Lee shivered in the cold Canadian wind. She stared up at the wall. Still no sign of Remy. That could be good or bad. She ran her fingers through her crudely shorn hair nervously.

She resisted the urges to fidget, swear, and go after him. In the four years since Remy had taken her from her abusive foster parents, she had learned to focus her energy away from those dangerous habits.

So instead, she waited.

Another fifteen minutes dragged along. That was in then. Now she was supposed to run as far and fast as she could. *Try t' get t' N'awlins.* He had said. *You be safe d'ere.*

Lee fought a fierce internal battle between what she was told to do, and what she needed to do. She bit down on her cheek until she tasted the copper tang of blood.

She turned to run from the mansion. She ran less than fifteen feet before she stopped. She turned slowly and sprinted back.

Rather, she tried. Two steely bands of arms lifted her right off the ground and pulled her tightly against the solid rock wall of a chest. Lee screamed. She felt warm air rush passed her cheek, then the sand-papery scratch of a five-o'clock shadow along her neck.

"Well, hello darlin'," the gruff voice rumbled all the way from the bottom of his chest. "Mind tellin' me what a pretty young thing like you is doin' in Saskatchewan at five in the mornin'?"

Lee glanced to at her black full-body catsuit. "Uh. . . . jogging?" she suggested hopefully.

"Uh-huh." Big surprise, he didn't believe her.

To her mortification, Lee could do nothing as the burly Canadian tucked her under one arm before he headed to the mansion. Lee's kicks and screams had no effect. Her vocabulary in English, French, and Cantonese did raise an eyebrow.

Once inside, he walked directly into what looked like a sizeable study. "Hey Pop, Colonel, look what I found."

Unceremoniously, he dropped Lee next to her tied mentor. Remy glared at his protégéé.

"An' why ain' you in N'Awlins already?"

Lee said nothing. She just glowered at the three men in front of her.

Three identical faces at different ages, a proud legacy.

The Logan family. Lee knew all about them. Knowing everything about your target ensured a smooth take, Remy pounded that into her head daily. She'd looked up everything there was to know about the family.

The oldest, "Colonel" Logan. It was said that not eve he knew his real first name anymore. Lee did. The Colonel fought for the Canadian military. He was in the thick of every major conflict until his forced retirement in the early 70's. Strong political figure. Lee suspected the only reason he stayed that way was because he stayed as far away from the game as possible.

His son, James Logan, was born in 1948. Trained by his father since he could barely toddle, he received a degree in Engineering from the University of Ontario. He held the rank of Major in the Canadian military. He should have been in Quebec City.

The grandson, Chad Logan. Freshman year of college, majoring in pre-veterinary medicine. He was also extensively trained in hand-to-hand combat and scouting by both his father and grandfather. He was supposed to be away at college.

Lee turned to her mentor. "Someone really screwed the pooch on this one."

Remy just grinned back at her.

Lee snapped. Her small body flew through the air and crashed into the Cajun thief. Fists flew into the helpless man's jaw, gut, and ribs. The youngest Logan yanked her away and held her with her arms imprisoned between her back and his chest.

"Let me go you hairy-" Lee rambled out a series of expletives.

A large hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off the flow of curses. "I think my ears are burnin'," Chad said.

Lee glared up at him. Warm blue eyes grinned back. "I'm glad I don't know whatcher thinkin', darlin'," he whispered in her ear. Lee shrieked at him and slammed her heel down to the arch of Chad's rather large foot. At the last possible second, he jerked his foot aside and snaked his leg around hers.

Lee and Chad heard a deep chuckle. They looked up at the Colonel. "This kid reminds me of Mariko."

James Logan smiled tightly. Lee mentally cross-referenced the name. Mariko Yashida, wife of James, mother of Chad. Japanese assassin, poisoned by the hand five years ago. Known for her deadly aim and breathtaking good looks.

Lee wasn't sure that was a compliment.

She narrowed her eyes at the grizzly old man. He stared back at her through faded blue eyes, worn and used. "I could use a pair like you."

Remy finally spoke up. "What you mean, mon ami?"

The Colonel pulled a cigar from the breast pocket of his blue flannel shirt. He bit down on one end and lit the other. He inhaled deeply before he spoke. "We're starting up a Security Agency, James and I. We need someone to test our work. What would you two say to $200 Canadian a day for legally breaking and entering?"

Remy eyed the old man thoughtfully. "You got t'be kiddin' me."

James shook his head. "It's just me and the old man, usin' what we know to make money. Gotta pay fer Chad's education, and the ol' Canadian Army don't pay that well."

Lee jerked her head around to look at Chad. She wanted to talk.

Reluctantly, Chad removed his hand.

"What happens if we get caught?"

The Colonel grinned, just another wrinkle on his face. "You get a bonus, because our system actually works against some I'd wager to be the best in the biz."

Lee stared into the old man's eyes, trying to weigh the truth of his words. With a sigh, she turned to Remy and nodded. The Cajun smiled wryly, and nodded.

James cut the ropes around Remy's wrists and helped him to his feet. The men shook hands. Chad let Lee go, and she felt cold where his body had touched hers. The Colonel held out a meaty paw of a hand, Lee shook it firmly.

*I hope this is a good idea.* She thought to herself.