DISCLAIMER: Dark Angel borrowed, no profits realized.

A/N: Uh-oh, another story left waiting for nearly a year ... but I have some of the next chapters already nearly done. If you've wondered about this one, I swear there is more ahead – it's just the in-between stuff that has been taking some time.

Would love to know if anyone is still along for this one! All thoughts & comments welcomed.

Unmasked!

Max took her refilled coffee mug from the kid at the counter and wandered back to the message board. With a subtle glance around, she lifted handfuls of the religious tracts and program fliers from the many hanging in envelopes affixed to posters promising salvation, at least six or seven of each flier, and took her armload back to a small table. In the ten minutes remaining before she'd go over to meet Matt again at the precinct office, anyone who might glance over at her would think she was just casually glancing over at the fliers, but Max was thoroughly speed-reading their contents. At least I'll be able to talk the talk when I get back there, she mused.

A sudden thought interrupted her reading. Logan has complete trust in Matt Sung and because of that, I have, too – but what if this time Logan's wrong? Walking into a police station? A jail? What would Zack say to that? she wondered. Considering again, she remembered that Matt had helped her, too, not only Logan and Eyes Only – but he was only one guy among many. Worth the chance, she decided, but not one moment do you let your guard down, Max...

She downed the rest of her coffee and gathered her tracts together, shuffling through them to put on top the two relating to services and support groups for those in local custody. She stood and pulled off her biker gloves, tugged at her jacket, and snapped it closed up to the top. Spying a loose rubber band lying near the bulletin board, she grabbed it and smoothed back her hair into a demure ponytail. Nothin' to be done about the pants and boots, but could be worse, she decided. Tucking the stack of handouts in the crook of her arm, she pushed out of the coffee shop and started to walk across the street, head down, to move her way through the bank of reporters. Showtime, she grinned to herself.

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Her ruse worked through the first level of "security," consisting of one of the younger cops, posted at the door to keep out any reporters or those who weren't there on legitimate police business. The handouts and her sweetly batted eyelashes worked to get Max into the precinct's front counter, which ran the length of the room and served as a barrier between the public waiting area and the squad's maze of desks and file cabinets. Max was relieved to see that the precinct wasn't overly crowded with police officers at the moment.

As promised, Matt was near the counter, perched on the corner of a desk, ostensively studying a report, when she walked in. Matt looked up and considered her for a couple moments, as if sizing her up, before he spoke. "Help you?" he asked, his manner professional, but cool and distant.

Max nodded eagerly, an innocent earnestness fixed on her face. "I'd like to go down to lockup and see some of the prisoners about our programs..."

Matt grunted and tried, "you don't happen to be a reporter, too, do you?" Another detective nearby chuckled, and Matt turned back toward him, throwing him a grin.

"No!" Max blinked in wide-eyed innocence, "my counselor said that it would be good for me to come see some of them, and tell them that I know how it can be when things are bad, but that there's a better way..."

Matt allowed a subtle, long suffering sigh, then stood with a look that made it seem as if it took all his energy to do so. "Got some I.D?" he tried.

"Uh-huh." Max affected a smile of sweet guilelessness, and she dug in her pocket and pulled out a card, which Matt took in his hand, subtly palming it from others' view. He's good, Max thought. Guess he'd have to be to hide his Eyes Only connections in this job.

"Okay – give me a minute..." As Matt crossed back to a computer to type in a few things, Max stood patiently in the waiting area, swallowing the sudden alarm she felt not knowing what information he was typing in –her I.D. information? Something he invented? Whatever it was, if it was from her I.D., it wouldn't be completely new to the system, she assured herself, because everything on that Jam Pony I.D. is in someone's database somewhere... She focused on the persona she was trying to project, assuming that such a person would be focused on her mission – she even allowed a private chuckle at that – rather than prowling curiously around the area. She shuffled through her fliers again, as if counting them; otherwise, she stood waiting quietly. The couple cops in the squad room flashed her a curious smile, and she kept her smile in return vacant and wholesome.

It was only a few moments before Matt straightened and walked back up to the counter, pulling out two plastic clip-on badges from an unseen bin behind it, one badge labeled "clergy" and the other, "volunteer." He slid a clipboard toward her which held a sign-in sheet. When he spoke this time, his voice was lower but still its tone neutral and businesslike. "Go ahead and put down a name – I'll take you back, but you'll sign in again, down there."

Max smiled happily and signed in. With that, Matt opened the gate in the counter for her and Max came around and through the counter's entry, falling into step behind him as he led her back through the squad room and the back halls, toward the holding cells she knew to be in the adjoining building.

As they walked, Matt spoke little, and Max suspected he was well aware of the placement of security cameras and mics in the building. Glancing up toward the ceiling on one location, Matt said quietly, not breaking his pace, "No idea if he'll want to see you, but at least you're getting further than anyone else has. And maybe he'll be like the rash of other converts, suddenly seeing the light in the hope that it will impress the judge." He paced another thirty yards or so before adding, "no idea when counsel will show up, either, but if he gets here before you leave, I'll be sure that he gets a long, thorough security check before he's allowed back in holding – you know, for everyone's safety," he finally grinned. They took the stairs down a flight, and crossed what was clearly an underground tunnel to lock-up in silence, but just outside the entry to the holding cells, Matt spoke one more time. "They usually allow a five minute visit, but rarely more, even for someone they've decided is legit – you know, like family, or a regular volunteer or pastor. Sometimes they cut them off early but knowing the proclivities of the man at the window, he might even spot you a few extra minutes if you smile at him sweetly."

"Ugh," she grunted softly.

"Hey, Max – it's an advantage guys like me don't have," Matt grinned as he glanced at her, opening the door into the waiting area for her. "Oughta learn to use it when you need to."

"Oh, I use it," she looked up to him, effecting a vapid, sweet smile. "I just don't have to like it."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Leaving Max at the corridor entry several feet away, Matt approached the desk sergeant at lock-up, an aging, heavy-set police department veteran whose bad knee and bad back took him off the streets, and whose barely-adequate intelligence limited the number of desk jobs he could handle. Just as well, in the circumstances, Matt thought...

"Hey, Detective," the man greeted him, cheerily.

"Hey, Sarge. How goes it?" Matt responded in kind.

"Pretty quiet down here – away from all the publicity. I hear you guys have wall to wall reporters at your door."

Matt chuckled, "yeah, and then some. How's the famous prisoner?"

"Pretty quiet, for such a big mouth on TV. And a lot punier for someone with such big cahones."

Matt chuckled again. "Yeah, well, no wonder he needed the mask." He nodded back toward where Max stood, and asked, "has the new girl been back on this end yet?"

"What – medical?" The sergeant leaned sideways to get a better look at Max, grinning and wagging his eyebrows toward Matt as he got a fuller look at her.

"No, from the Mission." The man's hungry look immediately fell and he looked to Matt with a 'say it ain't so' expression. Matt nodded, rolling his eyes a little, "yeah, another saved soul, wanting to pass it on."

The guard snickered, "maybe they catch more flies with honey now in the soul-saving business."

Matt nodded, "if so, this little honey could bring in a whole flock."

The guard snickered. "I may just ask her in to save me."

"I'd be careful with that, Rusty, unless you want to buy a reprimand. Of course..." Matt winked, "maybe she's worth the risk..." He turned to walk back toward Max, "you can sign in here, miss," he gestured toward the desk sergeant, "and he'll have someone escort you out when you're through."

She nodded obediently and walked past Matt toward the sign in area, catching the subtle wink he threw at her as he kept walking back the way they'd come. Max now fixed her attention on "Rusty," who was admiring her unabashedly now.

"Hi," Max offered, sweetly.

"Hey, darlin,'" the man began, "I haven't seen you here before. I'd remember," he added, suggestively.

"I haven't been down here before," she replied as she finished signing in. "Just over where they have the work-release poisoners," she ad-libbed.

"Well, those guys are the model prisoners or they wouldn't be there. These guys, you never know, they're just off the streets."

"Really?" she asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

He nodded, in his element now. "Oh, yeah. Maybe still hopped up on whatever dope the had in their systems, some just fresh from whatever got them here. Don't know if too many are in the right mood to be saved just yet."

"How many men are back there, Sergeant?" she tried.

"Ten – but two of 'em are passed out, stone dead to the world. Another couple are still seeing pink elephants and three headed zebras."

Max managed to look appropriately disappointed for a moment, then tried, "what about that man on TV today, Eyes Only? He's here, too?"

"Oh, yeah..." the man chuckled. "He's here."

"He looked alright on TV..." She pretended to consider that for a moment. "I'd like to talk with him, please."

The sergeant snorted dismissively. "So would everyone else. He's not seein' nobody."

Max pouted a little, prettily. "Really? That's sad."

"Sad? He's pretty sad, if you ask me..."

"I'm sure he is," Max feigned ignorance of the sarcasm as she used it to press, "just think – all this time, he's had to hide from everyone, behind a made-up name, even behind a mask. Maybe now that people know who he is, he might want to share his burdens, maybe even come to one of our group meetings, just to have someone to talk to." She lifted one of the fliers and slid it to the sergeant, pointing out the group information printed there, then looked up at the man with innocent sincerity. "It must be awful for him, if he hasn't told anyone who he is, in all this time."

The guard relented.

Heaving himself out of his chair, he said, "I'll ask him if he wants to see you, but don't hold your breath. Wait here, and if he agrees it will take a couple minutes to get him over to the visitor's cell. You know where...?" When she smiled vacantly and shook her head no, he pointed across the hall. "You'll go in the door marked "visitors" and I'll put him in the fourth cubicle. It's a little cleaner than the others, on your side."

She beamed. "Thank you," she sparkled for him.

"Anything for you, doll," he drawled. "I'll see what I can do."

"'kay," she nodded, forcing herself not to roll her eyes or snort for the security camera's unforgiving eye. Logan will have to throw in some extra pay-back chocolate for this one, she breathed to herself.

But in only a few minutes the guard came back, grinning smugly. "He'll see you – with a little help from me. I told him you'd really be hurt if he said no," he elaborated.

More like said you'd hurt him? Max wondered, or was it just some smarmy description of the girl asking to see him? Either way it did the trick. Matt was right, as much as you might not like it, she reminded herself as heard herself gush, "oh thank you!"

"Just so you remember ol' Rusty, when you come to visit," he wheezed, leering at her.

No worry there, Max thought, I'll remember you, all right. As she nodded and turned to head into the visitor's room, she shook off the bad taste left by the oily guard and her performance to encourage just such a reaction. Face it, Max, just what you told Matt – you've used it before and you'll use it again, so get in there and see who this guy is...

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Max settled into the cheap plastic chair pulled up to an old fashioned visitor's table, with bulletproof glass between the visitors' room and the prisoners' side. At the moment, she was alone in the room, and she again ran through how she might best use her time. If it was just the few minutes, she couldn't waste them...

She heard the locks being opened, and a large, silent guard brought in the rumpled man she'd see plastered all over the news during the past several hours. His eyes scanned the booths quickly and as his eyes fell on her he grinned slightly, as if understanding with whatever the guard must have said. He slid into the seat across from her and the guard barked, "five minutes."

As the guard turned to stand at the back wall, 'Eyes Only' man started talking to Max. She blinked a little and pointed to the telephone handset at his shoulder. So this guy is new to being inside, she figured, if he didn't even catch that...

"I said the guard was right, that a pretty woman wanted to save my soul," he began, cocky way beyond what a rumpled guy behind bars ought to be, "but then when he said she asked to see Eyes Only? Well, I figure it's not so much my soul you're worried about."

Surprised for the opening, Max ran with it, figuring she could use all the time he would offer. "So you know there are hundreds of people out there wanting to know what's up with you..."

"Yeah, and you're the first one to make it this far, so I decided I'd see you."

"Thanks." She appeared to relax, but underneath her thoughts spun furiously. What a piece of work! Like he's in a bar, hittin' on the women and playing that he's the local underground hero...

"...not sayin' anything, though, 'cos my lawyer's on his way." He mused a moment, though, before going on, "you're too pretty to be a reporter – or at least, one not on TV – but I don't remember seeing you on any local reports..."

"Not a reporter," she told him, flatly.

"Yeah, right. Then why are you here?"

She shrugged, "just curious. I was in the building and thought if I could get in, I could at least hook you up with..."

"You're an agent?" he suddenly grinned broadly, "now that's what I'm talkin' about! Look, can you stick around, talk to my lawyer when he gets here? Because the reporters out there, they all want a piece of this and if I can get the best deal..."

She managed to hide her surprise at the turn the conversation had taken, and challenged, "what about the best reporter?"

"If the price is right," he countered smugly.

Max considered, and she looked suddenly skeptical. "Eyes Only is willing to sell out for the benjamins? No way..." She folded her arms, sitting back against the worn plastic of the chair back.

"Hey, do you think being Eyes Only is cheap? I got a business to run, and on the sly, too. Paying informants, paying cops to look the other way..."

"Yeah, I see how that turned out..."

"Look, do you want to get me a story or not? Or are you really an agent at all?" He suddenly looked a bit skeptical, and Max dialed it back a little.

"I get it – it costs money to run a 'business' – but think about this: what's going to be a better payday for you down the road, a cheesy tabloid with smacked-up reporters who may pay big to start, but never sell after that first week? Or a decent writer with a real paper, maybe keep the story going..."

"Yeah..." the man considered it, his eyes growing large. "Better."

"What's all this for, anyway?" she gestured around them. "You get yourself caught on purpose?"

"No way," the man shook his head a bit too forcefully.

"Then why go public now?" Max pressed. "What's all this about, anyway?"

The man wavered, then tried, "like I said, it's not cheap out there. I got busted, so I was sitting here figuring what I could do to make it work. Hey, I'm Eyes Only," the swagger was back momentarily. "You think this is the first time I've been in a tight spot?"

Oh, please, Max thought to herself, willing her eyes not to roll in disgust. "I can only imagine," she appeared to concede. "How'd you get caught?"

"I was set up – one of my informants."

"Do you know who?"

His eyes narrowed. "I thought you were just an agent." He snorted. "I should have known you were just another reporter– fooled me; I'll give you that. You must be good if you got back here," he said again.

"I'm not the reporter – but someone I know is." She sat back, letting him think she was weighing her options, then leaned forward, "I could be an agent with one of the best writers out there. You want this done right, he's your guy."

"And this guy – he's the one who sent you?"

"No – I can promise you that he has no idea that I'm suggesting you see him to write your story." On a hunch she shrugged, appearing to apologize, "he might not want to do it."

The guy snorted, "then he'd be the only one who doesn't. I know there's a crowd of them out there. Writers want stories that everyone wants to read. He'd be crazy not to want to write this one." He leaned closer, intrigued now. "Who is it?"

Max suddenly felt a small concern that this might be a weird ruse to flush out the real Eyes Only – but if so, they stumbled on absolutely the wrong way to go about it, given that the real Eyes Only was a reporter, and that every reporter in the city would want this. It would look more suspicious for any individual reporter not to try to get access.

And with that, Max said, simply, "Logan Cale."

The man's eyes narrowed a little, clearly mulling over something. Seeing his reaction, his appearing to consider a familiar name, Max asked, "you know him?"

"I looked around at different writers' stuff, before ended up here. Because, being Eyes Only," he said broadly, puffing up again in the cocky, self- assured manner he'd shown her at first, "I have to know what's going on in the city, who's doing what to who." A smug grin now appeared as he boasted for her, "I have to be careful about what they're saying about me." He paused a couple moments and, more thoughtful now, said "yeah, I've seen a few of Cale's stories, but it's been a while – he's been pretty quiet lately."

"Gone underground," she nodded, "for the most part."

"And he wants to write my story, too?"

"Truthfully? I have no idea. As I said, he doesn't know I that I'm suggesting you see him to write your story. He might take a pass."

The guy snorted, "I know from the way he writes, Cale's not stupid. And maybe he needs the story of the decade to get him back on the front page, you think about that?"

"You're awfully sure of yourself," Max couldn't resist.

"Helps when you have a couple hundred people outside begging for your attention," he smirked.

The guard suddenly growled to life. "Time's up."

"No way was that five..." the man began his turn to see the guard nearing ominously.

"It was nearly ten, if you make me write up a report about how you resisted going back to your cell..." the guard said, darkly.

The braggadocio faded immediately as the man paled, and turned back to Max. "He can contact my brother-in-law – my lawyer, he added, more than corrected, she would think later. "Arty Blake – Arthur. And you can come back to see me too, if you want..."

As he half-stood and was half-hauled back toward the door, Max wondered at the sudden sound of him, his last words almost a plea for her company. "What's your name?" she suddenly called to him, kicking herself for nearly forgetting.

"Dale Sanders," he called back through the glass, his smile almost an innocent, hopeful one, as he spoke.

"Time to go, miss" the guard glowered at her.

"Yes sir," she said meekly, standing and watching as well as she could, the large guard's body nearly blocking all view. But she stood unmoving for a moment, letting the conversation play again in her mind, before finally turning to walk out toward the waiting area and an escort out of the place...

...to be continued...