One Thing
What is one thing about yourself that you don't want anyone to ever know?
[OOC -- This is from the episode Knight Sting. If someone really wants to reply, go ahead, but in her mind it's locked, so she probably wouldn't react well to anyone other than Kitt saying anything about it.]
Threshold
Carascas was holding her hand and leading her up the stairs to the bedroom. She was supposed to stall, to give Michael time to carry out the fake hit and give Kitt time to get into place. But things hadn’t exactly gone according to plan. They’d all assumed they’d have more time, that there would be dinner or drinks first. But Carascas had taken the wine glass from her hand, kissed her, and before she knew it, they were headed upstairs. And she couldn’t seem to get her mind off the what-ifs. What if Kitt wasn’t ready yet? What if he was busy keeping an eye on Michael and didn’t even know what was going on? What if Caracus wasn’t lured by the news of Hollenbeck’s murder?
Her head was spinning but she tried to keep the fear off her face. How far was she willing to go to keep her cover intact? That was really the bottom line, and she had to decide where that line was. Blowing her cover could ruin everything. It would be bad for her, bad for Michael and Kitt, bad for the people who might end up on the receiving end of the deadly bacteria that Carascas was selling.
If worse came to worse, it was just sex, right? No big deal. She had already kissed him, but she hadn't expected things to progress so quickly. It was a little late to complain about a headache now. Back when Michael had pitched this whole idea they hadn't really talked much about contingencies. She had signed up to play the tease, to get Carascas interested. She knew she was going to have to be alone with him. She should have had a backup plan in mind before . . . well, before now. It was all fun and games until she was in over her head.
Carascas turned back to look at her and she had to fake a convincing smile. She had no idea if it was successful or not. She hoped her hands hadn't gotten cold and clammy. Sex with a murderer. No big deal, right?
If something went wrong now, she’d definitely be in way over her head. She knew that if it came down to her body or her life, there really wasn't much of a choice. And blowing her cover would certainly jeopardize her life.
Carascas pulled her closer to him at the top of the steps on the threshold of the bedroom. Then, to Bonnie's utter relief, the mood music that Carascas had put on was interrupted with their fake news bulletin. Kitt must have been keeping an eye on her. Obviously he realized that they needed to accelerate the schedule a bit.
Bonnie held her breath and watched Carascas. He was staring down at the stereo, his brow furrowed. She waited the long seconds before he decided he was interested enough to forget about her. She let out the breath she was holding as Carascas went back downstairs and flipped on the television. The tape of Devon behind an anchor desk, giving the details of Hollenbeck’s death began to run, just as planned.
Bonnie sat on the arm of the couch next to Carascas, shaky with relief. His mind obviously wasn't on her anymore. She consciously willed herself to relax, it was okay, her cover was fine and he was distracted. Michael and Kitt would probably be able to take it from here.
Kitt.
She cringed to think he had been monitoring all that. She was thankful that he was looking out for her, but she was embarrassed about being in that situation. Bonnie really hoped he'd keep that information to himself. It was not something she wanted Michael or Devon to know. She didn't want them to have any reason to ask her what she would have done.
It was bad enough that she'd had to ask herself.
[OOC -- This is from the episode Knight Sting. If someone really wants to reply, go ahead, but in her mind it's locked, so she probably wouldn't react well to anyone other than Kitt saying anything about it.]
Threshold
Carascas was holding her hand and leading her up the stairs to the bedroom. She was supposed to stall, to give Michael time to carry out the fake hit and give Kitt time to get into place. But things hadn’t exactly gone according to plan. They’d all assumed they’d have more time, that there would be dinner or drinks first. But Carascas had taken the wine glass from her hand, kissed her, and before she knew it, they were headed upstairs. And she couldn’t seem to get her mind off the what-ifs. What if Kitt wasn’t ready yet? What if he was busy keeping an eye on Michael and didn’t even know what was going on? What if Caracus wasn’t lured by the news of Hollenbeck’s murder?
Her head was spinning but she tried to keep the fear off her face. How far was she willing to go to keep her cover intact? That was really the bottom line, and she had to decide where that line was. Blowing her cover could ruin everything. It would be bad for her, bad for Michael and Kitt, bad for the people who might end up on the receiving end of the deadly bacteria that Carascas was selling.
If worse came to worse, it was just sex, right? No big deal. She had already kissed him, but she hadn't expected things to progress so quickly. It was a little late to complain about a headache now. Back when Michael had pitched this whole idea they hadn't really talked much about contingencies. She had signed up to play the tease, to get Carascas interested. She knew she was going to have to be alone with him. She should have had a backup plan in mind before . . . well, before now. It was all fun and games until she was in over her head.
Carascas turned back to look at her and she had to fake a convincing smile. She had no idea if it was successful or not. She hoped her hands hadn't gotten cold and clammy. Sex with a murderer. No big deal, right?
If something went wrong now, she’d definitely be in way over her head. She knew that if it came down to her body or her life, there really wasn't much of a choice. And blowing her cover would certainly jeopardize her life.
Carascas pulled her closer to him at the top of the steps on the threshold of the bedroom. Then, to Bonnie's utter relief, the mood music that Carascas had put on was interrupted with their fake news bulletin. Kitt must have been keeping an eye on her. Obviously he realized that they needed to accelerate the schedule a bit.
Bonnie held her breath and watched Carascas. He was staring down at the stereo, his brow furrowed. She waited the long seconds before he decided he was interested enough to forget about her. She let out the breath she was holding as Carascas went back downstairs and flipped on the television. The tape of Devon behind an anchor desk, giving the details of Hollenbeck’s death began to run, just as planned.
Bonnie sat on the arm of the couch next to Carascas, shaky with relief. His mind obviously wasn't on her anymore. She consciously willed herself to relax, it was okay, her cover was fine and he was distracted. Michael and Kitt would probably be able to take it from here.
Kitt.
She cringed to think he had been monitoring all that. She was thankful that he was looking out for her, but she was embarrassed about being in that situation. Bonnie really hoped he'd keep that information to himself. It was not something she wanted Michael or Devon to know. She didn't want them to have any reason to ask her what she would have done.
It was bad enough that she'd had to ask herself.