Author's Note: No plot, just a brain belching about the relationship of Lynda and Derek.

First Impressions

by Jackie

pixie7@gte.net

Special Agent Derek Laramie stood tall and proud as he rode the elevator to the ninth floor of the E.M. Dirksen Federal Office Building. He got off and walked down the hallway until he came to Room 905. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and walked.

"May I help you?" a brunette asked him. She was wearing a red business suit and sitting

behind a large desk.

"Yes, I'm Special Agent Derek Laramie," Derek answered. "I have a ten o'clock

appointment with Agents Harrison and Travis."

"Please wait a moment." Derek sat in a nearby chair and just waited. About five minutes

later a man wearing a dark grey suit walked into the room. He went over to the brunette and began talking with her. After a few moments, she pointed to Derek. The man smiled, then walked over to Derek.

"Agent Laramie?" he asked.

"Yes?" Derek answered as he stood up.

"Special Agent John Travis," the man shook Derek's hand. "Please follow me."

Derek followed Travis down a maze of hallways. Occasionally, Derek would glance

sideways as he passed an open door, seeing an Agent doing some kind of work. Finally, the two men stopped at the end of a hallway, at a set of double doors marked 'Briefing Room'. Travis opened the doors, and they both walked in.

Inside the room was a long table with chairs. At the end of one side, a man was sitting,

looking at the contents of a manila folder. When Derek and Travis came in the man looked up. He stood up as Derek and Travis walked over.

"Laramie, this is Peter Harrison," Travis said as Harrison shook Derek's hand.

"Please sit," Harrison offered a seat to Derek. Derek sat down. Travis and Harrison

followed. "I've been reviewing your records, and I must say they are exceptional." He picked up some papers from the folder and began reading them. "Graduated Phi Beta Kappa from the University of Chicago, with a degree in Constitutional Law. Minored in Accounting." Harrison read another sheet. "Ranked in the top five percent of the FBI Training Academy." Harrison smiled as he put the papers down and turned to Travis. "He'll be perfect for our little operation, don't you think so, John?"

"I quite agree, Peter. Considering the circumstances, I'd say he's the best option."

Harrison turned to Derek. "Laramie, I realize you have been away from Chicago for over

16 weeks, but have you been keeping up with current events lately? Especially those dealing with two people, Diane Peterson and James Charleston?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Derek answered. "If I recall correctly, Charleston and Peterson

were married. They had a business together, but later divorced because Charleston was found to be laundering money from the company. Charleston was upset over not receiving anything in the settlement, and killed Peterson as a result about . . . a month ago. He also tried to kill his daughter, Lynda, but never succeeded."

"Precisely," Travis smiled. "That's where you come in."

"I don't quite follow," Derek knitted his eyebrows.

"We have reason to believe that Charleston was going after Diane Peterson because of a

disk," Harrison explained. "A disk that contained a program that could unlock any defense security code in the world. It was never recovered during any of our investigations."

"We suspect that the disk was given to Lynda Peterson shortly before Diane was killed,"

Travis finished.

"Has anyone questioned Lynda Peterson about this?" Derek asked.

"No," Harrison answered. "Lynda is not your ordinary person, not someone who you can

just walk up to and question, especially this."

"What do you mean?" Derek asked.

"Lynda - if she does indeed have this disk - will do everything within her power to keep it

from getting away from her. She knows her mother was killed for that disk, she just doesn't know what's on it."

Derek raised his eyebrows. "I'm sure that if we just explain the situation, then -"

"This is the FBI, Laramie," Harrison said firmly. "We need someone who can get close to

Lynda and get that disk from her without her knowledge."

"And you want me to do that?" Derek asked.

"Yes," Travis answered. "You will pose as my twenty-one-year old son, Stafford Travis.

You will work at Harry's Bar and Grill over on Michigan Avenue, as a bartender."

"Is that where Lynda works?" Derek asked.

"No, she currently works at the 27^th District Police Department, in the Detective Division

as a Civilian Aid," Travis answered. "She started working there a week ago."

"Why?"

"Her father works there," Harrison answered as he re-stacked Derek's papers and put

them into the folder.

"Wait a second," Derek said quickly. "I thought her father was in jail for killing her

mother."

Travis and Harrison exchanged a small smile, just as there was a knock on the double

doors. "Come in," Harrison said. The doors opened, and another man, about Harrison's age walked in. He was dressed in a similar suit and carrying a stack of case folders. "Ah, Agent Ford, perfect timing. Agent Laramie, meet Agent Ford." Ford dropped the files onto the table in front of the three Agents, nodded to Derek, then left quickly.

Travis sighed as he picked up the top folder. "Derek, the situation with Lynda Peterson is

more complicated than even we knew about until recently." He opened the file. "After doing a little digging into Peterson's life, we discovered that her mother and Charleston were married five years after Lynda was born."

"So?"

"Interestingly enough," Harrison spoke up, "we discovered that the arresting officer of

Charleston, one Detective Raymond Vecchio, had personal relations with Diane Peterson while they were in high school. In fact, he's Lynda's real father."

"What's so interesting about that?" Derek was starting to get frustrated.

"This particular Detective is not really named Ray Vecchio," Travis said. "His real name

is Stanley Raymond Kowalski. Recently divorced, single. The real Ray Vecchio was put undercover by us and the ATF to infiltrate the Mob in Las Vegas. To prevent his cover from being blown Detective Kowalski is pretending to be Ray Vecchio." He handed the folder to Derek.

"Does Lynda know all this?" Derek asked as he read.

"We believe so, yes," Harrison. "Now, before you begin your assignment, take these

folders back to your home, and look over them. They should answer most of your questions pertaining to the case. You do have a home secured here, don't you?"

"Yes," Derek nodded. "Over on State Street. At the corner of Schiller."

Harrison nodded. "Good. Tomorrow will be your first day on the job. I expect to see

you here at 0700 hours, on the dot. I'm in charge of this investigation, and I don't like people who are late. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Derek said. "One question."

"Yes?"

"If Lynda works at the 27^th District Police Department, then why am I working as a

bartender at this restaurant?"

"We learned that Lynda will be performing there tomorrow night as a singer," Travis

explained.

"She can sing?" Derek asked.

"Apparently." Harrison nodded to Derek as he and Travis stood up. "If you'll excuse us,

we have other matters to attend to. Good day." They left the room, leaving Derek alone. Sighing, Derek closed the folder he was holding, and picked up another one marked 'Peterson, Lynda Anna'. He opened it and gasped.

On top of the files and records was a colored eight by ten of Lynda. Derek just sat, not

saying a word as he stared at her. Her dark blond hair shone like corn silk. Her blue eyes radiated life. Her smile took his breath away. "Whoa," Derek said after what seemed like an eternity. Reluctantly, he took the photo off and began to read about her. "Computer hacker . . . second-degree black belt . . . fluent in ten languages . . . can play piano and guitar . . . loves to read and write . . . photographic memory . . . traveled with mother . . . likes country - hey, what do you know?" He chuckled. Someone else who actually liked country music. "Graduated Valedictorian from high school, finished up freshman year at Chicago University - majoring in Computer Engineering." Hmm, he thought. This could be interesting.

Suddenly, an awful feeling came over him. He just realized that he was going to be going

undercover to use Lynda. He couldn't imagine doing that to her. True, he hadn't known her or met her, but . . . it was like after reading about her, he *did* know her. Suddenly, he felt sick. He got up from the table, left the room, and nearly bumped into Travis. "We need to

talk," Derek said firmly.

"About . . .?" Travis asked.

"I can't do this. I can't use anyone like this. It's not me."

Travis sighed. "Look, I know what we're doing isn't exactly right, ethically, but we need

that information. Someone like Lynda has no use for it."

"That's still no excuse," Derek frowned.

Travis opened his mouth slightly, then smiled. "You like her, don't you?"

Derek blushed. "Well . . . yeah, I guess."

"Look, I understand how you feel, but I think there is a way to make you feel better."

"What?"

"After you get the disk, you can tell her the truth. Now, get busy. You only have

until seven tomorrow morning to get those folders memorized." He left Derek alone.

"But -" It was too late. Derek was left standing by himself. "Great. Just great." Derek

went back in the room to get the rest of the folders.

Derek wiped up a drink that was spilt on the bar. He put the empty cup in the sink to be washed later. He looked at his watch. Seven-fifty. Ten minutes until Lynda was to perform. He stood back and waited, folding his arms across his chest, as he remembered the day's earlier events.

He came into the Chicago FBI Headquarters - reluctantly - and decided to continue on

with the undercover investigation. That's why he became an FBI Agent in the first place: to do stuff like this. 'You can't take your work personally' his instructor had told him. He's right, Derek thought. I don't even know her.

A movement out of the corner of Derek's eye caught his attention. He looked up to see

three men enter the restaurant. Derek recognized all three of them. The one with the blond hair, wearing the T-shirt, jeans, sports jacket, and boots, was Stanley Kowalski - Ray Vecchio, Derek reminded himself. The other one, the Mountie dressed in the brown uniform and carrying a Stetson, was Constable Benton Fraser. Derek still couldn't imagine why a Mountie was teamed up with a Chicago Detective. The third man, dressed in a business suit, was Vecchio's superior, Lieutenant Harding Welsh. Derek watched them as they took their seats near the front of the stage.

Soon, the owner of the restaurant, Harry Prescott, came up to the stage and introduced

Lynda. Derek noticed Vecchio as he spit his drink out after hearing Lynda's name, and nearly laughed. After the applause died down, Lynda strolled out from behind the stage. Derek's heart skipped a beat.

Lynda was even more beautiful in person than in her picture. She was dressed in a

lavender dress with spaghetti straps. On her feet were white flats. Her hair was neatly brushed to one side and held in place with a pearly comb. When the band started the music, Lynda belted out in a voice that Derek could only have described as angelic.

He smiled as Lynda continued with her performance. Once she was finished everyone

cheered loudly as she left the stage, but Derek cheered the loudest. He planned on going backstage to meet her, but Harry kept him working at the bar. The crowd that had been drawn by Lynda's singing was now thirsty. Derek busied himself as he ran back and forth, getting drinks, not worrying about the missed opportunity to see Lynda. He knew there'd be another time to see her.

Especially since her second performance was next Monday.

THE END