Confidence grew in Jemina Fischer with every click of her heel. Every footstep transformed her into a new person. Delilah Webster.

Musty joints exuded a burnt wood odor that attached itself to her mini dress. Dozens of people stood in the cold, jackets hugged tightly, outside the mansion. Columns lined the crowded lawn.

Fake, pushed over plants greeted her on the patio along with a runt of a college kid. "Five dollars."

"I don't need to pay—I'm with Olivia. I'm Deliah? Delilah Webster?" Her voice barely carried over the loud music, as her heels clicked inside without a backward glance to see if the boy got her message. She just someone inside was named Olivia, and the guy wouldn't send anyone after her. Though, she was pretty sure she was safe—who would ever stop a spring break party to apprehend one guest?

Alcohol mixed with sweat to create a truly abrasive stink, and she almost wished she could drink on this assignment—if only so she could pass out and her nose would stop working.

Partiers sat on the kitchen counters as some poor girl puked into the trash can. Jemina pulled her hair back out of courtesy and rubbed her back for a hot minute.

The door at the end of the kitchen led her to some sort of study. She sped out of there and back into the main room almost immediately as none of the wall decorations were worthy of grand larceny.

Bodies crowded around a girl on the dining room table. "Get her out!" Someone yelled.

Jemina left the scuffle behind and did her best to run up the stairs in heels.

"Where are you going?" A guy with a red cup in his hand yelled from the bottom of the stairs. She gripped her stomach and pretended to retch. He left her alone, probably not wanting to deal with the aftermath of an about-to-be-sick person.

Joy lit up her face when, along the hallway, she found a door who's handle rattled but didn't budge. Why would you lock a door unless it hid something valuable?

After she pulled a bobby pin out of her hair, she spread it with her fingers and inserted it into the simple door look. With another bent pin, she began to push up and down, messing with the tumblers.

Click.

Bookshelves lined the locked room with a desk in the corner. Framed in gilded silver, canvas-painted sunflowers drooped over a vase of the same medium. Jackpot.

She unhooked the painting and undid it from the frame. Rolling the priceless piece of artwork up, she gave herself a well-deserved pat on the back. Besides, she was doing two good deeds tonight. Recovering a priceless piece of art, and saving the kid who threw the party in his parent's mansion some trouble. After all, who'd be focused on all the beer stains and broken glasses when you've just lost the most expensive thing in your home?

Though they might still blame him for allowing access to the house. Well, that was on the kid.

-

Thunder crackled through the sky, instilling assertive energy in Jemina Fischer as she climbed the steps of the bureau's headquarters. Trees ringed the odd collection of squares and rectangles and morning dew gave a fresh-rain aroma to the courtyard.

Tingles raced up and down her body as she walked through the main building's merry-go-round doors. Her feet only graced the floor of this glorified office structure to receive assignments and turn in reports. This was no place for a field agent.

Lightning coursed throughout her body as she got closer to her supervisor's infamous door. Special Agent in Charge was his full title, but she usually just called him Chua.

Earlier, she had gotten a call from him asking her to meet him in his office. She was sure she had dropped off her report along with the stolen artwork last night, so she had no idea what he wanted to talk about.

Not wanting to deal with the nervousness any longer, she knocked, received affirmation, and opened the door.

Unexpected fear rippled through her as the calculating eyes of the Directorate of Intelligence stared at her from the leather chair off to right. No wrinkles were present in his suit, but his face was full of them. She made herself a silent promise that she wouldn't wait long enough to get wrinkles by the time she became head of the Intelligence department.

Jemina dipped her head. "Directorate of Intelligence, sir."

Chua stood behind his desk. She thought it best to stand as well.

"Please sit," the old man said.

She took the other seat, her back straight.

"Senior Special Agent Fischer, you have done very well as an undercover agent."

"Thank you, sir."

He looked taken aback. "Excuse me, was I finished talking? Do I interrupt you?"

Her heart beat out of her chest and up into her dry throat. "No sir."

"As I was saying, " he looked at her sideways. "You have done very well as an undercover operative. But, you have only signed on for one, two-day assignments. I have something different for you."

She nodded.

"It would be for six months. We still need arrest warrants to raid a mafioso family in Maine. Our former evidence to raid has been compromised. The current undercover operatives have quite simply failed me. You will live and work with them, but we have a plan to get you closer to the family than they could."

After a reasonable pause had been reached, Jemina voiced her question. "Do you have any more details?"

"Not until you sign." Chua, who had been quiet up until this moment leaned over his desk to hand Jemina a packet of papers. "You will receive a considerable bonus and you will most certainly receive a promotion if you do the job within six months."

Her chance presented in his words. Lightning practically bounced at her fingertips as she took a pen and effectively signed away her identity and guarantee of life for the next six months.

Chua exchanged the packet for a manila folder. The Directorate of Intelligence stood up, bid farewell, and left.

"If that's all, I'd like to get started on this," she stood from her chair.

"Jemina. You won't be an SSA when you get back from this." Chua laced his words with desperation to get through to her.

"I know," excitement bubbled through her.

"Make sure that's your only change when you come back. Six months is a long time to be someone else. Don't lose your identity."

"Of course," she stood and left, Chua's forlorn eyes looking at another one of his agents gone. Maybe forever.

-

Potholes shook the cab and made Jemina clutch her duffle bag even tighter. Information bounced around in her carsick head. She was Eva Sorrentino. She needed to get close enough to the family to secure evidence of their wrongdoings.

Her fingers massaged her head. What else? Oh, she was supposed to do this through the Boss's only son Marin Milanesi.

Another bump made her stomach lurch. Warm, too warm air blew through the car, only making her sickness worse. Hopping cabs with cash for close to twelve hours will do it to you.

It'd be too documented to fly to Maine. The agency was such a bunch of cheapskates. But, she did this all for a good cause. That was what mattered.

"We're here."

"Thank you." She paid him in cash and got out of that cab as soon as she could.

Leaves decorated the high roof of the single-story house in front of her. Even as she knocked, she couldn't help but admire the love put into the house.

A metal scrape told her someone had slid the peephole cover, so she smiled the best she could.

The lock turned, and she bent down to pick up her bags.

When she looked up, she was greeted by a gun pointed at her through the narrowest door gap the person on the other side could manage.

"Who are you and what do you want?"