Detroit was in flames. There was no way of fixing it, nothing anyone could do. The new home that she thought she'd made for herself was completely leveled. Worse, the one friend she had was in the wind. It was beginning to seem like Cecily DiRossi wasn't ever going to be able to stay in one place. 

The dim, yellowish light from a table lamp wasn't visible through the single window in her roadside motel room. She'd pulled the curtains tightly, and thrown the extra blanket over the curtain rod for extra protection. Fairly certain that she was safe in the room, she got out of the heavy robes of her disguise and pulled off the restrictive habit from around her head. There was no part of the day that she treasured more than getting out of the costume. It kept her identity concealed well, but it was cumbersome; physically and mentally. Keeping up the role was the easy part- it was just another under-cover part to play. The hard part was the constant reminder that Emily Renfroe was a marked woman, and the life she'd once known was seemingly over. 

A bit more relaxed in a satin pajama set, Emily took a thick envelope from her single, tattered carpet bag and began to flip through the various information gathered therein. Names, dossiers, business cards, photos, maps; all tools of the trade she once excelled in. Surely, somewhere in there, she'd kept the flyer from that bus station in Reno. What the hell was his name?

"EMILY RENFROE! FBI! STAY WHERE YOU ARE!"

Without turning to face the bellowing voice, Emily slowly raised her hands, smirking.

"Ok...ok, just relax. I'm not even armed."

"Shut up and turn around- slowly."

Complying, for now, Emily rotated in place until her blue eyes met those of the agent pointing a gun between her eyes. She frowned a bit and titched her tongue against her teeth a few times.

"Oh, come now, Agent Hoffman. It wasn't all that bad, was it?  I know you had a little trouble getting it up that night, but don't you think you're taking it a bit too hard?"

The other two agents flanking Myron Hoffman cut their eyes toward him. The shorter agent wagged his gun at her.

"That's not...that's not what this is about, you know it! Give me your files. Take us to them now and I won't put a bullet in that pretty little head of yours."

His threat sounded as contrived as his bedroom prowess. Emily sighed and calmly replied to him.

"Myron, we're in public. This is unnecessary. I'm not armed, and I'm in heels. What do you think I'm going to do? Put your guns down and we'll take a walk. There's no need to get desperate. I know when I'm beat."

The lies flowed from Emily Renfroe's honey lips as smooth as Chantilly cream, and Myron Hoffman lapped them up like a puppy, just like always. He lowered his gun sheepishly and holstered it under his blazer.

"Fine. Walk slowly."

Nodding, Emily took a few steps forward, then faltered in her pace a bit.

"Oh, nuts. There seems to be a pebble in my shoe. Hold on a second, boys."

Stopping beside a street light pole, she reached down and pulled off the black pump from her left foot. She shook it out, looked into it, then reared back and winged the high-heeled shoe toward the three agents. Before it made contact with the first agent, she had her right shoe off and it was in the air aimed at another. All three ducked, giving her just the few seconds head start she needed. Emily took off across the street, straight into oncoming traffic. They wouldn't fire into a street full of civilians. 

She could hear them yelling for her to stop, but even barefooted, Emily was faster than three bumbling field agents. Darting in and out of lines of commuters, Emily knew she was close enough to the Strip that she could disappear into a casino very easily. After that? Well, one thing at a time.

The Lucky Duck was the first place she could see ahead. Emily took just a second to glance behind her. Myron was lengths behind her, but not the other two. They were closer than she thought. 

BANG!

The sound of gunfire scared her, prompting her to take an immediate left down the first alley she came to. A delivery truck stood open with no one around. Emily rushed up the ramp and ducked behind a stack of crates of bread. She slid down against the wall of the truck, trying to catch her breath without making noise, and that's when she noticed the long smear of blood that followed her down. She was hit, just below the shoulder blade from what she could tell by the sudden burning pain coursing through her. Cringing, she bit down on her lip and waited, hearing the footsteps of agents running by. She stayed completely still, holding her breath until she could no longer hear them yelling. Slowly, Emily got to her feet and stumbled out from behind the crates. Her eyes met those of a surprised young delivery guy.

"Uh, Miss? You're...bleeding."

Emily nodded, starting to say something, but her vision went blurry. 

"Miss? Wake up, dear."

A sweet voice entered Emily's consciousness and pried her out of what must have been one hell of a hangover nap. Shortly after getting her eyes to open, however, the shooting pain in her shoulder reminded her of what had happened. When her vision cleared up, she found herself looking up at...a nun? 

"There we are. My goodness, you gave us a fright. What is your name?"

Confused, Emily hesitated, but mumbled a name she never used.

"Cecily. Cecily DiRossi."

The elderly nun nodded kindly and brought a glass of water, helping her sip it.

"I am Sister Mary Margaret. You're at the Convent of the Sisters of Saint Bridgette."

The nun explained how the delivery driver had brought her here after finding her bleeding all over his deliveries. The nuns had cared for her, and she'd slept for at least 36 hours. As was bound to happen, the nun began asking her personal questions. Emily's mind was already working overtime- but the beginnings of a plan were already weaving themselves together. 

"Sister, may I tell you a story?"

A banging on the motel room door startled Emily out of a hard sleep. She jumped up, sending envelope and all its contents spilling to the floor. 

"Oh, for fuck sake. Who is it?!"

"Housekeeping, miss."

Bleary eyed, Emily immediately realized her mistake. She started stripping off her pjs to get dressed.

"I don't need it, thank you. Come back later!"

She quickly got into her robe and habit, then bent to pick up the mess of papers. The first one she touched was a flyer, half ripped and mostly dirty.  Mike Riddle- Private Investigator, Las Vegas- Nevada. That was it. Shoving everything haphazardly into the carpet bag, she reached back and massaged her stiff shoulder. Must be raining out. Emily checked the peep-hole to make sure no one was outside, then hurried out of the room and toward the bus stop across the street. Nothing but a nun with a carpet bag. For now.