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Chapter 1

"Don't give up," a voice whispered softly.

I jerked awake.

I had absolutely no idea where I was. Bright lights intruded the peace of my mind. I squinted my eyes to adjust to the intensity of the lights, but I only saw white. I blinked several times and turned my head to the side.

Beeping monitors surrounded my head and tubes ran from my arm to an IV bag. I was in a hospital. I was lying in a bed with stiff white sheets and metal railings.

And I was alive.

The beeping sped up as my heart rate picked up. Relief spread through me, tingling my fingers and toes. My breath caught in my throat as the pain swelled in my side. I whimpered slightly as my fingers reached down to touch the wound. My entire midsection was tightly wrapped in gauze, but I could see a dark red stain that had seeped through.

The clicking of high heels echoed down the hospital hallway, slowing as they got closer to my room. A million questions flooded my brain. Where exactly was I? How long had I been here? What the hell had happened?

A woman entered my room. She was tall and willowy, with her salt-and-pepper hair sensibly styled. Her white lab coat pinned her as a doctor.

A look of relief spread over her face when she saw me.

"Finally woke up, did you?" she said as she bustled over to my bed, fiddling with the machines next to me.

I breathed in deeply as I could feel the questions fight their way to the top. I choked, and started to cough violently. Pain seared from every part of my body, and my eyes filled with water. The doctor turned to me with a concerned look and shuffled closer to the bed.

When the coughing subsided, I managed to rasp, "Where am I?"

The woman picked up a clipboard that was lying on the small bedside table next to me. She muttered something incomprehensive, and then looked up at me.

"St. Mary's," she replied.

I cleared my throat and attempted to nod. At least I knew where I was. St. Mary's hospital was about ten minutes from my small apartment.

Giving me an evaluating look, the doctor bent down to scribble something on the clipboard.

"What's your name, dear?" she asked, sounding interested.

I looked up, startled.

"Um, Alex," I breathed out, "Alex Greene."

She continued to write, leaving me there to stare at her with a bewildered expression pasted on my face.

I blinked and asked, "What happened to me?"

The doctor threw me a curious glance, and said, "You don't remember anything?"

"No."

She sighed and perched herself uncomfortably in the plastic chair beside the bed. She clasped her hands together and her eyes rose to meet mine. Hers were a proud, hazy gray with dark flecks in the iris.

"Well, Ms. Greene," she began, "I don't know the particulars. You were brought in through the E.R. The nurse at the desk told me a man had brought you in, carrying you."

I coughed, "Carrying me?"

She pursed her lips and went on. "We don't know who he was, and he left before we could get his name. He only said that you had been stabbed on the boardwalk by 5th Avenue."

Stabbed. The memory of the night sky falling on me as I clutched my side raced back. Swallowing, my hand touched my side.

"You almost died, dear," the doctor said, her look softening as she watched me start to remember.

"What day is it?" I questioned, wanting desperately to get away from the subject.

"November 8th. You've been unconscious for three days."

Three days. My boss was going to kill me.

Gathering some strength, I struggled to prop myself up on the flat pillows.

"When can I get out of here?" I asked, giving the woman a slightly pleading look.

"When we finish our examinations. We just want to make sure there is no permanent damage to the internal organs," she replied, standing up and straightening her white coat.

I closed my eyes when I felt the pain increase and a wave of nausea rose up inside me. The smart clicking of high heels told me the doctor had left.

For the next few hours, I went in and out of consciousness. When I was asleep, the visions of what I had thought were my last moments haunted me. When I was awake, I stared at the sterile white walls, alone and helpless. I sighed and resented the fact that no one had come to see me. I had thought that I had had a couple of friends who cared enough to stop by after I had gotten brutally stabbed.

Shifting to the left, my arm pressed against the bed's railing. I welcomed the cool sensation it brought to my skin.

The heels were echoing down the hallway again, and the same doctor poked her head in.

"All set to go. Is there anyone we can call to come pick you up?" she said, coming into the room.

I watched as she disconnected the tubes from my body. She opened her mouth, and then shut it after some internal debate.

Her back turned to me, she said, "I've never had a patient as strong as you. You pulled through much quicker than I could have ever expected. Well," she spun around to face me with a pile of clothes in her arms, "here are some clothes for you to wear, Ms. Greene."

I nodded weakly and she walked out of the room. The door shut softly behind her. Her voice was hushed as she talked to someone outside the room. Pulling on the drawstring sweatpants two sizes too large and slipping the faded red t-shirt that read "Howlers" over my head almost made me feel human again. My side throbbed dully, and I suddenly wondered if they had given me painkillers.

My jaw clenched and I gritted my teeth in an effort to suppress the dizziness as I made my way to the door, slowly but surely. I grasped the doorknob when I reached it, feeling proud I had made it this far. I opened it, squinting as the bright lights from the hallway dazzled me. When my eyes adjusted, I saw many pairs of eyes turn to look at me. I quickly looked down, avoiding their gazes, and moved toward the front desk. Guess they heard about the girl who got stabbed on the boardwalk.

"Alex Greene checking out," I said to the frail nurse when I reached the desk."

Her eyebrows rose high, and I thought they might retreat all the way into her soft gray hair. "Already, Ms. Greene?"

Disbelief and wonder laced her tone, the intensity surprising me.

"Um, yes?" I replied, with a hint of doubt in my voice.

The nurse turned her head away and clacked her fingers on the keyboard positioned in front of her. "But you were admitted three days ago in critical condition."

I gave her a blank look, hoping she'd drop it. After six full seconds of staring at me, she nodded curtly, and turned back to the computer screen.

"Dr. Hart has a prescription for some painkillers waiting for you in the pharmacy, Ms. Greene. Just sign the release form, here," the nurse slid a packet of paper across the counter and held out a pen. I took it and signed my name neatly. I noticed my hand was trembling.

The nurse stood and walked to the filing cabinet near her desk. She tucked the paper into a folder, and came back to me.

"You're free to go," she said, her eyes narrowing as she surreptitiously gave me a look-over.

Taking a breath, I walked awkwardly down the white hallway. Nurses rushed passed, a couple was leaning against the wall, the woman crying softly into the man's chest. The last time I was in a hospital was when I was seventeen and had broken an arm in a car accident. The hallways had been still and calm where I was getting my arm patched up. I guess I was in the more critical care part of the hospital.

Before reaching the pharmacy, I ducked into the women's bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face until it started to get numb. Raising my face high enough, I peered at the reflection in the mirror. My hair glinted a deep brown in the florescent lights, tumbling down around my shoulders. My gray eyes had dark circles under them, and my cheeks held absolutely no colour. I frowned at myself, and left.

The man at the pharmacy desk handed me my painkillers, and asked, "Can I help you?" to the next person in the line. I was incredibly thankful that he didn't ask me any questions. I had more trouble with the people in the lobby of the hospital. A group of elderly women cast me interested looks, and began muttering amongst themselves. A young girl looked up at me as I passed by her, her eyes following me out the door.

When the cool breeze hit my face, I breathed in as deeply as I could. The faint scent of salt made its way to my nose. A small smile spread across my face. I always wanted to live by the sea. It was the single most relaxing, most amazing thing on the Earth. As a kid, I would beg my parents to bring me to the sea each vacation. I would just sit there on the cliffs, listening to the sea roar for hours at a time.

A car honked. The sound brought me back to my senses. I glanced at the city spread out in front of me. San Francisco in the daytime was a mess, with cars beeping at each other every ten seconds and people rushing around in their daily lives.

Normally, I would take the subway to the nearest destination and walk from there, but I decided against because of my weakened state. My hand automatically reached down into a pocket to check for money. A sharp jolt went through me as I realized I had none. I had nothing but I ragged t-shirt and sweatpants. Great. I couldn't even take the underground because my monthly pass was still in my handbag, which was lying on my bed.

I turned left and pushed my way into the crowd. Shopping bags full of expensive merchandise smacked into my thighs as I fought my way through the commotion. I looked up to see a cloudy sky hovering above looming business buildings, a hint of sunshine peeking through. The small sliver of light was reassuring, and suddenly walking home didn't seem all that bad.

I made it to my apartment building in less than forty-five minutes. I looked up at the withering brick walls, with cement steps leading up to the door. I punched in the code on the tiny digital keypad the owner had installed for "safety purposes". I didn't think the code 1234 was going to keep out the bad guys.

Climbing the stairs slowly to the third floor, I grunted in pain as I stumbled on a step. I reached my door and stopped in front of it. I didn't have my key. Resigned, I took a step to my neighbor's door across the small, dimly lit hall. Oh, this was going to be fun.

I knocked twice, and the door was yanked open by a tall, handsome man. A smile stretched across his face, making his blue eyes twinkle.

"Alex! What are you doing knocking on my door?" he asked in a pleasant, rumbling voice.

"I need my key back," I said quickly, looking down at the doormat.

His eyebrows rose, mocking me. "Lose yours?"

"Just give it to me, Vince," I said, letting out a breath.

He chuckled, but reached for his keys on the wooden table next to the door. He turned his eyes to me, glancing over my outfit. His expression quickly became serious.

"You don't look so good," he said, holding my key in his hand.

I glared at him, and then eyed the key that he held. "Yeah. Rough week."

"What happened?" Vince asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

Stabbed. Unconscious for three days. Had to walk home in uncomfortable shoes. Forced to talk to you.

"Nothing," I replied, holding out my hand. He hesitated before he dropped the key into it. I curled my fingers around the small piece of metal, and turned to my door.

A warm hand touched my shoulder gently. "Tell me," he inquired softly.

Hearing the click of the latch releasing I turned to Vince with my hand on the door handle. His eyes were creased with worry, giving me a moment of unwanted warmth in my chest. Frustrated with myself, I walked into my apartment.

"No," I said, and shut the door right in his face.

Cc:Tommyjidex1 khennykhay Johnspurgeon014 skillful01 boladex1 johluv bibi294 maryclaire1 auric forzarush mariamalheri emmyn nastynic honourable356 tusinsola missmossy atayis mobecs ayoxelee arrestdarrester mzdee01 zika19 emmotion iamloyalty princessadeola aminatope247 prettyrose daniluv2k4 funnyfun alarmednigerian bibijay123 surestg evajael hadampson stephengee12 ashatoda yommy20 chinnybaby99 yorhmienerd blissfuljeff chidozeze jamieoyel pweetywizzy mummyimadeit sikells mzztega rchilee kaytash kimberlywest silensa bleeze2 precial419 kimkardashian elzionista mickeysho phetto countrygirl ayomicome olamega78 dmssy cindymorgan petitchouchou dview001 toyin223 rachealfst yewande1234 tenderblaze cerowo dinabbella favouritetega ikombe chidozeze chisiudeh Lleigh boffinjay donkelz ebonyqueen001 wizsolzy queenjuli solomonbrown64 divepen1 lankyannie maltaleeza mikesmd queenitee samexdx debbcy misselocon meneski flakkydagirl nawtielizzie oyindawealth donteanz damynj vakjay08 welcome onboard fam…

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Shola and Alex stood in the living room, the ceiling light showing how decrepit this room really was. A flock of police pickups flashing red and blue lights lit up the alley below. Several news vans pulled into the alley, spewing forth reporters and cameramen.

The uniformed officers led Agbolo away in handcuffs, while paramedics tended to Daniella Dumebi. The dead kidnapper, covered with a white sheet, was carried out on a stretcher. Alex turned away and looked out the window, watching the commotion below.

"What's all this about?" Shola said, when she pushed toward the window. "Oh wait, I know. It's because we're awesome."

Shola insisted on giving thumbs up to each officer that passed by. The few that didn't return the gesture ignored her. Daniella Dumebi as led outside, her head down, surrounded by a gaggle of police officers.

"Shola," Alex said, not turning away from the window. "Do you have any idea of who we just rescued?"

"She's some kind of idol, isn't she?" Shola said.

A stout uniformed officer stood at the door, knocking on the pine door to get their attention. "Detectives? The chief is outside. He wants to see you two."

"Can he come up here?" Alex said, but Shola had already rushed downstairs. Alex grimaced and followed behind.

Shola marched outside with a triumphant grin. Cameras and microphones were thrust into her face. The reporters did their annoying shtick of all talking at the same time, producing a cacophony of banal questions that dissolved into a stew of incoherence.

"Ms. Oladapo! What were your thoughts when-"

"-discover the location-"

"-expect a reward?"

"Oh, it's all in a day's work," Shola said, deciding to press on through with whatever popped into her head. "We were outnumbered, see, five of them had AK-47s. There was this big shrine in the middle of the room with some human heads and we had to fight a ghost. Alex was screaming, 'Don't touch it oh!' but I knew that if-"

"Hey!" One of the reporters said. "It's the Boss lady!"

Oh great, Shola thought. She smirked as she watched Alex exit the building, heading straight for the chief. She kept her head high and her path straight, not answering the reporters' prodding questions.

"Alex, how'd you do it?"

"Show us your gun, Boss lady"

"Why do you get a nickname and I don't?" Shola said, when Alex had caught up with her. "I'm so much more cooler than you."

"It's a lazy nickname," Alex said, as they both headed across the street toward the chief. She had gotten it when an image of her totting a machine gun surfaced online. Police officers began to make a perimeter around the two detectives, keeping the reporters out. "What do you want your nickname to be?"

"Shola, Destroyer of Worlds!"

"Fitting," Alex muttered. They reached the chief and saluted.

Chief Frank was a tall, stocky man, who had all of his black hair despite being in his late fifties. He was wearing a gray suit with a vest, topped off with a fedora. The chief had the right combination of age and looks to pull off that look without coming across as pretentious.

He saluted his two investigators. His face, carved from granite, had a nose that would fit a hawk hunting for mice.

"Detectives," he said, in his gruff voice, "you have performed a valuable service tonight. I thank you for your dedication to protecting the innocent and fighting crime. Tonight, I have a special guest who would like to thank you in person. I am honored to present to you Senator Femi Johnson, our representative in the House of Assembly," The last part he added for Shola's benefit, hoping to prevent her from doing anything stupid (which, right now, was asking why he had two last names).

A hush settled over the crowd like morning dew blanketing a lawn. The tall, lean Femi Johnson, immaculately dressed in a bespoke English suit, approached the two detectives. The patched up Daniella stood next to him, looking downward like a fading flower. Femi was at least 6 ft tall, and flashed his boyish and charismatic smile that helped him win enough votes to become the youngest representative ever voted into the House.

He looked at Shola, thought better of it, and looked at Alex, "Detectives," he said, in his rich voice, "I am proud to have such fine members in my constituency's police force. I thank you for rescuing my secretary-"

A light bulb lit in Shola's head.

"-by going above and beyond the call of duty. Your tireless devotion to the cause of justice is an inspiration to us all. I thank you both from the bottom of my heart."

He bowed deeply, and Shola and Alex both responded with their own bows. A cheer went up from the police, and the reporters readied their mics to feed. Femi and Alex broke their bow to shake each other's hand. Alex nudged Shola to break her bow, so she could shake hands as well.

The police perimeter broke and the reporters lunged on Femi Johnson, flinging questions about the upcoming re-election, domestic issues, the kidnapping, and the rumor about him becoming the Vice President. Femi smiled and waved while black suited bodyguards, rushing them toward their waiting vehicle, surrounded him and . Daniella kept looking back at Shola and Alex. Her mouth opened and closed, and she slid into the limo with her boss.

"Break this garbage up," the chief said, and the uniformed cops began shooing away the reporters. Chief Frank faced his detectives. He looked at Shola, thought better of it, and faced Alex.

"Great work," the chief said.

"Hell yeah we did great!" Shola said, speaking for Alex. "Did you see me shoot that guy? He had a Gatling gun-"

"Shola, get rid of those pants," he said, pointing at them with a hirsute finger. "What the hell? I mean really, what the hell? And stop lying to the reporters. I'm going to have to ask them not to use your interview footage."

"Oh come on chief, they aren't that bad," Shola said. She reached down and zipped up her pants.

The chief pulled out a bottle of antacids. He opened the bottle and tossed several tablets into his mouth. He chewed them thoroughly before continuing.

"And furthermore, you can stop reporting on-" he pulled out a piece of paper dotted with hastily scribbled kanji. "-Ms. Alli. We know you have a grudge against her, and anyway we've been disregarding your traffic reports for months. You guys got a lot of paperwork, so get on that before you start helping out the Area F"

"Area F?" Shola said. "That's in Surulere."

"Thanks for the geography lesson," the chief said. "Don't worry, it's temporary. Two of their detectives got arrested on corruption charges, and they need some backup until they rehire. It shouldn't be longer than a month. I'm sure you'll be able to juggle an extra district. You'll still be reporting to me."

"That's not much of an award," Shola said. "You saw who we rescued, right? Femi Johnson's secretary! Our senator!"

"You didn't know who you rescued until just a couple of minutes ago, Oladapo," the chief said. "But if you want a reward, I tell you what. You two get the next two days off."

"Nice!" Shola said, flinging her fist into the air.

"Although showing some initiative by finishing the paperwork will be noted. Dismissed," he said, with a wave of his hand. He turned and walked toward the crowd of reporters to shame them into going back home, calling them vultures and other unsavory terms relating to a lack of moral character.

Alex tapped Shola on the shoulder. "Let's go," she said.
...

The Civic Type-R was cruising along at legal speed, as Alex was taking Shola to her apartment. They had remained silent since getting in.

Shola finally spoke. "Notice anything dodgy about that kidnapping? Something completely out of the ordinary?"

"I've never seen kidnappers so eager to kill their hostage," Alex said. "Usually they plead or try to negotiate a release, or attempt escape. These guys went into instant kill mode. There was something they didn't want to get out."

"Eh? What are you talking about? I meant that they used gaffers tape instead of duct tape to tie her to the chair. Who uses gaffers tape? Do they have some agenda against duct tape? It's a conspiracy by the duct tape-industrial complex, I'm telling you."

Alex frowned. "I wonder what antacids the chief uses?"

"Oh? And what does that mean?" Shola said, fixing Alex with a mock angry stare. "Seriously though, yeah… they instantly tried to kill the hostage. And did you see how she kept looking at us when she got into the limo? I think she wanted to tell us something, but was afraid too. She had been trying to tell us something the instant you took that handkerchief out of her mouth."

"I noticed," Alex said. "It's out of our hands, though."

...

Alex parked and locked the Civic as she and Shola skulked toward their target, a simple two-story building housing apartments above and a bar below. They were in a red district in Allen where businessmen would drink themselves into a stupor before either taking a ride home, taking a girl home or being taken home by a prostitute. The place was full of middle age men with loosened ties and untucked shirttails, staggering from one bar to the next.

The tall and skinny Alex was the model of detective chic, wearing a black suit cut exactly to her measurements. She wore a white French-cut shirt with YBNL cufflinks. Alex chose that cufflink design because she was heavily into first wave hip hop music, especially african.

Shola was modestly dressed, but in her haste to make it on time, she grabbed a pair of slacks with a malfunctioning zipper. She zipped it up with no hint of modesty, astonishing and delighting the drunks staggering in the street. She also wore her green cloth trench coat, which had a multitude of pockets holding whatever police approved (and unapproved) devices she needed to do her job. Most important to her was that it held her wooden baton.

They made it to the building and entered the bar, heading toward the steps leading upstairs. In the bar was a businessman standing on a table, yelling at the laughing faces gathered around him. He had a tie wrapped around his head and had somehow been liberated of his pants.

A creaky air-conditioner leaking cold, stale air greeted the duo as they ascended the stairs.

"Geez," Shola whispered. "It's almost October."

"Don't think this is ever turned off," Alex said.

They made their up the stairs, with Shola occasionally checking behind her to make sure they weren't being tailed. Alex drew her gun when they entered the second floor.

"Why can't I have a gun?" Shola said.

Reciting from memory, Alex said, "flagrant and intentional misuse, destruction of property, danger to life-"

"I know all that," Shola hissed. "What I mean is, why ca-"

Shola was cut off by a door opening directly behind her. A middle-aged lady emerged and saw the skulking detectives. Her face stiffened into a display of great alarm.

Shola pulled out her badge. She put a finger on her lips and whispered, "Police business, please get back inside."

The woman immediately backed into her apartment and shut the door, locking every lock she had.

Shola and Alex continued down the hall, walking on the ratty brown threadbare carpet, each step raising a mini dust storm. The smell of mildew grew stronger. Alex put up a hand and stopped Shola from moving.

"Here's the door," Alex whispered. "Don't step in front of it. Peep hole." Alex bent down and walked to the other side. Shola crouched and reached into her trench coat. She pulled out a fiber optic scope, a rare device she acquired for herself and placed it under the door, peering into it.

Shola scanned the room. "It's clear," she said, "except for a light in the kitchen."

Shola pocketed her scope and crouched in front of the door, facing the doorknob. She reached into her trench coat and pulled out her lock-picking kit, a sight that always bothered Alex to the point of annoyance.

"How did you ever learn enough patience to use that thing," Alex whispered, her pistol at the ready.

"Remember when Ngozi made that stupid rule about not stealing food from her?"

"The one you ignored?"

"Yeah, that one." Shola slowly worked the lock. Normally, she would have this sort of thing unlocked in less than a minute. However, safety of the hostage was priority, so Shola had to make use of two of her hated enemies: stealth and patience.

"She got a new desk and she put her snacks in a locked drawer," Shola said. "She even mocked me about not being able to get them."

"Well, those were her snacks. Keep it down."

"Yeah," Shola said, working the lock. "But it's how she said it. It pissed me off so much that I put in for a lock-picking kit, and when I got it, I would practice on cars in the parking lot. When I got it right, I broke into her desk and cleaned her out of every snack she has. It was awesome."

"Hmm," Alex said. A bead of sweat formed on her forehead. She was afraid that Shola would get loud at any moment.

"You know what I did to her today?" The lock clicked before she could finish. Shola slowly revolved the door handle and nudged open the door. Alex eased in through the opening, and Shola followed behind. She stuffed her lock picking kit back into her coat, and pulled out her baton.

The living room was dark and smelled of dust. Cushions were scattered on the stained arabian mat partially covering the floor. A table was in the middle of the mat, and an old TV was in the corner. The kitchen light was on, and Alex counted the voices.

"It sounds like two," Alex whispered.

"I'll go first," Shola said, pointing at the kitchen with her baton. "You cover me."

"Okay," Alex said. "Sneak up on-"

"Police! You're under arrest!" Shola shouted, and she lunged into the kitchen.

A young woman with a handkerchief stuffed in her mouth was tied to a chair. The two kidnappers crowded around the kitchen table, eating a rice dish. They were startled, but not startled enough to lose their sense of self-preservation. Both jumped out of their chairs.

Shola struck a heroic pose, and pointed her baton at the one she decided to name 'Agbolo' because of his shiny scalp. "Hooligan! In the name of a just and verdant soc-"

"Kill the hostage!" Agbolo shouted to his co-kidnapper. He whipped out a chain and struck at her baton. The chain wrapped around her baton and he pulled it out of her hand. Fortunately, Shola had long since been introduced to this trick. While he was pulling away her wooden baton, his lips curling back in assurance of victory, Shola lunged forward and kicked him hard in the nuts eliciting a blood curdling scream.

At the same time, the other kidnapper brandished a knife and grabbed the hostage's head, pulling it back to deliver the killing slice to her throat.

Alex rushed into the kitchen and fired two precision shots that severed the potential hostage killer's spirit from his body, in addition to carving out a portion of his head. His body fell to the floor, and the hostage shuddered from the violence of his death.

Shola surveyed the damage. "Look at that! That was what, five seconds? Three? And we got them all?" She stepped over Agbolo, who was moaning in pain. She picked up her baton and slammed it down on the back of Agbojo's neck. He slumped forward, groaning. She grabbed the chain and unwrapped it from her baton. "I can't believe you did that to Sword," she said.

"I wish you'd name that thing something else," Alex said. She forced herself not to look at the dead kidnapper, instead focusing on the hostage. Alex leaned in front of the hostage and removed the handkerchief from her mouth. "Daniella Dumebi"

"Yes," Daniella said. She lifted up her head to reveal soft brown eyes that could drain hate from a Klansman, and a chin that could cut diamonds. Tears had dug canals into her face, shed in fear over the last three days. New tears were forming, but of relief and joy. "T-thank you so much. I was… just…"

"It's okay," Alex said. She took out her pocketknife and cut Daniella's bonds.

"Yeah, no need to thank us," Shola said. "It's what we do. Did you see me kick that guy? Totally awesome, huh?"

"You don't have to answer that," Alex said, seeing Daniella's confusion.

"Hey, Alex, " Shola said, pointing at the table. "They were eating Jollof rice! I am so going to have that tonight."

Alex finished cutting free the hostage. Daniella stood up and rubbed her wrists. She glanced back and forth between Shola and Alex. Her mouth opened slightly as if to say something, but she sighed and closed it.

Shola slapped a pair of handcuffs on Agbolo, who was still lying on the dirty floor. She saw Alex pocket her knife. "Hey, why can't I have knife- don't answer that!" Alex pulled out her police radio and reported in to headquarters, while Shola opened the fridge and rummaged through its paltry contents.

...

A screaming comes across the asphalt.

An unmarked police car, modified beyond its already considerable specs, snarled as it fought through the night traffic. Blaring sirens and flashing lights would normally be warning enough to get out of the way, but the supercharged screaming from the engine, echoing from building to building, made even the most sluggish drivers quickly duck out of the way. A startled pedestrian, gasping and putting a hand over her fluttering heart, wondered who was crazy enough to drive this fast on the crowded freeway.

There was no crazy behind this wheel; it was Alex. She needed no instructions on how to push her car to the limit or the quickest way to the hideout – but her partner offered them anyway.

"Left!" Shola shouted. "Turn left! Left left left-"

"I know," Alex said. She flung the white Honda Civic Type-R into a maneuver that would make Michael Schumacher blanch. The car cut through the Ikeja lit night like a secretary sliding a knife through an envelope: with bored precision and no fanfare.

"Faster! You heard the threats, they'll kill her!"

"Calm down," Alex said, weaving the car in and out of traffic like a young Mike Tyson dodging punches. Alex displayed consummate skill in handling the growling souped-up Civic, shifting gears with a deft touch of the gearstick and turning corners with a smooth turn of the wheel. Alex's calm dismissal of the whirlwind of destruction sitting next to her highlighted her skill and control, especially now, as Shola asked for something no just and loving God would ever wish upon his creation.

"Let me drive," Shola said. "You aren't going fast enough. Pull over!"

"Can't."

"Come on, why can't I drive?"

Alex zoomed through a yellow light, and dug through her memory for the phrasing from Shola's vehicular probationary notice. "Excessive damage to vehicle, massive destruction to property, danger to life-"

"I know all that," Shola said, slapping the dashboard with her hand. "What I want to know is, why can't-" her words were cut off as Alex executed a sharp turn around Obafemi Awolowo's roundabout, knocking Shola's head into her window.

"Ow," Shola said, rubbing her head. She caught a glimpse through her window of a familiar beat-up car, and instantly forgot her pain.

Shola grabbed the police radio microphone. "This is DetShola Wale reporting multiple traffic infractions," and then she rattled off the license of the beat-up car, its make and model, and its last known heading. The first two she knew by heart. She knew the driver too, but didn't name her. There's no need to arouse suspicion.

"There," Shola said, as she hung up the mic. She leaned back with her hands behind her head in a self-satisfied pose. This was hard to do when her partner was going forty kilometers faster than the surrounding traffic on a cramped street.

"Did you just report your old secondary school teacher? Again?"

"Yep," Shola said, sporting her patented look of smug accomplishment.

"You sure hold a grudge," said. "Maybe it's time to let it go."

"This isn't a grudge! She's a menace to law-abiding pedestrians everywhere! I'm doing her a favor, if you think about it. I'm keeping her off of the streets so she can contemplate and repent of her past crimes."

"Past?"

"Uh…" Shola said. "I meant present, of course. Heh heh."

"I see," Alex said. She turned off the side street into an alley, and quickly executed a left onto the main thoroughfare, a street as wide as the summer sky above Death Valley. There was little traffic to dodge, so she punched the gas. The Civic gave an appreciative growl and surged ahead.

"I still think I should drive," Shola said.

Chapter Two

The Jordan crossing was the site where Joshua, the Son of Nun, had led the Children of Israel over the flooded Jordan River. In that day the Israelites were worshipers of the One True God, and still had in their possession the Ark of the Covenant.

On that auspicious day, when the feet of the Ark-bearers were moistened by the flowing waters, the River parted and the Children of Israel were allowed to pass over on dry ground. That small area of the Jordan was where the 12 Stone Monument stood. Here also John preached as was his calling. As Jesus neared the banks, He could hear one of John's sermons being preached by the Baptist himself.

"Repent! The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand!" he said with a loud voice. "I am the voice of one crying in the Wilderness. Prepare ye the way of the LORD. Make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill made low. The crooked straight, and the rough places plain. And all flesh shall see it together, for the mouth of the LORD hath spoken it."

John-bar-Zachariah. He wore animal skins on his back and had shaggy hair growing from his head and chin. He was the fulfillment of what Malachi said when Elijah would return. Though the true Elijah had been borne away to Heaven without ever seeing death, John was promised to come in the spirit and power of Elijah. He was the return of Elijah for which the Jews had been waiting.

And here he was, clad as a barbarian, preaching the coming of the One True God before the people. Looking out, he saw the people gathered before him. Some, he saw, were the leaders of the people: the priests and Pharisees of the Tribe of Levi. For a long time had they corrupted their office, such he had learned even before his exile into the wilderness from his father, disenchanted with the corruption of the Rabbinical hierarchy.

"Generation of vipers! Who told you to flee from the wrath to come?"

"Do you call us evil?" a Pharisee, who was among those gathered at the banks of the Jordan, asked. "We, who are the sons of Abraham!"

"Bring forth therefore fruits worthy of repentance, and do not be content with saying: 'We are saved because we have Abraham as our father.'" John replied. "I say to you now that God is able to make children of Abraham from these stones! But as for such as you, the ax is at the root of the tree. Those trees that bring forth good fruit shall be replanted in the Garden of the LORD; but those that bring forth no good fruit shall be cut down and cast into the fire unquenchable!"

From the crowd came cries of "What shall we do?" from the lips of the sincere.

"If you have two coats, give one to he that has none." John continued, walking among the people about him. "If you have food enough for two, give some to him that has none." He pointed to a crow of richly-clad middle-class financial workers. "To you publicans and tax-collectors, take no more than what you are assigned to take!" A group of Temple guards, along with some of Herod's soldiers and a few Romans as well - the latter of which were being eyed suspiciously by all but the Pharisees.

"To you soldiers, do not put men in fear of sudden death at your hands, do not falsely accuse others, and be content with your wages!"

"Who are you, Baptist," the Pharisee who first spoke up asked. "that you tell us what we must do? Are you the Messiah?"

"No, I am not the Messiah." John humbly replied. "He is yet to come."

"The prophet Elijah has been promised to return." the same Pharisee stated. "Are you the fulfillment of that prophecy? Are you Elijah come to us again?"

"No, I am not Elijah." Though John was the fulfillment of said prophecy, he himself was not Elijah. This the Pharisee and his cohorts took to heart: they believed, as they taught the people to believe, that Elijah's return would be physical rather than spiritual.

"Then who are you, who has the authority to baptize? A prophet?"

"I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness. As for my authority, I baptize with water; but there is one coming after me. He is so much greater than I, that I am unworthy even to untie His sandals! He is the one who will baptize with the Holy Spirit and with fire! He has His broom in hand, with which He will purge his floor! The wheat He shall take into His storehouses, but the chaff He will burn with fire unquenchable!"

Upon hearing these words, many came to be baptized. Now in the autumn months, of which October is in Israel, the waters of the Jordan River were over-flowing its banks. Therefore John came and baptized them, dunking them completely in the water before taking them out thereof. As he was doing so, Jesus came forth.

"Greetings, John!" Jesus called out to him. Upon hearing this, John looked up and saw Him. Within the heart of this goodly prophet a great burning desire was risen, the likes of which he had only known as a distant memory, existing before his earliest memories.

Surely, he thought, this is the one whose coming I have foretold, and was foretold by the prophets before me.

"Jesus, my cousin." John heartily welcomed. The two of them hugged each other warmly as old friends, there in the midst of the Jordan river. After a moment or two of happiness at their reunion, a solemn silence followed between them.

"Baptize me, John!" Jesus said.

"Why do You ask this of me?" John asked humbly. He knew that, even though he had spent his life in the wilderness, he was still a sinful man. "Shouldn't You be baptizing me? Why do You come to me for this?"

"Let it be so, John." Jesus replied. "We must fulfill all righteousness."

Therefore John consented. After a prayer to God for a blessing on this baptism, John dunked Jesus completely into the waters of the river. As soon as He had come up, light shone from Heaven. In the physical manifestation of a dove, the Holy Spirit came upon Joshua. Many in the watching crowd asserted that they heard a voice from heaven say;

"THIS IS MY BELOVED SON, IN WHOM I AM WELL PLEASED!"

As soon as this was completed, Joshua bade His mortal cousin farewell and left into the wilderness. But even as Jesus was leaving, John called out to those gathered around in a loud and joyous voice:

"Behold the Lamb of God! It is He who will take away the sins of the world! He is the one whom I spoke of, who will come after me, and yet was before me. At first I knew it not, but He that commanded me to preach said that I would see the Spirit of God descend upon Him whom He had chosen! Therefore I now know that He is the Son of God!"

It would be the last time they would ever see each other on Earth.

CHAPTER ONE

The thirtieth brthday began in October, the same month in which He was born. It was not anything especially special to those who lived in that time. Tiberius still ruled the Roman Empire, the Roman Pontus Pilate was still the Governor of Judaea, and Herod Antipas was still the tetrarch of Galilee. But in Heaven, this day was an auspicious day.

On this day, the Savior would turn 30-earth-years old and be ready for His earthly campaign to begin. By this time he had already reached sturdy manhood; His hair was long and soft and golden brown and hung around His shoulders; He had His mother's glorious dark eyes; His muscles were strong from hard work. His face was paler than the skin of most men....

For thirty years since the Savior's birth, guardian angels had been safe-guarding their LORD from any real danger. Now He had to be exposed to real danger so that the Salvation Plan could be accomplished.

That morning Jesus awoke and began His daily chores. Having lived thirty years in human poverty, He always had to do His part around the house and was always a blessing wherever He put His hands to work. But this day would be His last in this house. His work would begin today, and He could not spend one minute of delay. He knew that the Father's Will has to be known by every hour of the day, and no delay must be in the heart of those who are called to do His Will. But there was something that kept Him back from taking up His cloak and staff and walking out the door: His mother.

Though He knew that the only real family He had was the Father, the mortals He lived with had become close to His heart. When Joseph died, He felt the human sense of loss. But He knew eventually, when His mission on Earth was done, that He would return to Heaven and judge those who had died before He began His mission of Salvation. But as for Mary, her death was not to come for another few more years. He knew that she would miss Him and He cared deeply for Her. After He had finished His chores, He found her walking about the small house looking for Him.

"There you are," she said. "Have You finished the morning work?"

"Yes," He replied. "But there is something that weighs on My heart."

"What is it, my son?" she asked, her voice portraying love and concern.

"I have to go." He said. "I must leave you."

Mary who had kept the events of His childhood deep within her heart and thought about what they could mean, finally came to a conclusion. "Is it Your Father's will?"

"No, it is My choice, but it must be done." He said, trying not to make her sad. Even so, He saw a hint of sadness in her eye. "I'm sorry it has caused you sorrow."

"No, no, my son." she said, trying to hold back tears. "You've made your choice."

"But I cannot let you stay all by yourself." Jesus stated, showing His concern for her.

"I'll be fine, son." she replied. "I will stay with James. Besides, God will keep me safe."

He embraced her, and after saying their good-byes, He put on His cloak, took up His staff and walked out the door.

While this was going on inside the house, outside - on the side of the cliff on which the town was built - the Guardians awaited their LORD to come forth from the house. For thirty years - which to them was nothing - they had watched over Him in His mortal form, keeping Him from any major harm. These four - Michael, Gabriel, Raphael and Uriel - chosen by the LORD Himself for His guardians when He executed His grand plan, waited patiently for Him to arrive.

Something did come.

But it was not Jesus

The Forces of Darkness, those third of infinite number of angels whom Satan the Infamous Adversary, had pulled down with him into the pit of darkness. These enemies wanted to foil the great plan.

"I see you have come early." Micheal said to the enemy, as they appeared before him.

"No early than you, foolish one!" growled Azazel.

"Your time is not come," Gabriel stated.

"You forget," growled Mammon. "We are the rulers of this world."

"Yes," hissed Ashtoreth. "This is not the safety of the Kingdom, knaves."

"You forget," Raphael said. "We have the hand of God on our side."

"Oh, really?" a wicked voice asked.

Behind its imps was Satan itself. With the outward form of a fair woman, with twelve black wings, it was indeed a deceptive visage. Those who let their sins rule themselves, would find this thing most delightful to behold. But to those who see sin as it truly is, the beauty of this monster is nothing but bait on a hook that will bring only eternal damnation.

"You must needs remember, naive ones," Satan began. "This is my world. I am the god and lord of this world, elected by mankind's free will. For the past four thousand years, I have laid kingdoms to waste, brought strong men to their knees in weakness, confounded the truth, and covered the entire world in darkness. Although, Michael, is here, you cannot intervene.

"Yes, I know that." Satan added, seeing their shocked looks. "You forget, that I have greater merit of mind and might than any creature in the universe!"

"Yet, there are infinite galaxies beyond the reach of this one that have seen you for what you are, and have joined us," Uriel said. "They prove that there are yet beings who have the strength to overcome you."

"Yes," Raphael added. "Every one of them proves that there is power to defeat you."

"But only by the grace of the Omnipotent One, the Father!" Satan stated. "On this earth - my world - the mortals have weakened His hand by refusing Him! In doing so, the Hand of the Almighty has been shortened, and He is within my control."

"You forget again, old friend," Michael began. "That, in your world, His power has always been. We, through the Almighty's power, kept you at bay while Joseph and Mary traveled to Bethlehem. It was the Hand of the Almighty that protected His Son from every sadistic suggestion you gave to the mind of the mortal puppet Herod. He Himself sent us to protect the Son as He wandered about the LORD's Temple in Jerusalem, teaching the foolish scribes the truth they had so long forgotten!"

"And now, when your commander has become thirty," Satan stated. "The protection must needs be diminished. He will be under my power, and I will send all the Forces of Darkness upon Him, so that He will fear my very presence!"

The words had scarce come from the Devil's mouth, when out came Jesus, dressed for His grand mission of salvation. As if struck by some sudden sting, Satan and its imps retreated into the darkness from whence they had come, vanishing from all sight. It seems, despite all of its talk about how powerful it was on the Earth, Satan was still afraid of the Son.

"My LORD!" all four angels said at once, as they bowed in homage before their commander.

"Stand up, my friends," Jesus said to them.

They arose at His command, not one of them even daring to interject that He deserved the homage.

"I have left the security of their house," Jesus said, motioning back to the house with one hand. "By the way, make sure that you send a cohort of seraphim to watch out for Mary."

"We will!" they all said again.

"Now that I have left their house, I AM not to be guarded as before," Jesus said. "However, if My mission comes into any real danger from the Forces of Darkness, be just within ear-shot."

"Us, and twelve legions of angels shall await Your word!" they all said in unison.

Without any further ado, Jesus turned south, beginning the mission that He had chosen for Himself, and for the salvation of all generations of mortals.

His journey would not be an easy one. All alone He would make His journey; going southward from Nazareth down to the Jordan crossing. Across miles of desert this journey would take: bare mountainsides and limestone ravines where nothing grew; ancient rock tombs everywhere; pebbles and broken stones, emptiness and death.

But this journey happened with no significant interference from the Forces of Evil, and soon Jesus found Himself near the banks of the Jordan River, a welcome sight.

Prologue

Death.

It surrounds us, engulfs us, chases us, and eventually, catches up with us. We watch as it grasps people and pulls them deep into its depths. We know it's inevitable, yet we never expect it to get a hold of us.

As I stared death straight in the face, I couldn't help but think of all the stupid things I'd done. I realized with stunning acuity that I regretted more things then I was proud of. In my twenty-five years, it was the unpleasant memories that flashed before my eyes. Not the happy ones. Not even the corny ones, like winning the spelling bee in third grade. But the bad ones.

That was pathetic.

I gasped in pain as the knife plunged into my right side. The buildings fell and the lights swirled as the world tilted. My cheek pressed into the cold cement, oddly comforting as the heat from my side seeped through my fingers, wet and warm.

Several people screamed. Yells broke through my mind, flooding it with bright sound. I shuddered and my breath came in deep, gasping sounds. I closed my eyes and turned to lie on my back. A cool breeze that smelled of the sea brushed softly against my face. My eyes flickered open for the briefest second, and what I saw was the dark night sky stretched out above me. Stars sparkled above me, beautiful, despite their small size.

Suddenly, everything was collapsing. The sky sped towards me and swallowed me. The burning pain in my side faded away into a dull throbbing. I was sinking into blissful numbness, and at that moment, I knew it was over. I could feel it all around me. My life had come to an end. Somewhere deep inside me, a panic was clawing its way to the surface. I let out a small sigh, wishing it would give up.

I cried out as something pressed into my bleeding side. My mind swam its way back to consciousness with the new burst of pain. I was abruptly aware of the pain coursing through my body. My eyes flew open as a struggled for a breath. The panic that I had suppressed was bubbling up, and it was breaking through the surface. It was making everything worse, and tears began to leak out the corners of my eyes.

"Don't give up," breathed a deep voice next to my ear.

In the darkness of the night, I couldn't see the man's face. I could only see his eyes. They flashed a bright, emerald green in the lights of the street. They were beautiful.

They were the last thing I remembered.

*******************

A/N: I hope you enjoy this! I'll try to update regularly. And please keep commenting! Constructive criticism is much appreciated!

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CHAPTER FOUR

Femi watched with mild interest as Daniella stormed out of his office before rifling through his desk drawers until he found a distraction that caught his interest. Deciding on his iPod, he snatched it out of the drawer and fit the buds into his ears. Scrolling through his large and varied music collection for something to listen to, he smirked as he selected the the song 'Gobe' by Davido. The high energy Afropop singer wasn't his usual fare, but listening to the song 'Gobe' was simply too situation appropriate to pass up. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes hoping he could get a nap in since he hadn't slept well the night before.

He idly wondered how long it would be before someone tried to ruin his morning, most likely by talking to him. It turned out that he had jinxed himself as it would be sooner rather than later as he sighed internally when a rush of cool air alerted him to the fact that someone had opened the door and walked into his office. And by the intensity of the disapproving stare that he could feel through his closed eyelids, he knew it could only be Lukman. After a moments consideration of possible actions on his part and a careful weighing of the pros and cons, he decided to just ignore his friend and reconsider acknowledging him once the next song ended.

It seemed, however, that the good Dr. Lukman was not willing to wait that long, as the music abruptly stopped when the ear buds were pulled from his ears.

"Did you need something?" Femi asked innocently as one eyelid popped open so he could look up at the oncologist.

"What the hell was all that about?" Lukman asked pointing back towards the briefing room, wasting no time getting straight to the point.

"What was what about?"

Lukman sighed internally when he realized the way this conversation was going to go. But he wasn't about to give up on his quest for real answers, even if it meant he was going to have to spend some time digging. "Hmmm, I don't know," he retorted as he scratched his chin in faux thought. "How about when you said that you and Daniella got married last week!" he exploded, spelling it out in big giant neon letters.

"Did I say that?" Femi asked with a guileless look that had no place anywhere near his countenance.

"Well I'm pretty sure that's what it sounded like," Lukman deadpanned.

"Well if that's what it sounded like," Femi replied simply, "then who am I to say otherwise?"
?"

"What are you up to Femi" Lukman asked coolly, crossing over to Femi's desk and leaning over it, both palms pressed against the glass table top.

"What makes you think I'm up to something?" Femi continued to evade easily.

"I always knew… no, I know you like her more than the average immunologist, and more then you would ever actually let on to me, or anyone else in this hospital. But not enough to actually marry her," he replied, the disbelief clear in his voice.

"What can I say, autoimmune diseases get me hot," Femi shrugged helplessly.

"Oh come off it Femi, be serious. We all know that you did not elope with Daniella Dinobi some time in the past week."

"Do we now?" Femi responded, clearly enjoying how flustered his best friend was. "And who exactly are we?"

"Well that's what I think," Lukman clarified. "For some reason Kingsley seems to be convinced that you were actually asinine enough to get espoused and Obika is just plain confused. So," he asked again, "which is it, who is right?"

"You know," Femi started, still managing to avoid giving any kind of a straight answer, "for someone who seems to enjoy the institution of marriage as much as you do, so much so to try it multiple times, you really seem to be against me joining the club. Should I be insulted? I'm not sure. What's wrong, is it that you don't want to give me the password to the secret club house?"

"You don't even believe in marriage," Lukman pointed out. "You make it a point of telling me what a mistake it is multiple times before every wedding we attend begins."

"But Daniella does believe in marriage, she's made that point several times. Like you, she's even done it before. And besides, whose to say I just don't believe in your marriages," Femi countered logically.

"I don't care how in love Kingsley says she still is with you, she is way too smart to ever actually permanently attach herself to you, even if, for some godforsaken reason, you were stupid enough to think it was a good idea."

"I'll be sure to let her know you hold her intelligence in such high esteem," he said winding the ear buds around his iPod realizing that he wasn't going to get a chance to go back to his music listening any time soon.

Lukman sighed, knowing he wasn't getting anywhere with this line of questioning. Time to try something different.

"Okay fine you got me. Ha ha, very funny. Now tell me who the real target of all this is," Lukman requested, used to being on the inside of Femi's practical jokes. "Is it Grant for making you to the conference?"

"Why would me getting married to Daniella affect Grant in the slightest?" Femi asked. "Except maybe some paperwork, but TJ would probably handle that. I mean unless Grant was harboring some deeply needed love for me." He stopped to consider it for a moment before shaking his head. "Nah, that's just plain stupid."

"Femi, what are you playing at?" Lukman asked genuinely, once again changing tactics, hoping that perhaps, for once, sincerity would get an honest response from his friend.

Femi glanced at the PSP that was sitting innocently on the corner of his desk.

"Well at the moment I'm playing the new Pro Evolution Soccer, Superstar mode. My striker is thirty five years and he's close to a thousand goals," he replied picking up the handheld game console and turning it on.

This time, Lukman knowingly allowed his attention to be diverted.

"Do you really mean to tell me that you have wasted your time to that extent?" he asked. Although he didn't know why he should be surprised, he knew more than anyone just how much time he spent on that thing.

"For your information, you can actually cut time in the settings," Femi scoffed. "I would think that would be common knowledge."

"Well excuse me, I know I meant to dedicate myself to an in depth study of all things Gamebox, but I suppose I spent that time becoming and being an oncologist. You know coordinating the multidisciplinary care of cancer patients, which may involve little things like physiotherapy, counseling, clinical genetics, actually seeing and talking to my patients or any of the other silly things I do on a regular basis. Unfortunately that doesn't leave me much time to become a European star footballer."

"Yes, instead you've become Dr Lukman the boy wonder, patron saint of bald cancer kids everywhere. However, this means that not only will you never have any chance of ever beating my high score, but it also means that you will continue to humiliate yourself by actually thinking that a Gamebox, is a real gaming system," Femi replied shaking his head in shame for his friend.

"And now I'm going to go cry about it in my office," Lukman said sarcastically. He was well aware that he wasn't going to get anymore information about Daniella and what may or may not have happened in the past week out of Femi. At least not right now, no, he was going to have to figure this one out on his own. Well maybe he could enlist the help of a few others.

"I know something deeper is going on Femi. And its only a matter of time before I figure out what kind of game you're playing," Lukman insisted as he turned and walked out of the office.

What kind of game I'm playing, Femi repeated in his mind as he paused his game. Didn't Daniella say something about it not being a game earlier…

He honestly hadn't meant for any of this to happen, not that he wasn't enjoying it now that it had, and he truly wasn't playing a game with anyone. Daniella was the one who panicked and started this whole mess and Lukman was the one who wanted to dig things up that would be better off remaining buried. Of course, while it wasn't a game at the moment, he could certainly make it one.

A metaphorical light bulb went off over his head as a plan formulated in his mind. The only potential problem he could foresee was getting the involvement from the other key participant of his little scheme. But with his legendary powers of persuasion he was confident that he wouldn't have any problems convincing her to be his accomplice in his latest ruse.

He knew he would have to get her agreement sooner rather than later, but as he glanced down at the PSP he was holding loosely in his hands, he figured it could wait until lunch. After all he was bored of playing 'hard' and was about to move on to 'Ultimate'.

CHAPTER THREE

As per the status quo, Daniella found herself to be the first one in the office on her first day back to work after the Abuja conference. However, she wasn't quite as early as usual, having not had time to rest so she wasn't terribly surprised when Kingsley showed up while she was still unpacking her bag at what she considered to be her desk since she was the only one who used it.

"How was the trip," Kingsley asked amiably, sliding into his usual spot at the table.

"Umm," she replied as the diamond ring on her right hand caught the light steaming through the office room blinds, "It was more interesting then I thought it would be."

"Yeah, sometimes those conferences can actually surprise you," he agreed taking her statement at face value.

"Right," she responded vaguely. "So, do you want some Nescafe?" she asked eager to change the topic.

"I would love some," Kingsley replied quickly, "Obika actually tried to do it while you were gone. And that didn't end well for anyone," he only half joked as he picked up an article he hadn't finished the day before.

"What didn't end well?" the Easterner in question asked as he entered the briefing room to find Kingsley reading and Daniella making caffeine.

"You failing miserably in your pathetic attempt to make consumable Nescafe," Kingsley told him, not bothering to look up.

Obika seemed to be having an internal battle on whether or not to be insulted at this jab at his Nescafe making abilities. He must have decided that Kingsley was right because he let it go and instead turned his attention to Daniella.

"So I see you made it back in one piece," Obika commented nonchalantly as he gratefully accepted two mugs from her, one for himself and one to hand over to Kingsley.

"What do you mean?" Daniella asked watching her coworker sit down.

"There was a betting pool going around upstairs on the odds that you two would never come back," the Easterner clarified. "Bonus points for guessing which one of you would be dead and which of you would be in prison for killing the other."

"Either that," Kingsley added with a teasing smile, "or you would come back married."

Before Daniella even had the slightest chance to react to this statement, Femi breezed into the briefing room hearing the tail end of the conversation, his co-doctor, Lukman trailing a half step behind.

"Kingsley was right, alert the winners," he said inching towards a stunned Daniella who was holding his red mug. "Did you make my Nescafe wifey?"

Obika chuckled lightly and Kingsley just shook his head at Femi's usual antics until they both noticed the peculiar red color their female colleague was turning as she stared at their boss in horror.

"I… I thought we agreed not to tell anyone," she sputtered, not so under her breath.

"Did we?" Femi asked, mock disconcertion playing across his features. "Oops," he shrugged as he rescued his coffee out of Daniella's hand which was in imminent danger of dropping to the floor. Then with a wink he turned on his feet and disappeared into his office.

Daniella remained frozen for a long moment continuing to stare in the space Femi had recently occupied as she attempted to process what had just happened. It was unclear just how long she would have stood there left to her own devices, as it wasn't until Obika cleared his throat lightly that she became aware of the three sets of intensely curious eyes that were focused on her. Giving them a fleeting glance she quickly marched into the adjoining office.

"Femi!" she shouted as the tension hinge pulled the door shut behind her. "We decided, you agreed with me, last night on the taxi ride home from the airport, that telling everyone at work would be a very, very bad idea!"

"Yes," Femi answered innocently from where he sat, lounging on the edge of his desk, his long legs crossed at the ankles. "I agreed that telling everyone would be a bad idea. I never actually agreed to not tell anyone," he revealed taking a sip of the fresh drink she had just prepared. "This is good," he added, conversationally, "Is it a new brand?"

"Why! Why, were you physically incapable of keeping your mouth shut for once in your life!" she exclaimed, getting right up in his face and jabbing him a couple times in the shoulder with an indignant finger.

Femi looked over her shoulder to see all three men in the briefing room gaping openly and unashamedly as they watched the scene play out through the glass. With a devious grin he took the hand she was accosting him with quickly in his own and leaned forward so that he could whisper in her ear.

"Femi, what are you doing?" she asked, confused even through her anger.

"You know my little angel eyes," he said huskily as his breath tickled her ear, "you look terribly sexy when you're angry, with your eyes flashing dangerously like that. Do you think we should give them a free show out there or should we charge them admission first."

Daniella's head swiveled slowly towards the window, her gaze narrowing when she spotted her colleagues watching them with even wider eyes than they had been a few moments prior. With an angry huff she stormed over to the blinds and pulled them shut with such force that for a second Femi thought she was going to pull the whole setup right off the wall. Some semblance of privacy restored, she whipped back around, her hands perched firmly on her hips when she was presented with a smugly smirking Femi.

"What the hell was that for?" she demanded, lowering her voice so the others couldn't hear. "Now everyone out there is going to think we're actually married! Why must you make everything so difficult?"

"Well for one," the older doctor laughed, "We are actually married. And two, I find it amusing that you are standing there all hot and bothered with me, when I'm not the one who told everyone we're married. You were the one who couldn't keep her mouth shut."

"What!" Daniella exclaimed, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "How does that work? I'm pretty sure that you were the one that walked into to the office this morning calling me your wifey."

"Ah, but you see," he started, as if he was explaining something to a petulant child. "All three of them are used to me making inappropriate comments at every turn. If you had simply rolled your eyes at me like you always do, they would never have thought twice about it, and our nuptials would have remained our dirty little secret. But no… you had to go and get all incensed about it and now they're all out there full of questions. Ergo," he paused for effect, "not my fault."

A whole myriad of emotions flickered across Daniella's countenance in a matter of seconds. Anger, dismay, and finally a grim sort of acceptance at the validity of his statements. All the fight drained out of her and Femi could actually pinpoint the moment she physically deflated like a popped balloon. Crossing the office, she sat down heavily on the couch, irritated because she knew that he was right, as usual, and that she had blown it in her thoughtless panic.

Femi simply observed as she sat there, looking quite pathetic with her head in her hands. She was taking this really hard, he almost felt guilty about it…almost.

"Cheer up buttercup," he told her as he moved around to the other side of his desk so he could sit in his chair.

"You're acting like your puppy just died, it's depressing me. Now go do my clinic hours," he said brightly as he threw her his name tag which she instinctively caught, "now you wont be lying when you clock in as Dr Johnson. Grant can't get mad if Dr. Johnson is doing the hours Dr. Johnson is scheduled for. See, I knew this whole marriage thing was a good idea."

"Femi," she said evenly, making eye contact as she looked up from the nametag she was holding in her palm, "this isn't a game neither is it a joke."

Before he could respond with an inappropriate sexual innuendo, she had stood and was out the door. She had taken his nametag with her, so Femi pulled his iPod out of the drawer and sat back in his chair, assured that his hours for the day would be done.

---

Meanwhile, a very short distance away, three very highly respected doctors, three extremely educated and generally well spoken men, were absolutely and positively gob smacked.

"You don't actually think that they…" Lukman started, the first brave enough to break the silence and voice what they were all thinking.

"No, they couldn't have, besides its technically impossible so…" Kingsley quickly countered, shaking his head.

"But then why would Daniella…" Obika began to ask, still looking at where she had been standing, before she had angrily shut the blinds.

"She wouldn't," Kingsley agreed, thinking logically of what he knew of his coworker of the past few years. "Unless…"

"But this is Femi we're talking about," Lukman reminded them emphatically.

"They did just get back from a week together in Abuja," Kingsley pointed out.

"Yeah, for a medical conference, not a wedding," Lukman replied, not buying it for a minute.

"Everyone in this hospital knows that Daniella has always harbored feelings for Femi even though she denies it," Obika, the neurologist retorted.

"But if that where true, then why would she be so angry at him for saying something?" Lukman, the oncologist challenged. "She was telling everyone who would listen when they went on that date awhile back."

"And look how that turned out last time," the Easterner reminded him. "Maybe this time she wanted to keep it quiet. Besides, why would she have reacted so strongly if they hadn't gotten married? And did you see that in there?" he asked pointing towards the now shut blinds of the office.

"That was a lovers quarrel if I ever saw one."

"I know what it looked like, but it
couldn't have been," Lukman insisted. "I've been best friends with Femi since university and he would not just go out and get married on a whim, albeit to his much younger and very attractive subordinate, after a week in Abuja!"

Kingsley was about to rebutt, but never got the chance as Obika, who had up until this point been conspicuously quiet, finally remembered what he had been silently trying so hard to remember while they were going back and forth at the odds of Femi getting married.

"A ring!" Obika shouted standing up suddenly, startling both of the other doctors. "When she handed me my Nescafe this morning," he explained miming the motions they had gone through just a few moments before, "I noticed she was wearing a diamond ring." He paused, replaying the moment again in his mind. "But it was on her right hand, not her left."

"See," Kingsley said pointedly to Lukman, "she's never worn an engagement ring to work before."

"That could have been a present from her mother or something," Lukman lamely tried to explain away. "And Femi just said it was on the wrong hand.

"But what if she just didn't want us
thinking it was an engagement ring," Obika mused thoughtfully, sitting back down at the conference table, completely on the fence about the whole topic. "But I don't see Daniella as the eloping on a trip sort either."

Both Lukman and Kingsley had something to say about that, but they quickly shut their mouths when the door connecting the conference room and the office swung open suddenly and Daniella walked into the room. All three men failed miserably in their attempts to act casually and not like they were all just talking about her, but it didn't really matter as she paused only long enough to grab her lab coat before continuing out into the hall on her way down to the clinic.

They remained silent as they watched her leave until she was completely around the corner out of sight. At which point Obika muttered something about helping out in the ICU, grabbed his own lab coat and left. Kingsley mentioned a consulting and quickly followed suit, and Lukman, well he didn't say anything or go anywhere, he had a cranky diagnostician to interrogate

Between the two of them they were eventually able to put together a rough outline of what had happened the night before. After the last seminar of the conference they had decided to celebrate with a little bit of gambling where Femi quickly concluded that Daniella was his lucky charm. And as the complementary drinks kept flowing at the high rollers table, Femi's winnings grew from one million, to ten million, to fifteen million and upwards.

Somewhere around this point, marriage began to seem like a good idea and they hopped in a taxi to go to the nearest jewelry store where they used a good portion of the winnings to buy the rock that was currently sitting on Daniella's left ring finger, and the simple white gold ring that was sitting on Femi's. After that neither of them had any kind of recollection, fuzzy or otherwise, but they could only conclude they got married hastily and went back to the hotel and had a night of drunken connubial bliss. Of course Femi didn't say it quite as politely as all that.

After putting the pieces together they sat in silence for a while, both absorbing and musing on what they had discussed. After a long moment it was Daniella who broke the silence first.

"Here," she said taking the diamond marquise solitaire off her finger and holding it out to him.

"What?" he asked, looking at the ring in her hand.

"The ring," she clarified, motioning for him to take it.

"Keep it," he told her with a shrug as he turned back towards the window considering the topic closed.

"What?" she asked, this time being her turn.

"It's not my size," he retorted sarcastically not bothering to look at her.

"Femi," she sighed sensibly, "this ring was incredibly expensive, I can not in good conscious keep it."

This time it was Femi's turn to sigh, his out of exasperation, as he once more rolled his head across the headrest so that he could level with her. "I bought the ring for you, it fits you, it looks good on you. I'm not going to fly back to Abuja to return it, and I'm not going to suddenly go run out and get married again so I can give it to someone else. I don't want it back."

"But-" she tried again.

"Daniella, keep the damn ring."

He continued to watch her as she looked at him pensively and then back down at the ring she was holding. She looked him in the eye once more for a long moment, before slowly and deliberately putting the ring on her right ring finger. Satisfied that she was doing as he said he moved to put his headphones back on, ending any sort of conversation they were having.

Just before he clamped them over his ears, he spoke one last time. "And I had better see you wearing that thing to work, as you said it was incredibly expensive. I want to get my moneys worth."

As he once more looked out the window, he didn't see the smile that flitted across her countenance as she shifted into a comfortable napping position. This time she had no trouble falling asleep.

Chapter Two

It was a mightily amused Femi that settled into his window seat on the plane next to a very displeased, and therefore unpleasant, immunologist. For some reason that he couldn't seem to fathom, she just didn't seem to enjoy the fact that he was letting everyone from the hotel desk clerk at checkout, to the taxi driver that drove them to the airport, to the airport agent who checked them through security, to the flight attendants that helped them store their carry on luggage in the overhead compartment, know that they were newlyweds enjoying their first full day of happy wedded bliss. And since she was too polite to contradict him, and since he had the benefit of what he was saying actually technically being true, there wasn't much she could do, but grit her teeth and force a smile at all their heartfelt congratulations.

As a result, Daniella was less than thrilled with her head of department and the fact that she was stuck sitting next to him in a confined space for the next five hours, especially with his penchant for getting bored and amusing himself by annoying whoever was available. And on top of everything else she still hadn't completely recovered from this morning's mother of all hangovers, and was eager to put on her complementary airplane headphones, attempt to take a nap and forget that any of this had ever happened, if only for a few minutes. The only redeeming value of her day was that they were in first class as it was one of Femi's stipulations to Grant in representing LCTH at the conference, so at least she would be more comfortable.

Femi watched her try and fail to get comfortable and quickly asked the flight attendent to get his wife a blanket and pillow. Daniel honestly didn't know whether or not to be annoyed that he was once again calling attention to the fact they had accidentally gotten married, or pleased that he actually cared enough about her comfort to get the pillow and blanket for her. She settled on annoyed since she knew that realistically he was only pretending to care about her comfort since he was having fun annoying her by playing the caring and concerned husband.

Even with the blanket and pillow making her more comfortable and soothing classical piano playing over her headphones, she still couldn't find the escape she so desperately desired in a nap. There were just too many thoughts running through her mind at a mile a minute to fall asleep. Part of what was bothering her most was that she could really only remember fragmented bits and pieces of the previous night and she didn't like not having the whole story.

"Femi?" she said, temporarily abandoning her attempts to sleep and opening her eyes. However, he too was listening to his headphones and didn't hear her as he absently watched the passing clouds through the the tiny airplane window. "Femi," she said again this time reaching out and nudging his arm to get his attention.

"How many times do I have to tell you? No, I don't want to bend you over and do you right now," he said loudly as he pulled the earbuds from his ears and gave her his attention.

Eyes wide with embarresment, Daniella blushed and sunk lower in her seat when the other passengers in hearing distance, which was quite a few rows in every direction thanks to excessive volume of Femi's voice, turned to look at them.

"Bros, you be idiot oh," the young man, who was sitting across the aisle caddy corner to Daniella, replied looking back at the pair. "But," he said looking the female doctor up and down speculatively, licking his lips, "If the thing really hold you, I fit escort you go bathroom make we go in and out."

"Oh gross," Daniella scoffed, disgusted by the vulgar proposition.

"Hey," Femi said as he put an arm protectively around her shoulders and pulled her close, "why don't you turn around and stop perving on my wife before you get a piece of cutlery so far up your gluteus, that you're coughing up nuggets."

The other passenger simply rolled his eyes, gave Daniella one more speculative glance and popped the collar of his pastel polo before turning back around to mind his own business.

Daniella took in a couple deep breaths of the scent that was Femi, while he continued to hold her close, glaring at the younger man with an animosity that would have surprised him had he reflected on the intensity of it.

"Umm, Femi?" she said having to crane her neck to look up at him and meet his eyes.

"Yeah, Daniella?" he replied looking down at her.

"You can let go of me now."

"Right," he said letting go of her with an uncharacteristic absence of snark. "So what did you want?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, the incident with the wannabe pervert completely distracting her from why she had gotten his attention in the first place.

"Well, I'm assuming that you got my attention for a reason that didn't have anything to do with bending you over a sink," he retorted, returning to form. "Although, if it did, the logistics of it would be awkward what with the dimensions of an airplane bathroom combined with the bum, leg and all, but we're smart, I'm sure we could figure something out."

Daniella simply raised an eyebrow and flashed him a pointed glare, choosing not to even deign that with a response, knowing that absolutely nothing good could come of it. "Well," she said instead, going right into the real reason she got his attention, "I was wondering if you know what happened last night, because I don't remember."

"And here I thought you were a doctor, I'm almost positive they still go over that in medschool," Femi replied with a smirk. "You see Dinobi," he began condescendingly, "when a man and a woman love each other very much… Oh wait, I don't think that applies in this situation. How about this, when a man and a woman consume large quantities of alcohol-"

"No Femi," she said, cutting him off with a roll of her eyes. "That part I don't want to remember. It's the stuff before that I'm trying to recall. The last thing I remember clearly is going to this casino."

"Ugh, fine," Femi sighed, knowing she wasn't going to leave him alone for him to get his own nap in until they had figured this out. "But I'm going to need a drink to get through this," he said reaching up and hitting the call button.

"How can you even possibly consider drinking anything after this morning," she asked, her stomach revolting at the very idea of more alcohol. "I never want to even think about the possibility of drinking again."

"Can I get a malt for me and a gin and tonic for the little missus," he ordered from the flight attendent that promptly appeared. He loved traveling first class.

"Right away sir."

"Femi! What did I just say?" Daniella said exasperatedly.

"Worry not, it'll make you feel better," he replied.

"No, a vitamin B-12 shot would make me feel better," she snapped irritably.

"Yeah well, it's an anti-terror world and you can't get those through security," he responded, as the flight attendant returned with their drinks. "Now drink," he said putting the small airline size bottles and the plastic cup full of ice in front of her.

Daniella sighed defeatedly and mixed her drink, heavy on the tonic and took a small sip trying not to shudder visibly as she watched Femi drink his straight from the miniature bottle.

"So," he began, "we were at this casino…"

The second time Femi woke up for the day, the pain in his head had transformed from a harsh constant pounding, to a more bearable dull throb. He opened his eyes to find that Daniella was no longer in bed with him, but it didn't take long to figure out where she might have went since a quick scan of the room revealed that she was sitting at the cheap laminate hotel room table by the window, her back to the bed and by a matter of proximity, him. He deduced that she had been up for awhile as she had both showered and dressed and judging but the fact that her hair was already half way air dried, she had been sitting there for a while.

"So, we did the nasty last night," he announced, not in the mood to beat around the bush.

If she was started by his proclamation, she didn't show it. "I'm on the pill, so we're covered there," she replied just as no nonsensely, before falling back into a terse silence.

He was surprised when she didn't speak again. He was half expecting her to deny the possibility that they had slept together and the other half of him figured she would want to talk it to death, wanting to know what it meant for their relationship. Instead she just sat there facing away from him, her entire posture letting him know that she was clenching.

"So what, that's it? No denials, no wanting to talk about it?" he asked, relaying his thoughts. "And would you relax? What have I told you about clenching."

"Well, I think it would be pretty pointless trying to deny what so obviously happened and I think we have much more important things to be talking about. Things that give me every reason to clench," she spat irritably, finally turning around to glare daggers at him.

"Like what?" he asked unconcerned, yawning as he sat up, drawing the blankets around his waist.

"Like this," she said holding up an official looking piece of paper, "and this!" she exclaimed showing him her left hand.

He wasn't a genius for nothing and the pieces quickly clicked into place. For once in his life Femi Johnson was at a complete and utter loss for words.

"We didn't…" he said incredulously after a moment.

"We did," she replied flatly, crossing over to the bed and handing him the marriage certificate that clearly had both of their signatures on it, and showing him the rather large diamond ring that was sitting on her left hand like it had a perfect right to be there. "You have one too," she added, nodding towards the hand holding the certificate.

He followed her line of sight and found that yes, he too was wearing a shiny new wedding ring. Then much to her surprise and dismay, he started to laugh. And it wasn't the restrained I'm so witty I'm chuckling at my own cleverness, or the you're so stupid I snicker at your obtuseness that she was used to hearing from him. No this was a deep belly laugh that only came from honest and true amusement.

"Femi!" she exclaimed, her jaw dropping disbelievingly. "This isn't funny, we, as in you and I, got married! To each other!"

"I know," he replied once he could breathe again, "that's what is so hilarious. Can you imagine the look on Grant's face when she finds out?" he laughed again, earning himself a dangerous glare. "Oh relax Daniella, we can get the thing annulled once we get back to Lagos," he said placatingly. "Now even you can't tell me that this whole situation isn't just a little bit amusing. This is the kind of thing you see on soap operas, these things aren't supposed to happen in real life. Congratulations, you're a living cliché."

Femi was pleased when she gave a little smile as she began to see the humor in their current predicament. A cranky, pissed off immunologist was not something he wanted to deal with on the one hour thirty minute flight home. Speaking of going home, a quick glance at the clock on the night stand told him it was time to get ready to go.

"We can talk about this more on the plane," he said bringing the conversation to a close. "But why don't you make yourself useful and find your hubby his pants before you leave."

Daniella glowered at Femi's flippant request, but still grabbed the jeans that had been discarded the night before and threw them at him as she stalked from the room to her own to pack.

"Thanks Wifey!" he called after her retreating back.

Well, he thought, laughing softly to himself, that was unexpected.

CHAPTER ONE

The one and only Femi Johnson M.D, diagnostician extraordinaire and general asshat struggled into consciousness and immediately discovered that trying so hard was clearly his first mistake of the morning. His head was pounding to the point where he could actually feel his blood rushing through his veins with every throbbing beat of his heart. The taste in his mouth was fairly indescribable, but he was positive that he could die a happy man if he never had to taste it again. His stomach was revolting even with the absence of any external stimuli, and his whole body ached, his right leg, of course, most of all.

It took him a moment to realize that he wasn't in fact dying, although at this point that didn't really seem like a poor option, but instead was suffering from the worst kind of hangover known to mankind. Knowing from experience that his leg pain was about the only thing he could do something about at the current moment, he reached out and grabbed the prescription bottle off the night stand without even opening his eyes. Popping the cap with one hand he shook two into his mouth and swallowed them dry with great effort, grimacing when he realized that the bitter taste they left behind was actually an improvement.

He had every intention of rolling back over and passing out for a few more hours until life would seem marginally more bearable, but a groan that did not come from his own mouth caused one eye to fly open.

Initially he was surprised to discover that he was not in his own bed in his own home, but after a moment of disorientation, he remembered that he was in a hotel room in Abuja attending a conference Ade Grant, his chief medical director, had blackmailed him into going to. In actuality, he hadn't really fought that hard not to go since it meant he had a week in Abuja on the hospitals tab, but that wasn't really what was on his mind at the moment. What was more pressing at the present time, was the wide expanse of feminine back that he was currently presented with as he turned his eyes to the other side of the bed.

He had no recollection of how she got there and considering his own state of undréss he only hoped that they had been careful in the excitement of last night. It didn't take long for his critical mind to deduce that the mystery woman was also naked as his eyes traced the gentle curves of her waist as her hips disappeared under the bed sheet. And an attractive back it was too, he decided as he took in the graceful lines of her muscles from the chestnut curls that fell over her shoulders to the dimples at the base of either side of her spine. Fossae lumbales laterales or the Dimples of Venus, his excessively cerebral thoughts rattling off both the latin and colloquial terms for those indentations.

But regardless of the attractiveness of said back, in his pained state he was more interested in finding out who it belonged to, and then getting her the hell out of his hotel room so he could nurse his hangover in peace before his flight back to Lagos that afternoon. He reached out and gave his impromptu slumber party partner a sharp jab in between her shoulder blades. When she only groaned again, reaching down to pull the sheet up around her shoulders, he jabbed her again, this time harder.

This time the unidentified female stirred, groaning again as she turned towards the source of the poking. Opening her ice blue eyes, she gave a startled cry as she took in the wood brown eyes that were clearly just as surprised to see her, as she was him. That wasn't the only thing they agreed on however, as they both grimaced at her shriek, bringing matching hands up to equally throbbing temples.

"Oh, for the love of God, lower you voice about four octaves," Femi murmured, his own voice sounding abnormally loud in his head.

"Femi! What the hell is going on?" Daniella Dinobi, the youngest and prettiest of Femi's underlings, demanded, making them both wince again at the pitch of her voice. "I think my head is going to explode," she continued, quieter this time, bringing a hand up to her forehead.

Quickly realizing that kicking her out of his room and never having to deal with her again wasn't really a feasible option anymore, and also recognizing they were both far too hung over to deal with what most likely happened the night previous, he made a decision.

"I can take a pretty educated guess," he replied to her earlier question, "but right now, I'm going back to sleep and you should too."

"What?" Daniella whispered as indignantly as her headache allowed her. "How can you possibly sleep when we probably-"

Femi reached out and haphazardly covered her mouth to cut off the rant he was all to aware was coming. "Whatever may or may not have happened last night, based on the fact that we're drawn to each other with both hate and love could have still happened in the future when my brain will be more capable of listening to your tirade and when your voice will be less grating. And considering your photophobia, hyperacusis, sweating, raised body temperature, and the fact that your having trouble keeping your eyes focused on me," he said, listing some of the physical symptoms of a hangover that he could see without even asking how she felt, "means you feel just as crappy as I do, and a couple of hours of sleep will make you far less offensive to my senses. So I was actually being nice, believe it or not, when offering to let you stay here and sleep, instead of kicking you out, which I will still do if you don't shut up for the next four hours."

"But Fe-"

"Shhhh…" he soothed pressing two fingers to her mouth as his eyes fell shut, ready to go back to sleep.

"But-" she tried again.

"I said shhh woman," he said rolling over so his back was facing her, a clear statement that the conversation was now over.

Recognizing this was not an argument she could win, Daniella sighed and gave up. Besides, Femi was right, she was feeling too much like she had been repeatedly ridden by a monster truck to argue with him right now. And with that, she too rolled over and went back to sleep. Hoping beyond hope that she would wake up in her own bed and this will all have been some alcohol induced nightmare.