and the perfume was far too heady for Chuck to be sure he could resist it so near to her.

Chuck made himself look down at the sandwich, then he took a deep breath. "Wow, Lou, it smells good. What sandwich is it?"

She smiled slowly, her tongue wetting her lips before she spoke. "It's the Chuckster. Tons of meat and a lot of special sauce." She nailed his gaze with her own; he could not look away, only blush right in front of her, much to her obvious enjoyment. "I built it while thinking about you, obviously."

One of the spaghetti straps of her dress had fallen off her shoulder. She reached to put it back in place, up, then stopped, mid-motion. She drew her hand across herself and pushed the opposite strap down to match. "So, I take it Morgan is...out?"

"Yeah...Um. Yes. Yes, he may be back soon. I don't know his schedule, really." Chuck looked toward the front door, willing Morgan to arrive, but it stayed shut, unmolested.

As he turned back, he suddenly found himself with an armful of warm girl, her heady scent once again overwhelming him. He could feel her pressing herself against him, chest and bottom, and could feel his own response, breathing and...otherwise. Lou's lips were on his, full, soft and demanding. Her taste was like her scent, only even more overwhelming. Chuck started to kiss her back.

But then he stopped. He pulled back from her. "Lou, you know...I want to...but I can't."

She gave him a heated look. "Why, Chuck? We're adults. I consent. I want this. I've wanted it for a while." She squirmed in his lap. "I am...pretty sure you want it too. What's the problem? No strings."

Chuck pulled himself back from her a bit more. "That's the problem. I want...strings. I want...I want something I can't give you right now, Lou."

She stared into his eyes, blinking slowly. "Is there someone else?"

"No, Lou, really, no. I guess maybe that makes this better and worse. I like you, Lou, a lot. But I can't make any commitment to anyone right now. My life...it's a mess."

Lou pointed a finger and put it against his chest. "Chuck, I want this. I want you. Ok, so you can't make a commitment right now. I can live with that. We can just let it be whatever it is. Maybe, over time, it will become something...more. But if not, no harm, no foul. I'm a big girl. My...eyes are open."

"I get it, Lou. And I am so deeply flattered. I would be...I am incredibly lucky that you want me, want this...but…"

"No 'buts', Chuck. I know a good guy when I meet one. And you are definitely a good guy. What other guy would be having this conversation with me right now, knowing that I would rather you be between my legs than be seated on yours?"

Chuck blew out a long, slow breath. "Lou, please, don't say things like that. This is hard enough already…"

"I'd say so," Lou quipped, adding another firmer squirm in his lap,

"There are just things you don't understand, things about me, what I've done...am doing...things that make any relationship...problematic."

Lou stared into his eyes again, her gaze a pointed question. Then slowly, she took her arms from around his neck and stood. She pulled each of the spaghetti straps back into place, then she moved her sandals from under the table with one foot. She slid each back on, continuing to stare at Chuck.

"Is that 'No' your final answer?"

Chuck nodded, his shoulders slumping. "Yes, for now, anyway, Lou. Maybe someday…"

"I may not be available someday, Chuck. You know that, right? It's not a threat or anything, it's just the way things are."

Chuck nodded. "I understand. And, you know, Lou, that I want...that I…" He fished for an ending to that sentence that would be graceful, non-insulting, but couldn't find one.

Lou grinned at his consternation. "As I said, I know a good guy when I meet one. Enjoy the sandwich, Chuck. Think of me. Just be careful not to get that special sauce all over the place." She gave him another heated look and waited for one beat...then two...then three.

Then she turned to the door. "Ok, Bartowski. I guess you will Chuckster alone tonight." She walked to the door and let herself out before Chuck could stand. A kindness on Lou's part, since standing would have been...embarrassing.

ooOoo

Chuck sat and played video games for a few hours after he ate half the Chuckster. He put the other half in the fridge for Morgan.

Morgan did not show. Finally, Chuck was having a hard time staying awake, keeping his eyes open. He got up, wrote Morgan a note, alerting him to the half sandwich and putting one of the rolls of bills on the note.

Chuck went into his room. He undressed, looking at the Tron poster on his wall, a gift long ago from his father. His parents were both gone, presumably dead, although he did not know that for an absolute certainty. But he had not heard or seen from either one in many, many years, not since he was a boy. He wondered how his life might have been different if they had been in it, his life and Ellie's.

He got into bed and stared up at the ceiling. He was growing increasingly sure that Morgan had meant it when he said he was quitting. But Chuck had stopped envisioning any future except one in which he and Morgan just continued as they had been doing. Chuck couldn't seem to summon up the willpower to change, to put it all behind him and find some legitimate, some legal work. He was trapped, demoralized and unhappy and...angry. He knew he was not Robin Hood. He knew he was not much of anything. There had been a time when people thought he was special, that he had unlimited potential. No one thought that now. No one, except Ellie and Devon and Morgan, thought about him at all. But Ellie and Devon did not know the truth. And Morgan was about to quit him.

For a moment, he longed for Lou to be in his bed. He even picked up his phone from the nightstand and thought about calling her. To do so would be to give up the one good thing he'd managed to do all day, other than clean the kitchen at the house he had robbed. He didn't want to rob himself of his last reason for self-respect.

Cleaning the kitchen. Like that made up for stealing from the woman.

He chuckled bitterly. He had heard a rumor that the police had a nickname for him. "Mr. Clean." Well, Mr. Clean's life, despite his nickname, was a mess, damned shitty.

ooOoo

The next morning, as he headed to the shower, Chuck stopped at Morgan's bedroom door and knocked. No one answered. He heard no voice from inside. Chuck knocked again to no result. He opened the door. Morgan's bed was made. There was no sign that he had ever been back.

Chuck shrugged to himself and then took a shower. When he got out, there was still no sign of Morgan. Chuck dressed. When he got into the kitchen, the note and the money were still on the table-and, strongest proof of all, the half sandwich was still in the fridge.

Chuck tore up the note and threw it away. He made coffee and drank it while eating the other half of the Chuckster. He had to give it to Lou. She had a gifted hand for special sauce. The sandwich was good, even after a night among moldy leftovers and half-consumed cans of grape soda.

Chuck wasted some time after eating checking news on his phone. He had a brief email from Ellie, just saying hello and asking how he was doing. He emailed her a quick response. Then he got out a pen and paper and began to sketch Smith's house from memory. He got on Google Maps and looked at it from above, noting the position of the fence and the pool and hot tube. It looked like there was also a sizable firepit and barbeque in the back yard.

Chuck thought for a while about the house and its situation, then he got online and, after some deft but fairly simple hacking, found architect's plans for the house, submitted before it had been built. He drew in what he could, then superimposed the plans on top of the drawing. He had a good sense of the layout of both floors.

He walked out to the truck and checked the glove compartment-where he kept his and Morgan's gloves, oddly enough, along with various tools that might be needed but that also could easily be passed off as used for maintaining the truck.

Back inside, Chuck got his computer and his lockpicking tools. He put the latter in his pocket, the former in a shoulder bag. He had been prepping slowly, convinced that Morgan would show or would call. Neither had happened. Chuck sent Morgan a text, telling him that they had work that morning, and urging him to call Chuck. They never texted specifics about jobs.

Chuck locked the door, put on the fake, magnetic plates, and got in the truck. He checked the mirrors to see if Morgan was approaching. He wasn't. Chuck shook his head and drove away. He would do it without Morgan. Show him that he was not essential.

Han could fly solo. Forget Chewy.

ooOoo

The house was empty. Chuck was sure of that. But he was still sitting outside it, just up the block a bit. He was still hoping to hear from Morgan, although he told himself he was just making sure no one was home. He wasn't; he was waiting to hear from Morgan. He had sent a couple of more texts, but still, he got no answer.

He looked at his watch. It was 12:30 pm. He had been sitting in the truck longer than he normally would, long enough to begin to draw attention. He needed to get started if he was going to do it. He felt a wave of sadness crash over him. Morgan had always helped in the past, and that had made it seem less...serious, more game-like. But Morgan was not there. Robin Hood, such as he was, had lost his Merry Man.

Chuck punched himself in the leg, hard. Time to grow up. Accept who he was and what he was. Time to stop talking and thinking about Star Wars or the Sherwood Forrest, and to face burglary in LA.

He started the truck and pulled up to the security keypad near the end of the short driveway. He punched in the number he had gotten when he saw the blonde arrive the one time she had. The gate opened and Chuck pulled the truck inside. There was not much room between the gate and the door to the garage, but it was adequate to park the truck.

Chuck got out and started toward the front door. He noticed a neighbor out walking a dog, so he turned and went along the side of the house, jumping up and climbing over the wooden gate that led into the backyard.

He got out his lockpicking tools and approached the backdoor, after giving an appreciative glance at the hot tub and pool.

He got to the backdoor and found it...open. Chuck stood there, staring first at the door, second through the crack the door was open (and into the large living room) and finally back at the door again. It seemed like unprecedented good luck-or like a trap. He shrugged to himself and put the tools back into his pocket. He pushed gently on the door and it swung open soundlessly. The living room was open to him and the kitchen was just beyond it. The floor plan was open, so there was only an island, running parallel to the long kitchen counter, separating the living room from the kitchen. On one end of the kitchen was an alcove with a small table surrounded by four chairs. There was a huge black leather sectional sofa occupying a large portion of the living room, and a massive big screen television anchored to the wall opposite the sectional. There were a couple of matching leather armchairs. A door led to the washroom and into the garage.

Chuck stood still for a moment, orienting himself in his memory of the floor plans. The stairs were off to the right, leading up to a small bedroom. To the left of that was the master bedroom, with a very large bathroom and a massive walk-in closet. There was a third bedroom even further to the left, but the plans made Chuck suspect that the room was likely a home office. Chuck looked at the television-very new, expensive. The surround sound system was top of the line.

The stereo-the thing he had mostly been interested in stealing-was not in view, but he expected it to be in the first-floor front room, probably some sort of family room. He decided to wait to look at it.

The open door had him a bit spooked. He stood for a time, listening. But he heard no sounds of human habitation in the house, no footfall or movement of any kind. He decided to check upstairs first: it would be easier for someone to be up there and for him not to know it than for someone to be in the family room and him not to know it.

He climbed the stairs quickly, silently, two at a time, his long legs making short work of the distance. He stood silent at the top. Still, he heard nothing. He opened the door to the first small bedroom. It was blandly decorated-now that he thought about it, so was the rest of the house, what he had seen, anyway. There were no family or personal photos in view on any walls downstairs or standing on any flat surface. Art, or rather, purchased prints of questionable taste, 'adorned' the walls, and there were some expensive-looking crystalline knickknacks here and there. The place seemed more like a house used to advertise a homebuilder's work than a house anyone actually lived in. The small bedroom was empty, the bed neatly made. No sign of anyone having been there, perhaps in a long time.

He went to the left, to the door of the master bedroom and opened it. It too was bland. The kingsize bed, massive and domineering, filled a lot of the room. The room was empty. Chuck entered it and walked toward the door to the bathroom. He opened it. The bathroom was as large as the master bedroom itself. The tub, nearby, was obscured from view, wrapped around by a dark shower curtain. A glass-enclosed shower was on the far end of the bathroom Everything was gleaming and chrome and black and white.

As he looked around, Chuck noticed that the bathroom counter, black marble, was untidy. There were various items strewn around it, and toothpaste smeared across part of the surface. Pill bottles, open, some pills spilled out, completed the mess. Chuck decided that this would be the part of the house he cleaned. He walked to the counter and opened one of the doors beneath it. He found a bottle of spray cleaner and a roll of paper towels. Placing the paper towels on the countertop, he began to pick up the pills, trying his best to figure out which ones belonged to which bottles. He had put them back together when he looked at himself in the mirror-and saw the shower curtain move. He jumped.

He thought to run. But then he stopped, turned. The movement had not continued. He stood there for a moment, now facing the shower curtain. No more movement disturbed it.

"Hey, hey," Chuck said softly, "is someone there?" He felt silly. He was now almost sure his imagination had played a trick on him. Or, the suspicion was sudden, it was Morgan. It would be like him to pull a stunt like this. Smiling despite his annoyance, Chuck reached out and pulled the shower curtain open.

Morgan was not in the shower. Instead, the most beautiful woman Chuck had ever seen was on her back in the tub. She had on only a black, lacy bra and matching panties; she was more than half-covered in water. Her eyes were closed.

On the side of the tub was a glass of red wine and a silver pistol.

Chuck stood, frozen, the curtain clutched in one hand, the bottle of spray cleaner in the other. After a moment, or a day, or a millennium, the woman cracked opened one eye, bluer than blue, and noticed him.

She frowned deeply. "Go away and leave me the hell...alone," she slurred.

The blue eye closed-the woman passed out-and she slid slowly beneath the water.