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 27th 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 27th 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