I have done many, arguably, illegal things throughout my lifetime.

With the lifestyle I've lead, prison was always a possibility, but I can't say I ever imagined that I'd be put into prison for a crime that I didn't actually commit.

It was Anson that killed those British embassy guards, and despite the fact that I will always feel partially responsible for their deaths, I did not plant the bombs that killed them. I will not be a person who kills those who are innocent. Claire was innocent, and yet some low life solider killed her in cold blood, destroying my family. I refuse to allow another family to go through what I went through.

I also won't kill anyone who has never hurt me personally. I will not be anyone's mercenary. People who kill for money lose a part of themselves in the process, and I won't lose my humanity for a few thousand dollars.

But despite all this, I now sit in a federal prison hole, somewhere not on any tourist map. It's dark, and I suddenly have a huge craving for yogurt.

They've kept me in this dark cell and won't allow me to talk to anyone. Although, it's not like I'm in a chatty mood. I think that they believe if they keep me in a dark room, then I won't try anything to escape. But truthfully, they could hold open the front door and I still wouldn't leave.

This whole Anson situation needs to be settled, and if I need to be the fall guy for it, so be it.

Prison isn't the worst thing that could happen to me; watching Michael cross a line he can't come back from, all for me, that would be torture.

I can't watch him become Larry, where there are no lines, no boundaries. He would have burned all those people just to keep me out of jail. And as much as this would have thrilled me that he chose me over his job a few years ago, now things have changed.

I've changed.

Everything's changed.

"Food's here."

A gruff voice that announces my meals is the only human interaction I have during the day anymore.

In the beginning there were a lot of interviews; interviews about Anson and Michael and my activities over the past decade.

I've told a lot of lies over my lifetime but the truth was oddly freeing.

It's funny, with Michael, the truth is never spoken. At least not the truth about feelings. And even facts are often skewed to fit the situation.

I told them everything. I gave them everything. And I prayed that Michael did the same. Then maybe this nightmare would be over.

The only thing that helped me fall asleep at night, on this old, lumpy mattress, was the fact that maybe my testimony would send Anson to a similar fate. Not that I would ever know anything. Governments don't tend to be sympathetic to the knowledge needs of their prisoners.

I looked around my barren cell. Where ever I was, it wasn't any ordinary prison. I guess when you're a criminal with an Interpol file as colorful as mine, you get put in a prison without a zip code. My cell was a standard 15 x 20 with no windows. It was fully equipped with a sink, a toilet and a cot that smelled of sweat, blood and tears. The steel door was rusted and creaked whenever it opened.

"Fiona Glenanne."

This was a new voice. It was low and authoritative, definitely a government type. I could almost picture him in my mind. He would be tall, with a dark cheap suit and shaved.

As he stepped into my cell, through the creaky steel door, I realized my mistake. He wasn't a government type but he was close. He was still tall, still shaved but his suit was anything but cheap. It would be an easy mistake to make if you didn't know the difference. But this mystery man had a custom tailored suit.

He wasn't a government type, he was in the private sector.

"Good evening, Ms. Glenanne."

I didn't get up from my bed. I just continued to lay on my back, legs bent, reading 'A Tale of Two Cities.'

Before Claire died I loved to read. We shared a bed in a tiny room that resembled a closet, and I would often read to her before she fell asleep. Classic stories like Jane Eyre, Tess of the d'Urbervilles and The Grapes of Wrath.

A Tale of Two Cities had been her favorite.

I hadn't read it since her death.

Life in prison gave you a lot of free time; I figured I might as well get some reading done.

"I have a proposition for you, Ms. Glenanne. I hope you'll hear me out"

I smirked. "I've already talked to all those nice agents from every acronym in the government, but I assume you're from something more private, Mr…"

"Adams, and you're right, I'm from a private company, Hanson Associates, and we often work with government agencies doing things that they cannot."

Now this was an intriguing turn of events. I finally put my book down and sat up. I got a quick look at myself in the cracked mirror above the sink. I was a far cry from what I had once been. My hair was ragged and limp and my face looked more sunken in.

Appearances aren't as important when all you have to wear is an orange jumpsuit and the one person you would try and impress is never going to see you again.

"Why are you here, Mr. Adams?"

"I told you, I have a proposition for you."

Authors Note: So, this has been sitting in my documents folder for a while along with a few other chapters. I usually like to have a story done before I post it so that I know that it'll be finished and I won't end up having no idea where to go with it. But with this story I was really worried that I'd never get the time to completely finish it before the new season came out so I figured heck with it and post the beginning anyway and deal with it later. Anyway, you really didn't need to know that whole story. But this is my authors note and I can do with it what I wish.

Back to relevant information. So this is a kind of dry prologue but it does get better, (I think, I haven't written it yet) but I'll throw it out there and see what you think and continue posting chapters at my leisure, even if it's not at yours. Love and sparkles!