A/N: I was going to update on Sunday, but I decided to do so today. It's still a little short, but I promise that the chapters will get longer as the story progresses. I just need to establish a base. By the way, can anyone guess what song this chapter name was inspired by? (it's the actual song title).

Thanks for all of the reviews! I'm on lunch break right now so I don't have the time to reply to them, but just know that I appreciate all of the reviews/story alerts, etc. :) I will try and inbox people who reviewed later today!

The next day, Imogen was pacing around her apartment. She had finally made her move and returned to the States after almost 6 whole years of being away. It seemed like only yesterday that she had to make a run for it; to protect herself. Now that she had come to terms with what happened, for the most part anyways, it was time to make some big moves. First thing that she had to do was to get back into the business.

It was dangerous to go back, she knew that. She could be caught and then sent to jail, or to death row. But the thing was…Imogen needed t do this. That was why she had hacked into the CIA the other day; she needed intel on the person she was hunting, and one other person. The keys to her plan needed to fall together quickly; otherwise she wouldn't be able to pull this off.

Shaking her head, Imogen stopped pacing and threw open the doors to her closet, preparing for her next step. She had to find her contact again; it was crucial to the rest of her plan.

Four hours later…

Imogen walked around the abandoned park, waiting to see if her contact would show up. They had decided to schedule a dead drop, just so that things could be kept simple and there was no chance of a screw up.

When she turned around to walk back across the park, she noticed a brown envelope sitting on the bench. Instinctively, Imogen knew that it was for her. It helped that it was in an abandoned park as well. She quickly walked over the bench, picked up the envelope and left the park. She could wait to read it; the less time she spent out in the open, the better. Something told her that she was on a ticking clock; that her time was going to run out.

When she got back to her apartment, she closed the curtains, turned on a small light beside the couch, and ripped open the envelope. As she pulled out the pages, her eyes skimmed over everything, trying to find a trace of any listening devices. While she trusted her contact, she had to make sure. After all, she had been away for quite some time, and so much could have changed.

The papers were a bunch of news reports and death notices. Feeling a little overwhelmed, Imogen closed her eyes and took a breath.

"Get out now Gracie! You need to leave and save yourself—if you come back they will most certainly catch you and put you in jail. Promise me you'll get out, promise…" her father was lying on a hospital bed, clutching at his daughter's pale hands.

The young girl, maybe about 18 or 19 years of age, tried not to cry as she saw her father's strength leaving him.

"I promise Da. I'll go," she whispered.

"Go back to the house and lift up the floorboards in the kitchen. There are some things in there that you need," her dad said softly.

Despite the fact that she had a feeling her father was keeping something from her and that he knew this would happen—she didn't question it. He was a dying man, and she didn't want to upset him.

"Do I have to? I don't want to leave you here Da, not all on your own," she said, still attempting not to cry.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps could be heard outside.

"GO!" her dad yelled, though it only came out as a whisper, "Out the window. NOW!"

She let go of her father's hands, whispered her goodbye, and went over to the window. She turned to take one last look at her father and saw men in black suits coming in the door. She jumped out the window and into the night. She was safe…but her father….she never found out exactly what happened to him.

"Until now," Imogen whispered to herself, opening her eyes. She took one last look at the final death notice and hid the contents of the envelope; making sure that they were spread around the apartment in different hiding places. Having everything in one place was a mistake; if anyone found it, she was screwed. But by splitting everything up, she was making herself safer…well, safer at least.

Once that was done, Imogen collapsed onto the floor, unable to keep it together. Just reading everything that had happened in her absence was tough; her whole family was dead now. It was a mistake to leave the country, she thought to herself. I should've stayed with my father, no matter what was about to happen.

"Promise me you'll get out…promise me."

Imogen could still hear her dad's voice in her head like that day in the hospital was only yesterday. As much as she tried to forget that day, it was ingrained in her memory. Especially the men who came into the room the moment before she left. She didn't know their names, but she figured out that they were the police from what the papers in the envelope said.

Berating herself for falling apart, Imogen clench her jaw and then stood up. It didn't matter now, what was the past, was the past. The most important thing was to put everything in motion. She had to make things right or at least try to do so.

Pulling out blueprints to a local bank, she started to plan the details of her "attack". She needed to draw attention to herself if she wanted to find the cops who were in the hospital room. Imogen knew full well that if she was the one to do this, those cops would be there. She didn't know how she knew this…it was just something that she knew in her gut.

After spending time planning this, she left her apartment to do one last thing. She was confident that she would succeed, but if she didn't do this one little thing before she went to the bank, she would regret not doing it.

Imogen pulled up to a quiet graveyard, passing by the many headstones, not really paying attention to the names. She knew what she was looking for, thanks to a picture from the envelope. But as she passed one gravestone, she bumped into the side and nearly fell over. She looked down to see whose it was that she had bumped into.

Daniel Munroe

March 23rd, 1979 – July 17th, 2007

Beloved Son

"I'm sorry Daniel," she said, then got up and kept moving.

Finally she reached the back of the graveyard to a simple headstone. She kneeled down, and looked at the inscription on it. She couldn't make out the last name, but she knew this was her father's grave.

Peter -

January 1st, 1955- October 10th, 2004

There was no message on his, unlike that man Daniel's that she had stumbled upon. It wasn't surprising, not really, since he wouldn't have had family bury him.

"Hi Da," she said softly. "I know you didn't want me to come back, but I couldn't live with myself if I didn't. I know…I know I'm putting myself in danger…but there's just nothing else out there for me. I've spent most of my time away working with computers, just like you sued to teach me. I wish you could see it, I think you'd be proud of how far I've come. But that doesn't matter Da. I have a plan, and I just wanted to say that before I put everything in action. I can't tell you, I don't want anyone hearing. I know no one is here right now, but you always said that we shouldn't take chances if they weren't necessary."

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting one solitary tear escape. This was the last time she would allow herself to show any weakness…she couldn't afford it anymore.

"Goodbye Da," she said, turning away from the gravestone.

As she left the graveyard, she noticed bullets near Daniel's grave. Shaking her head, Imogen continued on her way. She couldn't waste time worrying about things that didn't concern her. She had to focus on her mission.