Sapphire's Place - Valerie Hope's " Music of Change "

Music of Change #6:

Hired Muscle

By Valerie Hope

So what if he'd had a wall full of Ph.D.s and was probably Nobel material. The girl could *dance*. Jenna watched the former Doctor Karl Renfro, the seventy-year-old brilliant psychologist who'd given her a new life through the machinations of his remarkable Music of Change, work through the moves of the newest routine to the techno music playing on the test-bed's superlative sound system. Karla Renfro, now a very personable and happy eighteen- year-old girl, had easily made her way through the preliminaries and was practicing non-stop for the finals to make the cheerleading squad which Jenna currently held a place on.

There was a buzz on the intercom - Jenna broke her attention away from the very intricate dance/tumbling routine that the former doctor was working her way through to cast a lovely emerald eye on the security monitor for the front desk. Someone was approaching reception, bundled in a thick coat even though the temperature outside was a quite pleasant sixty-six degrees Fahrenheit.

"Heather, can you get the desk, honey?" Jenna called to her partner. Once her husband, Heath MacGowan, now the lovely statuesque blonde Heather was her lover and life-partner thanks once again to the incredible work of Dr. Renfro. The sensuous blonde levered herself up out of the comfortable chairs in the adjoining control room and walk towards reception without ever prying her sparkling blue eyes away from the book she was reading. Heather was studying hard for her exams - she was getting a night school associates' degree in restaurant and hotel management so that she could someday manage the Hooters restaurant where she worked. It was a lot of work for the gorgeous blonde, but she was more than equal to the task and actually starting to enjoy the work.

The woman at the front desk was very small and frail, wrapped deeply in a woolly coat, which she clutched across her narrow frame. She looked fearful and kept casting worried looks over her shoulders.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" Heather asked gently.

"I have some information you might be interested in," the woman said in a timid, terrified voice. "About a man named Arturo LaPaglia."

***

Grace Kincaid didn't notice herself idly playing with a strand of her soft blonde hair as she read the research that Hope and Stacey had compiled on her lover, Joshua Little. Although she had made the courageous leap of taking him to her bed, embracing her new femininity wholeheartedly and unreservedly, she still knew precious little about the man. Born to working-class parents in Richmond, Virginia, he'd played baseball and run track for a local high school, graduating top of his class and going on to get his undergraduate degree in Psychology from the College of William and Mary in Williamsburg before going on to gain his masters' degree and doctorate in Applied Psychology from NYU. His dissertation was absolutely indecipherable, but was apparently a groundbreaking piece of work in the blossoming study of psychosomatic illness. No military service, no real splashes made after his doctorate. Taxes were all honest and filed on time, no outstanding police record, just some college-age drunk-and- disorderlies that were pretty much standard operating procedure. Never pledged a fraternity or joined any service clubs. It was almost as if he'd dropped off the face of the earth for four years before surfacing earlier this year to begin working with Karl Renfro.

Trying to force herself to stop thinking of how wonderful he made her feel in bed, and the singularly entertaining shower he'd treated her to this morning, she concentrated on what Joshua Little might have been doing for those four years. The rational, suspicious part of her mind which had kept her in one piece as a homicide detective for so long was at odds with the very emotional and desperately feminine hope that maybe he'd been in the Peace Corps or something similarly harmless.

She was about to pull up her computer again and start trying to track down those four years on the only lead she had - a residence in Houston, Texas - when her cell phone rang in the pocket of her gray wool blazer.

She lifted the antenna with straight white teeth and pressed the phone to her ear. "Kincaid," she said in her breathy, sexy alto.

"Gracie, it's Taylor," the sweet, accented voice said on the other end. Taylor Beauchamps was formerly Tyler Beauchamps, a friend-of-a-friend who turned out to be an undercover CIA operative assigned to keep tabs on Grace's friends Dylan Hopewell and Walter Staley, two hotshot computer jockeys who were renowned for their abilities in the field of online security. The CIA had planted Beauchamps in with them in order to make sure they weren't up to any good and that no one else was watching them in an effort to gain their secrets or use their skills against the US. The problem was remedied now that Walter Staley was now Stacey Walters and Dylan Hopewell was now Hope Wells, a pair of statuesque beauties who bore no resemblance whatsoever to the former stereotypical computer geeks. In the process, Tyler Beauchamps had become Taylor, a willowy and sweet little Chinese girl with an angelic face and devilish body who had become a very good friend and very valuable ally to Grace in the last week.

"Hey, girl," Grace said, sitting back. "I was just about to call you."

"No problem," Taylor said. "Jack didn't leave until a few minutes ago. You would have gotten the machine."

Grace grinned. "His name is Jack?"

Taylor's blush was almost visible over the phone. "He's really sweet. I met him at a coffee shop after dance class on Wednesday."

"Did you have a good time?"

"I sure did," Taylor said, and now it was the "I-just-got-some" glow that was almost visible through the phone. Grace was happy for her friend. After finally having her first experience as a woman with a man, she was in the "I hope all my friends get laid really soon" phase. Sex as a woman was pretty damned spectacular.

"Anyway," Taylor continued, "I got that information you asked me for back from the field office. I can bring it by for you this afternoon."

"That would be great," Grace said. "I was going to head to the gym, maybe we can meet someplace afterwards... hang on, Taylor. I got another call."

Grace clicked the call waiting over with a long-nailed, perfectly manicured thumb. "Kincaid," she said.

"Grace, it's Jenna," the redhead said over the line. "I think you should get over here right away. There's a woman here, she says she has information about LaPaglia. She looks really freaked, Gracie. We could really use your help."

"I'll be right there," Grace said, and transferred her line back to Taylor. "Taylor, honey, I have to get to Corporate Rewards right away. Someone surfaced with some dirt on LaPaglia. Can you meet me there in fifteen minutes?"

"I'll be there," Taylor said, and hung up. Grace grabbed her purse, keys and firearm and hustled out the door.

***

"Marcie," she said, holding her cup of coffee like a lifeline. "Marcie Harrison. My husband worked with Mr. LaPaglia."

Grace was taking notes furiously. "Did you meet him?"

Marcie nodded. "Kyle used to bring him over sometimes. They'd get drunk and talk about some of the things they'd done."

"Like what?"

"They sent me out of the room when they started, but I heard some things. They talked about killing people and hiding bodies," Marcie said. "It scared me."

"Did you ever hear about who they worked for?" Grace asked.

"No," Marcie said. "All I know is that they were always paid in cash. Kyle would buy me lots of presents with the money."

"He liked giving you presents?" Grace said.

"Yeah," Marcie said with a nervous smile. "He said he liked giving me nice things."

Grace's eyes narrowed. "Marcie, did Kyle beat you?"

Marcie looked at her cup in misery. It was all the confirmation that Grace needed. "Why didn't you go to a shelter, Marcie?"

"He said he'd kill me if I ever left him," Marcie whispered. "But he always apologized. He'd buy me presents and tell me he didn't mean to hurt me."

"Where is Kyle now, Marcie?" Grace asked.

"I don't know," she said. "He told me he had to go away on business for a week. He said that he'd probably make enough money that we could go on a trip or I could get my boobs done."

"Is that something you wanted?"

Marcie looked down again. "He said he wished I had bigger boobs," she said shakily. "He said he'd pay for the operation. I guess it wouldn't be so bad. It might be kinda fun, I don't know. And maybe it would make him happy."

"Happy enough to stop beating you up, you mean," Grace said. "Marcie, you know it's not going to stop. One day he'll beat you so badly that you never recover. You know that, don't you?"

Marcie sobbed loudly and managed a tiny little nod.

"Why did you come here, Marcie?" Taylor said, sitting next to the woman and taking her hand. "What made you decide?"

Marcie accepted a tissue from Grace and blew her nose. "Mr. LaPaglia didn't show up for a meeting with Kyle on Monday night. Kyle freaked out, he started making all these phone calls. He left quickly and didn't come back until Tuesday morning. He told me he was going away and told me to pack a bag for him. While I was in the bedroom I overheard him on the phone with somebody, talking about this place. Corporate Rewards. He said that it was the last place LaPaglia had been seen, and that he was going to go over and look. He... threatened the people here."

"What did he say? What were his exact words?" Taylor asked.

"He said, 'I'll cut those fucking bitches up until they tell me what happened.' I didn't like the way he said it - it scared me so badly. I waited until he'd left and then I came over here as quickly as I could to warn you."

"You said you had some information on LaPaglia," Grace reminded her.

"Yes," Marcie said, digging in her purse. "He stayed with us about a week before he disappeared - he said his apartment was being worked on. He threw this in our trash."

She handed Grace a crumpled and stained envelope. Grace smoothed it out delicately to see that it was a cellular phone bill for someone named Arthur Page.

"He called the same number a whole bunch of times," Marcie said. "I thought that might help you. If he - Arturo - was killing people, he needs to be stopped."

"What about Kyle?" Grace asked.

"I don't know," Marcie said, sniffling. "I just don't know."

"This helps us, Marcie," Grace said, gesturing to the bill. "It helps us a great deal. Thank you. It was very brave to come forward the way you did."

"I had to," Marcie said. "It wasn't right."

Taylor helped the frail, terrified woman to her feet and ushered her out of the room. Grace slumped against the wall tiredly. So many women were in Marcie's situation. It made her blood boil, but she had no real target for the anger. Most of it was directed at her husband, the monster who did this to her. But no small part of it was focused towards Marcie herself, for staying in that hellish situation when the best thing for herself was to escape. That's why she'd always hated domestic violence cases. They were so incredibly frustrating. Marcie was getting ready to go back home, to stay with this creature who would beat her and most likely kill her in the end. Like a junkie looking for a fix, trying to get back to that first high and willing to pay the price in humiliation and pain for the search. It made Grace angry just thinking about it.

She was digging in her purse for a cigarette when the door opened again and Taylor and Marcie entered in a rush, slamming the door behind them. Taylor keyed the number pad beside the door for a general alarm.

"What is it?" Grace asked, dropping one hand to the cold grip of her holstered Glock.

"Kyle Harrison," Taylor said. "He's here."

***

Kyle kept his eyes open, scanning the large and airy lobby of the downtown building. It was largely deserted, but the decorative planters and fountains were excellent places to hide security or shooters. Kyle knew this instinctually - because it's what he would have done. He slid his hand into his coat pocket and closed his fingers around the pistol there as he walked towards the very cute brunette at the reception desk who was diligently paging through a copy of Vogue while filing her nails. Kyle allowed himself a brief enjoyment of her looks - she was a sexpot and a half, with long shining brown hair and tits to die for and that unnamable sense of being a firecracker in bed. He forced those thoughts aside easily and got to the business at hand. Bitches were all alike, no matter how good they looked. Besides, if this bitch knew where Arturo was, he'd probably get the chance to get 'up close and personal' with her before it was all over with.

"Hi," the girl bubbled in a high, little-girl voice. "I'm Keri. Can I help you?"

"Yeah," Kyle said. "I'm trying to track down a friend of mine who did some work for you a while back. Arturo LaPaglia. Have you seen him lately?"

The brunette snapped her gum and turned to the computer. "Spell the last name?"

Kyle sighed. "L... A... Capital P... A..."

A strong female voice spoke behind him with an air of being obeyed. "Kyle Harrison," it said, "stand where you are and put your hands where I can see them."

Kyle turned slowly. Another stone cold babe, this time a blonde in a suit that hugged every delicious curve of her body. She was holding a nine-millimeter in one hand and a gold detective's badge in the other.

"Can I help you, officer?" he asked calmly.

"I want to see those hands," she said firmly. To emphasize her point, the long-nailed finger that was resting beside the ejection port curled in, threading itself inside the trigger guard and resting on the trigger. Only eight pounds of pressure between Kyle and a very messy head-shot.

"Have I done something wrong, detective?" he asked innocently.

"Hands!" she said, raising her voice.

"Of course, detective," he said, withdrawing his hands from his pockets.

He exploded in a blur of motion, diving to one side as he brought up his pistol. Grace dove the opposite direction as the two shots ripped through the air where she'd been standing. Harrison snap- rolled behind a planter, coming up in a half-crouch to see where the shapely detective had gone.

He turned, searching the area, when he felt a sharp impact on the back of his head and a hollow, tinny gonging sound. The receptionist recovered slowly, trying to get the large aluminum vase she was carrying in a position to strike again. Even though it had only been a glancing blow, the flimsy vase was dented deep on one side.

Kyle turned on one heel and brought up the pistol. "You stupid cunt..." he muttered.

"NO!"

The shriek was enough to freeze even a hardened veteran like Kyle Harrison in his tracks just for a second. A little figure charged from behind the reception area and launched into his chest, knocking him backwards and causing his shot to go into the ceiling.

The figure had him around the chest and was driving him backwards hard. He saw the stringy dark hair and the bitten-down nails and knew his assailant. He pushed her backwards and leveled the pistol menacingly.

"Marcie, you little fuck-up, what the hell have you done? What did you tell them?"

She stared at him wild-eyed and panting, her flimsy body showing through the thick coat she was wearing. "I'm not going to let you hurt her," she growled.

"So what are you going to do about it, you weak little bitch? Huh? What are you going to do?" he said roughly, deciding in that instant to kill this little pest once and for all.

In answer to his question, Marcie ducked her head and charged again, thumping hard into his broad chest and driving him backwards. He grabbed her hard around the neck, trying to stand her upright so that he could choke the life out of her. His back and head struck something hard, which gave way behind him, and he fell backwards, Marcie still clutching him, into an open, chilly room.

He dimly heard the sound of the door he'd fallen through closing on them with a mechanical-sounding hiss.

"I'm going to kill you, you little whore," he said with a malevolent smile, tossing Marcie roughly against the wall. "You never touch me like that, do you understand me? Never! I'm going to strangle your scrawny neck and then I'm going to fuck whatever's left!"

He lunged at her and caught her neck between his massive hands. Marcie only had time for a little choked scream before she could do nothing but shove ineffectively against his wrists and fight for air.

Kyle was on the rush - the near-orgasmic euphoria that came from killing. He'd tasted it the first time when he'd served in the Gulf and had known in that instant that he'd have to feel it the rest of his life. It was like the most intense drug or the best sex he'd ever had. His penis hardened in anticipation as his hands tightened. Marcie's eyes were full of the most delicious fear he'd ever known.

And that was when the Music hit him.

***

"Marcie," the voice said to her, coming from someplace deep within the comfortable, warm music that was enveloping her in its soft embrace. "Marcie, can you hear me?"

"I hear you," she mumbled. The vise-like pressure on her neck was gone, but her throat still hurt and her voice sounded like a rasp.

"You're all right now, Marcie. You're safe."

"I know," she said. "I don't know how I know, but I know."

"That was a very brave thing you did back there, Marcie. You should be proud."

"I was so scared."

"That's what courage is, Marcie. Bravery has nothing to do with not being afraid. It has everything to do with controlling that fear and doing what needs to be done."

"I couldn't let him kill that beautiful girl," Marcie said.

"Keri is beautiful," the voice said gently. "And she didn't deserve to die."

"No," Marcie said weakly. "Nobody should have to go through what I've gone through. I can't imagine somebody like her having to live like I live."

"So why do you live like you live?" the voice asked her.

Marcie shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe Kyle is right. Maybe it's because I'm weak and stupid."

The voice didn't let her get off that easily. "I don't think you're telling me the whole story, Marcie."

She rubbed away stinging tears. "I keep thinking he'll get better. He was such a gentleman when we met. He would write me little letters all the time saying how much he loved me. He'd send me flowers for no reason. I felt like a princess in a fairy tale. I'd been waiting my whole life for a man to treat me that way."

"Why didn't you leave when things got bad?"

"I tried, once. He put me in the hospital. He said if he couldn't have me then no one would. I was so scared, but I kept thinking that maybe if I kept trying harder, maybe he'd go back to the way he was when we met. Maybe if I could just be the woman he wanted me to be, then he could love me like he used to."

"You thought it was your fault?"

Marcie nodded. "Whose else could it be?"

"His," the voice said strongly. "Kyle is broken, Marcie. He needs help that you can't give, no matter how you try. He wasn't meant to keep you, not like he is."

"But I love him," Marcie said. "God help me, I still love him."

"Do you love him, or do you love the way he used to make you feel?" the voice asked.

"I... I don't..."

"He used to make you feel like the most special woman in the world, you said. And now he makes you feel like you're weak and stupid, and that all the pain and suffering you've lived through is somehow your fault. Which do you prefer?"

"Like at first."

"Then why, if he can't or won't make you feel that way anymore, do you keep giving him second chances?" the voice asked.

"Because I'm afraid," Marcie said, beginning to sob.

"But you faced him, Marcie. You beat him tonight. You don't have to be afraid anymore."

"He was killing me," she protested. "He had his hands around my throat and he was killing me. I couldn't have stopped him. I wanted to, but I couldn't."

"So you had the strength inside yourself to fight him, but you don't think you have the strength outside?"

"Yes," Marcie said, sniffling.

"Where would that strength come from, Marcie? A self-defense class, or going to a gym?"

"It wouldn't be enough," Marcie said.

"Then what would be enough, Marcie? What would give you the strength to feel safe again?" the voice asked.

***

"What the hell is going on?" Kyle raged, trying to fight against the pillowy restraint of the Music, which held his arms and legs with impossible force.

"You can't fight here," a voice said firmly. "No matter what you do, you can't fight here."

"Bullshit," Kyle growled. "Show yourself. I'll show you a fight."

"I can't show myself," the voice said. "I'm inside you."

"Then I'll tear you out," Kyle said. "Nobody does this to me."

"You're doing it to yourself," the voice said. "You have perfect control of your arms and legs, Kyle. There is nothing stopping you from standing up and walking to that door, or from putting your hands back around Marcie's neck and finishing what you started. It's you who's just sitting there doing nothing. So don't blame me for your weakness."

"Weakness? Fuck you!"

"You're afraid of being weak," the voice said. "It terrifies you, doesn't it?"

"I'm not weak, you son of a bitch," Kyle growled between gritted teeth.

"Then why can't you walk? Why can't you fight me?"

"It's this damned music," Kyle said. "It's squeezing me. Holding me down."

"And you can't fight it."

"I'll find a way," Kyle said.

"What happens if you don't find that way, Kyle? What if the Music holds you here forever?"

"Then I'd be as weak and useless as Marcie over there."

The voice seemed amused. "You think Marcie is weak, Kyle? I don't. She withstood everything you did to her, every time you hit her or choked her or insulted her, she never went away. She always came back. I don't call that weakness."

"She's a stupid little bitch," Kyle said.

"Why, Kyle? What makes her so stupid? You told her that if she left you'd kill her. She didn't want to die, so in order to survive she took everything you dished out and still managed to stay standing. She did what was necessary to survive with the choices you gave her, Kyle. If I had to pick who was the more strong or smart in this scenario, I'd say it was she who was the one who outwitted and outlasted you."

"Fuck you! I own that bitch! She's mine, she'll do what I say!"

"And that is why she pushed you through the door when you tried to kill the receptionist? Because she was doing exactly what you told her to do?"

"Fuck you," Kyle repeated.

"Admit it, Kyle," the voice said. "You can't fight here. It will be easier just to admit it."

"The hell I will," Kyle said.

"What's so hard about it? Admitting the truth about Marcie or sitting here forever, trying to fight music? Marcie didn't have any trouble admitting the truth, and you say she's weak and stupid. I don't see why a big, strong guy like yourself can't do it."

Kyle shook his head. "You're confusing me," he said.

"Just admit it, Kyle. You might find the experience interesting."

"Admit what? That Marcie's not weak? That she's not stupid?"

"No, Kyle. The truth."

The Music swelled to a level that made his eyes want to pop out of the sockets. Kyle pushed the heels of his hands against his temples in pain, sinking to his knees.

"Admit it," the voice said. The Music thundered, and Kyle screamed.

"Damn you! Damn you to hell!" Kyle roared in the face of the Music.

"The truth shall set you free, Kyle," the voice said to him, a whisper in a hurricane.

Tears were ripped from Kyle's eyes as he screamed again, trying to claw the Music out of his brain with his bare hands. A bubbling, pained cry turned his throat raw as he bleated, "She's strong! Marcie's strong! She's... she's..."

The Music abated, the swell gone as soon as it appeared, leaving Kyle on his side in the fetal position as he whispered painfully, "...she's stronger than me."

The assassin began to sob, long pitiful wracking sobs, which began to scour the hate and ugliness out of his soul. Every gasping cry seemed to inch him that much closer to redemption. He thought about Marcie and what he'd done to her, and his heart collapsed. How could he have done that? Was he really such a monster?

"You are a brave man, Kyle," the voice said gently. "It takes a lot of courage to face the truth."

"Oh, God," he breathed. "Marcie..."

"She's fine, Kyle. She's safe and unhurt."

"Unhurt?" Kyle said. "No. Not after what I've done."

"You have a lifetime, Kyle, to sort that out. All you have to do is be strong for her and admit the truth. You can do it, I know you can."

"I don't know," Kyle said.

"Are you afraid, Kyle?" the voice said.

"Yes," the assassin breathed.

"Do you doubt you have the strength to rebuild what you destroyed?"

"I don't even know if Marcie will let me try," he said.

"Do you think you could do it if you had strength like Marcie's?" the voice asked.

"What do you mean?" Kyle asked.

"Think about it, Kyle. Softness always beats hardness. There is no hard mountain that can't be eroded away by the softness of water. Softness always overcomes."

"Softness," Kyle said dreamily.

***

Although it was hardly plausible, it seemed as though Kyle and Marcie opened their eyes at the exact same time, meeting one another's gazes at the exact same moment. There was an instant of hate and anger, but it was subsumed in the great majestic swell of the Music that surrounded them.

"Marcie," Kyle breathed. "Marcie, honey, I'm so sorry..."

"I know," Marcie said. "But you shouldn't have done what you did."

Kyle hung his head ashamedly. "I know. But I did. I can only hope that someday you can forgive me and let me try to make it right."

Marcie's face softened. "Oh, Kyle," she said. "I want to forgive you so badly, but you've apologized for what you did so many times and not meant it."

"I know," Kyle said. "And I know you won't believe it's different this time, either. But - if you're willing to give me the chance - I will prove it to you. I promise."

Marcie smiled, rising to her knees. "Come here," she told him, holding her arms wide.

Kyle scrabbled to his knees roughly, half-crawling across the tiled floor of the anteroom to be with the woman he truly did love. As he crawled, his body lost its rough edges and became rounder and softer. His bones shrank a little, making his arms and legs seem much longer than they were before.

"What?" Kyle asked, looking down at himself as the little swell of his pot-belly retreated into his body leaving only smooth, hairless flesh stretched taut over a slender but well-muscled abdomen.

"Oh my God, Kyle," Marcie said, trying to stand. She had a little difficulty - it seemed that her feet were huge and she was having a little trouble getting her balance. The muscles along her thighs and calves were swelling rapidly, pushing out against her skin and becoming rock-hard. She stumbled backwards against the wall as her chest expanded enough to rip the fabric of the little sundress she'd been wearing. Her breasts looked positively tiny and the nipples shrunken and denuded as the muscles of her chest and abdomen swelled and hardened. Almost as she watched, a fine mat of curly brown hair began to sprout across her chest and in a long, skinny 'treasure trail' from her navel to her pubic area.

"What's happening?" Kyle said, his voice breaking like a teenagers from a low register into a high falsetto. But for a moment, it didn't sound like a man trying to sound like a woman, but rather a woman trying to sound like a man. His neck was becoming long and slender, the kind that begged to be kissed. Kyle sat backwards hard, his long slender fingers splaying on the tiles as his rapidly enlarging butt spread out underneath him. He stared in wonder as all the hair on his arms, chest and legs began to pale and wither until he was hairless except for a downy patch of fur just above his penis, which now looked positively meager.

"I don't know," Marcie said, feeling a very strong urge to protect Kyle. "But it's going to be okay, Kyle. Don't worry."

"I'm not worried," Kyle said strongly in a very husky alto. The voice was authoritative and strong and very sexy, Marcie thought.

"Kyle, honey - look!" Marcie said in a voice that was thickening and deepening rapidly. She pointed a stubby and thick finger at Kyle.

Kyle looked down just as a thick curtain of very soft-looking auburn hair spilled across his eyes in a fountain of playful curls. Brushing it aside with a very graceful and oddly natural- looking motion, he watched in total numbness as his nipples swelled to three times their normal proportions and became the proud caps on a pair of rapidly rising globes, which rode high on his chest. He put slender hands on them, almost as if trying to hold them back. As he watched his chest swell, he noticed blankly that his fingernails were growing as well. They already overhung his fingertips by nearly half an inch.

Marcie struggled forward to get to him, trying to make sense of her new body mechanics. The arms and legs seemed so much longer now, and the floor seemed so much farther away. Her cheeks and neck itched uncontrollably, and she scratched idly as she tried to stagger across the floor tiles to Kyle. Her short fingernails rasped harshly against her face, almost like she had the stubble of a beard growing on her cheeks, chin and neck.

Then, seemingly in time to the otherworldly rhythm of the Music, the trick of moving this newer, taller body seemed to be something much more natural. By lengthening her stride and swinging her arms more, taking some of the sway from her hips, she was able to manage a much quicker and more economic walk. But something was still missing, she thought as she crossed the floor to where Kyle was crouching, running his long-nailed hands across the delicate, heart-shaped face with the big green eyes which sparkled in the light through long, soft fans of lashes.

That 'something' made itself known soon after. Kyle saw it happen from his vantage point on the tiled floor - the lips of her vagina swelled immensely, hanging down from her crotch. Her feminine slit sealed and the drooping lips seemed to take on a shape as if being filled from the inside. The clitoris, formerly a pea-sized bud nestled in the blossom-like folds of her sex, was swollen and expanding, its length becoming more tubular and sprouting a veined, textured surface crowned with a smooth, purplish head with a familiar 'eye' in its center. The magnificent organ rose smoothly with the little pulsations that Kyle knew so well, standing out proudly from Marcie's groin and throbbing gently. It was a respectable size - Marcie would have nothing to be ashamed of in the locker room - and nestled in a wiry little patch of dark brown hair beneath a very nice set of six-pack abdominals.

Strangely enough, Kyle felt himself begin to feel desire. He reached down between his own legs to see what could be done about this state of affairs only to feel his own penis shrinking and the crest of the head smoothing out, and blending in to the surface of the shrinking appendage. His scrotum was tightening and dividing itself, expanding until it engulfed his penis in the soft tissue. Long, slender fingers still felt his former equipment even as it settled into its new configuration. The fingertip found the small, pea-sized penis, and beneath that the puckered opening of the urethra, and beneath that...

The Music was comforting, but the feeling as Kyle rose to put his smooth cheek against Marcie's broad, hard chest and felt those strong arms close around him left it completely behind. With a subtle fading, the Music whispered one or two more things in their ears before fading away into the air around them.

"I missed you so much, Marc," the woman said, pulling her lover's hard body against her own and burying her face into the soft curls on his chest.

"I missed you too, Kylie," the man replied in a smooth, silky baritone. "I don't want to fight anymore. I'm sorry for whatever it was I did."

"I'm sorry too," Kylie said, pulling her lover's face down to her own in a crushingly passionate kiss. "Let's just forget about it."

***

"She doesn't remember much," Marc Harrison said, watching his girlfriend Kylie sorting through the racks of clothes in one of the many rooms of Corporate Rewards.

"Probably for the best," Grace said, watching her as well. She brushed an elegant hand across Joshua's shoulders as she walked towards the window. "Kyle Harrison was a very sick and troubled man. It's probably better for him that the book is closed on that part of his life. I just wish we'd had some kind of chance to question him."

Joshua sighed. "I could have questioned him through the Music," he said with regret, "but I was in such a hurry to get the situation resolved that I didn't even think about it."

Grace didn't turn around, trying to keep the look of doubt on her face from showing to her lover. She hoped that he was telling the truth, that he was so busy trying to save Marcie's life that he didn't question the assassin Kyle. But it seemed so very convenient, to have the memory of one of LaPaglia's business companions erased. Was Joshua's 'accident' meant to cover something up?

"I hope you find what you're looking for," Marc said, leaning back and putting his feet in a chair across the table where he was sitting. He fished another cigarette from the humidor on the table in front of him and lit it, dragging deeply.

"We'll have your paperwork processed in the morning," Joshua said. "You'll have your bank accounts transferred and all your identity papers changed to match your new personas. We'll send a crew over to your house as well, to get you stocked with clothes and the like."

"There's one problem," Marc said. "Kylie can't very well go back to being a contract assassin, no matter whether her skills are intact or not. And I didn't have a job before this happened. I'm not really qualified for anything. What are we going to do for money?"

"I had a thought there," Joshua said. "We've been having some problems with security lately. We need people who can take care of themselves and watch after the building for us. The hours would stink, but we could pay you decently..."

Marc sat forward, extending his hand. "I'll take it."

"I was actually thinking of you and Kylie both," Joshua said. "We really could use Kylie's 'former' experience as a help to us."

"You can talk to her about it, but I don't see any reason why not," Marc said.

"Great. It's settled," Joshua said, standing. "We'll figure it all out in the morning."

"And I should go be with Kylie," Marc said. "I don't like being apart from her very long. Especially after we've fought - even though I can't really remember why we were fighting."

Marc shook Grace's hand warmly, smiling, and walked through the door. As soon as the door had latched, Joshua took the detective into his arms and pushed a long, passionate kiss on her that partially melted her knees.

"Hi," she breathed, smiling.

"Hi yourself," Joshua said back. "What do you say we head back to my apartment, share a bottle of Chardonnay and swap back-rubs with one another? I'm beat."

She pushed away just a little bit. "I wish I could - God, how I wish I could - but I can't. I have a very early court appearance tomorrow and I have a ton of stuff to do to prepare. Can we make it tomorrow night, honey?"

He kissed her again. "Of course. And every night after that, if you like."

"Mmmm," Grace said. "I do like."

"Tomorrow, then," Joshua said, separating from the embrace and walking to the door. "I'm looking forward to it. I'll meet you here?"

"As usual," Grace said, blowing him a kiss. She kept the smile up until the door shut and then looked at the floor. She hated feeling like this, the feeling like she was lying and betraying someone that she was starting to care so much about.

She slipped the CIA jacket on Joshua Little - received from Taylor Beauchamps shortly after the transformation of Kylie and Marc - from her briefcase and tapped it against the palm of her hand a few times before gathering up her things and heading out the door.

The End of Part Six